The Sweetest Kill (Morales' Cartel #1)

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1 9 8 6,

M A Z A T L A N,

S I N A O L A,

M E X I C O,

The confined expanse of car, clammy temperature, and the white plastic mask only heightened the fury, if they did not serve any other purpose at the instant. An urge to take the mask off was surging after every minute and each time it was getting stronger. He could feel the sweat trickle down on his forehead as he waited for the security guard to finish his chatter with the shopkeeper. That motherfucker!

Dabbing his left foot on the floor, he counted to ten to let his rage calm down. Nothing happened, oh, except it fueled further. He heard the snapping sound of the door and noticed him sitting on the driver's seat. That, idiota, did not even realise his presence in the backseat of his own car. Starting the car, he put a blasted country song on the radio and Hunter suppressed the impulse to put a bullet in his head.

Deciding to end the game Hunter placed a pistol on his temple, and whispered, "No, don't feel free to move and you are not qualified to scream either; we will get to your qualification later. Oh no, dear, don't pull out your gun. Just keep driving like a good little chap. Does that sound reasonable to you?"

Hunter watched the frightened look on his face. Lips trembling, he mumbled in a watery tone, "I-I look whoever you are, I don't know you. How about we sort this out in a civil way, over a cup of coffee?"

Leaning towards his captive, he pressed the gun and whispered in the quietest tone, "Cute, but I will decline."

"Look, I work in a prison and maybe you don't know what charges are pressed against threatening a police off-"

"Let's cut the overused dialogues and get to the point, shall we? Your daughter has a night out," tossing a picture on his lap, he went on, "your wife has gone to see her sick mother," hurling another three pictures, he murmured in his ear, "damn! This asks for a compliment, you know how to take a payoff."

His whole face went white in a matter of seconds and the grip on wheels tightened, "What do you want from me."

Hunter smirked, "Oh! Nothing much," heaving a pill in his breast pocket, he explained, "DEA is going to attend inmate 102 for the interrogation tomorrow. Make sure they attend his funeral instead. That pill works good with milk, you got that?"

His breathing increased, and he looked close to having a panic attack. "I-I have never killed a man I don't think I am cut for th-"

"But you have never lost a daughter either, or wife or job or all of them together for that matter. C'mon, we all have our firsts. Make me happy and I may think on your offer of coffee."

•••••••†••••••†•••••••

The hard smell of alcohol and smoke whacked his nose as he entered the club, the tone of this whorehouse was always the same. Half-naked girls with huge tits and stacked ass rubbing themselves to poles to get off, men usually with potbellies kneading cocks and throwing money to the striptease while their wives were sitting home. The waitresses bending maximum to serve beer, breast and ass. Disgusting!

"Look who's here - the famous ghost aka Hunter. So, tell me Hunter are you here for your usual? For Lola? Damn! She's good but don't you get tired of the same puss-"