by Brandon Crocker (November 2025)
Max Mason was dead asleep in his hotel room. That’s when it hit. The big one. It felt like a magnitude nine on the Richter scale. He opened his eyes to see a gorgeous, voluptuous brunette seated next to him, shaking his shoulder.
“Hey Max. Time to wake up!”
“What? Where am I?” he asked with a slur.
“Where do you think? Your hotel room.”
“Sure. Right. I don’t remember much of last night. Who are you?”
“Ha, ha, ha. You celebrated way too much last night.”
“Do I know you?”
“Not that well, apparently.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
A rugged looking man, clean shaven with a square jaw and tight-cropped graying hair strode across the room to join the conversation.
“Come on, Max. It’s nearly noon, and we’ve got a 2 pm flight out of here if you remember that.”
“Hey, Ryan, what are you doing here? Can’t you see I’ve got a gorgeous creature on my bed that I’m trying to get to know better?”
“Enough clowning. We’ve got to blow. We’ve got a million dollars in hot ice we’ve got to get to Amsterdam.”
“Yes, yes. The job of a lifetime. Now we have it made. You, me, Suzanne. We’re one heck of a team. How’d you guys get in here, by the way?”
“What? You don’t think hotel security is any match for the likes of us, do you?”
All three laughed heartily at the joke.
“Cut! Cut!” yelled the director. “That’s great!”
“Thank God that’s over,” said Nick Nestor, the actor playing Max Mason. “What a piece of crap,” he added, under his breath.
“Hey, at this stage in our career, you’ve got to take what comes along,” said Mike McCreedy as the three actors headed off stage.
Donna “Bambi” Giambi, however, was not of the same mind. “Speak for yourselves, old guys. This could be a big break for me.”
“Yeah. Right, sweetie,” replied Nick.
“Don’t call me sweetie!”
Nick Nestor headed to the set bathroom to wipe off his makeup. It was getting heavier each year. He was now 45 and even with all the makeup it was getting harder to land a role as a leading man. In fact, this was his first time in years, and instead of playing opposite some reasonably well-known actress, his love interest was “Bambi” Giambi whose last (and only) leading role was in the low-budget horror flop Vampire Queen. And she didn’t get that role due to her acting talent. When you have a movie with no plot and cheap sets you have to offer the audience something, and that something was Bambi running around in a low-cut, form-fitting dress.
The Great Diamond Thieves was definitely a step up for Bambi. But it was a step down for Nick. Indeed, his career over the last decade was one long descending staircase, not helped any by a year in treatment to get sober and a nasty divorce. But it was a paycheck, and the writer, who was also the director and the producer, a young fellow named Regis Crawford, promised that there may be one or two spinoffs in the offing. Nick could do with a little stable work, as his agent, Leo Harrigan, reminded him when he offered him the role as Max Mason.
Now that his work was done on this film, Nick could go home and relax and wait for Leo to call with another job. He knew the wait might be a long one, and didn’t expect that The Great Diamond Thieves would reignite interest in him among casting directors.
***
Nick lived in a modest two-bedroom condo in Carlsbad, California, a couple hours drive south of Hollywood, if traffic wasn’t too bad. It was only a block from the beach and, being on the second floor, he enjoyed an ocean view. That’s what he was enjoying now.
His ex-wife got the home in San Pedro, and he bought this little bachelor’s pad. He liked it. Fortunately, he’d snagged it before the market went crazy. He wouldn’t be able to afford it—or anything so close to the beach in Southern California—if he had to buy it today. But everything was expensive in California these days. He just paid $20 for a carne asada burrito and a Coke from the little taqueria down the street.
He had a real estate broker, Carly Daking (“Let Da King Find Your Castle”) do a little hunting around for him, to see if he could cash out and get something a little cheaper somewhere, but soon discovered he was in the “affordable” area of Southern California. Just about anything else near the coast would cost even more, and he didn’t want to part with the ocean or the sun.
As he gazed out over the Pacific, his phone rang. It was Leo Harrigan.
“Hey, Leo. Got a job for me?”
“Of course, Nick. Have I ever let you down?”
“Yes.”
“Ha! Well, I’ve got a good one for you. Remember that flick you made for Regis Crawford a few months back?”
“How could I forget.”
“Well, he’s got another project in the works. He wants to return the same cast—you, Bambi, McCreedy. He even says he’s got a part for me! You know how I’ve always wanted to play a part! So, what’ya say?”
“Haven’t you left out a few important details? What’s the pay? Can I see the script?”
“Script is still a work in progress, but Regis says it’ll be fun. A bit different. Not the same characters as the last one. Pay isn’t bad, either. I worked him up to $65,000 and you’d have top billing.”
“$65,000 isn’t bad. I’m a bit surprised he can afford that. I can’t imagine the last one has done very well.”
“It’s done well enough. When the budget is low, you don’t need a blockbuster. And it got some decent reviews.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Didn’t you see the Zephyr yesterday?” asked Leo, referring to a local entertainment weekly.
“No.”
“They called it ‘mildly entertaining’.”
“Say anything about me?”
“Well, they said you were mediocre. But they did say that Bambi was a promising fresh face.”
“Good, God. I need a drink.”
“Hey, Nick, you promised me you’d stay off the hard stuff.”
“Only joking, Leo.”
“And don’t be hard on Bambi. You know she’s my client, too.”
“Yes. You’ve branched out from actors to models.”
“Hey Nick, good looks never did you any harm. Bambi’s picking up the craft, just like you did.”
Nick hated to admit it, but Leo had a point. Nick’s first couple of films weren’t exactly the sorts of performances you see studied in acting school.
“Alright, you’ve talked me into it. I don’t have anything else pressing.”
***
It was a cool and overcast morning, which was just fine as far as Nick was concerned. He was finishing up a three mile beach run. As an aging actor, he needed to stay in shape. Especially as Regis Crawford’s new movie had him in another action role, and the budget had no room for stunt doubles. As he walked up the stairs to his unit, the sun finally started to break through the clouds. Nick was still hopeful his career could do the same.
After a long shower and a good breakfast, Nick got dressed and took his place on his couch, waiting for the next scene in the life of Nick Nestor, aging B-Actor to unfold. He didn’t have to wait too long.
Nick’s cell phone, sitting on the coffee table in front of him, started to ring. He leaned over and saw it was Carly.
“Hi Carly. What’s up?”
“Hi Nick. You still looking to move to cheaper quarters?”
“Sure. But you know my requirements. You found something?”
“Have you considered Mexico?”
“Mexico?”
“Yes, the country to the south.”
“Never really thought of it. What you got?”
“Another broker I’ve known for a while just sent me some stuff on this new development. It’s been sitting for a long time, but the owner, some old Italian guy, is now dividing it up into one-acre lots for residential development. It’s located just a mile from the Pacific shore and a quaint little fishing village, about an hour south of Ensenada. Not a lot of amenities, but not overrun by tourists.”
“Yeah? What’s the price?”
“Well, with the land and a modest, but comfortable little hacienda, you could be in it for about a quarter million. Maybe 300K if you get a little fancy. You know I can sell your place quick and leave you with a cash pile of at least half a million after closing costs and paying off your mortgage.”
“Interesting. But I thought Gringos weren’t allowed to own land in Mexico anywhere near the ocean.”
“That’s true. But it’s easy to get around that, setting up a Mexican-owned LLC to own the land that you lease from. It’s done all the time, and as long as you don’t do something to get the government mad at you, there’s not much risk.”
“Okay. How do I see it?”
“It’s about a four hour drive from where you are, and it’s appointment only. But I can set you up with the broker.”
“Sure. I’m between films so I can run down there sometime next week.”
“Great. I’ll e-mail the broker’s contact information and let him know you’ll be contacting him. I’ll also shoot you over a brochure. It’s called Bonofacio Farms.”
***
Nick decided to make the border crossing and spend the night in Tijuana to ensure he’d have plenty of time to make his noon appointment at Bonofacio Farms the following day. At nine he departed Tijuana in his old BMW and headed south. He was a little surprised when his navigation system told him to exit the main highway twenty-five miles south of Tijuana onto a narrow two-lane road headed east up into some rocky hills. It was getting hot outside so Nick rolled up the windows and turned on the air conditioning.
After a few miles he passed a small village and shortly thereafter crested a ridge and then began a winding decent into a desolate looking valley. Nick didn’t think this looked right. He wasn’t a geography expert, but it didn’t seem right to him, if his destination was on the Pacific coast, that he was still going southeast on a little back road that now was no longer paved. There was no traffic and when he found a flat area along the edge of the road Nick pulled over to check the navigation.
“Crap!” he exclaimed.
Nick discovered he had mistyped the name of the little fishing village and his navigation system was now directing him to some similarly named hovel on the east coast of the Baja peninsula. As he retyped the correct information into his navigation system, Nick heard a tapping on his window. He wasn’t an expert in these things, either, but the tapping sound appeared to be coming from the business end of an AK-47. The weapon in question was being held by an impatient looking gentleman in sunglasses and a baseball cap. He had three friends with him. Nick rolled down his window.
“I’m sorry. Am I somewhere I shouldn’t be? I took a wrong turn off the highway.”
“Si, senor, you are definitely where you shouldn’t be.”
“Well, sorry, I’ll just turn around here.”
“I don’t think so, senor.”
“Really, this is all just an error with my navigation system.”
“Si, senor.” Nick’s new friend suddenly gave him a funny look. “Don’t I know your face?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve never been south of Tijuana before.”
“Yes, you are Nick Nestor!”
Suddenly Nick’s fear was mixed with a little pride.
“You know me? Down here?”
“But of course, senor. I saw The Great Diamond Thieves just the other night.”
“Really? Did you like it?”
“Oh yes, senor. Especially Bambi Giambi. She is muy caliente!”
“Yes. Well, perhaps when I get back I can have her send you an autographed photo. We’re very good friends.”
“That would be very nice, senor Nestor. But now I need to take you to see another fan.”
“Another fan? But I have a business appointment to get to.”
“Yes, you do. Please move over to the passenger seat. I will drive.”
Nick’s new armed chauffer pulled the BMW back onto the dirt road, followed by two SUVs with other armed men. After thirty minutes they arrived at some sort of checkpoint where other armed men waived them through. They ascended another small ridge and then down into a box canyon in which sat a picturesque two-story adobe hacienda. Nick’s chauffer got out of the car and conferred with a couple guards on the hacienda’s front porch while the men from the trailing SUVs surrounded Nick’s BMW. Nick’s chauffer soon returned and opened Nick’s door.
“Please, senor Nestor. Follow me.”
Nick did as instructed and entered the hacienda where he was escorted to a colorful sitting room and into a comfortable chair.
“Please wait here.”
Nick waited. He looked at his watch. It was just after eleven. He looked at the guard standing at the other end of the room, who looked back at him with an intense stare. Finally, someone new walked into the room. He was a short, somewhat overweight young man, probably about 30 years old. He had a broad smile on his face and he quickly approached Nick.
“Nick Nestor! Welcome to my humble home! I am the man known as Chupacabra.”
“Chupacabra? Yes, I’ve heard of you,” said Nick as he stood to greet his host, recalling that the stories he had heard of Chupacabra, a notorious drug kingpin, where not very comforting.
“And I have heard of you! We are both famous!” Chupacabra exclaimed has he gave Nick a hug. “Please, have a seat! Would you like some lemonade?”
“Actually, that would be great. I am rather thirsty.”
“Lemonade!” yelled Chupacabra at the direction of one of the guards, as he clapped his hands twice and took a seat of his own, opposite Nick, separated by a small coffee table.
“This is a very unexpected visit, Mr. Nestor.”
“Yes, well I hadn’t actually intended to come this way. I was really headed to the Pacific coast, but I programmed my navigation system incorrectly and ended up going east instead of west.”
“Yes, yes. Navigation systems can be very tricky.”
A guard came in and set two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade on the table.
“Please, drink after you long journey.”
“Thank you.”
Nick took a long drink of lemonade. It was good. But Nick was hoping this friendly little chat with a fan of notorious reputation would be short and he could get back on his journey.
“It is very fortunate you came this way, Nick. May I call you Nick?”
“Yes, of course, senor…Chupacabra.”
“Thank you, Nick. As I was saying it was very fortunate you showing up. My main business has suffered some setbacks lately and I’ve been looking into some other business to supplement my income, and I think you can help me.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Nick, you. You are very famous in America. Even down here.”
“Well, I had a few good films years ago. Not much lately. But it’s kind of you to say so.”
“Oh, it is true. And I’m sure there are many people back in America who would gladly pay, say, $250,000 to see you returned alive and in one piece?”
Nick choked on his lemonade. After recovering his composure he added “You’re holding me for ransom?”
“Yes, that’s the general idea.”
“But you don’t understand! I lost most of what I had to my ex-wife in the divorce years ago, and she hates me!”
“Yes, women. I understand, Nick. What’s the saying, you can’t live with them and you can’t live without them? Ha, ha! So true. But certainly you have rich Hollywood friends?”
“No, all my friends are poor washouts, like myself.”
“There must be someone, Nick. Think hard. I’ll bring my price down, since I like you. We’ll do a half-price sale, say $125,000? If you can’t raise that, after I kill you I can write a book—The Last Days of Nick Nestor—and make $125,000 that way. A win-win for Chupacabra. So what do you say, Nick? Shall we make a short video on your phone and e-mail it to one of your friends?”
Nick didn’t really have much choice in the matter, so he made a hostage video with Chupacabra and decided his best shot was to send it to Leo. Chupacabra then took custody of his phone and showed him to a small bedroom on the second floor of the hacienda.
“I trust you’ll be comfortable here. We offer room service. Ha, ha, ha!”
The door closed behind him. Nick surveyed his room. A small bed, a dresser with a mirror, and a door leading to a small bathroom. He walked past the bed to the one window in the room which was securely decorated with wrought-iron bars. Taking in the view of the surrounding hillsides of rock and cactus, Nick sighed and muttered, “I hope Leo comes through.”
***
When Leo received the hostage video he thought it was a joke. He called Nick, but got no response. He watched the video again. Then he looked up Chupacabra on the internet.
“Good, God! That is him!”
Chupacabra had given instructions to reply to Nick’s e-mail within 12 hours for further instructions and also warned not to contact the police. But Leo thought he needed to consult somebody, so he took the video to a friend who happened to be a detective with the LAPD.
“You have $125,000?” the friend asked.
“Not readily available. Maybe in a few days.”
“Well, my advice would be to start getting it together and then try to play for time. Contact him and see what the next move is.”
Leo responded to Chupacabra saying he could get the $125,000 but it would take a week. Chupacabra replied that he had 72 hours. After that, he’d start removing body parts.
Leo put down the phone, feeling nauseated. There was a knock on his door.
“Who is it?” he shouted as he approached the door.
“It’s me, Donna.”
Leo opened the door. “What do you want, Donna?”
“Well, that’s not much of a greeting for your newest star,” she said as she made her way into Leo’s living room.
“I’ve got some things on my mind.”
“Me too. Like, when do we start shooting the new movie?”
“Have a seat, Donna,” he replied as he motioned towards the couch.
Donna took a seat. “There’s not a problem, is there?”
“Actually, there is. You can’t tell anybody, but Nick Nestor has been kidnapped.”
Donna laughed.
“No, I’m serious.” He showed Donna the video and the e-mails from Chupacabra.
“Oh my God! What are we going to do?”
Leo recounted his conversation with his detective friend. “I’ve been selling off some investments and gathering up the cash. I should be able to have it all by tomorrow afternoon.”
“Have you told McCreedy?”
“No. I figure the fewer people who know about this the better.”
“But he’s a former Navy SEAL!”
“He is? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, at least that’s what he told me. But maybe he was just hitting on me.”
“He is built like one. But he’s got to be fifty-something.”
“I think we should call him.”
An hour later, Mike McCreedy was in Leo’s living room, going over the situation.
“You say you’ll have the money together by tomorrow afternoon? It will take me that long to gather up the equipment I’ll need. Then I can be the bag man. But if things go right, I’ll see if I can get him out of there without handing over the money.”
“I’m going too,” interjected Donna.
“It will be very dangerous, Bambi.”
“Don’t call me Bambi. That’s only for the stage. I’m sure I can be of some help. I can create a distraction, if needed.”
“Yes, I’m sure you can.”
“If Bambi—I mean, if Donna’s going, I’m going too,” added Leo. “I’ve got to look after my clients.”
McCreedy gave Leo a sideways glance. “Really? Well, you’ll need to follow my instructions and stay out of the way.”
“Of course.”
***
Late the next afternoon, Donna, Leo, and McCreedy were approaching the border crossing at San Ysidro in McCreedy’s old Chevy Suburban.
“Oh, shit!” Leo suddenly exclaimed. “The checkpoint! Do you have guns in here? We’ll all be put away in a Mexican jail for the rest of our lives!”
“Calm down, Leo,” replied McCreedy with a hint of irritation in his voice. “I’m not an idiot.”
McCreedy pulled up beside a Mexican border guard. “Buenos, Dias.”
“Buenos, Dias. Can you open the back door please?”
McCreedy got out and opened the back the Suburban. Two Mexican officers looked in, but it was bare. Two minutes later the Suburban was headed through Tijuana.
“You didn’t bring any guns, explosives, anything?” asked Leo.
McCreedy just sat stone-faced as he drove down the highway. Ten minutes outside of Tijuana, McCreedy pulled off on to a dirt road and rolled up in front of a dilapidated farm house. A well-built Hispanic man in sunglasses emerged, carrying two large duffle bags. McCreedy walked around the Suburban and helped load the duffle bags into the back. The new man then got into the back seat next to Donna, taking in a good look.
“Well hello.”
“Hello to you.”
McCreedy jumped back into the driver’s seat.
“This is Vince Velasquez, and old friend. Vince, that’s Donna, code named Bambi, and up here is Leo, code named Chicken Heart.”
“What? I don’t like that code name.”
“Too bad.” McCreedy pulled back onto the road.
Leo continued his protest. “How about Simba? Then we’d be Bambi and Simba. That makes more sense, doesn’t it?”
“How so?”
“She’s an animated deer and I’m an animated lion. And my name is Leo, like Leo the lion.”
“I like Chicken Heart.”
“It is my $125,000 in the gym bag up here, remember.”
“Okay. You’re Simba.”
At dusk, they pulled off the road a couple miles before the little village Nick had first passed during his ill-fated journey.
“Okay, Simba, e-mail Chupacabra telling him you’ve got the money and will leave at first light and will be at the exchange point at ten tomorrow morning. It looks like they’ve set the exchange location just on the other side of the ridge. Vince and I will spend the night doing recon up there. At nine, you and Bambi will continue on in the Suburban to the exchange point. Unless you receive a signal from me or Vince, go ahead and hand over the money. If we can get back the money, you’ll know right away. If we can’t, you’ll pick us up at the village. Got it?”
“Got it.”
***
The night had been chilly, and when Leo and Donna emerged from the back of the Suburban at dawn, they both craved hot coffee. Instead, they had to settle for a couple small bottles of slightly cool cold-brewed coffee. And though sleeping in the back of the Suburban wasn’t very comfortable, they assumed they had it better than did McCreedy and Velasquez out among the rocks and cactus. And they were right. McCreedy and Velasquez were both tired, sore, and stiff. But they had done good reconnaissance and were now hidden dressed in desert camouflage above the exchange point.
Promptly at nine, Leo started up the Suburban, as directed. Slowly they drove up the road and in ten minutes approached the village. They noticed almost no human activity as they drove through. Soon they came to the top of the ridge and stopped. Leo checked their coordinates on his phone.
“Looks like it should be right down there,” he said pointing to a flat turnout about one hundred yards ahead.
Leo pulled the Suburban off the road onto the turnout. He checked his watch. It was 9:35. He got out, as did Donna, carrying the money bag. Leo surveyed the surroundings and saw nothing, except for two of Chupacabra’s men who were keeping an eye on them from the top of the ridge they had just crossed. He then sat with Donna on the front bumper, the gym bag with the money at their feet, keeping an eye on the road down into the valley. At precisely 9:59 they spied the dust being kicked up by two white SUVs making their way up the road.
“Here they come,” observed Leo.
Two minutes later, they were joined by the SUVs which disgorged three men carrying AK-47s, Chupacabra, and Nick, whose hands were tied behind his back. Chupacabra walked up to Leo and Donna while Nick and the armed men stayed close to the SUVs.
“There are two of you. I was only expecting one.”
“Nick’s girlfriend insisted on coming along.”
Donna quickly shot Leo a nasty look.
“Why it’s Bambi Giambi! ” Chupacabra said excitedly. “What an unexpected pleasure! You are Nick’s girlfriend?”
“Yes,” she answered with an imperceptible shutter. “Oh, and I’ve brought something for you,” she added as she reached behind her grabbing a large envelope. The armed men reacted by raising their weapons.
Chupacabra put up his right hand. “It’s okay. What is it you have brought Chupacabra? Certainly that envelope does not contain $125,000.”
“No. But in the video Nick said one of your men wanted a signed photograph. And I’ve enclosed one for you, too.” Donna stuck out her hand holding the envelope.
“I don’t know what to say. Thank you very much, Bambi. These will be treasured,” he said as he grabbed the envelope and took a step back. “And that,” he said, pointing to the gym bag, “is my $125,000?”
“Yes,” replied Leo. “It’s all there.”
“You wouldn’t mind throwing it a bit closer to me, would you?”
Leo did as he was instructed. Chupacabra looked inside and was satisfied.
“I will not insult you by counting it here. With my significant experience in handling cash, this looks about right. But would it have been too much to ask for you to have washed the gym bag before you put the money in?”
“Sorry, but I was under time constraints.”
“That is true. You may have your friend back.” Chupacabra motioned with his hand and two of the guards escorted Nick forward and Donna gave him a hug.
“Thanks girlfriend,” Nick said with a smile, “but you’ll have to do better than that if you ever hope to get an Academy Award nomination.”
Two simultaneous explosions lifted the two SUVs up in the air and sent the guard who had stayed back flying forward face-down in the dirt, unconscious. A second later, two rifle shots downed the two guards by Chupacabra, and a few seconds after that McCreedy and Velasquez were at the stunned Chupacabra’s side.
“We’ve decided the photos are payment enough,” said McCreedy as he snatched the bag from Chupacabra’s hands. “Don’t come after us, if you know what’s good for you, or we’ll take out your entire compound with a missile strike. Okay, let’s not wait around people!”
Quickly Leo and Donna ran with Nick to the back of the Suburban while McCreedy jumped in the driver’s seat and Velasquez rode shotgun. The Suburban kicked up gravel into Chupacabra’s face as it accelerated out of the turnout and back up the road to the crest of the ridge. As they crossed the ridge they passed Chupacabra’s two lookouts, who McCreedy and Velasquez had earlier bound and gagged.
“Wow, wow, wow!” exclaimed Leo.
“Keep your heads down back there,” McCreedy yelled back, “we still have a long way to go.”
The Suburban flew down the road, through the village towards the main highway. But as they neared the highway, something caught Velasquez’s eye.
“Trouble up ahead!”
Two more white SUVs were parked on the road a hundred yards before the intersection with the main highway. Several of Chupacabra’s men we getting out and taking up firing positions.
“I guess they didn’t believe the bluff about the missile strike,” mused McCreedy.
“We probably don’t look like the type of people with that kind of capability,” answered Velasquez as he stuck a submachine gun out his window and started firing at the road block.
“Hang on back there!” yelled McCreedy.
Chupacabra’s men were returning fire, shattering the windshield and riddling the front of the Suburban with bullets. Keeping his head down, McCreedy stepped on the gas and headed for the small gap between the two SUVs. He hit the back end of one of the SUVs, knocking it aside with a big bang, and punched through the gap. Both McCreedy’s and Velasquez’s faces were bloodied by impacting the dashboard, but they had broken through and we now turning onto the main highway north.
“Everyone okay back there?” yelled McCreedy.
“We’re doing fine,” answered Nick.
“Look at the temperature gauge,” said Velasquez.
“Yes, I see it’s rising fast. We’re probably leaking coolant, and other things. I think the front right tire is flat, too.”
“I don’t think we’ll make it to the border.”
McCreedy reduced speed but the temperature gauge continued to rise and the ride was getting rougher. Fifteen minutes later they were down to 30 miles per hour and McCreedy could barely see the highway for the steam rising from the engine.
“We’ll have to ditch it, and see if we can pick up a ride.”
“You think anyone will stop for us looking like we are?”
“We’ve got Donna.”
“Right.”
McCreedy pulled the dying Suburban off the highway and ran around to the back.
“Everyone out! We’re going to have to hoof it and hope we can pick up a ride!”
“How far do we have to go?” asked Donna as she jumped out the back.
“About 15 miles, I think,” answered McCreedy.
“That’s a long hike. Particularly in the midday heat.”
“Sorry. No other option.”
The group walked down the side of the highway, McCreedy and Velasquez having ditched most of their arsenal for less conspicuous handguns. Several cars passed without stopping.
“You ever see It Happened One Night with Clark Gable and Claudette Colbert?” asked Nick.
“Good idea,” replied McCreedy. “Donna, you stand here. When something big enough for all of us comes up the road, show a little leg. Everyone else, hide in the brush.”
It didn’t take long for a small pickup truck, driven by a young man to fall into the trap.
“Thank you, senor,” said McCreedy as the crew surprised the young man, dashing to his truck. “How far you going?”
“Tijuana.”
“Good enough. Everyone in the back of the truck. I’ll sit up front.”
Everyone piled in and soon they were again headed north at speed. After only a few minutes, however, McCreedy heard tapping on the back window of the cab. Velasquez was pointing to the sky to their right. They were being followed by a helicopter. And a few minutes after that, McCreedy’s attention was diverted to the road ahead of them. They could see the outskirts of Tijuana, but an obstacle in the form of two more white SUVs stopped in the road, surrounded by gunmen, stood in their way.
“Stop the truck!” commanded McCreedy, and the driver did as he was told. McCreedy then pulled out his pistol. “Sorry friend, but you have to get out now.”
McCreedy slid over to the vacant driver’s seat and sped down the road towards the roadblock, diverting off the road into the scrub brush just 50 feet in front of Chupacabra’s men, blinding them with a cloud of dirt. But they quickly got into their SUVs to give chase.
The first few hundred yards weren’t so bad, but the terrain was now getting significantly rougher. They were only a few miles from the border now, but traveling northeast, away from Tijuana and the border crossing. Nick, Donna, Leo, and Velasquez were hanging on for dear life in the bed of the truck. The jolting ride came to a sudden stop when McCreedy slammed into a shallow arroyo at 30 miles per hour. After taking a few seconds to gather his wits, McCreedy pushed open his door and ran around to the others strewn about the bed of the truck, bruised but intact.
“Everyone okay?”
He was greeted with a mixed chorus of “I think so” and “where did you learn to drive?”
“Come on. Follow the arroyo, and keep low.”
Velasquez pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call ahead for some help.”
The helicopter landed a couple hundred yards to the east and Chupacabra and an armed guard jumped out to join the chase. The men in the SUVs, reaching the arroyo, also abandoned their vehicles and proceeded on foot.
McCreedy could see the border fence a quarter mile away, but the arroyo was now veering west, parallel to the border. They’d have to make a run for it over open ground and then try to find a way through the fence. McCreedy gathered his forces and informed them of the situation.
“Everyone ready? Over the top!”
Everyone scrambled out of the arroyo, running as fast as they could over the rocks and brush towards the fence. They could see Chupacabra and his man on their right and then heard the sound of their guns opening fire. Suddenly, counter fire came from a couple of US Border Patrol agents on the other side of the border wall. A Border Patrol SUV also pulled up next to the fence depositing a couple more agents, one armed with a blow torch.
The men who had been pursuing them through the arroyo now also emerged on to the flat and opened fire. Bullets whizzed around the group and they dove down onto the ground twenty yards from the fence.
Leo let out a yell. “I’ve been hit!”
Suddenly another truck pulled up near the fence on the Mexican side of the border, fifty yards to their left. Out poured half a dozen Mexican soldiers who opened fire on Chupacabra’s men. Now getting fire from two directions, Chupacabra’s men fell back, and Chupacabra, himself, made haste for his helicopter.
The Border Patrol agent with the blow torch finished removing a portion of one of the vertical bars of the fence, allowing Donna to jump onto US soil. The others followed, pulling Leo through.
“An ambulance is on the way,” announced one of the Border Patrol agents.
“Hang in there, Leo. Help is one the way,” said McCreedy, but looking at the exit wound in Leo’s chest, he wasn’t sure if help would arrive soon enough.
Donna crouched down by Leo’s side. “It will be alright, Leo.”
Velasquez was trying to stop the bleeding, placing pressure over the wound.
“Yes, Leo,” said McCreedy. “You’ll be alright. It’s not that bad.” He then looked up at Velasquez who slowly shook his head.
Nick placed his hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Sorry for getting you into this, Leo. It was all my fault.”
“Nonsense, Nick. It’s been great fun,” Leo coughed. “You know, you guys … you’re the best friends … I’ve … ever … had.”
Leo’s head fell limp. Donna cried, “Oh Leo, Oh Leo!”
With a jerk, Leo raised his head back up. “Hey, can I do that again? I think I can do that better.”
Regis Crawford jumped in from stage left. “Cut! Cut! No, Leo, that was beautiful. Olivier couldn’t have done it any better. Okay, everyone, let’s get everything packed up! We’re a day behind schedule! Time is money!”
Nick helped Leo to his feet. “Well done. Maybe there is a future for you in acting.”
“Thanks, Nick!”
“Hey, that was fun, guys,” said McCreedy.
“It was good working with you all again,” said Nick.
“Yes it was,” Donna agreed.
Nick ambled over to a small buffet table and grabbed some water. Chupacabra was already there enjoying a cookie and some coffee.
“You seem to be a natural at this, Chupacabra.”
“Why, thank you Nick. I enjoyed it very much, this acting thing. And this coffee is excellent. Columbian! But you know, if you had been up against the real Chupacabra things wouldn’t have turned out so well for you and your friends.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But I have retired from all that. Now I’m a resort owner, coffee exporter, and actor!”
“Yes, so I understand. You’ve turned over a new leaf, but you still have a past that makes you a wanted man and you should probably get out of here before the Federales or the DEA realize that you’re actually part of the cast.”
“You are right Nick. It is time I got away.” Chupacabra took a step towards his two bodyguards. “Vamos amigos! We ride!” The three men piled into a white SUV and drove away, with Chupacabra sticking his head out the window waving goodbye.
Nick made his way over to Regis who was supervising the breakdown of some of the equipment.
“So, Regis, is there going to be a sequel?”
“Working on it.”
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Brandon Crocker is the author of the novel Burma Road and has published numerous non-fiction essays and book reviews for The American Spectator, RealClearHistory.com, and other outlets. He lives in San Diego, where he recently retired as an executive at a commercial real estate development and management company.
Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast
