The Eye of the Tigress by Paul Coggins

Author:Paul Coggins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: N/A
Publisher: Post Hill Press
Published: 2021-06-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

The black Tahoe zipped around the limo and screeched to a stop between Cash and his Porsche.

Faced with a choice of fight or flight, Cash hit upon a third option: freeze. He stood his ground. His heart pumped like mad. Sweat glands gushed. Miraculously he managed not to piss his pants.

Beaten to the prey, the limo sped away, leaving fewer witnesses to Cash’s fate. Whatever that might be. He still had no clue as to who loomed behind the dark windows of the SUV: the feds or a cartel.

Both had a nasty habit of snatching folks off the street. Both bought Tahoes by the fleet and stole them by the score. The cartels had branched out into carjacking. The feds had a euphemism for their brand of theft. Called it “asset forfeiture.”

A ruse by any other name….

Two goons bailed from the vehicle. A squat Latino and a pale beanpole.

Cheech and Long.

They pulled the old coat-flip trick, revealing the pistols on their hips and flashing gold badges too quickly for Cash to catch the fine print.

“Can I see those badges again?” he said.

Cheech shook his head. Long lifted Cash’s watch, wallet, and phone.

“Am I under arrest?”

“Not yet,” Cheech said.

They shoved Cash into the back of the Tahoe and blindfolded him. The loose blindfold left a partial view of the driver’s face but no line of sight to the front seat passenger.

“Is this really necessary?” He started to point out that he’d already seen their faces but caught himself. It wasn’t good for his health to remind the captors of that.

“Keep it on.” Cheech had a heavy Hispanic accent. “Or we’ll cuff you.”

Cash nodded. They say the loss of one sense, like sight, sharpens the others. It sure as hell spiked Cash’s sense of foreboding.

He tried to keep it together by assuring himself that the street pickup was more mind game than endgame. The badges could be counterfeit, but the cheap suits suggested they were feds, not cartel.

Into the frying pan but not the fire.

His panic level flared again. How hard would it be for La Tigra’s soldiers to play dress up? Or in this case, dress down?

During the short ride, no one spoke. Other than Cash, of course. He rattled off questions, all unanswered. The one most often repeated: “Where are you taking me?”

The Tahoe stopped, and the goons pulled Cash—still blindfolded—from the SUV. The hot breath of a revving plane swept over him. Rough hands dragged him onto the plane and strapped him into a leather seat.

“Let me go now, and we’ll forget all about this.” Cash tried to sound more put out than freaked out. Didn’t work.

An elbow drilled his gut, and he doubled over, far as the seatbelt allowed. As soon as the plane went airborne, he got yanked to his feet and dragged to the back.

A heavy door closed behind him. All was black and still. No sound other than the pounding of his heart.

The blindfold came off. He stood in an enclosed space the size of a storage shed.

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