Juan Gómez.
The last one on the list.
We stopped in front of the town's market.
I got out of the SUV, and some of my men followed me.
"He sells veggies there, Boss," one of them told me, and yes, I remembered that his parents did that too. He was probably still working there.
Fucking idiot.
We went inside, and there were lots of people walking from one stand to another. The vendors were trying to attract customers.
"Welcome. Come on in," some of them yelled.
"We have everything you're looking for. Just ask," some other yelled.
But everyone fell silent when they saw us.
Customers walking by also looked at us in fear and hugged their children, not to protect them, but to prevent them from being dumb enough to approach us.
They did well.
We walked through the aisles, and they were just as I remembered them: the first stands around were small butcher shops where various pieces of animals hung on the wall, and in front they had a display case with various meats of something they called pork or beef, but most likely it was horse or something worse; further on there were fruit stands where, yes, their fruit was fresh and cheap, but their scales were so damn miscalibrated that they would register a full pound when it was only like three quarters, and the owners knew it 'cause they were the assholes who miscalibrated them; and at the back of the market you could see those damn shoe stores where there were those fucking shoemakers who sold those shitty shoes that just screw up your feet.
But the veggie stands were closer.
"Juan Gómez?" I asked some lady who was in one of the stands.
She pointed to a stand almost at the end of the aisle.
But it was closed.
"That's his stand, Boss, but I don't know why he didn't open today," she told me.
We went there.
"Is this Juan Gómez' stand?" I asked the guy at the nearest stand-
"Yes, Boss, is this one," he told me, "but I dunno why he didn't open. He did yesterday. But let me see if we can get his address. Everything you need."
"You better," I told him, and he did get us an address. "For your own sake, I hope Juan's there," I left two of my men with him to beat the shit out of him if he'd given me a fake address, or to give him a little something if the address was Juan's. I like to reward loyalty, and it's almost always easier to win people over with some cash than with bullets.
What people do for money.
Anyway, the rest of my men and I left the market and went to that address.
It was a house as shitty as all the others around: rusty metal door, mint green walls, an abandoned dog on the roof.
I knocked hard on the door and waited.
No one opened.
"Open up, or I'll open myself," I raised my voice.
No one opened.
Well, let it be known that I gave a warning. I raised my hand, cast a spell on the door, and destroyed it in less than a second.
We went inside. There was a small living room with old and worn-out furniture that they had surely inherited from their grandparents. The kitchen was piled high with dirty dishes and grimy pans, and there was nobody there. We went into the only two bedrooms in the house, and in both, there were clothes everywhere, the bed was unmade, and all the drawers were open.
In all my years as a criminal, I had broken into so many houses and finding them like this wasn't so unusual 'cause some people are filthy, and they're almost always poor, even though I'm sure rich people's houses would be the same if they didn't hire people to clean them up.
But it was kinda strange that almost all the mess was in the bedrooms. A messy house is messy everywhere.
Anyway, I wandered around one of those rooms, checked a couple of drawers, and found a wallet. I opened it. There were receipts, lottery tickets, a few bucks, way too many credit cards, and several IDs. I took one out, and the first thing I noticed was a picture of a man with a bald head and the face of a fucking idiot.
I read the name next to the picture, even though I knew perfectly well who it was. Juan Gómez Pérez. Huh. I didn't know his second last name was Pérez, but that stupid fucking face was unmistakable.
I sat on the bed and looked at Juan's wallet. I didn't think he was so absentminded as to go out and forget something as important as his wallet, so there were two possibilities:
He was hidden somewhere in the house, or He took his stuff and ran away as fast as he could.
Now, if he ran away, then he knew I was looking for him. Maybe one of my men told him, or maybe he found out I was looking for my old friends and knew that sooner or later I'd come for him. I wouldn't be surprised if Paco's mother or sister told him I paid them a visit.
But hey, if he ran away, we just had to find him, and there was only one way in and out of that shitty town, and it was the highway.
Anyway, I left that room and found my men in the other one; they were disconnecting the screen that was on the wall.
Well, that's what Juan got for not being there.
"Let's go," I told them. "And tell the other guys that this is indeed Juan's house, so they can pay the man who gave us this address."
I left the house, and my men followed me. They were carrying that fucking screen.
I walked to the neighbor's house and knocked on the door.
No one opened.
"Open up, or I'll open myself," I raised my voice.
"No, no, no. We don't want any trouble," someone inside the house said and opened the door. It was a man who looked about 50 years old, thin and scared shitless.
"Where's Juan Gómez?"
"I dunno, Boss. I just saw that he left just before you arrived."
So Juan did run away.
"And how did he leave? Did he leave in a car, in a motorcycle?"
"In a car, Boss," he also told me its brand and color, but I don't remember that shit.
"Well, that better be his car," I told him and wanted to pay for his loyalty somehow. I looked at my men, and an idea crossed my mind. "Give him the screen," I told them.
They were a little confused.
"That's not necessary, Boss," said the man.
"Yes, it is," I told the man, and I turned to my men. "You gonna give him the screen or not?"
"What if he lied to us and that's not the car, Boss?" one of them asked me, mostly 'cause he didn't want to give him his recently stolen screen.
"Then you come back and take it away," I told him.
"I swear, Boss," the man said, very frightened. "That's his car. They only have that one, and they always use it."
"I hope you're right," I told him, and I got into my SUV. My men ended up giving him the screen and got into the SUV too.
"Where we going, Boss?" the one guy driving asked me.
"To the highway, asshole, where else?" I said, and we took off. While that guy floored it, I pulled out my phone and called one of my contacts.
"¿Yes, Boss?" he immediately answered.
"Hi, commander," I told him. I have a little problem: I'm looking for a car," I told him the make and color, "that must be somewhere on the highway."
"Don't worry, boss," said the police commander. "I'll tell my men to set up checkpoints throughout the highway and stop any car matching that description."
"I'm leaving it in your hands, commander," I said and hung up.
We left the town and got on the highway. That fucking commander should better find that car 'cause I hate when people get away.