Chapter 7: Basura
May 24, 2001
12:48 P.m.
Keystone Motel, Los Angeles, California
“Cielos! What the hell happened to you?”
“My mood reflects the weather. I’m more prone to violence in warmer climates… besides having a particular enjoyment for hunting down gang members.”
“Are you ex CIA then or something? I met an agent named Saren the other day who said the exact same thing… you know what, I don’t care. Take a shower, Trevor.”
Daines had no reason to argue, tearing off his tank top as he entered the bathroom. With all the running around they had done that morning, the group had simply agreed to meet up in their motel room once they had finished off their collective assignments. However, though Jack and Fred had indicated they would be heading back to their cheap accommodation right after they dropped off their captive dealer, neither them or Max were to be found. As Fabio heard the sound of water turning on, he also found himself catching the voice of the cripple as well.
“Boss take the dog out on a walk?”
“Went to the park. They didn’t think you’d get back until one.”
“Harry broke easy enough, especially when I cut his hand apart.”
The FBI agent rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he resisted the urge to vomit. “Don’t need the details. Just because I live in a world of violence doesn’t mean I enjoy it.”
“That so?” Trevor asked, his voice softer now from beneath the warm waters of an actually fully functional shower head. Best part about the motel room. “Guess you aren’t Cuauhtémoc or Cortes, are you Joaquin?”
“The poem again? Your whole group has a fixation on it.”
“No, we’re simply trying to teach you a lesson Argentino.” Trevor replied, cursing as he nearly slipped on a bar of soap. Washing yourself is one thing; cleaning blood when you only have one good arm and a robotic leg was another. Still, he kept the conversation going easily enough even though the shower was turning into a real pain as usual.
“All people, women and men, have the moral responsibility to not only remember their past but to embrace it. You are the legacy of many a great leader and villain; even from the lower sectors of South America, you still have a more legitimate claim and connection to legends like Hildalgo, Pancho Villa, Nezahualcóyotl and Emiliano Zapata. You are Latino; even as you pretend to be American you can’t deny your true heritage.”
“A heritage of what, might I ask? Of war and robberies, of revolutions and abuse? Of drunkards, dictators and liars? Do you know who the most prominent saint among my people are? Gauchito Gil, a promiscuous drunk known for playing as a Spanish Robin Hood. We have hundreds of shrines dedicated to him, yet even the Catholic Church, gung ho about venerating the mystical, refuses to canonize him given their ability to recognize that he was a scumbag.
“I don’t see what I have to be proud of. My country gave me no cause to be proud of my heritage as they waged their dirty war, while the incompetent thieves who run Argentina now have simply made my perspective worst. If it’s all the same to you, I would trade your skin in an instant; let me be White, and let you be Chicano.”
The water ceased, Trevor wordless as Fabio waited for him to dry off and emerge from the dirty bathroom. Thankfully, when the door did open, that was the only ghastly sight he had to witness; Trevor came out fully dressed, cargo shorts and a T-shirt featuring some current pop rock band covering his scarred skin.
That didn’t mean he’d let the suited agent get off easy though. “You study European history? Do you know many deaths my ancestors have to account for? The subjugations and slavery that we condoned? There is no honor in being white; only the pain of knowing that every race besides your own has suffered at your ancestor’s hands at one time or another, all because of the color of their skin and nothing more.”
No time to debate that. The door opened at the moment to reveal the happy face of Max, bounding in with a bone in his snout as he leapt onto the empty, previously made but now ruined bed. Quickly came the cool older men behind him, both lacking a single drop of sweat though they were clad in fall clothing during the heat of spring.
A good sight, if only to draw attention away. Fabio left his chair and brushed his own forehead clean, jealous of his partner’s abilities to control their internal body temperature, as he complained “Bout time you got back. Didn’t come to LA on vacation.”
“Really? Because you didn’t have to come along with us on this trip Master Lopez. This is entirely on you.” The Spaniard answered, the Butler moving to check the bathroom as he smelled his friend’s bloody clothing. Finding it on the ground, he went to work as he drew a lighter from waistcoat and prepared to burn the articles, unneeded for the conversation that was to come.
An exchange of words conducted mostly by Jack. Having taken off his eyepatch before the walk, the calm bearded man spoke slowly and kindly once more as he let out a sigh. “So… you have a name, Trevor?”
“And more. Not only a lead to finding your fugitive, but some recreational activities as well. I got names on dog fighters, their rings, drug dealers and their curricular locals. The worst of the worst, all ready to face the judgement of god.”
“You did what now?” Fabio asked, Jack explaining for his Blond partner.
“We have the time and the man power… we don’t need Fred nor Trevor when they can go about their own acts of divine intervention. I spoke with them last night… they’ll take out other branches of Mara 18, while we focus on finding Morales… Make the world a better place for everyone.”
“Vigilantism then? Not that I disagree, just sounds like you’re trying to play superhero more than anything else.”
“As opposed to what… I already moved all of my pieces, Fabio. I don’t do much to make sure the instrumentality project comes together… I have hundreds of agents who do that for me. This isn’t about playing hero… this is nothing more than a hobby.”
Must have been nice. Kill for fun, not for money or a greater cause. Make the world better because you have nothing better to do; Fred couldn’t imagine living that kind of life where you had absolutely no worries. Even with the bills paid, he still worried about getting shot or succumbing to disease or fate during a field assignment. What must have it been like for Jack then, the man who controlled these things?
Well, it wasn’t for him to figure out. The FBI agent shrugged, adjusting his tie as he wiggled his nose, the fumes escaping the bathroom as Fred continued to dispose of Trevor’s dirty garments. Resisting the urge to cough, Lopez asked “Alright, so what’s the plan then?”
“Trevor.”
Trevor, who had been marking a map up with a variety of sharpies that had been bought on the drive around the city, brought it over to the table that Fabio and Jack were sitting at as he displayed it for them to see. Then, pointing with his only hand, he laid out the war plan in what would be the opening salvo against Los Ocelotes and Mara 18.
“Red for me, Green for Fred, and Black for you two. I have a particular disgust for those who hurt or abuse children; I’ll be taking care of the schools, wiping out those dealers who’ve been fishing around for kids.
“Fred, meanwhile, will be a bit more discreet. Given his wider spread targets, besides the heat these fighters pack, will be targeting the underground dog fighting ring. He’ll kill the breeders and participants, while liberating the animals themselves and finding no kill shelters. Any money found on scene will help pay for their rehabilitation.
“That leaves you two. The Long Halloween is the definition of a shit hole; there are actual prostitutes there that you can pay to take a crap on on. This is the kind of kink palace where only the most perverted and depraved go to; a walking den of date rapes and STDs. What you do about the patrons is your choice; I’d go in hot.”
“Sexual promiscuity seems a bit harsh to warrant an execution, as does dog fighting. You guys really have to go so far as to kill them a
ll?”
“Why not?” Jack asked, his façade slipping. “If it was a child that was being abused or thrown in a ring, you’d call for the slaver’s death in an instant. What’s the difference between a dog and a child? Same intelligence, same innocent spirit.”
“One grows up to be an adult, the other stays a dog?”
Jack shook his head, his blue eye drifting towards the heaven at the thought. “Does that change that at one point of time, they’re the same… only a child killer has the capacity to hurt pets, and only the sociopath who can torture dogs and cats will have the capacity to abuse children… Guilt of one of these sins is a clear culpability of another.”
“Yet when did our justice system start convicting on what we might do? Where in the scriptures does God punish those for what they might do?”
Trevor took the chance to answer this one. “The Zoot Suit Riots. The internment camps we set up for the Japanese. The entirety of the Cold War was built upon the principal of convicting others on what they will do rather than what they did do.
“As for the Bible, God confounded the languages when man began to build their tower of Babel. He destroyed humanity with a flood not just because of their current wickedness, but because they would continue to degrade in violence until they wiped each other out.
“Even better is the New Testament; the point of Christ’s Sermon on the Mount was that we should be held accountable not just for our actions, but for our thoughts and plans. Adultery isn’t just screwing someone, it’s lusting in the heart and fantasizing about it in the mind. Hellfire doesn’t just come to those who murder; feeling anger and thinking ill of one’s brother was enough to invoke the lord’s condemnation. The whole gospel message of Christ is that one isn’t good for not doing sin; one only becomes good when they’re no longer capable of sin.”
“But that’s impossible!” Fabio rejected, throwing his hands up. “Then there’s no such thing as a good man on Earth! If you interpret it that way, than simply having the capacity and ability to ponder sinning is sin in itself.”
“Thus you see why God condemned all of human kind to die… we are not responsible for Adam’s transgression, but we will always fail because of it. The need for a savior, the plan of the atonement and salvation, the miracle of baptism and forgiveness… you’re starting to get why they’re so necessary.
“But we can talk about that on a better day… my goal remains. The dog fighters will die, the dealers pitching to kids will perish… and those caught in that club will die today as well. The time of mercy has passed… Garland’s justice will be filled, lest we say that God doesn’t punish the wicked. The question is… will you join our crusade?”