Mastim's Curse

Chapter 41

The Dead Horse Cantina turns out to be little more than a shack at the edge of town. Inside are only four small tables and a worn bar. It's too hot in here for my comfort. There's only one small ceiling fan that's turning too slowly to do any good in the stuffy room. The man running the place doesn't speak English and my Spanish is so bad that we don't have much of a conversation. I do manage to get a lukewarm beer out of him. I nurse the beer while waiting anxiously at a wooden table that looks a hundred years old and is so grooved with hand carved graffiti and cigarette burns that the original table top is no longer visible. The whole place smells of decay, dust, and sweat. Except for my quiet friend behind the bar, the place is empty.

I'm halfway through with the beer and am just starting to have doubts when there are footsteps outside, a lot of them.

Hard looking men start to pile into the small bar, eight of them in total. They've all got guns, not exactly pointed at me, but held at the ready.

Part of me is scared, but a larger part of me is glad. This means I'm getting close. These guys must have some idea where Nicole is. I just need to convince them to tell me. Right as I'm sizing up the opposition, and deciding whether to use the table or chair as my weapon of choice, a car drives up outside. My curiosity is peeked, so I hold off on doing anything rash.

After a moment, two men walk in and I recognize both of them right away. I stand to great my host. "Hello Mr. Krieger."

He and his bodyguard stop just inside the door. He seems surprised that I know his name, but he recovers quickly. "Hello Mr. Mastim. Please sit." He motions to my chair.

I remain standing. "What brings you to Mexico?" I ask like I don't have a care in the world.

"Me? I'm from here originally. This is my home town."

"Funny, you don't sound Mexican," I say.

"Don't let my lack of an accent fool you. I went to school in the States, but my parents came to Mexico before I was born. Back when things were becoming quiet unpleasant in Berlin."

"Oh really? My parents came from Germany also. Maybe we're related."

His smile widens, which makes it even creepier. "Yes. Perhaps we are. Regardless, it seems our fates are intertwined."

"Yes, but it doesn't have to be that way. Give me Nicole and we can separate our fates and each go our separate way. That way, everyone gets to live happily ever after." I eye the mass of armed men around me. Sure, they can kill me, but I'll make sure to take Krieger with me. I'm still debating whether to use the chair or table. I've been in a few bar fights and a sturdy chair can be devastating in close quarters. Although, with this many guns, a table might be better. And this table is just the right size, big enough to act as a shield while being light enough for me to swing effectively.

"How about if I give you a chance to have exactly what you want," he says.

"Is it a good chance?" I hope it's better than my odds of fighting all these guys at once and surviving.

"I don't think you will be disappointed." He steps closer. "You see, I love games, all kinds of games. And we've come up with one for you to play."

A game? Nicole's life is on the line and he wants me to play a game. What a whacko. "What do I get if I play your game?"

"That's the best part. If you play, you don't even have to win. I'll take you to your daughter no matter what the outcome."

Ok, that sounds way too good to be true. I sit and motion for him to join me. "Tell me about this game of yours."

He says where he is and calls to the man behind the bar who sets three shot glasses on a try and brings them to my table. They're filled with an amber colored liquid.

Krieger takes another step closer, but he's still out of reach. "All you have to do is pick one of these shots and drink it in one quick gulp. If you do that, I will take you to your daughter."

"You're going to take me to Nicole if I drink one of these?" I motion to the shot glasses.

He gives me a skeletal grin. "Yes."

"That seems a bit too easy. What's in them?" I ask.

His eyebrows rise. "Oh, they all contain some amount of rum. However, one of them is laced with a lethal dose of arsenic and one has a powerful sedative."

It figures, one chance to die, one to see Nicole, and one for them to do whatever they want with me. Those odds suck. I might have a better chance with the table. "You're a sick fucker. You know that?"

Again, the skeletal grin. "Yes, I know."

While I'm thinking it over, I realize one of the men to my right is filming me. I point at him. "Why is he recording this?"

"There are a lot of bets riding on the outcome of our meeting."

"Bets?"

"Yes. Gambling is one of my major businesses," he says with a shrug.

"People have placed bets on which shot I take?"

"Not only on which shot you take... there are bets on if you will take any of them, if you will live long enough to take one, and other such possible outcomes of this meeting. There are even wagers on if I'll live through this." He laughs a sick laugh.

It's my turn to smile. "What're the odds you don't make it?"

"They are quite in my favor, believe me."

Maybe, but long shots do happen. I take a hard look at all the armed men. They look like farmers, not fighters. Likely, none of them have ever killed a man. I've made my decision.