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Hitman: A True Story (Chapter 8)

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    Hitman: A True Story (Chapter 8)

    Just like clockwork! Only been a few years since Chapter 7. Many of you have been reading these stories since I wrote the first one in 2010 (wow...where did the time go?). These stories are true. The hitman is real. Here's a post from TBH'er Coon007 explaining how he came to be in possession of these stories:


    At the time I met luis, we were working some gold/silver mining project's in the Zacatecas area. And one of my partners Mr.Kilroy has a close friend who is a priest in the Monterrey area that oversee's all the little rural catholic churches. One day a song come on the radio that I had composed and Mr.Kilroy stated to the priest that I had wrote that song, so the priest asked me if I knew about writing books... me and my big mouth said yes, that same afternoon I met with Luis. He told me he a tumor in his brain that could not be operated on and he knew he was going to die, but before he died he wanted someone to write his life story (why i'll never know) so he gave all his money away and went to a small rural church to be forgiven by god for all the crimes he committed. Luis died on 3/10/2004 in that little room behind the church with the priest taking care of him. So here are his stories.


    Just in case you need the links to the previous chapters:

    Chapter 1

    Chapter 2

    Chapter 3

    Chapter 4

    Chapter 5

    Chapter 6

    Chapter 7

    And here is the long awaited Chapter 8.

    ***********************



    Hitman: A True Story
    Chapter 8: Sacrifice No More


    Carlos sat stroking my beautiful Colt 1911 .38 Super. It had been a gift from my good friend Don Luciano just before he died. I carried it every day and cleaned it religiously. “Was this really Don Luciano’s personal pistol?” Carlos asked for the hundredth time.

    “Yes! And leave it alone. Quit making love to it.”

    I often thought about how nice and comfortable it had been working for Don Luciano compared to the strange and quirky Don Ernesto. Working for Ernesto was definitely a challenge. Being gay in the early 80s was hard—even if you stayed in the closet. But Don Ernesto couldn’t be contained in a closet. He was a full-blown queen. This seemed to be the reason he always lacked the respect he deserved from other Mexican drug lords. Even though Don Ernesto supplied most of them with their drugs—making them rich—they liked to talk about him behind his back and not include him in their millionaire/billionaire cliques.

    Another reason that Don Ernesto didn’t quite fit in with the cold-blooded killer bosses was his indecisiveness and perceived weakness. People took advantage of him quite often. He would always ask me, “To kill or not to kill? What should I do, Luis?” He would readily admit that he hated the sight of blood but was torn between his weaknesses and his necessity to show others that he was not one to be trifled with. I would always encourage him when he leaned towards violence. “Yes boss. It will boost your confidence and self-esteem and keep others from disrespecting you.”

    Every time I encouraged him or did a job for him he would call me “Angel.” I cringed when he called me Angel. “Yes. You are right, my angel.” I really hated it. He had told me once upon a time that I was his “Angel of Death.” I kept telling myself that he spoke to everyone like that so that I could avoid thinking he was sweet on me.

    I woke up from my daydream as Carlos was walking off. “Carlos! Pinche pendejo! Go tell Horacio to prepare the boss a piña colada—and put extra rum in it. And then go feed the **** peacocks!” Carlos took off running and I smiled at his lumbering form and his overly serious life or death look.

    Carlos was barely 18 when I found him living on the streets in the slums of Acapulco. He was starving to death. He obviously had some mild retardation but there was something about him that made me take him under my wing. I quickly got him a job as a gopher with Don Ernesto. In time, he became like a son (maybe a grandson) to Ernesto. Though Carlos was about as intelligent as a piñata, he was allowed to interact with everyone at the hacienda and proved to be a great host at Ernesto’s many parties. During the day he fetched drinks, opened mail, and fed the peacocks—a job he took a little too seriously. He would feed them so much they would fall over, unable to walk. There was no doubt that Carlos’ life definitely changed for the better by being with Don Ernesto.

    But the peaceful times didn’t last long. They rarely did. Work was always just a phone call or a door knock away.

    *****

    I walked into the garden shed where Pablo, a street rat and low-level drug pusher, was hanging by his feet from the rafters. “Here we go,” I mumbled to myself. “Keep it together, Ernesto.” Don Ernesto was holding a wooden bat and had a strained look on his usually serene face. The violent scene didn't quite match his flamboyant suit and colorful scarves.

    “Look, Pablo” Ernesto said. “I can forgive most things, for I love the Lord and he tells us to forgive others of their trespasses…but stealing from me is a mortal sin. The Ten Commandments say ‘no debes robar’, you must not steal, and I cannot forgive this.”

    The always-indecisive Don Ernesto turned to me and whispered, “Is that right Luis? Am I doing this correctly?” When I nodded “Yes”, Ernesto walked up to the upside-down junkie and lightly tapped him on his head with the wooden bat. Pablo didn’t even grunt or move. I rolled my eyes just before Ernesto dropped the bat and began to cry uncontrollably.

    “Oh Luis! Am I being too harsh with Pablo? He only stole twenty pounds of heroin. I would forgive him if he just paid me back. I’m sure of it. He would pay me back, right?” I tried to console him and quickly escorted him back inside the hacienda. He was making a spectacle of himself with the loud crying and carrying on.

    When we got inside, Horacio the butler was waiting for us with a large piña colada. As Don Ernesto took a sip and started to calm down, Carlos walked in with a kitten he had found. Don Ernesto’s eyes opened wide and he squealed like a little girl as Carlos showed him the animal. They both ran off into the parlor to play with the cat. I sighed deeply.

    Horacio smiled and said, “I think he has already forgotten about our thief”. I nodded. Horacio put a hand on my shoulder and asked, “Did he really not know that Pablo was already dead when he hit him with the bat?” I just smiled. “Baby steps, Horacio. Baby steps. He will come around.”

    *****

    I walked back to the garden shed, thinking about what Pablo told me before he died the night before. I had found him in one of his old hangouts. He took one look at me and knew the gig was up. He paled and began begging loudly.

    “Look Luis. Just kill me. Please don’t hurt my family. They don’t know anything about what I did.” Pablo was practically screaming now as I grabbed him by the arm and took him to my car.

    “OK, cabron,” I said. “Where’s the money and who put you up to this? You’re too stupid to do anything on your own.”

    “It was Alberto Zepeda, El Brujo. He put me up to it!” Pablo cried. “He still has the heroin...I think…I’m sure he hasn’t sold it all yet. We are supposed to share the money. The ******* even gave me an amulet to protect ME from YOU!”

    I nodded and then grabbed his hair and shoved my rooster tongue dagger deep into the base of his skull. Pablo instantly slumped forward, dead. I took care not to get the dark blood on my clothes and boots. “Amulet my *****”, I laughed. I started to dump the body but decided it was a good opportunity to give the child-like Don Ernesto some training time. I took Pablo’s body back to Ernesto’s ranch and hung him by his feet in the garden shed.

    *****

    The next day I began working on the El Brujo problem. I knew of his reputation. He was known to cast spells and play around with black magic and witchcraft. People who were into such evil things thought of him as a powerful warlock. But he was not as powerful as my .38 Super.

    Research. I needed to find his weaknesses, his patterns, and his hangouts. I realized my mistake in killing Pablo too early…I didn’t even know where El Brujo lived. I decided to use what little knowledge I had about witchcraft and started with the herberias (stores where he likely bought his witchcraft supplies). I spoke to people at every store I could find but had no luck. I knew if I took too long the heroin would already be sold and the money gone. But I had to press on.

    While I was working my informants and tossing a little money around, I found myself in the worst part of Acapulco. I received some third-hand information that Leon Barrera, a street pusher that worked out of the El Volcan bar, had some good heroin for sale. El Volcan was a place for junkies and whores to score a hit. It wasn’t normal for someone in that part of town to have any high quality narcotics. My gut told me that somehow Leon Barrera was in possession of Don Ernesto’s heroin.

    That night I paid a visit to El Volcan to check out things for myself. I turned down a dark alley and saw two girls practicing their trade in plain sight—probably in exchange for a fix of heroin. I shook my head at the trash and walked in the dimly lit entrance of the bar. I sat down at an empty table next to the door and started looking around the place. It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark.

    I knew what I was looking for and it didn’t take long to observe several different people talk to a middle-aged man and then hand him some money. In turn, they would receive a little envelope. In just over an hour the man did fifty hand-to-hand exchanges. I knew I was looking at Leon Barrera.

    I got up from my chair and walked over to him. He looked self-important and cocky. “Good,” I thought to myself. “Are you Leon?”

    “Yes. What the hell do you want, dumb*****?” he said while looking up at a television above the bar.

    “I hear you got some good s*** for sale.”

    “Yes I do. It’s the best you will ever try. It came from that pinche maricon Ernesto’s stash—the gay guy. And he only sells the best. How much you want?”

    I looked at him for a second until he met my eyes. “All of it.”

    Leon Barrera started to laugh at me. He looked me up and down. “You ain’t got the money, puto. Go away and quit bothering me and my clients.”

    I reached into my pocket and threw a big roll on the table in front of him. “There’s ten-thousand and I have twenty more outside. Like I said—I want it all.”

    Leon got up slowly from the table and picked up the cash with his left hand. A pistol quickly appeared in his right and he pointed it at my stomach. “Let’s see the rest of the money dumb*****,” he said quietly. “Turn slowly and lets walk outside.”

    We exited the bar and slowly walked to my Cadillac with him behind me. “Nice ride, pendejo. Now where’s the money?” I walked to the trunk and opened it. I always kept a bat in there (my weapon of choice for situations like this). I reached in and then took a one-handed swing that connected. Leon was out cold on the ground.

    *****

    I must have got him in the sweet spot. It took nearly two hours for poor Leon to wake up. It took him about 10 seconds to start cussing me. “Do you know who you are dealing with, puto? My name is Leon Barrera and I’m going to **** you up!. Untie me right now!”

    I looked at him with a smile. “I’ll tell you one thing, Leon. You’ve got balls. Too bad you’re so stupid or you might have lived to see another day. Now…do you know who I am?”

    “No. And I don’t care. Untie me!”

    “My name is Luis—as in the Luis that used to work for Don Luciano.” That got Leon’s attention. “But now I work for Don Ernesto. That means you stole something from my boss. Which means you stole something from me. And to make it even simpler, that means I am going to kill you tonight. But first I need some questions answered.”

    “Go to hell” Leon said. But some of his cockiness had disappeared.

    “I’m sure I will,” I replied. “But certainly not tonight. Not like you Leon.”

    He started screaming for help. We were in one of Don Ernesto’s old warehouses. There was no one around for miles. I managed to shut him up after a couple of hard slaps. “Where is the rest of the heroin, Leon?”

    “Screw you.”

    I turned my back to him and walked to a small table with a well-worn wooden box on it. The box contained the tools of my trade. If someone without my skill set were to have opened it, they would have been confused about the miscellaneous items. I pulled out a bottle of mineral water.

    “Where’s the rest of the dope?” I quietly asked Leon. He answered with silence.

    I reached back into the box for a bottle opener. I quickly popped the cap and faced Leon, taking a swig of the drink. I put my thumb over the bottle opening and vigorously shook the bottle. I then walked over to Leon, who was now looking very anxious as he sat tied to a chair. I removed my thumb and shoved the bottle opening up his nose. The mineral water shot upwards into his head. Leon immediately started gagging and puking. I gave him a minute to recover and asked him again about the rest of the heroin. No answer.

    “Okay Leon. You and I are going to have a great time tonight. But first tell me where I can find El Brujo. If you do, I might make this easier on you.”

    “Go &%*$ yourself!” he yelled.

    “Okay. Fine. But first you are going to tell me where El Brujo is,” I stated calmly. I reached into the box again and pulled out a butcher knife and a pair of pliers. I showed them to him. “Look, Leon. You are tied up to a chair in the middle of nowhere. No one is coming. No one can hear you. No one knows where we are. Let’s make this easy, okay? I have to take my friend Carlos to breakfast and if I’m not there to pick him up at eight I will never hear the end of it. So why don’t you tell me where Brujo is and then I can kill you and get cleaned up. What do you say?”

    It turned out that Leon Barrera was tougher than nails. He refused to tell me anything except different ways to have sexual relations with myself. I decided to take a break. I put my tools back in the box and walked out of the room, locking it from the outside. I knew Leon wouldn’t be able to even get out of the chair in his current condition, but better safe than sorry. I hadn’t done anything too serious to him…yet. I yawned sleepily and drove to the hacienda. I was hoping Carlos was still asleep so I could take a short nap. No such luck. He was waiting outside for me to take him to breakfast. He followed me inside to the kitchen as I washed blood and mineral water from my hands and arms.

    “Pancakes! I want pancakes!” Carlos said excitedly. I started to drive off towards town when I saw something in the rear view mirror. Don Ernesto was jogging behind me, waving a handkerchief. I stopped and backed up and he got in the car with us. I held my breath, waiting to see what was wrong. Ernesto was out of breath from the brief bit of exercise. “I want pancakes, too.”

    After we finished eating I reached into my pants pocket for some money to pay. I pulled out Leon Barrera’s wallet by mistake. I looked at it for a second and then remembered I had taken it after knocking him out in the bar parking lot. Seeing his wallet gave me an idea. I looked inside and found his address and some photos of what appeared to be his wife and two children.

    It was after 1 PM when I dropped Don Ernesto and Carlos off at the hacienda. I went back to the warehouse to check on Leon. He was still tied to the chair. I acted like I had just returned from an important scouting mission.

    “Hey pendejo. I’ve been out for a nice drive. I know where you live now and I know what a beautiful family you have. Now I will give you a choice. Give up El Brujo…or I will kill them.”

    Leon hung his head and then looked up at me after a minute or so. “Okay. I know my fate. And I know Brujo’s fate. But let me warn you, he’s a powerful man. And I don’t mean normal power. He’s powerful in a supernatural way. A lot of people talk about black magic—he is black magic. By now, he will know that you have me and that you are looking for him. He came to me in a dream earlier while you were out on your breakfast date. He told me not to talk to you—not to tell you anything. He said he would kill me himself if I talked. Don’t hurt my family.”

    I knew he was still holding out on me. After a little more “persuasion” he told me Brujo’s address and several different hangouts. I nodded at him and told him I would be back. I walked out of the warehouse and locked the door again.

    *****

    I knew a little about Brujo’s neighborhood and I knew my shiny Cadillac would stand out too much. So out of precaution I took a micro bus to the borderline slum neighborhood. I got off the bus about five blocks from the address and walked the rest of the way. I made my way to the front of the old wooden house. I pulled out my .38 Super and kicked in the door. I walked into the living room. It was empty. I cleared the rest of the house including two small bedrooms. Nobody.

    I returned to the living and examined some type of altar that had been arranged next to a wall. There was plenty proof of Brujo’s affiliation with the dark side. There was a photo of Leon Barrera, the man I had just cut on, inside of a bowl. A dead rooster was hanging by his feet above the bowl and blood slowly dripped onto the photograph. I examined the wall of shelves behind the rooster and there were pentagrams and other witchcraft symbols. I saw glass vials with dead animals, fancy bottles marked with magical potions, and several photographs of butchered people. Something from the larger bedroom triggered a thought in my head and I went back to look. Several of the dresser drawers were open and appeared to be almost empty of clothes. No shoes in the closet or anywhere else. It appeared that El Brujo knew I was coming for him.

    I drove fast to the warehouse to talk to Leon some more. When I unlocked the door and walked in I knew something was wrong. Leon was still tied to the chair but he was now completely covered in his own vomited blood. He was dead. None of my minor cuts or injuries would have caused him to die like that. I quickly untied the body and pushed him over onto a tarp that I got from a work truck parked outside. I put him in the back of the truck and drove him almost 30 miles to a deep cave that I was very familiar with. I dumped him down the dark hole. I knew that not many people would be missing Leon--maybe a few junkies and his family.

    Back to work. As I cranked up the truck I hesitated before I drove off. I had never believed in the supernatural…and I wasn’t about to start now. But my search for El Brujo, his apparent disappearance, and the strange death of Leon was an amazing coincidence. I had to admit that I was shaken up a little. Maybe a lot.

    *****

    I hunted El Brujo hard for two months. I had tracked down a lot of people in the past, but this guy was one of the toughest. He seemed to always be one step ahead of me. I had even asked Don Ernesto to reach out to his contacts outside of the city for me. Nothing. But on November 1st, Ernesto walked into the kitchen where I was drinking coffee with Horacio. He gently placed a photo on the counter.

    “There’s your Brujo, Luis. And as you know, tomorrow is November 2nd—Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). If my research is correct, your friend El Brujo should be walking around the oldest cemetery in Acapulco tomorrow night. He and his kind will be searching for lost souls to possess. These souls will make him more powerful. They will hold a black mass among the graves. Luis, please make this ungodly man disappear.” I thanked Don Ernesto and placed the photo in my shirt pocket.

    The next day, Dia de los Muertos, I stopped by the hacienda to pick up some weapons for my hunting trip. I caressed one of my favorites, a well-worn “Tommy” gun. I was drawn to it for some reason. The weight always felt good in my hands and the recoil was manageable. I picked up two 100 round drums of ammo and then went to the barn for a five-gallon gas can. My best friend, the .38 Super, was always with me as well. I was taking no chances with the man-witch. I planned on burning his body.

    *****

    I arrived at the cemetery around dark. It was crowded due to the “holiday”. A lot of people were visiting their dead relatives. It seemed silly to me—putting good alcohol, cigarettes, food, and lit candles on the gravesites. I’m sure there were some sad stories, but death was just another paycheck to me.

    I parked near the entrance and blacked out my car. I had switched out my Cadillac for a beat up Ford pickup—just in case El Brujo had done some research of his own. It was boring until about 11 PM. And then **** got weird. Two teenagers were running out of the cemetery into the road. They didn’t appear to be playing chase. They looked scared. I quickly exited the truck and stopped them. They were dressed appropriately for the night…skeleton costumes.

    “What’s wrong boys?” I asked them.

    “It’s crazy”, the older one yelled. A Brujo kidnapped us. He was going to sacrifice us tonight. We thought it was a joke at first…but he was serious! He left a guard to watch us near the big mausoleum (he pointed to the back of the cemetery). They were going to hold a mass there! But the guard took some tequila bottles off of some of the graves. He got so drunk he passed out and we were able to take off running”. I told them to go home and not to call the police. I told them I would take care of the Brujo.

    I went back to the car and grabbed the Tommy gun and loaded it with a full drum. I slowly crept toward the large mausoleum, keeping to the shadows. I crept alongside of the huge tomb and could hear low talking or chanting. No guards in sight. I was able to see through the slight crack in the barely opened door. In the candlelight I watched the man I recognized as El Brujo reach into the open chest of a young girl and pull out her heart.

    Not much in this world had ever made me sick or caused me to lose control. I had been that way since my first kill on the banks of the Rio Grande as a young boy. But that all changed when I saw El Brujo sacrificing the girl while 12 other zombies watched and chanted.

    I decided that no one was getting out alive. I completely forgot about Don Ernesto’s stolen heroin. The rage took over and I pulled the heavy door open, causing it to slam against the side of the tomb. Just as El Brujo was taking a bite of the girl’s heart I yelled out to him.

    “BRUUUUUJJJJJJJOOOOOOOO!”

    He turned towards me with blood running down his cheeks. “Ahhhh. You found me at last. I guess you want your drugs back, yes? Well unfortunately I have no more drugs. I sold it all. I bought this beautiful, pure girl and two young boys to sacrifice to the gods. Afterwards, I will be so powerful that nobody will be able to stop me.”

    I lifted the Tommy gun and pointed it at him. He smiled. “Nowhere to run except into the business end of that gun. So be it. A quick death from a bullet will release my soul to the darkness. There will be no pain. My body will be perfectly intact to reenter this world.”

    Change of plans. I took some pressure off the trigger and backed out. I shut the door against the center frame. It matched up well with the locked door on the left side of the entrance to the mausoleum. I picked up the chain hanging from the door and wrapped it through both handles. I couldn’t find a lock, but there was enough extra to wrap the two ends in a knot. I ran back to the truck and got the gas can. The whole time I was thinking, “No pain and an intact body. We shall see”.

    I returned to the mausoleum and poured gas under the doors. I could see movement through the cracks along the sides and between the doors. I poured another gallon or so under the door, thinking of the wooden benches inside. I lit a match and dropped it and turned my head away from the satisfying “whoosh”. I stood back, taking in the sound of screams. I knew the young girl would be avenged. I waited several minutes until there were no more screams. I saw smoke coming from two inset windows, one on each side. The glass wasn’t sealed very well after decades of weathering. I climbed up on a step and poured more gas into the cracks beneath the windows. Another “whoosh”. Another smile.

    I walked back to the truck. I had just killed 13 people (creatures). My only regrets were not saving the girl before it was too late and, to a lesser extent, not getting to use the Tommy gun.

    I was almost to the truck when I remembered what the two boys that escaped El Brujo had told me. There was a drunken guard near the mausoleum. I set the gas can down and walked back and started searching around the smoking tomb. I found him nearby, sleeping against a concrete bench.

    “Wake up!” I yelled as I kicked his feet. He opened his eyes. The first and last thing he saw was the barrel of the .45 Tommy gun pointed at his face. I unloaded the 100 round drum into him. When the smoke cleared, he was unrecognizable. It cut him in half except for one section of spine.

    I walked back to the truck somewhat satisfied. At least I got to use the Tommy gun. Maybe Carlos and Don Ernesto were up for some pancakes.
    Last edited by Chew; 01-02-2018, 09:51 PM.

    #2
    Yes!

    Comment


      #3
      Thank you!!!

      Comment


        #4
        Thanks Chew and congrats on passing the LT exam.
        Last edited by 1riot1ranger; 01-02-2018, 10:01 PM.

        Comment


          #5
          Well written, sir. And a little scary to boot.

          LWD

          Comment


            #6
            I was just thinking about this the other day wondering if I missed a chapter. Thanks Coach

            Comment


              #7
              Excellent! Thanks!

              Comment


                #8
                Tagged

                Sent from my SM-N950U using Tapatalk

                Comment


                  #9
                  Thanks!!!!!



                  Now get 9 done by this weekend!!!!

                  Comment


                    #10
                    Very reminiscent of Lew and Charlie adventures in Fur-Fish-Game

                    Comment


                      #11
                      Captivating story for sure. Brilliantly written!

                      Comment


                        #12
                        Thanks!!

                        Comment


                          #13
                          How much more information is available for more stories?

                          Comment


                            #14
                            Come on Bobby we need more

                            How many chapters of material do you have?

                            Thanks for taking the time to write these

                            Comment


                              #15
                              Glad to have read the next chapter!

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