Final Call for Mercy

8

Nicolas

The room was empty beside a camera on each corner of the room and two chairs. Ximena was tied to one. She was taped to the arm rests and legs in the chair. Her mouth had been gagged. Her eyes followed me as I walked to the empty chair and pulled it closer, sitting right in front of her. I grabbed the gag from her mouth, pulling it out and tossing it aside.

Her smile was cunning, eyes gleaming with mischief. She reminded me of a shark. Humans knew sharks were dangerous. They were deadly and they could rip you to shreds. Still, you'd pay hundreds to swim with them. The danger made them alluring.

"Nice to see you, Nicolas. How are you?"

I smiled back, playing into her little fantasy of me. "I've been better. How do you know me?"

She shrugged. "You know, this tape is really uncomfortable. I'd hate to have a conversation this way."

"Of course. I can imagine." I reached into my left pant pocket, where I had my switchblade. I kneeled on the floor. "Don't try anything and I'll get you out of these. What do you think?"

"I think you're the only one in this whole thing that deserves to live." Her eyes stayed on my face as I cut through the tape binding her.

"Yeah?" I grinned up at her. She reciprocated it instantly. "How's that?"

"Well, you're not like them. You kill, but you're not evil. You're not like the Bianchi's. My parents knew your parent's. I even met you once. Did you know that?"

My mind blanked for a moment, nearly slipping up and cutting through her leg. I shook my head and focused. No emotions. "I don't remember you. Or your parents."

"Well, I hardly expected you to remember me." Her tone was casual enough to make any outsider believe we were old friends catching up. Maybe she thought this is what this was. I could use that to my advantage. "It was so long ago. We were in Medellin. You were, like, four. I was nine, so I remember more than you. You were an adorable little boy. Kept telling me your favorite color is green."

I threw the tape aside, sitting back in my chair. Ximena stretched her back and rubbed her wrists. "Well, it's purple now. More... pleasant to look at, I guess."

"Mine's blue. Reminds me of my Dad's eyes."

"You tell me your parents knew mine. How come I don't know who you are then? I always try to know more about my parents."

Her head cocked to the side, staring at me analytically. "Are you actually interested or just want me to reveal my identity?"

"Both," I answered honestly.

She seemed to sense I was being genuine. The smile she gave me was warm. "My full name is Ximena Maria Guzman Reyes. My parents are used to run a gang in Nicaragua. Santa Patria. Our families knew each other because your parents wanted to create an alliance that allowed them to pass drugs through our territory into the United States to sell to the big gangs and the famous junkies back then."

I shook my head, "my parents didn't deal with drugs. They never did."

"That's where you're wrong. Your parents were pretty involved. Only stopped when... well, when they died. Of course, they enforced the regular strict up-the-ass rules that many enforced. Like, for example, no drugs could be sold to minors. Your parents had great influence, so it went through. But, alas, that's how you and I crossed paths seventeen years ago. I've been trying to look for you ever since I found out you survived the Mussolini attack."

"Why? You're working for Mussolini."

Her eyes met mine fiercely. "A... debt I owe." Her gaze lost some of its aggressiveness as she shrugged. "And you were a good kid. I wanted to look after you."