Enigma Forced

Rodrigo kept his temper in check by using his large, beefy fingers to knead the stiff tendons in his neck. He turned his soulless, cold, black eyes toward the seated man. “Miguel, I don’t understand. How did you make it to this drop location without the driver, truck, or, more importantly, my cargo?” Rodrigo straightened his shoulder holster to remind the man of the gun under his arm.

Nervous sweat beaded on Miguel’s face. “We stopped to get directions,” he sputtered. “Toby left me in the cab. He went across to the store for directions and water. It was so hot. A few minutes later, I heard gunshots. Then, police cars raced into the parking lot. Three officers got out. One was carrying a metal pipe. He ran straight for the glass doors, which exploded on impact. They entered with guns drawn. Seconds later, I heard more gunfire, so I ran from the cab. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t think it was a good idea to hang around and explain to the police. I hitched a ride, telling the driver the area I needed. He dropped me off a couple of blocks from here. I was glad I remembered the address and found you.”

Rodrigo cast angry glances at his two silent associates. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, getting madder by the minute. “Why didn’t you drive the truck? You had the keys. The engine was running.”

Miguel sobbed. “I don’t know how to drive a rig like that. You gotta believe me.” He looked at the man, then offered, “Why don’t we just go and get it? We aren’t that far, maybe half an hour. I can show you. Your cargo should be okay. It wasn’t at the store parking lot. Maybe Toby is okay and waiting for me.”

Rodrigo sat at the computer and clicked the keyboard, searching for news. His eyes widened as he saw the breaking news story about the 18-wheeler, its cargo, and the shooting fatalities. He shook his head in disbelief at the sudden turn of events.

A long moment of silence was interrupted by Rodrigo clucking his tongue in annoyance. “Too late. You should have tried to leave with the cargo.” He shook his head at the turn of events as his stomach soured. “I need to call the shipper and explain this mess. I know the next step, but let’s hear it anyway.” In a practiced fluid motion, Rodrigo placed a call and put it on speaker.

The man’s gruff voice barked in a thick Spanish accent. “Why is my timetable running behind again? You shoulda called two hours ago. What’s the hold-up?”

Rodrigo’s fingers drummed on the desk. “It’s a total write-off. The rig and all the cargo are close by in the hands of the authorities. The news report suggests Toby took one too many bullets in the head.”

“What? How the hell did that happen? Why is it a total loss? And who knows the details?”

“I have the driver’s riding buddy who ran from the scene. He knows too much or nothing, so not a complete write-off.”

“Damnit. Wipe the scene clean. Burn it if you must. We can’t use that location as a processing point again. Start looking for another location at least a hundred miles away. I’ll destroy the financials and alert the buyers,” the man insisted.

“And the runner,” Rodrigo asked. “The whiney one?”

“He’s useless. Kill him and add him to the fire. Screw-ups and losers aren’t needed in my operation.”

Nodding, Rodrigo disconnected the call. “Men, you heard the boss. Clean everything with the standard bleach wash; we have to go. But first, take our friend out in pieces so the dogs can eat. Then, add whatever remains of him into the inferno. We leave in an hour.”

Rodrigo pulled out his .45 caliber Colt, pointing it at the trembling man.

“You weren’t going to pay us, were you?” Miguel whimpered.

“No.” He pulled the trigger twice,