Green Ice: A Deadly High (15 page)

“What about the others?” Trey spluttered. “Where are the rest of them?”

“They were all outside,” Mancini said. “All taken care of.” He raised his handgun slightly. “I heard a whole load of hollering and yelling so I came to have a look. I saw those guys’ pickup truck parked up between the two buildings and figured they wanted a little retribution. I didn’t know they’d turned though. Where did they get the green from?”

“That stupid little bag I took from Ernesto’s apartment.
I forgot I even had it on me. They got hold of that bag of ice from my pocket and the geniuses decided to snort it there and then. They all turned within a few minutes of each other. All except the big guy, who was going to cut me up before the rest of those ugly fucks jumped him.”

Mancini’s facial expression suddenly changed from relative calmness to
immediate concern. Trey noticed the alteration in Mancini’s demeanor.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“We didn’t see the big guy anyplace.”

Chapter Eighteen

“What do you mean, you didn’t see him?” Trey asked. “His body was right there in front of the shithouse block, man. All chewed up and shit. You couldn’t have missed it.”

“Those other two guys were prowling around outside the main building. I popped them both when they ran at us. They were all covered in blood but we didn’t see nobody else out there,” Mancini explained.

“Oh, my god, he might have gone after Leticia,” Trey wailed.

“Who the hell is Leticia?” Jorge asked.

Mancini groaned. “I
’m guessing she’s that chica behind the bar counter in there.” He nodded sideways with his head.

“Damn right. We have to go and see if she’s okay, man.”

“I assume you don’t have your gun on you?”

“No, man,” Trey s
napped. “We came out for dinner. Why the hell would I need to bring a gun with me?”

“Because, you never know what kind of shit storm is just around the corner,” Mancini sighed. “Come
on, let’s go find your girlfriend.”

Trey grabbed the knife from the sink and washed the blood off the blade. Jorge stepped aside and let Mancini lead the way out of the restroom.
Trey breathed deeply, taking in the cool night air. His ribs and stomach still ached and he still tasted the remnants of bile and sour alcohol in his mouth. He glanced around and saw the two prone bodies lying beside the restroom block.

“Leticia was still in the bar when I left her
,” he said. His flirtatious time with the girl seemed like hours ago. “That entrance leads to the lounge.” He pointed to the steps at the edge of the building.

Mancini nodded
and led the way into the main motel structure, holding his firearm double handed and pointed to the ground. Trey followed him and Jorge tagged along at the rear. Mancini glanced around the corner of the doorway, peering into the bar area. The lights remained on but he couldn’t see or hear anybody in the immediate vicinity.

“Listen, somebody’s coming,” Trey hissed behind him.

Mancini turned his head and heard scuffing footsteps on the hard surface beyond the motel building. He hurried down the steps and leveled his handgun in the direction he estimated the figures approached from. Three bodies loomed from the shadows towards the exterior light hanging above the steps.

Mancini aimed the handgun but refrained from firing when he saw the shocked expression
s on the three trucker’s faces. They stopped in their tracks and raised their hands above their heads. The guy to the right saw the two prone bodies on the ground and said something that Mancini didn’t understand. He glanced around at Jorge.

“What did he say?”

“He says he is just a trucker with no money.”

Mancini lowered his handgun.
“Tell them I’m not robbing them…ah, just tell them there are some bad guys running around out here.”

Jorge nodded and translated. The three truckers dropped their arms but still continued to look worried. They conversed with Jorge for a moment.

“They say they heard the gunshots and came to see what was happening. They will help to find the girl and her grandfather and also help us catch the last of the bad guys.”

“I’d rather they just went back to their rooms and stayed out of the damn way,” Mancini said.
“Are they armed?”

Jorge asked them and received an immediate response.

“They have some guns locked in their truck cabs. They say these roads can be dangerous late at night when bandits try to rob their loads.”

“Okay, whatever. Tell them to go fetch their firearms and meet us back in the bar but tell them to be damn careful and look out for anybody acting weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yes, Jorge, fucking weird,” Mancini huffed. “How else would you describe those guys?”

“All right,” Jorge said, shrugging and translated the message to the truckers.

The three truck drivers nodded and turned back towards the parking lot. Mancini and Trey turned back towards the entrance to the main motel building. Jorge glanced back to watch the truckers disappear into the night, wishing he could go with them. He turned and followed Mancini and Trey towards the steps.  

“We better scoot after we’ve taken care of the big guy,” Mancini said, mounting the steps. “I don’t want to be around if and when the cops show up. For all we know, Trey’s girlfriend may have already called them and they could be on their way out here right now.”

“I hope she’s okay,” Trey muttered.

Mancini edged through the doorway, gripping his handgun low but he remained in an alert stance. Trey and Jorge followed closely behind. The bar area was deserted but a couple of stools lay broken on their sides and shattered glass covered the floor.

“Looks like there’s been some kind of struggle in here,” Mancini whispered.

“Ah, shit, man,” Trey wailed. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Mancini leaned on the counter and stretched his head around the corner, trying to see if anybody was in the back room beyond the bar.

“Hello…anybody there?” he called out. No reply came back.

Trey
picked up one of the bar stool legs and practiced a one handed swing. Jorge picked up another broken stool leg with a sharp point at one end, where the wood had splintered.

“What do we do now?” Jorge asked.

Mancini wanted to simply turn around, pack up their gear, jump into the Thunderbird and get the hell out of there. He knew Trey wanted to find out if the girl was still alive. Stopping at the motel had turned into a disaster. None of them had rested up and they’d inadvertently allowed the gang to catch them up. Throw a few crazy, infected people into the mix and they’d accidently created a situation of total chaos.   

“Maybe we should wait for those trucker guys,”
Jorge said. “Strength in numbers and all.”

Trey
shook his head. “I’ll give them a minute but if they don’t show, I’m going to tear this place apart until I find Leticia.”

“Hold up a minute,
Rambo
,” Mancini said. “We shouldn’t be going it alone and splitting up in here. We don’t know the whole layout of the place and she could be long gone away from here by now. Just keep your head and try to stay calm.”

“Stay calm?” Trey whined. “Those guys were going to slice me like a turkey and then they decided to eat me instead. I’m having a real problem staying calm right now.”

“Shh!” Jorge hissed. “What is that sound?”

Chapter Nineteen

Mancini and Trey remained silent and listened for a noise. They heard a shuffling, clunking sound from somewhere beyond the lounge bar.

“Sounds like somebody dragging something across the floor,” Trey hissed.

Mancini motioned for him to keep quiet. Jorge silently backed up, wielding his broken chair like as though it were a spear. The clunking sound grew louder and seemed to be drawing nearer the bar. Mancini couldn’t pinpoint the exact location of where the sound came from. Whoever it was would have to approach them from the main building, through the internal entrance to the lounge. He raised his handgun and aimed roughly at head height at the wide doorway.

A slow moving, lone figure emerged into the dim light, entering the bar room. Mancini adjusted his stance, aiming the handgun at the approaching figure’s head. He sighed when he recognized the old guy, who had booked them into the motel and served them dinner.
Mancini started to lower his Heckler and Koch but decided against the maneuver when he saw the old guy was covered in blood.

Trey and Jorge backed away from the staggering old man,
moving alongside Mancini. The flesh on the old guy’s face and neck was shredded and flaps of skin peeled away amid the gory mess. Blood poured from his wounds and ran down his shirt and pants, before dripping to the floor, leaving a crimson trail beneath his feet. He dragged an old style, two-barreled shotgun behind him, the wooden butt bumping across the floorboards. He tried to speak but his words were merely a throaty croak.

“Oh, shit,” Trey hissed.

Jorge spoke softly in Spanish and the old man’s dark eyes flicked in the direction he had come from.

“What did you say?” Mancini asked.

“I asked him who had attacked him and where the assailant is now,” Jorge explained.

The old guy emitted a final croak,
then collapsed face first onto the floor between a vintage wooden barrel and a table. Trey and Mancini rushed over to his prone body. They hunkered down beside the old guy and Mancini checked his bloodied wrist for a pulse.

“He’s gone,” he said.

“We need to find Leticia, now,” Trey hissed.

They swung around when they heard footsteps to the rear of the bar. Mancini brought up his handgun to adopt a firing stance from his kneeling position. The three truckers strode into the bar but gasped and stopped in their tracks the moment they saw the Mancini aiming at them and the old guy’s mutilated corpse. They all brandished handguns of varying
ages, calibers and sizes.

Mancini glanced for a second at each of the three guys in turn. The guy on the left was short, squat and overweight, with a stubbly a beard. He wore a white and maroon baseball cap and a brown checkered work shirt over a vest. The guy in the center was small and skinny and didn’t look old enough to be driving a truck. He wore matching blue denim pants and jacket. The third trucker, to the right was older, probably in his fifties, with short gray hair and a bushy mustache. He looked tired and jaded, as though this situation was another in a long line of trucking catastrophes he’d had to endure.      
 

Mancini sighed and lowered his firearm. “Okay, tell them we’re going to search for the girl and watch out for a crazed big guy.”

Jorge nodded and relayed the message. The three truckers muttered in acknowledgement.

“What are their names?” Mancini asked. “Ask them their names but don’t tell them ours, for Christ’s sake.”

Jorge engaged in a brief conversation. “The one to the left is Jose.” He pointed to the chunky guy. “The other two are Alvaro and Mavelio.” Jorge pointed to the other two guys in turn. 

Mancini took the shotgun from the old guy’s dead hand and broke the barrels. He saw two cartridges still in place.

“He didn’t even get a shot off,” he muttered to himself.

Mancini stood, held out the shotgun and glanced between Jorge and Trey. “Either of you two fired one of these old things before?”

They both shook their heads.

“Good, well don’t fire this one, it’s likely to blow up in your face.” He snapped the barrels closed and tossed the weapon to Trey, who caught it one handed. “Only fire it as a very last resort and make sure I’m out of the damn way if you decide to pull those triggers. You’ll be better to use it as a kind of club for now. It’ll be slightly better than that bar stool leg you’ve got right there.”

Trey dropped the wooden leg and studied the old fashioned shotgun.

“I suspect that thing is more of a museum piece the old guy used to scare away any rowdy assholes,” Mancini added. “Come
on, let’s go find this big, ugly son of a bitch before he infects anybody else.”

Mancini was about to turn to lead the way through the internal door. One of the truckers jabbered excitedly and Mancini glanced in his direction.
Jose pointed over Mancini’s right shoulder with a worried expression on his chubby face. Mancini spun around and saw the old guy had risen from the floor and seemingly risen from the dead. The others hadn’t seen the elderly man rise to his feet due to the vintage wooden barrel obscuring their view.

The old guy’s face was still pale and drained of blood. His eyes remained half closed and he muttered incoherent, garbled rasps, causing blood to bubble from the wounds to his throat.