James Patterson: Gone

He was just about to urinate when he heard the distinct click of a billard ball. He zipped back up and went out and poked his head inside the billiards room. Unbelievable. A man in white linen, a staff member fucking off, no doubt, was bent at the table, about to take another shot. On the large-screen TV above the bar, a soccer match was playing with the sound off.

“Hey, you there! Asshole!” Salinas barked.

The man remained bent, surveying the lay of the balls before him. Was he deaf!?

“Are you having fun? Who the fuck do you think you are? Get your ass back to work before I break your legs with that cue.”

Still, slowly and insolently, the man took his shot. The cue ball cracked into the eight, sinking it effortlessly. Then the man turned. Teodoro’s eyes went wide. It took everything he had to keep his full bladder under control.

Because it wasn’t a staff member.

It was Manuel Perrine.

“Oh, but, Teodoro. I am at work,” Perrine said, chalking his cue. “Isn’t that right, Tomás?”

Salinas felt something hard tap at the base of his head. It was the bore of a shotgun, pressed against his brain stem. Salinas suddenly felt like he was tumbling inside, a sudden free fall through the core of himself.

“Just as you say, sir,” Tomás said, pushing Salinas into the room and locking the door.

The mariachi bands were resting and a DJ was playing some American dance music when the loud thump came from the stage. The music stopped immediately as a microphone squawk echoed throughout the tent.

As the crowd in attendance looked up from their plates, they could see that the entire staff of white-linen-clad Indians was now holding automatic rifles. The Tarahumaras went amid the crowd, knocking over tables, slapping people, sticking guns in faces.

The security men of the multiple drug dealers in attendance were quickly disarmed and handcuffed. Tables were moved aside, and all the chairs were lined up, like at an assembly. The gunmen sat the people back down roughly, threatening to kill on the spot anyone and everyone dumb enough to make the slightest move.

A moment later, Manuel Perrine walked out onto the stage, holding a microphone.

“Hello, friends,” Perrine said in his most elegant Spanish, smiling hugely. “To those of you who know me, I can hardly articulate how pleasant it is to see you again. To those of you who are unfamiliar to me, let me say what a truly wonderful time this is for us to get acquainted.”

He put his hand to his ear as he stared out at the pale, scared faces.

“What? No applause?” he said.

Some clapping started.

“Come, now. This is a party, is it not? You can do better than that.”

The clapping increased.

“There you go. You did miss me. How touching. Now, at the risk of breaking protocol here at this beautiful quinceañera celebration, I would like to make a few announcements about another coming-of-age here today. The coming of the age of Manuel Perrine and Los Salvajes.”

A terrified murmur passed through the crowd as Teodoro Salinas and the two other leaders of his cartel were brought into the tent from the house. Salinas had a black eye. All three had their wrists bound behind them.

Three chairs were set at the edge of the stage, and the three men were seated with their backs to the crowd.

“Now, without further ado, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Perrine said as one of the Tarahumaras handed him something long and thin.

The sickle-shaped, razor-sharp machete Perrine held up for the crowd to see had been his father’s cane knife. The antique blade was beautifully weighted behind the cutting side, like a golf club, and had the manufacturer’s stamp engraved in the blade, above the handle: COLLINS AXE COMPANY, CONNECTICUT, USA.

They just don’t make ’em like this anymore , Perrine thought, hefting it lovingly.

The first man he stepped before was Salinas’s second-in-command. The man had actually undone his binding, and he threw his hands up protectively as Perrine swung. No matter. The blade sliced the man’s arm off neatly midway between his wrist and elbow and buried itself deep in the man’s collarbone.

Several women in the crowd fainted as the man screamed, blood spurting as he waved around his amputated stump. Perrine, after two tugs, finally worked the blade free. Then he stepped back and swung.

There. Much better , Perrine thought as the man’s cleanly severed head rolled off his shoulders and off the stage.

That was when the second man kicked himself off the stage. It was the plaza boss, who actually thought he could take over Perrine’s turf in Río Bravo. He managed to make it halfway across the dance floor before Perrine nodded to Tomás. Half a dozen automatic rifles cracked at once, cutting the man down. He slid across the dance floor in a thick trail of blood, followed by his Bally shoes.

Perrine had to tip his hat to Teodoro Salinas. The man didn’t flinch in the slightest as both of his partners lost their lives. The big, handsome man looked like he might have been waiting for a bus as Perrine stepped forward. Perrine nodded respectfully, then swung and took the elegant host’s head off with one swipe.

As his enemies bled out, Perrine turned toward the crowd. His face was covered in blood, his linen uniform, the blade of the cane knife. The women who were still conscious were completely hysterical, the sound of their babbling moans like that of people speaking in tongues.

Perrine lifted the fallen microphone.

“Please. I know all this is shocking, ladies and gentlemen, but facts must be faced,” Perrine said, waving the dripping cane knife for emphasis. “These men thought I was defeated. They thought because I was in hiding that I was no longer valid. That they could take what was mine.”

He turned and looked at the dead men behind him and smiled.

“Has anyone ever thought more wrongly? I cannot be defeated. I cannot even be diminished. The good news is, you are not as obstinate as these here, whom I have been forced to punish. The good news is that now, with the last of our detractors eliminated, we are one.”

Perrine smiled.

“Don’t you understand? We all work for Los Salvajes now. We have ambitions that transcend mere Mexico. In the next few weeks, you will see what I am talking about. I know this is a sad moment. You see this now as butchery, I can tell.

“But soon, you will change your mind. Soon, you will see the opportunity I have given you. You will come to realize this isn’t the end but the beginning, and you lucky few are being let in on the ground floor.”

Perrine checked his Rolex.

“Does anyone have any questions? Comments?”

He looked around. Not surprisingly, the only hand he saw was at the end of the disembodied arm lying at his feet.

“Excellent. All relevant parties will be contacted in the next few days with instructions,” Perrine said. “You are all free to go now. Have a nice day.”

The following Monday, we’d just done the milking at Cody’s and were getting out of the vehicles back at our place when we saw dust rising in the distance to the north. By the main road, a light-blue sedan I didn’t recognize was approaching slowly.

Immediately, I could feel my heart start to pound. Despite our new, peaceful rural existence, I hadn’t forgotten our situation for one second. Besides the mailman, we’d had exactly no visitors at all.

“Guys, inside, now. Seamus, Mary Catherine, go get them,” I said immediately.

“Yeah?” Seamus said, looking at me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not kidding. Go help Mary Catherine now.”

All the kids quickly went into the house. A moment later, Seamus and Mary Catherine came back out. Seamus was holding a shotgun, while Mary Catherine had two guns strapped over her shoulder. Then the door opened again, and Juliana and Brian came out, holding shotguns as well.