Paco Valdez
BS
"No," you tell him; "I thank you, but no. I'm going to hang low in town for a while and wait for this whole thing to blow over."
LoneWolf nods. "I am sorry to hear that. They will be looking for you."
"You're right, they will. I figure they won't be looking for me in town though. Only a fool would hide in town."
"We agree on that then," he says. "I wish you well. Should you survive this, know that you have friends among the Kamani people." You thank him and he trots off into the distance.
You stare after him for a while, wondering if accompanying him wouldn't have been the wiser move. You know that you are taking a risk in hiding in town, but it's a calculated gamble that you may just be able to pull off.
You turn around and enter Fullton at a mild canter, putting thoughts of the man who saved your life behind you. You look around nervously as you make your way to the stables. Thankfully, the horse stables are located near the edge of town. You hand Betty over to the stable hand, flipping the boy two golden coins and telling him to take care of the mare for a week. You tell him that the spare currency from your money is his. He smiles broadly at you, nodding eagerly, and assures you that he will personally care for your steed; grooming her daily and feeding her the finest oats.
Having taken care of your horse, you make your way cautiously to the nearest hotel; trying to attract as little attention to yourself as possible. You enter the lobby and approach the desk, asking for a room and placing your money before the man. He takes your money and gives you a key; versing you briefly on the location of your room.
You follow his directions and walk down the hall, glancing down at your key. Room 13. Not exactly the most fortunate of numbers.
After unlocking the door you step inside. The room is well kept. The bed is made and the water in the wash bowl appears to be fresh. Perhaps this will not be such a bad stay after all, you tell yourself. You can live off of room service for the next week before checking to see how much things have died down.
The first day you are there you do nothing but sleep. It feels good to sleep so much. It feels good to occupy your mind with dreams rather than the nervous tension you find in reality. When you are awake, you peer out your window almost constantly; but when you sleep you are able to put everything into the background.
Three full days go by without incident.
On the fourth day there is a knock at your door. It is not the knock that housekeeping uses; nor is it the knock of room service. It is an unfamiliar knock and you approach the door with caution.
Before you reach the door, however, it comes swinging in at you; smacking you in the face and sending you reeling backwards in pain. You clutch at your broken nose while struggling to remain standing.
Standing before you are three men. One of them is a man of average build who looks at you with absolute hatred. The second is a large brutish Mexican who glares at you with complete apathy; which you find all the more unsettling. Standing between the two of them is an older wealthy looking man with a groomed mustache; he holds a look of intellect and arrogance in his eyes. He is straight backed and holds his head high. He looks at you coldly. You recognize him immediately and swallow hard. He is Paco Valdez; and he is not a man to be fucked with.
"You are the man I have been looking for." He says calmly, stepping forward from the group as you stare back at him with wide eyes full of terror. "You know who I am and you know what I must do."
He takes a deep breath, looking around your room. "You have disrespected me, disrespected my name. For this you must pay."
He punches you in the face. He hits hard for a man of his age. He knocks you to the floor and kicks twice at your stomach before stepping away. One of his goons raises you from the ground, picking you up by your collar and standing you on your feet.
Paco looks at you from across the room. "The only thing I can't figure out, hombre," He says to you, "is why didn't you run? Why did you hang around in town? Did you think I would not find you? Did you think I would forget?"
"I was hoping." You say.
He laughs at this. His goons laugh as well, following his lead. Abruptly, his laughter ends. "Kill him," He says to his men. "Make him suffer first and then kill him."
He looks you once in the eyes before walking out of your room.
The big mans' fist hits your stomach before you are ready for it. From the force behind his punch, you're not sure how much good being ready would have been.
You collapse onto the floor spitting up blood while the men laugh at you and kick you over and over again.
The pain is excruciating and you pray for it to end. Each moment you endure is like years of torture. Each breath you take sears through your broken body with excruciating pain and torment. When will it end?, your mind screams as the abuse continues.
Then, through the grace of God, the pain suddenly ends. Everything goes black. All noises are silenced, all scents eliminated, all pain is numbed. There is nothing anymore. Nothing.
"No," you tell him; "I thank you, but no. I'm going to hang low in town for a while and wait for this whole thing to blow over."
LoneWolf nods. "I am sorry to hear that. They will be looking for you."
"You're right, they will. I figure they won't be looking for me in town though. Only a fool would hide in town."
"We agree on that then," he says. "I wish you well. Should you survive this, know that you have friends among the Kamani people." You thank him and he trots off into the distance.
You stare after him for a while, wondering if accompanying him wouldn't have been the wiser move. You know that you are taking a risk in hiding in town, but it's a calculated gamble that you may just be able to pull off.
You turn around and enter Fullton at a mild canter, putting thoughts of the man who saved your life behind you. You look around nervously as you make your way to the stables. Thankfully, the horse stables are located near the edge of town. You hand Betty over to the stable hand, flipping the boy two golden coins and telling him to take care of the mare for a week. You tell him that the spare currency from your money is his. He smiles broadly at you, nodding eagerly, and assures you that he will personally care for your steed; grooming her daily and feeding her the finest oats.
Having taken care of your horse, you make your way cautiously to the nearest hotel; trying to attract as little attention to yourself as possible. You enter the lobby and approach the desk, asking for a room and placing your money before the man. He takes your money and gives you a key; versing you briefly on the location of your room.
You follow his directions and walk down the hall, glancing down at your key. Room 13. Not exactly the most fortunate of numbers.
After unlocking the door you step inside. The room is well kept. The bed is made and the water in the wash bowl appears to be fresh. Perhaps this will not be such a bad stay after all, you tell yourself. You can live off of room service for the next week before checking to see how much things have died down.
The first day you are there you do nothing but sleep. It feels good to sleep so much. It feels good to occupy your mind with dreams rather than the nervous tension you find in reality. When you are awake, you peer out your window almost constantly; but when you sleep you are able to put everything into the background.
Three full days go by without incident.
On the fourth day there is a knock at your door. It is not the knock that housekeeping uses; nor is it the knock of room service. It is an unfamiliar knock and you approach the door with caution.
Before you reach the door, however, it comes swinging in at you; smacking you in the face and sending you reeling backwards in pain. You clutch at your broken nose while struggling to remain standing.
Standing before you are three men. One of them is a man of average build who looks at you with absolute hatred. The second is a large brutish Mexican who glares at you with complete apathy; which you find all the more unsettling. Standing between the two of them is an older wealthy looking man with a groomed mustache; he holds a look of intellect and arrogance in his eyes. He is straight backed and holds his head high. He looks at you coldly. You recognize him immediately and swallow hard. He is Paco Valdez; and he is not a man to be fucked with.
"You are the man I have been looking for." He says calmly, stepping forward from the group as you stare back at him with wide eyes full of terror. "You know who I am and you know what I must do."
He takes a deep breath, looking around your room. "You have disrespected me, disrespected my name. For this you must pay."
He punches you in the face. He hits hard for a man of his age. He knocks you to the floor and kicks twice at your stomach before stepping away. One of his goons raises you from the ground, picking you up by your collar and standing you on your feet.
Paco looks at you from across the room. "The only thing I can't figure out, hombre," He says to you, "is why didn't you run? Why did you hang around in town? Did you think I would not find you? Did you think I would forget?"
"I was hoping." You say.
He laughs at this. His goons laugh as well, following his lead. Abruptly, his laughter ends. "Kill him," He says to his men. "Make him suffer first and then kill him."
He looks you once in the eyes before walking out of your room.
The big mans' fist hits your stomach before you are ready for it. From the force behind his punch, you're not sure how much good being ready would have been.
You collapse onto the floor spitting up blood while the men laugh at you and kick you over and over again.
The pain is excruciating and you pray for it to end. Each moment you endure is like years of torture. Each breath you take sears through your broken body with excruciating pain and torment. When will it end?, your mind screams as the abuse continues.
Then, through the grace of God, the pain suddenly ends. Everything goes black. All noises are silenced, all scents eliminated, all pain is numbed. There is nothing anymore. Nothing.
