The Cougar of Lincoln Court #2
Javier crossed in the middle of the night, just south of Laredo, Texas.
He breathed dry desert air, lugging a heavy cube of marijuana on his back, and purposely separating himself from the rest of the coyote’s group.
He thought, “The stupid farm boys make way too much noise.” At the first sound of a chopper, he buried himself in a crevice between two rocks and pulled the bale in on top to hide his heat signature.
He lay quiet for three hours while the Border Patrol rounded up the rest of his party, and departed for the detention centers.
Once in the clear, he made his way to a stash house using the GPS on his phone.
Mounting the porch, Javi kicked open the door to reveal a hundred unwashed, hungry travelers waiting for payment from their families in Mexico; the currency of the Coyotes.
A husky man stood up from a bowl of tortilla soup, pointed a baseball bat at him and asked, “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Javi lowered his hood, making the tears clearly visible, and barked back, “I’m here for Nadia.
And if you point a weapon at me again, you’ll share her punishment.
” Javi watched the beads of sweat pop out on his creased, fat forehead as the realization of what Javi was dawned on his peevish brain. The bat dropped to the floor.
He proffered his hand to shake while trembling, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t know it was you. I’m Guero, I’m in charge of this waystation.”
Javi smacked his hand away and spit in his soup. “Where’s Nadia?”
Guero indicated she was in the back with a tilt of his head, and Javi made his way down the hallway, kicking the press of human flesh out of his way.
In the back bedroom, there were six women, all naked and chained to rings bolted to the floor.
Their families hadn’t paid, so now they were the cartel’s property.
The supervisors in the house raped them until they were hooked on drugs, and then shipped them out like dazed cattle to serve in the sex trade.
Nadia was special though. She wasn’t just chained around the ankle, she was spread eagle in the middle of the room, each limb restrained by a separate metal ring.
There were blood stains around her anus, and Javi chuckled at the thought of someone softening her up before his arrival.
Javi knelt in close on her right side, so she could see him out of the eye that wasn’t swollen shut. “Hi, Nadia, the Suit sends his regards. You shouldn’t have lost his merchandise, and you really shouldn’t have tried to hide. Now it’s going to be much, much worse.”
Nadia’s only response was a rattled whimper.
He started on the nipples. Cutting them away like unwanted testicles on a young bull.
Nipples are extremely sensitive, shockingly painful, and gave him the desired result.
She screamed herself hoarse and strained against her chains.
A brief silence occurred when she sucked in another breath, just to begin the screaming anew.
He didn’t stop at the nipples though, he meticulously carved away the mammary glands under the brown flesh and hollowed out her breasts.
Once detached, he threw them against the wall.
Lumps of fat and blood sprayed the other girls who cried out against the horror taking place in the middle of the room.
Nadia was getting weak from the loss of blood, so Javi dumped a bottle of drain cleaner in the wounds, burning the vacant bowls of flesh from the inside, and eating down to the ribs, heart and lungs underneath.
Nadia screamed right up until she died a few hours later.
The other girls would take the story with them, building the fame of Chupacabras and striking terror in the hearts of everyone who heard it. The Suit would be proud.
Javi went straight to a tattoo shop to get a celebratory tear.
He was in the US now, so he started a new row on his chest. They would look like war medals he’d seen on soldiers in the movies.
Knowing he would pull in more contracts, he imagined the neat little rows of tattooed tears that would soon memorialize his deeds.
He thought, “I’ll be Colonel Chupacabras in a few years. ”
***
The Suit met his end when Javi was twenty eight; murdered by his own brother in a play to take over the drug business of the cartel.
Chaos ensued south of the border after that, so Javi only got contracts from known members in the US.
As the work dried up, he was left to his own devices.
Money was never tight; the new cartel bosses hadn’t known about the PO Box receiving Social Security for several American workers killed in Mexico.
So he received stolen installment checks each month and cashed them at a liquor store.
The store owner took a cut off the top; he knew the checks were not honest funds, but Javi still had plenty for his expenses.
As he got older, he missed his Abuela more and more.
If he had the same skills he had now, at the age of six, he would have killed all three of the intruders and run away to hide in the unchecked wilds of Mexico.
Most importantly, his Abuela would still be alive.
He found himself more and more attracted to older women.
Mostly because they reminded him of his Abuela, but also because they were easy prey.
Find an older lady, pretend love, cash in.
He only killed them if they accused him or if they caught him performing some dubious action.
But he refused to immortalize them with tear tattoos.
They were only killed by circumstance, and he couldn’t bear to give himself an award for their easy deaths.
Tonight, he was going on a date with Marjorie.
She had an infectious laugh, loved naughty jokes, and had a green thumb that put Jack and his beanstalk to shame.
He met her while standing outside of an Italian chain restaurant, as she waited for her grandson to pull the car around, and they had several conversations on the phone afterwards.
Javi pulled into the loading area in the front of her assisted living complex and used the rearview mirror to carefully dab foundation over his tears.
He had to hide his medals when making a first impression, especially on a first date.
Most women cringed at facial tattoos, even if they were unaware that the true significance was much, much worse than poorly chosen art.
He glanced up at the complex’s lettering, “Lincoln Court,” illuminated by the red neon behind the white letters.
The award for “Best of Idaho,” stuck to the inside of the sliding doors glowed sinister under the buzzing lights.
Javier walked confidently through the lobby and told the charge nurse that he was here to visit Marjorie.
She mumbled, “You’ll have to sign her out if you leave with her.
” It was a response dulled by repeated utterance and uninterested boredom.
Javier signed his name on the register, and looked up.
Marjorie was already at the head of the stairs, descending slowly and gripping the rail as she carefully placed both feet on each step.
She smiled, uncovering bleached dentures, kept white by solvents next to her bed each night.
Javier smiled back and noticed her t-shirt.
It had a picture of a mountain lion, with the words, “Beware the Cougar” emblazoned across the front.
“Love the shirt, Marjorie.”
“It was either this one, or the one with the shirtless firefighter. But I usually save that one for Thursday night bingo with the girls.”
After they made their way outside, Javier opened the passenger side door of his car, knowing that older ladies loved to be treated with gentlemanly respect. He held her hand as she slowly lowered herself into the seat.
“So, Javier, where are we going tonight?” She placed her hands on her lap, folded in front of her.
“Call me Chupacabras,” he replied with a grin.
“Chupacabras? Isn’t that a weird dog thing that kills livestock in Texas?”
Javier’s face showed a boyish grin, “Yes ma’am. It’s an inside joke with some of the guys at work.”
Marjorie grinned back, “Javier it is… So, Javier, I’ve decided that tonight should be special.
I’m going to cook for you. I don’t have a kitchen at Lincoln Court, but I do own a home off of 17th and we could go there.
My son keeps it stocked for me so I can escape the depressive geriatrics around me.
They’re constantly complaining about some new disease they probably don’t even have.
Blood pressure this and bladder control that. ”
Questioning the obvious, Javier asked, “Why do you have a house and live at an assisted living place?”
Marjorie patted his leg. “Well, my boy, the house is my refuge, but I need the staff at Lincoln Court to take my blood pressure, administer my medicines, and give me my pedicures. I had some fainting spells and didn’t want to suffer alone in the house.”
Javier nodded his acceptance of the evening’s festivities, and drove towards 17th street.
Marjorie directed, “Turn here, young man. Third house on the right.”
He pulled into the driveway, and Marjorie led him past pale blue siding to the front door.
“You make yourself comfortable in the recliner.” She turned the giant, console television on and clicked the manual channels until a football game blurred across the screen.
He sat in the recliner, kicked up the foot rest, and she brought him a cold beer from the refrigerator.
The crisp pop of the tab made his mouth water.
“Just relax, I’ll have the waffles made up in short time. ”
Javier sipped his beer while watching some football team crash into another football team, play after play, while Marjorie labored away in the kitchen. The smells were astonishing and he salivated straight through to dinner.
“Ok, Javier, the food is served. Come sit at the table.”