Vengeance is Mine by Steven Torres

Author:Steven Torres
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: latino; latinx; own voices; latino fiction; flame tree press; creepy stories; detective fiction; thriller fiction; mystery; revenge fiction; Liam Neeson; Taken
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2022-01-27T15:35:08+00:00

Chapter Twelve

Ray woke when it was dark, and he felt like staying in bed until morning, but he had only one solid lead, and he had to play it out.

Before dying, José had said Manny González was the one who arranged things, the leader. Paying Manny a visit was the only thing left for Ray to do, and that’s where he was headed.

He knew it was colder than it had been; he could hear the wind outside, but he wore only a couple of sweaters this time. Manny might fight back and having a broken arm was enough of a disadvantage – he didn’t need a thick coat limiting his movements. He packed his semiautomatic into his waist holster, the revolver went to an ankle holster, and he carried the gun he’d taken from his attackers in a brown paper bag. Even with all these preparations, he needed to make two stops before going after Manny.

* * *

On Bruckner Boulevard, about three miles from where Ray lived, there was a series of junkyards and scrap metal processing plants. No one lived there. By day there was the bustle of flatbed trucks bringing piles of old radiators or cast-iron tubs and of tow trucks bringing in wrecks their owners have given up on. By night there were only the sounds of strays that acted as security dogs – there really wasn’t anything to keep from thieves unless they came prepared to haul away bulk metals that could be sold for pennies per pound. Bulldozers and cranes were disabled before the yards were closed for the night. The dogs didn’t protect much – they just kind of showed up and got fed for snarling. Most of them wouldn’t hurt you unless you hurt them first. Some, not even then. Others were mean – used to staking out their territory. They’d chomp without warning.

Ray drove out to Bruckner to see Jerry Ramirez. Jerry worked late, took money home with him, carried a gun at all times. At any one time he had a half dozen dogs living off scraps he threw them. He made sure they were the type to run from a fight. If they snapped at him, he shot them.

Ray parked outside the fence, attracting all the dogs. He let himself in through a gate that had a padlock that hadn’t been done up. Jerry came out of a trailer that was hidden behind a pile of squashed cars twenty feet high. He had a snub-nosed revolver in his right hand.

“It’s me,” Ray said. The dogs lost all interest in him as soon as Jerry came out into the yard.

“Me? Who?” Jerry squinted. “Ray Cruz?”

Ray nodded.

“What the hell happened to you?” Jerry asked.

“I ran into a door,” Ray said.

Jerry took a look past Ray from the top step of the trailer.

“Let me guess, you got the door in the trunk of your car and you brought it here to beat the living shit out of it.”

“Almost. Let’s talk in the trailer.”

Inside, it wasn’t much warmer, but there was no wind.

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