Night of the Jaguar by Joe Gannon Read Free Book Online

“The Python . Yeah.”
    â€œThe same bullet?”
    â€œSo what?”
    â€œYou didn’t used to court danger unnecessarily.”
    â€œDanger?” Ajax snatched up the Python. “Horacio, what is my job? Ninety-nine percent of the perps are piss-poor mestizos ground down by misery, hopelessness, until they snap one night while on a bender and kill whoever is at hand. Wives, children, drinking buddies. Then they get sober and are so full of self-hatred they sit at home and wait for me to arrest them. I don’t need bullets. I hardly even need a mind. I’m a street sweeper. That’s one thing the Revo hasn’t changed. The debris in this country has always been the dark-skinned, the morenos.”
    â€œJesus said, ‘The poor will always be with us.’”
    â€œThat was easy for Jesus. I don’t have omniscient patience.” Ajax spun the Python’s chamber, pointed it in the air, and pulled the trigger. Click . “Eighty-seven. I need that drink now .”
    Horacio was not alarmed by the Russian roulette. Ajax had always appeared crazier than he was. It was how he’d handled the boredom and the bloodletting of their long insurgency.
    Horacio upended the unopened bottle and pretended to pour Ajax a large glass of rum. Then did the same for himself.
    Ajax lifted his empty glass. “To all those who have died.”
    â€œAnd all those who will.”
    Ajax tipped his glass. Held the imaginary liquor in his mouth. Seemed to savor it. He “swallowed” and let loose a deep, sensual sigh.
    â€œOhhhh. I can feel it Horacio. That deep, wonderful burn, the blaze, the glow of the first one of the day.”
    â€œHave another?”
    â€œNo thank ya sin-your. I prumised a good ameego of mine to watch mah drankin’.”
    Horacio smiled, gave a little bow, laid his cane across his lap the way the soldier had his AK. “This Gladys you spoke of. Lieutenant … Darío? What do you make of her?”
    Ajax answered without hesitation, “She’s green. But she’s a shot-caller. Not a sandbag.”
    Horacio nodded. It was an old and cruel distinction he’d taught Ajax in the mountains. You divided your troops into two types, the sandbags who were expendable, and the shot-callers you needed to lead. Ajax had found the delineation barbarous, until he’d taken command. Then it had become indispensable.
    â€œI’m actually glad she brought those robots from State Security.”
    â€œRobots?”
    â€œSharpshooters.”
    Horacio needed another measurement. “Is State Security really so different from the Policía?”
    â€œYou ask me that!”
    â€œWell, you’ve been both…”
    â€œIs there a difference between cops-and-robbers and spies-and-assassins? I thought we were clear on this subject!”
    Ajax slammed his empty glass down. Horacio pretended to pour another, and Ajax knocked it back.
    Horacio felt some slight guilt, poking his son in another wound, for the more he’d put Ajax in harm’s way, the more he’d thought of him as a son. “Of course we are clear on the subject. I apologize.”
    â€œAnyway. If Gladys hadn’t brought the robots, she’d’ve had to shoot the kid. That’s no way to start a career.”
    Horacio could see that Ajax was still shaky, but there was no time for rest. There never had been. He had to move Ajax to the business at hand. “Yes. There’s been a lot of dying lately.”
    Ajax sat up straight, his face golden in the candlelight. Horacio saw the recognition. Ajax knew it was not El Maestro who’d come to comfort him. Nor El Poeta. But The Jesuit.
    â€œWho? Who Horacio? Who else has died?”
    Horacio almost laughed at his hooting. Then he remembered that the owl was a night predator—with talons that slay and a beak to shred.

 
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    â€œMira, Harri! Harri Sucio ! No dispare Dirtee Harri