Gun Work

Barney exhaled nasally. This was how it always started. The pseudo-politeness, following by the punch in the face for emphasis. He heard the giant behind him move, cocking back for a flat-handed blow to the back of the head. He steeled himself.

“No need, Sucio,” the man said. “Not just yet.”

Barney could smell the big guy’s disappointment.

“Let’s skip the patty-cake, shall we?” said the man. “Instead I’ll ask, what are you doing here? Why have you involved yourself?”

“What’s the point?” Barney said. “Get on with it.”

“Here’s your situation,” said the man, walking around to lean on the front of the desk. “For irrelevant reasons, our friend Carl chose to make a contact outside our explicit circle, which was prohibited. No doubt he lacked the honor to conclude the deal which he himself negotiated; no matter — you are now involved. What do we do with you?” His voice had the same curious lack of inflection or accent that Barney had noticed over Carl’s cell. “Do we let you free if you promise never to whisper a word of this to anyone? Unlikely. Do we manhandle you and hope the damage serves to insure your silence? No, just look at you. Beating you up would do us no good although I think Sucio would enjoy aspects of it.”

“Carl is a shitbag,” said Barney. “He conned me. Do whatever you want to him and his accomplice wife. I just want out. I don’t care what any of you do. I made an error in judgment. I’m willing to pay for that however you like. But your operation is not in danger. I have no stake.”

“That sounds very ethical, my friend, but there is still the matter of Sucio’s cousin Jesús.”

“Mi hermano,” said the giant behind Barney, with a voice like two cinderblocks grinding together.

“Excuse me, his brother.”

“I was going back to the motel to set him free, once I found out about Carl. I’m sorry about the misunderstanding.” He noticed that the man, who had never introduced himself, seemed to have one lazy eye. Barney did not look at him directly all that much, but when he did, it was a toss-up as to which eye to follow. Bell’s Palsy, perhaps — the left side of his face seemed less active, which might account for the squint.

“It’s more than a misunderstanding, my friend. Jesús is dead. He bled to death, reading the bible. This is Mexico. I’m afraid it doesn’t look very good for you.”

“No one dies from a bullet in the ass.”

“Ah. But as I believe an autopsy will confirm, Jesús died from a brain hemorrhage caused by your other gunshot. I have a doctor working on that right now.”

“He shot at me first.”

“Mm. But Carl was not supposed to return fire, nor was he allowed to have anyone with him, much less an expert shot such as yourself.”

“I didn’t know about Jesús. It was an accident.” It was all Barney had.

“You do realize how that sounds?” said the man.

“Yes, but it’s the truth. You guys butchered Estrella just to leave a memo; you realize how that sounds?”

“Her actual name was Salvación, and she was recruited from a group that does not concern us.”

“Who was she related to? The other women you find to donate fingers?”

“Again, not your concern.”

“Listen — just get Carl and his black widow wife in here and they’ll tell you. Obviously you’re not going to believe anything I say, so stop playing the movie bad guy and jerking off with your little speeches, okay?” Barney was resigned to whatever beating or retribution was coming; it was the only way of staying level in the face of chaos.

“Unfortunately, that is not possible. Carl and his wife are on their way back to the United States. The proper funds have changed hands and our deal with them is done, which leaves you as a loose end. And there is the matter of Sucio’s brother, not to mention the difficulty you have caused by your uninvited involvement. They mentioned — that is, Carl and his wife mentioned — that you might actually have some value as a hostage yourself, that your government may be willing to pay for you. Your military record and so on. We are looking into that. In the meantime, I’m afraid you have no option but to remain here as our guest.”

Then Sucio hit him, hard, in the back of the head with what felt like an iron dictionary.

All of the lies Barney had lived by, all his isolationist maxims and misanthropy, his fables of a higher calling, the thin tissue latticework of rationalizations that he was somehow purer, better, more dedicated than ordinary humans, all the rules by which he had ordered his existence, were about to evaporate in the crucible of his pain.

Part Two

The Bleeding Rooms