Fortress sat in the back of the Hummer waiting for the live-link translation to come back on what Pablo was gibbering about in the vehicle behind. This app wasn’t cheap but very handy and a constant reminder that Fortress should invest in learning another language or three. Across the spacious vehicle sat Miguel Camarena aka The Silver Vampire, the head of the Camarena cartel. Fortress didn’t usually investigate his client’s backgrounds, how they got their money or what they did wasn’t really his business. His job was to simply keep the subject alive for the requested amount of time he was paid for.
But something about the pudgy cigar smoking drug baron irked him. Fortress typed on his laptop Miguel Camarena and over 125,000 results popped up in 0.57 seconds, and none of it was good news. Seemed the Silver Vampire tag wasn’t just for his teeth. Fortress looked back at the action figures on the floor.
“¿Estás bien?” Camarena asked through a cloud of grey smoke.
Fortress clicked the tab and read the transcript of Pablo hurriedly working out how to adapt their plan of ambushing Camarena.
“Should just let them knock you off?” Fortress muttered as he opened another page on the drug dealer before giving him the thumbs up. “All good Mr Camarena, be-way-no.”
Fortress clicked another page and scrolled down. A reward of 5 million dollars is currently being offered for information leading to arrest and conviction. Fortress’ mouse hovered on the handy Instahgram tab on the FBI’s page as he checked his watch. Fortress looked up to see the driver of the Hummer fidgeting. Gently he reached out with his telepathy and despite the language barrier it was pretty clear what was going to happen in a moment. Fortress telekinetically put a seatbelt on Mr Camarena then plucked the cigar from his mouth.
“Oye!” Camarena remarked.
Fortress took the cigar out of the air and smiled at his employer. “Gracias. Driver, hey, make a left up ahead?”
“No se que quieres negro hombre,” the driver jabbered back.
“Thought so,” Fortress jammed the cigar into the driver’s ear and took the wheel spinning the car violently left up onto two wheels. The driver screamed and thrashed about as the Hummer began to flip. Fortress elbowed the driver in the throat and telekinetically grounded the car to make spectacular turn.
“Qué diablos está pasando!” Camarena shrieked from the back.
Fortress tossed the driver into the passenger seat and clambered into the front as bullets began pinging the car like metal hail. Fortress slammed the accelerator, spun the wheel and sped towards an oncoming car. He formed a ramp in his mind and what normally would’ve been a horrific head on collision had the car jump over the Hummer in a stunt worthy of the Dukes of Hazzard. The other cars swerved and gave chase, guns popping out of windows to open fire. Fortress formed a mental barrier around the back of the car to protect his client from errant gunfire.
“Tu loco bastardo negro!” Camarena screamed from the backseat.
“Getting real tired of that,” Fortress muttered as he checked the mirrors as the faster cars gained ground. Using his telekinesis, he yanked the steering wheel on one car sending it careening wildly off the road before doing the same to the other. “Three down, one to go.”
Pablo’s car was their only pursuer. Bullets harmlessly hit the tk shield. Fortress looked ahead and saw a telegraph pole, a smile crept across his lips. “Hey Mr Camarena! Do you have a camera?”
“Cámara? Sí sí!” The drug lord pulled out his phone.
Fortress pointed over his shoulder. “Watch this.”
The pole was plucked out of the ground like a stubborn hair. As Fortress flew past he controlled it like a fly swatter and slammed it on the hood of the pursuing car, flipping it like a coin. Pablo shot out the windshield, another gunman out the side window before the car crashed to the ground with a sickening thud on its roof. Fortress hit the brakes and skidded to a halt.
“Eso fue increíble!” cries Camarena as he records the scene.
“Stay!” Fortress orders, reinforcing the command with a mental picture of a dog sitting. Fortress checked on Pablo who lay quivering on the road. His skin was embedded with gravel and he was going into shock. Fortress fished Pablo’s phone out of his pocket and dialled 9-1-1, leaving the cell near Pablo’s mouth before returning to his car.
Mr Camarena stepped out of the vehicle and threw his hands wide open. “Trabajarás para mí para siempre, magnífico negro bastardo!”
Fortress sighed and smashed his fist into the drug lords pudgy face knocking him out. “You’re not going to make it to your meeting.”
Licenciado Gustavo Díaz Ordaz International Airport
“…azing scenes this afternoon in Guadalajara, when infamous head of the Camarena Cartel and suspected child predator, CRASHED through the skylight and landed in the inner courtyard of the US Consulate General.”
“That’s quite amazing, Nancy,” said KBTX1 new anchor Rick Greene said to their reporter down in Mexico. “What does that mean for Miguel Camarena?”
“We’re not sure, Rick. Legal experts from both sides from both sides are the border are working that out, but tonight Mr Camarena will spend the night in custody.”
Fortress smiled at the as he sipped his soda water at the bar as he waited for his flight back to the States.
“Excuse me, but are you the security consultant?”
Slowly he turned to see an BuerEats delivery driver holding a brown bag with Fortress written in lovely handwriting. Fortress quickly probed the driver’s mind, Simon Gremmen; 27, which was a mess of memes, his passports location and weird sexual fantasies of his weed dealer Dylan. Fortress took the bag and watched the driver leave through the crowds. Slowly he opened the bag and took out a small silver flip phone.
“Bet it rings,” Fortress joked and as if on cue it did. “Hello?”
“Is this Fortress?”
“No, it’s Simon the BuerEats driver,” Fortress smiled. “What do you want?”
“I’d like to offer you a job.”
“Not interested.” Fortress snapped the phone shut. He started counting on his fingers and by the time he hit four it rang again. “Hello.”
“Four million dollars,”
Fortress’ eyebrows raised. “Go on.”
“A seven-minute consult, four million dollars. If you take the job, you get an extra sixty million.”
“A car will pick you up when you arrive at JFK.”
“You need to give me some more info or I’m hanging up.”
“Your ticket has been upgraded to first class and a DVD is awaiting in the lounge for you to view,” the voice said as the line went dead. Fortress looked at the phone as it crackled and began to give off smoke.
To be continued...