No Room for Mercy (45 page)

Tiva, meanwhile, was pacing the library floor when Siloam walked in
and began rummaging through stacks of magazines in search of an
editor she felt would give Jane Dow a chance at stardom. She could
see Tiva out the corner of her eyes as she went about her business
and could tell she was troubled. “You okay, Tiva?” she
finally asked.

“Just a thang I’m going through,” Tiva responded.

“Sometimes a ‘thang’ could be too much for one
person to bear. Care to share?”

“Not really.”

“Tiva,” Siloam said humbly as she pulled out a chair and
extended her hand.

Tiva sat down and Siloam sat beside her. “Tell me, please,
what’s going on with you?”

Tiva eyed Siloam with a blank stare. Discussing family business was a
no-no. As much as she needed a listening ear, Tiva refused to engage
Siloam in conversation.

“You know me and Junior have a history, right?” Siloam
asked lowly.

“That was years ago.”

“Yes. Years ago. You ever wonder why we never continued on with
our rapport?”

“Not really.”

“You’re being curt with me and I understand. But you need
to know that I know the man Junior is, Tiva. He’s every bit his
father, and for that? We could never be. You are the very thing
Junior needs because you two are the same.”

“What you mean, Siloam?”

“Tiva? I don’t live in this house with blinders on. Mary
and Regina are the truly innocent ones, but I know what goes on here.
You, your father, Dawk and Bay are in the business that DeeDee,
Mendoza and rest his soul, Lucky, was into when he was alive.”

“You talk like you know everything.”

“Not everything, but enough, Tiva. I figured out long before
Serena and Kevin died what your parents were into. But you know what?
I don’t care about that. Your mother and father gave me life.
I’m grateful for that.”

“Why you never said nothing?”

“Because it isn’t my place to do so, Tiva. I accept what
goes on here the same way you accept what you do.”

“The wedding may not happen.”

“You can’t think like that. For that to happen it would
disrupt your life entirely. I don’t think such a tragedy is in
your future.”

Tiva smiled at that moment. For as long as she could remember, Siloam
was always an optimistic person. Optimism isn’t a guarantee of
one’s survival, however; and as much as Tiva appreciated
Siloam’s attempt to comfort her, she knew Junior’s fate
rested on his fortitude to fight for his life.

Truths had come out on this day amongst some of the family. Secrets
were revealed, judgments were nonexistent. Those in the know were now
along for the journey’s duration and the possible outcomes were
understood. There was no room to shed tears should the unthinkable
happen because everybody involved understood that the business
outside of the ranch could lead to possible death.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

TYING UP LOOSE ENDS

The day after the hit on Carmella found Rafael Gacha sitting in the
backseat his Bentley watching as his plane cruised to a halt on the
runway of Margarita Island. Two of his henchmen exited the plane with
DeAngelo Spires walking in between the two as they descended the
stairs. As he watched the men, Gacha placed hollow tip shells into a
.9mm Beretta. He leaned back and rested his arm on the top of the
soft leather as DeAngelo approached. “Mister Spires,” he
smiled, “what a great thing you have done for us, my friend.”

“It wasn’t by choice as you know.” DeAngelo said
meekly as he climbed into the front seat. “Are they o—”

“Wait a minute,” Gacha said, cutting DeAngelo off as he
picked up a remote control and turned the volume up on the stereo.
“
Nunca lo encontrarás…siempre y cuando
vivas…alguien que te ama…tan tierna como yo...”
(
You’ll
never find…as long as you live…someone who loves you…as
tender as I do…)

“I love Mister Lou Rawls’s song, but this Spanish band
has a much better version,” Gacha laughed over the music as he
tapped the backseats of his ride as if he were playing drums. “I
met Mister Rawls once you know? Down here on the island when he was
vacationing. What a wonderful time we had. He sung this song on the
beach before me and a group of friends.”

“Can I just have my—”

“Wait,” Gacha told DeAngelo, my favorite part is coming
up. “
Oh, yo no estoy tratando de hacer su estancia bebé…pero
sé de alguna manera algún día…algún
modo…te vas a perder mi cariñoso...”
(Oh,
I’m not trying to make you stay baby…but I know somehow
someday…some way…you’re going to miss my loving…)

DeAngelo listened as Gacha sang along with the music, steadily
tapping the headrests, adding to his anxiety.

“Okay, amigo,” Gacha said halfway through the song, “let
me give you back what you’ve given up so easily.”

“It may have been easy on your part, but it wasn’t by
choice, Rafael.” DeAngelo reiterated as Gacha’s driver
put the car in drive.

“Since when have we been on a first name basis?” Gacha
asked seriously as his driver slowed the car to a halt.

DeAngelo turned and eyed Gacha in the backseat and said nervously,
“I’m, I’m sorry, Senor Gacha. I meant no
disrespect.”

Gacha laughed at that moment. “I’m only kidding with you,
Mister Spires,” he said as he patted DeAngelo’s shoulder.
“Loosen up, my friend. Would you like some champagne during the
trip back to my home?”

“No thank you. Can I just have my family back, please?”
DeAngelo pleaded.

“I will take you to them right now.” Gacha remarked as
his driver pulled off once more.

The kidnapping of DeAngelo’s two sisters and his mother down in
Mexico City two months earlier by a crew of Gacha’s soldiers
shortly after they’d met up with Doss in Brownsville, Texas,
had pushed the man into a corner. He’d been loyal to the
Lapiente` family for years, but he’d grown lax on protecting
his own family. Gacha knew exactly who to latch on to in order to get
close Carmella and he’d picked the perfect mark in DeAngelo.
Having his mother and two sisters run the risk of torture and death
was more than he could bear and he readily chose family over
friendship. He’d sabotaged Carmella’s plane the night
before she left and had given up Carmella’s schedule.

DeAngelo rode in silence in the passenger seat as Gacha’s
driver wheeled his way through town. It was dead silent in the car
now, a little unnerving for DeAngelo, but he didn’t show any
fear. All he wanted was his family back and he would retire from the
business. Brazil was on his mind as Gacha’s car slowed to a
roll in front of a woodshed near the rear of the orange groves on his
vast span of land.

Gacha and his driver hopped out the car and began walking towards the
small wood shed. “What are you waiting on?” Gacha asked
as he walked past DeAngelo sitting in the front seat. “You want
to see your family, no?” he asked as he patted his side with
his gun.

DeAngelo looked around at the scenery surrounding him from the front
seat. He was in a shady area with numerous wooden tables laced with
remnants of oranges that had been picked a while ago. He slowly
emerged from the car, leaving the passenger side door open, a way of
telling himself and the men who were eyeing him coldly that he had
plans on returning.

“Where are they?” DeAngelo asked Gacha meekly.

“There in the shed. You’ll have to untie them. We’ll
wait here.”

“I’ve done all that you’ve—”

“No need to speak,” Gacha said, cutting DeAngelo’s
remarks short. “Your family is waiting on you. I told you, you
would see them again so go.”

Slowly, DeAngelo approached the wooden doors of the shed. He heard no
sound as he grew near the entrance and he began shedding silent
tears, realizing he’d reached the end of the line. His family
was dead if he had to tell it, and he was now walking into his final
resting place. He’d tried though; he’d tried to save his
family, but the trust he’d put in his family’s captors
had been betrayed in the same manner in which he’d betrayed
Carmella. DeAngelo looked back at Gacha as he stood before the wooden
doors.

Gacha merely extended his hands, remaining silent as he eyed
DeAngelo. He pulled one of the doors open slowly, and was relieved to
see his mother and two sisters tied up and kneeling down on the dirt
floor.

“Momma! I’ve come for you!” DeAngelo said happily
as he removed the gags from his mother and sisters’ mouths and
untied them.

“
Por
qué viniste aquí? No debería haber venido,
DeAngelo!”
(Why did you come here? You
shouldn’t have come here, DeAngelo!) DeAngelo’s mother
said in horror.

“We are done, mother. We have enough money to live three lives.
I’ve made us all rich.” DeAngelo said happily.

“We are done, mother? Never have any words spoken been truer,”
Gacha stated calmly as he entered the woodshed with four of his
henchmen following his lead, all of the men toting AK-47s and eyeing
DeAngelo and his family coldly.

“
No!
Por favor el señor Gacha. Ha hecho todo que pregunta! Tómeme!
Deje a mis hijos ir, por favor!”
(No!
Please Mister Gacha. He’s done all you ask! Take me! Let my
children go, please!) DeAngelo’s mother pleaded as she held
onto her daughters, who were crying their hearts out.

DeAngelo jumped up and stood before his family. “What is this?”
he asked nervously.

“I told you, you would see your family again, my friend. I
didn’t tell you the rest, though, now did I? Your mother knows
what else I have to ask of you all, Senor.”

“What else do you want from me? From us?”

“Glad you asked. I want you all to die, my friend. Just to
die,” Gacha said nonchalantly as he and his men opened fire on
the Spires family, riddling their bodies with multiple gunshots,
nearly tearing them apart. When the smoke cleared, Gacha surveyed the
damage and said, “Chop them up and cover their bodies with lime
and bury them deep in the woods.”

“Si, boss,” one of the men replied.

The death of DeAngelo Spires had closed the chapter on the Lapiente`
family. With their deaths, went the planned hit on Denver and the
Sinaloas backed away, having lost one of their distributors. Those
who remained behind in Mexico had no fight left in them; they were
only warehouse workers who hadn’t the strength to battle the
Americans, let alone Gacha himself. The Boss of Bosses had brought
about a swift end to the Spires family on behalf of his American
counterparts and now, it would become business as usual for all
parties involved.

*******

“He’s fortunate the bullet didn’t travel downwards
instead of upwards,” Doctor Fitzgerald told Dawk as he operated
on a comatose Junior inside JunJie’s mansion in Paradise,
Nevada.

“So he’s gonna make it?” Dawk asked as he stood a
ways off, watching the doctor use a scalpel and tweezers on Junior.

“By all measures I would say so. He is in the clear so far and
things are looking up,” Doctor Fitzgerald replied happily as he
removed small pieces of shattered bone from Junior’s clavicle.

“Good,” Dawk said as he pulled out his cell phone to call
Tiva, “his wife will be glad to know he’s okay.”

JunJie had flown down to Brownsville the night before where he picked
up the Chicago Gang and transported them back to Las Vegas where
medical attention was afforded Junior and the soldier from Fox Park.
Junior’s wounds were severe, but not life threatening. Before
Doctor Fitzgerald induced a coma on Junior, he told Dawk that he
could feel the tips of his fingers. Things were looking up.

“Our friend south of the border appreciates your work, Mister
Dawkins,” JunJie said as the two sat in his lounge area on the
third floor of his mansion. “That hit has opened big doors for
us.”

“Well,” Doss said as JunJie poured him a glass of vodka
and orange juice, “I’ve done what I had to do for my
family. That woman was causing major problems for all of us.”

“She was an interesting person, though. A little disturbed, but
she was intelligent and courageous. I have to give her that much
credit. They will fight like cats and dogs over the route through
Valle Hermoso now.”

“Will it affect us?”

“Not in the least. We ship everything on those freighters I was
able to obtain after the Onishi brothers’, umm, their, sudden
departure shall I say?”

“Anybody ever question you about that job?”

“If you mean the authorities then the answer is yes. But I have
a contact on the inside. My alibi at the time checks out also and
your gang’s name is nonexistent.”

“How connected is your man on the inside?”

“He’s a federal agent, my friend. That’s all you
need to know.”

“You have the FBI in your pocket I see. Well, that should keep
us all a step ahead.”

“There’s nothing to worry about at the present time
except for the health of your friend, Doss. We’ve won not only
the battle, but the war itself. As of today, we are in the clear.”

“Good. I have a feeling things are going to pick up on the drug
side of things and the last thing we need is for the law to start
sniffing around.”

“The burden is mines to bear, my friend. You just remain safe.
Your payment will be delivered within the week,” JunJie said as
he poured himself a drink. “And don’t worry about Junior.
Doctor Fitzgerald is a wizard,” he ended.

Doss and JunJie were enjoying the success garnered on Carmella’s
hit in October of 2004. The job by far was a classic takedown. The
authorities in Mexico were under the impression that Carmella had
been hit by a rival cartel from within the country, although files
garnered on the homicides had been forwarded to the F.B.I., who had
an interest in the on-going drug wars south of the border.