AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The Day of the Dead.” As I suspected, the fucker had no intention of talking.
“You and your culture’s bizarre celebrations.”
“A dark and dangerous one at that.” I eyed the man carefully, trying to figure out what kind of game he was playing. “Any ID on the man?”
“Not so much as a driver’s license. No weapon either.”
No, his weapons were the drugs he was carrying.
Either the kid had balls the size of watermelons or he’d been sent with a single purpose in mind, issuing a warning. But why not try to protect himself? That raised several red flags.
“Interesting.” Unless well known by one of our bouncers, every single person was required to show identification and have it confirmed before being allowed admittance. That not only kept our enemies from using the club as battlegrounds but also protected our employees from dirtbags like this. “You have one last chance, buddy. Who are you and who do you work for?”
“La luz del mañana será la sangre de tu familia derramada en las calles.”
The light of tomorrow will be the blood of your family spilled on the streets.
The sentiment was clever, but I’d had enough of playing in riddles. I pulled away, rubbing my tired eyes before tugging my weapon from my suit jacket. As I stretched out my arm, pointing the barrel at his forehead, I waited to see if the man flinched at all. Even those considered the most ruthless killers in the world often expressed their fear or remorse seconds before meeting their maker.
Not this guy. He smiled instead, glaring at me with his one good eye, the other already swollen shut. “Al infierno regresarás,” I told him before pulling the trigger, the single bullet immediately ending his life.
To hell you shall return.
“What the hell was all that about?” Ivan snarled. He hated when I spoke Spanish, a language he’d called ridiculous over the years. Meanwhile, I’d learned Russian out of spite, often using his favorite phrases against him.
“Our friend here was telling me the light of tomorrow would include my family’s blood and I was wishing him a good time in hell.”
“Comical but what the fuck does it mean?”
Before answering, I moved closer, studying the soldier, noticing the ink crawling up his neck. I grabbed his shirt, ripping it open to expose his chest. Ivan almost immediately walked closer. The tattoo on his chest was a symbol. I’d seen something similar like it when dealing with the leaders of the New Generation Cartel.
However, it was different than the typical gang-related ink. Something nagged at the back of my mind almost instantly.
“Whew,” Ivan said under his breath. “A o sem’ye pogibshikh voinov pozabotyatsya.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It should.”
I kept my eyes on him, surprised he seemed so out of sorts. “What the hell did you just mutter?”
He raked his hand through his hair before answering. “And the family of the dead warriors will be cared for.”
“What the fuck is it with the riddles?”
“Did you ever hear about the kamikazes in World War II?”
I narrowed my eyes as I returned my gaze to the dead man’s tattoo. “I excelled at history. Japanese soldiers carrying explosives on their planes, making deliberate suicidal attacks on their enemies. Of course I’d heard of them. Why?”
He moved toward my desk, sitting down on the edge. I hadn’t seen the man this reflective in a long time. “They were the role models for the suicide bombers in the Middle East years ago, more prevalent now, although you rarely hear about them.”
“Yeah, I know. Are you trying to tell me something you suspect about this asshole?”
“Maybe. I heard a rumor on the streets of South Los Angeles about special soldiers tasked with suicide missions, only it has nothing to do with tying explosives to their bodies or inside their vehicles.”
“O-kay. I think I’ve had enough riddles for the day. What the fuck are you getting at?”
“You know the New Generation Cartel members have crude markings carved into their bodies signifying their alliance.”
