The Damned and the Dead

Chapter Fifteen

✞Anna✞

With an arsenal on the passenger seat and floorboard beside me, I hopped into my truck and took off to see someone who I hoped could help me find the gringo. His name was Francis and he himself was a gringo. Up until last year he was leaving in America and was working at a high end software facility.
Well, at least he was until he hacked into a few databases and stole a hell of a lot of money. He was too smart for his own good and got greedy. He ended up losing everything because of it and became a criminal. He was forced to flee across the border where he moved a few towns away from the one I lived in.
He left everything he had behind just so he wouldn't be prosecuted for his crimes. Even down here he rubbed a few people the wrong way. The bad thing was that down here people don't wait for the law to bring down justice. They had their own ways of getting even.
I saved his neck a few times because of his ways and it was time for him to pay up. If anyone could find out who the gringo was it would be Francis.
I pulled my truck up to a ratty looking motel where a chicken butcher shop sat across the street. Chickens wandered freely around the grounds and were even walking over what few cars where around leaving little 'packages' behind.
Shutting off my truck, I got out and walked towards his room number. I doubted he moved on and was proved right when I saw the tiny camera at the corner of his door. Before I could knock the door opened revealing Francis.
Thick, white framed glasses sat on his nose and his curly hair had grown to rest just below his ears. Crumbs were sprinkled across the front of his black Nirvana shirt and a faint stale scent wafted to my nose.
"Shit," Francis said,"this can't be good."
"I need your help, Francis. You owe--"
"Yeah, yeah, come in," he pushed open the door all the way and I walked inside. Maps, diagrams, and pictures were plastered on every inch of his walls and papers and books were piled everywhere.
Empty food packages and bottles were strewn among what few furniture he had and I understood where the stale, musty scent was coming from. He was smart, yet the boy was lazy.
Francis closed the door and locked it before quickly turning around and resting his back against its peeling surface. His breathing was a little faster than normal and he was beginning to sweat faintly. He was nervous, that much was evident.
"I need information on a man and then I'll be on my way," I state.
"Do I look like the f*cking FBI? I can't just pull information out of my ass," he waves his hand around in annoyance as if I were a nuisance. I slowly moved my tan leather jacket to the side to reveal the handgun at my hip. His eyes zero un in the gun then flick back up to my own eyes.
His Adam's Apple bobbed up and down and he shakily went to a series of computers that sat at a nearby desk. He heavily sat down on the chair as he logged onto one of the computers.
"I might be able to find something," he stammered.
"The man is white. Brown curly hair, brown eyes, about 6'1, and he has money," I say.
"That's not much to go on," Francis says and turns around to look at me.
"Just check. This man should be wealthy," I urge and he quickly turns around and begins working his magic.
"Here are a few criminal shots resembling the man you described, but they're not exactly wealthy," he says and I peer over his shoulder to look at the men. None of them were him.
"No, none of them are him," I say and Francis begins to exit out of the sites.
"Wait!" I say and Francis lifts up his hands quickly from the keyboard. There he was. The gringo himself, but it wasn't a mugshot. It was on an advertisement.
"That guy," Francis points out.
"That's him," I conclude.
"But that's William Braddock. He's on the list of the world's top 50 wealthiest businessmen," Francis exclaimed in disbelief. That was without a doubt the gringo.
"Where can I find him?" That's what I needed to know.
"I'm not a magician. This guy could be anywhere. He travels the f*cking world for a living," Francis said in a rush from the pressure I was putting on him. "I got you a name, didn't I?"
I was hoping for more, but I guess I was pushing it. At least I had his name. Without another word I went to Francis' door and unlocked it before stepping out into the hot and humid air. I didn't know where to look, but I had a hunch that I wouldn't have to look for him. He'd come for me and when he did I'd be ready.
✞ ✞ ✞

On the ride home I got to thinking. I started thinking about the gringo and my father. I started to wonder why he wanted him dead so badly. My father pissed off a lot of people so that probably played a factor somewhere.
I should have just capped his ass and collected the 500 grand. I would have been better off if I did. Damn conscious. I would have been set for life if I had followed through with the proposition. I wouldn't be in the mess I was in now if I had just--
A force slammed into my pickup truck from behind followed by a rain of automatic gunfire that shattered the back window. Bullets tore into my seats and one hit just above my elbow flying clean through the flesh.
I grunted in pain and fought to keep my truck in control when the vehicle behind me slammed into my truck again. My heart began to pound with adrenaline and my breathing grew heavy and fast. I cast a quick glance at my rearview mirror to see a big purple eighteen wheeler inching closer to ram into me again.
Someone in the passenger seat started raining bullets at me again and I shielded my eyes when bullets flew into my windshield shattering it.
"F*CK!" I screamed when the eighteen wheeler clipped me from behind again. My truck lurched forward and tipped forward off of the road causing it to roll over three times before resting with its still spinning tires in the air.
My head grew light from the impact and the fact that I was now suspended upside down. My whole body ached and throbbed. I turned my head to the side to see the eighteen wheeler drive away. I felt warm heat trickle down my dangling arm and numbly fumbled with my seatbelt with one hand in attempt to free myself.
The seatbelt opened with a satisfying click only for me to grunt then groan in pain when I fell onto the glass littered roof of my truck. Glass stabbed into my back causing stinging pain added to that of my throbbing gunshot wound.
"Puta madre," I hissed and turned slowly over onto my side. I began to inch my way out of my truck by pushing and crawling over the glass. My bloody fingers dug into the hot dirt sinking in deep so that I could pull my torso out of the overturned truck.
I used my feet to push the rest of my body out of the truck and rolled onto my back when I was finally completely out. My eyes closed from the sun radiating relentless brightness and heat upon me. My hand traveled down to rest on my holstered gun for reassurance incase the cowardly bastards came back.
" Cabrón[bastard]," I grumbled in pain as my head lolled to the side and I fell into unconsciousness.