M McDonald - March Into Hell

Matthew swallowed a lump in his throat and shook his head. “Not necessary. No more apologies, Mark. You feel what you feel and who am I to say it’s wrong?” Matthew stood and passed a hand over his eyes, rubbing them. He felt completely drained. “Do you have a preference for a psychiatrist? If not, I can recommend some good names.”

Mark shook his head.

“Okay, well there’s a couple that would be good. There’s John Newsome. He’s excellent, or Scott Palmer. You can’t go wrong with either of those guys.”

Mark’s eyes widened and he sat up straight in the bed. “Scott Palmer?”

Matthew nodded. “Yeah. He’s a great guy. I think you’d like him.”

A wry smile twisted Mark’s mouth and he shook his head. “Yeah, I think I will. He’s the one I need to talk to.”

Matthew was surprised at Mark’s change in attitude. “Okay. I’ll give him a call and write the consult request. I know you want to go home, but I think we’ll give it one more day so you can get your appetite back and talk to Dr. Palmer.”

Adrian handed over his identification to the border patrol guard at the checkpoint into Ciudad Juarez, Mexico and tried to curb his impatience as it was studied. The flight from Chicago to El Paso had been the riskiest part of the trip. His photo had flashed so many times on the TV, even he was getting tired of looking at it. His blond dye job, scruffy whiskers and blue contacts had altered his appearance significantly, but just to make sure, he'd added a slouch to his walk that he hoped made him seem shorter and heavier.

Of course, the ID was fake, but it was the best money could buy. He had a passport, driver's license, credit cards and even mock up photos of him in his alternate identity with his 'family'. That had been a stroke of genius. He'd kept all of it hidden in a safe deposit box using yet a third identity. Not only did he keep the fail-safe identity, he stored most of the Guild's assets there as well, converting it to easily portable jewelry, precious gems and cash. If he had to, he could disappear at a moment's notice, and live out his life on a tropical island as Lee Bigham. Adrian scowled at the idea. There was no fun in that.

The Mexican soldier glanced from the ID in his hand to Adrian's face then asked the purpose of Adrian's visit.

"Tourist." Adrian beamed and then added, "I'm heading to Cabo to do a little snorkeling. Can you give me directions?" He pulled out the map of Mexico he'd purchased, and took his time unfolding it until it was a large unwieldy square. He didn't miss the soldier's sigh of annoyance. It was just the response he was looking for. The soldier waved him on.

Adrian flung the map onto the floor of the car. His only worry had been being identified leaving the country, but he'd felt confident his disguise and passport would let him sail through. So far, everything had gone without a hitch. Years of saving every penny and living in fleabag buildings was about to pay off.

The colorful buildings didn't hide the poverty of the area. Graffiti stained buildings squatted close together, their bright colors giving a falsely festive look to the neighborhoods. Cruising the streets, he was glad he'd memorized the route to his meeting location. Every street looked the same. He raised an eyebrow at a particularly garish purple building next to the panaderia that was his goal. His contact had insisted that a bakery would cause less suspicion than meeting at a bar although Kern felt exposed in the bright sunlight. It was only mid-morning, so his cover of buying some pastries and eating them at the third table from the door wouldn't look out of the ordinary.

Javier Mendez sauntered into the bakery, glanced at Adrian, but showed no signs of recognition as he made his way to the counter and ordered.

Adrian sipped his coffee. A few minutes later, Mendez joined him and pulled out the opposite chair. He took a bite of some large pastry and spoke around the food, "Buenos dias."

Adrian ignored the pleasantry. "Have the arrangements been made?"

Mendez set his pastry down and dusted the powdered sugar from his fingers as he said in lightly accented English, "Si, the house will be ready in a month. I think you will be happy with it. Much space and no close neighbors."

"Excellent. Is it on the ocean?" It would be much easier to come and go by boat and access had been one of Adrian's stipulations. As a foreigner, he wasn't allowed to buy oceanfront property, but there were ways around the law.

"It's set back in a small bay."

"Sounds perfect." Adrian smiled. "Now, about the other thing." As distasteful as Adrian found it, the only way to raise sizable amounts of cash quickly was in the drug trade, and his members had become adept at dealing to the rich North Shore kids who were afraid to go into the ghetto areas of Chicago.

"Shipments will begin as soon as payment is received."

"I have it right here." Adrian scanned the small bakery and made sure nobody was paying any attention as he passed an English to Spanish dictionary across the table. The center had been hollowed out and contained a small package of gemstones.

Mendez slipped the package out, and with a quizzical expression, peered into the small velvet bag. Afterward, he tugged the drawstrings tight and tossed the bag onto the table. "We agreed on cash, not a bunch of rocks."

Leaning forward, he struggled to keep his voice calm as he covered the bag with his hand. "We agreed on a price, not a method of payment. I couldn't very well cross the border with a suitcase full of cash. What would I have done if I'd been searched? Besides, these jewels are worth twice what you demanded."

Taking another bite of the pastry, Mendez shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Do I look like a jeweler to you?"

"I can go elsewhere for what I want."

"You think so?" Mendez dabbed a spot of sugar from the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. "I think that I'm the only one willing to deal with you now, after that repulsive stunt you pulled off in Chicago."

"What repulsive stunt?"

Mendez glanced sideways and his lip curled. "You crucified that man."

"It was part of a sacred ritual. We're not just some street gang like you're used to dealing with. We're a holy guild. Our foundation is based on sacred rituals and spiritual growth."

"Spiritual growth. Of course." Mendez rolled his eyes. "You've managed to accomplish what I thought was impossible. You have offended even the heads of the most violent cartels in Mexico. I had a difficult time setting up a supply line because nobody wanted to do business with you."

"You mean the same people that murder women and children? I didn't know they had standards." Adrian shook his head in disgust and continued, "Besides, Taylor didn't die, he's perfectly fine."

"They're saying he really is some kind of saint, and all the churches have been praying for him. You might want to re-think moving your headquarters down here."

"It'll blow over."

Mendez shrugged. "We are a Catholic country, senor. Surely you realize that your 'ritual' could stir up some passion in my countrymen." With that comment, he stood and casually took the bag of gems, tucking them into his pocket. "These had better be twice the worth or I'll be in contact. Otherwise, this will be our last meeting in person."

“…yeah, Lily, pretty much everything including shoes. I think my sneakers should be okay to wear.” Mark pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to remember where he had removed his shoes last. Probably right inside the door, but with everything that went on that night the sneakers could be anywhere in the loft by now.

He supposed he could wear slippers home if he had to. "I’ll see ya later. Bye.”