“They are going to kill me. Then you, too, I think.”
“Can you stand?”
“I think so. The thigh isn’t broken, at least not yet. But the muscles are bruised and torn.” He moved his leg an inch and hissed, “Dios mio,” He looked at Art, “It is my hand that pains me the most.”
Art looked at the man’s tied wrists. The green wire was so tight it almost imbedded in his skin. One hand stuck out at a right angle from the other and was the color of an eggplant, with the fingers swollen like sausages. Art held up the two wire shanks, “I made these, if you can fight.”
Sixto said, “Oh yes, I will fight.”
Art went to work untying the plastic coated wire from Sixto’s wrists, and Sixto whimpered in pain and relief when the wire loosened and blood re-entered his hands. He gritted his teeth and straightened the one wrist, but Art didn’t think he fixed it. Rubbing his swollen wrists, he asked Art, “How do we fight them?”
They discussed different ways and came up with a plan. Art watched the door every few seconds, anxious the three killers would come in before they were ready. When they finished, Sixto said, “Sin piedad.” His dark eyes seemed to burn with intensity.
Art nodded, “Yes. No mercy.” He moved to the door and put his ear to it. There were faint noises but nothing discernable. As he turned, the remaining portion of plastic coated wire caught his eye. It was the portion on the garage door railing with the loop. Art trotted to it and took a few minutes to untie it. Working quickly, Art made a sliding noose. He said to Sixto, “You’re tall enough, can you drop this loop over one of them?”
“I can, and fix that one where he’s out of the fight.” He measured the wire’s length by holding it to the top of the door and adjusting it so the loop would be about three inches from the top. He made a second, smaller loop further down on the wire, one that would fit over the doorknob when pulled down.
Art knew they’d need a diversion that would distract the men for a moment, so he decided to make himself the bait. He moved six feet from the door and stood there with the shank hidden in his hand, the point running up by his wrist. His heart hammered so strongly that his shirt vibrated with each beat. They both heard movement on the other side of the door…
~*~
Marco pushed open the door as he talked to the two men behind him and stepped into the garage, stopping suddenly when he saw Art standing in front of him.
The two men came through the door, with the last man holding the bat by the handle and swinging it by his leg. He didn’t see the green wire loop drop over his head until it was too late.
Sixto yanked down on the wire, using his body weight to aid in the movement. The wire tightened immediately, with the knot behind the man’s ear.
He dropped the bat and it clattered on the floor as his feet lifted off the concrete and his hands clawed at the wire cutting into his neck.
Sixto slipped the smaller loop over the doorknob and let go as the hanging man kicked his feet in the air and struggled.
Marco and the second man turned at the noise behind them and saw the man hanging from the green wire noose.
Before they could move, Sixto pushed the door and charged the other sicario, stabbing with the shank at the man’s stomach and groin and neck, his arm moving like a piston as he backpedalled the killer to the floor.
Marco reached for his pistol as Art stabbed his shank into the big man’s back and kidneys.
Marco grunted and twisted away, but Art stayed on him, stabbing as fast as he could. Marco tried to block, but Art stabbed his hands and arms too, making Marco pull back.
Sixto got his man down on his back and stabbed at the man’s neck, with blood soon covering both of them. The bleeding man slipped one hand away from the fight and drew his pistol, pushing it into Sixto’s abdomen. He pulled the trigger a half-dozen times, with each shot a muffled explosion because of the body touching the muzzle.
Sixto sighed and seemed to melt off of the man, sliding to the concrete floor on his side.
Art saw it and tried harder to finish Marco, but the man was bull-strong and fought for his life, blocking many of the thrusts.
The killer held one hand on his bleeding throat and raised the pistol, sighting on Art. He pulled the trigger.
Art felt a blow on his side like someone kicking him and he fell off Marco. He knew he’d been shot and couldn’t fight both men, so he rolled away and leaped to his feet, adrenaline fueling him and numbing the pain, and dodged around both men to run toward the door into the house.
He pushed the limp, hanging man out of the way as he went through and another explosion of gunfire erupted behind him, then he was out of the garage and speeding through the house.
Fumbling at the locked front door, Art looked behind for pursuit, but didn’t see his attackers, and he slowed enough to release the lock and slip outside, immediately cutting to the side of the house and running by the back yard and into the desert and the rolling hills behind the neighborhood.
He made two hundred yards before he slid into a small wash and stopped to check behind for pursuers. He watched the house and saw both bloody men looking in every direction for him. The one killer was weak, staggering as he held a handkerchief to his neck.
Marco looked like an angry bull wanting to fight, blood showing on his arms and chest, striding back and forth, looking in everywhere. He called on his cell, then hung up, and went to his partner to help with the neck wounds.
Art rolled onto his back and examined the wound in his side. Two holes, front and back, so it was a through and through. He couldn’t see the rear wound, but it felt twice as large as the front, and an inch from his spine. Both wounds bled, and his pants waistline squished like a wet sponge when he moved.