Desperate Rendition - Chapter 3

After only five hours, Taylor pulled the beat-up jeep back into the spot he had taken it from, next to the rundown bar where he had met Emilio. Emilio had a smirk on his face when Taylor walked back through the doors.

“Back so soon, amigo? Don’t tell me you missed my company already.”

The sun had gone down, but it wasn’t very late, which maybe explained why the bar was less full now than it had been just hours earlier.

“Something like that,” Taylor said, sliding into the chair opposite him.

“I assume something happened to bring you back to me?”

“You assume correctly. I found the guys no problem and staked them out until they mounted up in a hurry and went tearing across town. I followed them to this half-built warehouse. Considering they’re here for the girl I’m looking for, I assumed they thought they’d find her there.”

“But they didn’t,” Emilio said, more as a statement than a question.

“No. What they found was a bunch of locals, from their dress, who opened fire on them as soon as they went into the warehouse. After everything was said and done, I went in to check and found the bodies of several of the locals. The Chechens lost one too, but they took their man with them. The thing is, these guys all had the same skull and snake tattoo, which naturally suggested they were affiliated. Which is what brings me to you.”

Taylor pulled out his cell phone with the picture of one of the tattoos pulled up and handed it over to Emilio.

“I was hoping you could tell me who these guys are and why they would have set a trap for the mercenaries.”

Emilio frowned as he looked at the picture on Taylor’s phone. “Los Serpientes. Nasty bunch. They run the drug trade in this part of town, plus a little trafficking on the side.”

“Hence the tattoo.”

“Fitting, isn’t it? They’re about as trustworthy as pit vipers. Known for their brutality and willingness to do just about anything for money.”

“But why would they be shooting it out with a bunch of Chechen mercenaries? Doesn’t seem like they’d have much reason to cross paths. It’s not like Paladin whatever is tangled up in the drug trade.”

“Not particularly, no. It doesn’t make sense. The Serpientes stick to their turf. They’ve had some nasty run-ins with some of their larger competitors, so they’ve been happy with just holding their own for now.”

“So they’re not the biggest player?”

“Biggest? No. Nastiest? Maybe.”

“Well, they’ve got beef now. Los Serpientes lost five guys to the mercs, at least as far as I could tell. The gang members turned tail and ran, leaving their dead behind.”

“No, that won’t sit well with them at all.”

“Which still leaves me with my original problem. The mercs went to that warehouse looking for Bonnie, that much I’m positive of. If Los Serpientes were there, they must be connected to her somehow.”

“You think she’s working with them?”

“Or they’re working for her. Either way, they’re my next lead,” Taylor said. “Any idea where I can find them?”

Emilio sighed and handed the phone back to Taylor, who tucked it back in his pocket. “They’re known to frequent a bar called El Nido. Real dive. Not a place for tourists and gringos.”

“I’m no tourist.”

“No, you’re not. But these guys... they’re not to be messed with, Taylor.

Emilio reached under the table and pulled out a crumpled paper bag, handing it across to Taylor. “Sig Sauer P226. Couple extra mags and some boxes of ammo. Best I could do on short notice.”

“It’ll do,” Taylor said.

“Seriously though, watch your back out there. Especially if you’re going to tangle with Los Serpientes. I’d hate to have to avenge your death if things go south.”

“I’ll do my best to avoid that. Wouldn’t want you to have to go to all that trouble on my account.”

“See that you do.” Emilio’s tone was light, but his eyes were serious. “Good luck, Taylor. I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, Taylor turned and headed for the door, stepping out into the night.

***

With all the chasing around, it was well past dark, maybe ten pm, when Taylor finally pulled up outside the El Nido. The place didn’t look like much from the outside, just a squat cinderblock building with a corrugated tin roof. Paint flaked off the cinderblocks in huge chunks, making Taylor think the only thing holding the structure together was the grime and graffiti.

It was also dead, with only a few cars parked on the cracked concrete out front. Taylor stepped out of his jeep and crossed the lot, eyeing the people leaning on cars outside warily. Music thumped through the walls, a deep bass he could feel as he pulled open the door. It didn’t so much swing as grind across the floor, screeching in protest.

Inside wasn’t much better than outside. The bar stood against the back wall, a long, scarred wooden thing that had probably seen more blood than alcohol spilled on it over the years. A few tables dotted the room, most of them occupied, despite the few cars outside.

Taylor stopped a few steps in, looking around the room. It didn’t take long for trouble to find him.

“You lost, gringo?”

The man who’d come up to him was a lean, hard-faced guy with prison tattoos crawling up his arms.

“Not if this is the El Nido.”

“It’s the last place you’ll ever go is what it is.”

“Maybe. I’m looking for whoever’s in charge of Los Serpientes. Seeing that tattoo there on your forearm, I assume you know who he is.”

The man made a motion with his hand, and three more guys materialized out of the shadows, all of them sporting Los Serpientes ink.

“What makes you think we’ll take you anywhere but outside, where we can bury your body?”

The man pulled a long-bladed knife from a sheath at the small of his back. Taylor didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He knew how this game was played. Don’t blink. Don’t back down. You had to show their leader’s respect, but you couldn’t show fear.

“Because I know about the shootout at the warehouse. I know about the mercenaries and the white woman, and your boss is going to want to know how much I know. And I’m willing to pay for that information.”

“Maybe we just take you hostage, ransom you back for the money.”

“You could try. But the US doesn’t like paying ransoms. They’ll argue, haggle, maybe even let me die before they shell out a dime. Or, you could let me talk to your leader, and I can get you the money tonight.”

That gave the guy pause. They exchanged glances, considering.

“What, you CIA or some shit?”

Not exactly. But I have contacts who can get you paid. Think about it, your boss would appreciate the easy cash, right? And a chance to get back at those mercenary fucks who shot up your guys. You know I’m not here with them, since I didn’t come through the door with automatic fire.”

The leader of the group hesitated, then jerked his head at one of the others. “Go check with El Jefe. See what he says.”

The man nodded and disappeared into a back room. Taylor waited, his stance relaxed but ready, just in case someone did something stupid. It made them nervous, hands close to guns.

Finally one of them couldn’t take it anymore, seeming to need to find something to do. “Before you go back there, I need to frisk you.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“You think you can come in here and make demands, gringo?”

“I think the US government doesn’t give a shit about some street gang in Caracas. I’m here because I need something from you, not the other way around.”

“You’ve got some balls on you.”

“If I wanted to take you out, I wouldn’t need a gun. I could have a Reaper drone turn this whole bar into a crater.”

The guy tried to stare Taylor down, looking for something, maybe weakness. Taylor didn’t blink. His friends did, though. They looked at each other, clearly realizing they didn’t have as much of an upper hand as they thought they did. Thankfully, before anyone could do something stupid, the guy who left to speak with the boss returned, jerking his head toward the back room.

“Jefe will see you. Come on.”

Taylor followed the gang members into a back room, which had a few couches, one dominated by the guy who was very clearly in charge, and four more of his minions spread around the room. Lieutenants. Guards maybe. A good spread. Taylor thought it unlikely that, if it came to it, he would be able to take them all. At least, not without them getting some clean shots on him.

Which meant he had to play this controlled but aggressively, just like he would with a tribal warlord. Grabbing a chair, he pulled it in front of the leader, completely unconcerned about the others in the room.

“You’ve got a pair of cojones on you, gringo.”

“That’s what he said,” jerking a thumb at the gang-banger who’d intercepted him outside.

The gang leader barked out a laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, tough guy. Where’s this money you’re talking about?”

“I need information, and I’m willing to pay for it. Simple as that.”

Taylor kept his tone respectful but firm, meeting the man’s gaze head on, who studied him in turn, leaning back on the couch.

“What kind of information?”

“You were at that warehouse for a woman. I need to know where she is. I’ll give you a hundred thousand US. Half now, half when I find her.”

The gang leader scoffed. “All now.”

“No. Half now, half when I find the woman.” Taylor’s voice left no room for negotiation. “Your deal with her went south, and you had a bad run with those mercs. I’m looking to take this woman out of here, and that will mean fucking up the mercs. You get revenge and easy money without ever having to step out of this room. It’s the deal of a lifetime.”

The silence stretched.

“Two hundred.”

“Deal.” Taylor didn’t hesitate. “Do you have a bank account we can wire it to, or do you want giant bags of money dropped on your doorstep?”

“We’re not amateurs,” the guy said, snapping his fingers and sending a guy to get the account numbers.

From everything Taylor had seen, they were absolutely amateurs, regardless of what kind of bank accounts they had. Which was fine with him. As long as they were mad dogs and were willing to negotiate, he didn’t care.

“Call me when the money hits,” the guy said as his man handed Taylor a slip of paper.

Taylor nodded and stood up, the chair scraping against the floor. He turned to leave, the gang members parted, clearing a path to the door. Taylor walked out, not even looking at them.

Leaving El Nido, Taylor hopped in the borrowed jeep and started back toward the center of the city, where the more upscale hotels were. Normally, he didn't mind the local flavor, but Caracas was on par with some of the more dangerous cities he'd been to in the Middle East, with kidnappings and theft pretty rampant.

There were some functioning areas of town, but those were locked down pretty heavily by both private security and what government was still functioning, which meant for now, that was the safest place for someone like him.

Besides, the FBI was footing the bill, so he wasn't particularly worried about the cost. Especially not after he called Solomon and told him the news. The hotel he settled on was a stark contrast to the rest of the city, with the wealthy people inside completely cut off from the grim outside their little haven. Taylor could only shake his head. This was how places like Caracas happened. Their leaders became so disconnected from the people they governed, and usually stole from, that they didn't understand them, leading to the inevitable conflict.

Not that it mattered to Taylor. He had a job to do.

Getting up to his room, Taylor pulled out his phone and dialed Solomon's office. He expected to get routed to the director's cell phone. Instead, Whitaker answered, surprising him.

"Taylor, everything alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Uhh … yeah. You two are in the office late."

"Working on some cases coming up for trial," Whitaker said.

"Don't let her fool you, she wanted to stay as late as possible on the off chance you'd call. Maybe you should call home more often and the office less often."

"I like staying focused on the job," Taylor said.

"That's what I told him," Whitaker said. "Have you had any problems down there?"

"Annoyances, really. There's a mercenary outfit down here called Paladin Solutions that's been looking for Bonnie too. There have been multiple firefights in the streets, and my contact says he's pretty sure she was involved."

"How big of a problem is this going to be?"

"I don't know yet. They're not particularly good, from what I've heard, but they're well armed and funded, so whoever's paying them has deep pockets."

"Any idea who?"

"My contact doesn't know, just that they've been able to skate out of trouble with the locals. I'm not sure I'll be able to figure that out without a lot of leg work, and that would pull my focus from Bonnie. If I had to guess, it's why they were chosen over more skilled or reputable groups. There are a bunch of these guys working out of the old Soviet bloc, where secrecy is more important than actual skill. Especially since they contract out a lot with smaller dictators to shoot up civilians, so skill isn't an issue."

"That's concerning," Whitaker said.

"Sure, but it makes sense, since anyone chasing her is someone who hired her in the past, and she was known for her discreet work. It also makes my job a little easier, since they're not having a good time. From what I've heard, they come out on the bottom every time they've gotten close to her."

"Still, I would prefer you find her before they get very many more opportunities," Solomon said. "They only have to get lucky once and this entire adventure becomes pointless. Do you have any leads on her at all?"

"One. Bonnie hired a local street gang called Los Serpientes to run interference for her. I'm hoping they have a way to get a hold of her."

"A street gang? You think they'll be reliable?" Solomon asked.

"Not for free, but they're for sale. Besides, considering the situation down here, they're about the closest thing to organized anything. If I was somewhere else, I'd try the locals, but they're just another street gang here. If we pay them, they'll get me what I need."

"Pay them?" Solomon scoffed. "Taylor, we can't just hand over FBI funds to a Caracas street gang."

"Joe, if we want to get this girl on a witness stand, we might not have a choice. These guys are my best shot at finding her before the mercenaries do, and the only thing I have to motivate them with is money."

"Taylor, I…"

"Hold on a second, Taylor," Whitaker said, and the mic muffled.

Taylor could hear the sounds of talking, but it was muted and impossible to make out, Whitaker's hand presumably covering the phone.

After a minute, Whitaker came back on. "Okay, what exactly are we talking about here? How much do they want?"

"Two hundred grand. Half up front, half when I find her."

Another pause, another muffled conversation Taylor could imagine Solomon arguing, saying it would never happen, and Whitaker trying to reason with him. Taylor wasn't unreasonable. He knew this would be a big stretch for the FBI. If it got out they were sending cash to a street gang, it would smear them, Caldwell, and basically anyone even remotely connected to it.

Then again, it wasn't like they had a lot of other assets in the country.

After a minute that stretched on for what felt like hours, the line unmuffled again and Solomon said, "Alright, Taylor. You've got your funds. But I want regular updates, and the moment you have her location, I want to know something."

"I'll do my best," Taylor said, not committing to anything. "I'm sending you the wire info now."

"Taylor," Whitaker said. "Be careful."

"I always am," he said, which they both knew wasn't true, and hung up.