By the end of it, the whole prison block, filled with the worst of the worst, was filled with dead bodies, and there was more blood underfoot than floor. There were only about twelve of them that remained. They looked like the walking dead, chains and steel bars and knives in their hands.
But they knew who I was and they fought well and they were willing to walk free, out of this place with me, while I exacted my revenge. Esteban might have been building an army of depravity, but now I had mine and then some. I had everything except my boot on his throat and I was going to get that next.
I marched out of the prison with blood on my hands, under a dark and empty sky. I was a free man. While the prisoners were taken into waiting SUVs, Diego walked me out to Evaristo, who was standing in an ill-fitting suit that could have only been a product of a government agency.
“Congratulations,” he said to me, holding out his hand. He didn’t seem the slightest bit disturbed that when I half-heartedly shook his hand, it left his palm sticky with blood. “You made it out alive.”
“That was always the plan,” I said wryly while I eyed Diego for support, just in case. Diego only nodded, giving me his okay once again that Evaristo was to be trusted. I couldn’t be sure about that, even though, so far, he let me walk out of prison, the very prison that his company had put me into. Not to mention that he just let a slew of other inmates go. And the other half were brutally murdered.
“And I know I’m a new addition to your plan,” he said with a quick smile. Though the torture happened weeks earlier, his face was still puffy in places. It made him look older, more respectable. “But I can help you.”
“And what do you want in return?’ I asked. There was always a catch. In the distance I could hear choppers and some of the men looked to the distance in fear.
“To have opportunity,” he simply said. “To have respect. A chance to go further than I ever thought possible.” He nodded at a man who had been standing silently next to him. “Get them wherever they need to go. I’ll take care of this. As far as the country will know, a prison riot broke out, decimating all of the most heinous criminals. Javier Bernal remains in his cell, unharmed and Puente Grande remains the unescapable prison that the world thinks it is.” He looked to me again with a smirk. “They’re all yours, every one of them. You’ll be taken to a safe house and I’ll be in touch later tonight.”
At that he strode off toward the building, the sirens still going, the choppers coming closer. If we didn’t move now, we’d be on national news.
We quickly hurried off into the waiting SUV and were taken into the night.
***
I didn’t know where the safe house was, somewhere between Guadalajara and Mexico City, but it was remote and more secure than I could have imagined. It was pretty much a bunker cut into a swath of jungle. Even if it were daylight there was no way you’d see it until you were literally right on top.
It was also surprisingly spacious inside the bunker. The whole underground structure must have been the size of a mansion, simply decorated but still more than just a hole in the ground. There was a kitchen, bathrooms, dining and living rooms, plus various bedrooms with bunks and offices. Many of the doors were closed and locked. The crazy escapees, who I guessed were “mine” as Evaristo had put it, were led down the hall to the bunks. I didn’t know how any of them could sleep next to each other after that.
There was something entirely unnerving about being underground, trapped like a misdirected gopher. I kept expecting for someone to point a gun in my face and demand my return to Puente Grande, or, at the very least, kill me.
But that didn’t happen and as the night wore on, the more I realized I needed places just like this. Yes, mansions and spacious grounds and all the beautiful things I cultivated were something I wanted in my daily life, but I also needed to feel safe. After everything that had happened, I knew being safe and feeling safe were too different things.
I didn’t sleep that night. The adrenaline from the slaughter, from the escape, was still coursing through my veins. I changed into a spare set of clothes that Evaristo’s man had brought out for me – black pants and a linen dress shirt – and stayed up in the living area with Diego, drinking the few beers we found in the safe house’s fridge, trying to calm down. For all my impatience, I knew we had to wait here for Evaristo before we did anything else. If I acted just on instinct, I would have stolen an SUV and driven right up to the compound near Culiacan, ambushed the house and hoped Esteban was home.
I still didn’t know what to do about Luisa. The more I thought about her, the more disquieted I felt.
After I had lapsed into silence for a long time, Diego nudged my beer with his. In the dead air of the bunker, the sound fell flat.
“What are you going to do about Luisa?” Diego asked, reading me so well.
I exhaled out my nose, then shook my head and leaned back in my seat. “I don’t know.”
“Will you kill her?”
I closed my eyes and tried to find the truth. The truth could hurt me but at least it was real.
“I want to kill her,” I said and then corrected myself as I imagined her dead in my hands. “I need to kill her. For what she has done to me.”
“Javier, I don’t mean to play Devil’s Advocate here, but I don’t think Luisa had anything to do with putting you in jail.”
My throat felt thick, closing in. I looked at my hands, the blood still in my cuticles. “She was fucking Esteban. Isn’t that enough?”