Page 1 of For the Love of Animals

Dali the Dog

CHAPTER 1 - CARMEN

OUCH. WHATEVER BUG was crawling over my ankle bit me again, and I cursed under my breath. But I couldn’t swat it. Not when two of Miguel Lozano’s guards were looking in my direction. The slightest movement could give my position away, our mission would be compromised, and mi abuela would cry big, messy tears at my funeral.

I squinted through my rifle scope again as the thinner of the two guards laughed and lit a cigarette. Didn’t he know those things killed people? Although granted, the life expectancy of Lozano’s henchmen wasn’t long.

And me? I might just die of boredom.

If I did, what would they tell my mother? She hadn’t wanted me to join the army in the first place, so I’d told a small fib and now she thought I worked in the kitchen, cooking meals for the troops. I’m sorry, Señora Hernandez, Carmen accidentally cut an artery and bled to death while preparing burritos.

As the only woman in a twenty-person team seconded out of GAFE High Command, the most elite group in Mexico’s Special Forces, I had one job, and that was to shoot people. Literally, one job. When I’d joined the group, I’d hoped for so much more, but despite the men at the top going on about equal opportunities, I’d been bashing my head off the glass ceiling for a year now while laughing off sexist “banter” and pretending I didn’t care when my colleagues patted me on the ass.

And the question was, did I want it to continue? I’d nearly completed five years, and my contract was up in a month. Everyone just assumed I’d sign up for another stint. Including me, until our new commanding officer had arrived two months ago, a hurried replacement after the previous one got arrested for corruption. After our beloved new leader made it very clear I’d never be considered an equal, I’d christened him Captain Pendejo. While the men trained in the latest counterterrorism techniques, I was expected to be on the range day in, day out, round after round. I loved my guns, don’t get me wrong, but sometimes I just wanted a little variety.

What would I do if I quit? There wasn’t much call for snipers outside the military. Perhaps I could retrain as a secretary or a realtor or a nurse? You know, keep people alive for a change. Or a dog groomer. I liked dogs.

A puppy lay on Lozano’s veranda, snoozing in the sun. The poor thing was so skinny I could count her ribs through my scope, but she wouldn’t get any love from Lozano’s men—one of them had already kicked her as he walked past. Asshole. I’d followed him with my crosshairs, finger on the trigger, imagining what would happen if I squeezed just a tiny bit harder. With the high-velocity rounds I used, his head would have exploded.

But I had to let him walk. Today, I’d been assigned to a last-minute job by Captain P after our number-one sniper got shot—oh, the irony—and all I could do was watch from six hundred yards while my so-called partner, José, got the job of infiltrating the villa and killing Lozano and his second in command, a three-hundred-pound motherfucker they called el antílope. The freaking antelope. El elefante would have been more appropriate.

José had disappeared inside four hours ago, and I hadn’t moved since. Backache was part of the job. What was he doing in there? Every so often, muffled footsteps or a snippet of conversation came through my earpiece, but he never bothered giving me an update. He had a plan, he’d assured me back at base, although he didn’t care to share the details. My instructions were simple: if Lozano or el antílope showed their faces outside the villa, shoot them then exfiltrate the scene. Yes, I’d truly felt like a valued member of the team after that back-of-an-envelope briefing.

The puppy got up, stretched, and meandered into the house, careful to give el cabrón in the lawn chair a wide berth. Kind of wished I could do the same.

Crack.

A gunshot sounded in stereo, almost deafening me. A single groan followed, then silence.

“José?”

Nothing.

“José? Are you there?”

Was he dead or just unable to speak? Shouts came from the house, and the man in the lawn chair ran inside. Should I stay or leave? If José had been killed, I was a sitting duck because Lozano’s men would surely find his earpiece and look for an accomplice. But if he was alive and I left him, I could be signing his death warrant. And what if he was injured? Should I try to help? This. This was why we needed proper briefings.

A crackle sounded through my earpiece, and for a moment hope blossomed in my chest, but then my heart stuttered.

“Nobody tries to kill me and gets away with it. El antílope is coming for—”

Another gunshot, silenced this time, followed by a voice growling, “Fuck you, elephant man.”

That wasn’t José, definitely not. This man sounded American, but Lozano didn’t have any Americans in the house. Didn’t trust them.

So who was he? If my assumptions were correct, el antílope had shot José, and then the mysterious stranger had shot el antílope. Instinct told me to get out of there, but curiosity got the better of me as a muffled boom shook the far side of the house.

I stayed put.

Smoke curled from the roof as Lozano’s limousine accelerated down the driveway. Dammit—our main target was escaping, and there was no point in taking a shot. That vehicle had bulletproof glass, armoured bodywork, and run-flat tyres. Nothing short of an army would get Mexico’s número uno drug dealer out of his car, and they’d be swimming in blood while they did it.

Back at the house, a dark figure appeared in the doorway beside the veranda, framed by wisps of smoke as he scanned left and right. Behind him, flames licked at the furnishings as the fire destroyed one overly ostentatious home and about eighteen million dollars’ worth of coke, if our estimates were correct. Lozano used the proceeds to finance terrorist campaigns against the government, among other things, so the blaze probably saved as many lives as it took.

I trained my crosshairs on the guy, but before I could take a shot, he ducked back inside. Why? I soon got my answer. When he reappeared, he was stuffing something inside his jacket. Something wriggly. The puppy. He’d gone back for the puppy. And while he was on his rescue mission, he hadn’t noticed lawn-chair-guy creeping around the side of the house, eyes fixed on the doorway.

The stranger was quick, I’d give him that. He got his gun up before LCG managed to fire, and we had ourselves a standoff.

A good old Mexican standoff.

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