Read Gone (Michael Bennett) for Free Online

pressed against his brain stem. Salinas suddenly felt like he was tumbling inside, a sudden free fall through the core of himself.
    “Just as you say, sir,” Tomás said, pushing Salinas into the room and locking the door.

CHAPTER 7
     
    THE MARIACHI BANDS WERE resting and a DJ was playing some American dance music when the loud thump came from the stage. The music stopped immediately as a microphone squawk echoed throughout the tent.
    As the crowd in attendance looked up from their plates, they could see that the entire staff of white-linen-clad Indians was now holding automatic rifles. The Tarahumaras went amid the crowd, knocking over tables, slapping people, sticking guns in faces.
    The security men of the multiple drug dealers in attendance were quickly disarmed and handcuffed. Tables were moved aside, and all the chairs were lined up, like at an assembly. The gunmen sat the people back down roughly, threatening to kill on the spot anyone and everyone dumb enough to make the slightest move.
    A moment later, Manuel Perrine walked out onto the stage, holding a microphone.
    “Hello, friends,” Perrine said in his most elegant Spanish, smiling hugely. “To those of you who know me, I can hardly articulate how pleasant it is to see you again. To those of you who are unfamiliar to me, let me say what a truly wonderful time this is for us to get acquainted.”
    He put his hand to his ear as he stared out at the pale, scared faces.
    “What? No applause?” he said.
    Some clapping started.
    “Come, now. This is a party, is it not? You can do better than that.”
    The clapping increased.
    “There you go. You did miss me. How touching. Now, at the risk of breaking protocol here at this beautiful quinceañera celebration, I would like to make a few announcements about another coming-of-age here today. The coming of the age of Manuel Perrine and Los Salvajes.”
    A terrified murmur passed through the crowd as Teodoro Salinas and the two other leaders of his cartel were brought into the tent from the house. Salinas had a black eye. All three had their wrists bound behind them.
    Three chairs were set at the edge of the stage, and the three men were seated with their backs to the crowd.
    “Now, without further ado, the moment we’ve all been waiting for,” Perrine said as one of the Tarahumaras handed him something long and thin.
    The sickle-shaped, razor-sharp machete Perrine held up for the crowd to see had been his father’s cane knife. The antique blade was beautifully weighted behind the cutting side, like a golf club, and had the manufacturer’s stamp engraved in the blade, above the handle: C OLLINS A XE C OMPANY , C ONNECTICUT , USA.
    They just don’t make ’em like this anymore , Perrine thought, hefting it lovingly.
    The first man he stepped before was Salinas’s second-in-command. The man had actually undone his binding, and he threw his hands up protectively as Perrine swung. No matter. The blade sliced the man’s arm off neatly midway between his wrist and elbow and buried itself deep in the man’s collarbone.
    Several women in the crowd fainted as the man screamed, blood spurting as he waved around his amputated stump. Perrine, after two tugs, finally worked the blade free. Then he stepped back and swung.
    There. Much better , Perrine thought as the man’s cleanly severed head rolled off his shoulders and off the stage.
    That was when the second man kicked himself off the stage. It was the plaza boss, who actually thought he could take over Perrine’s turf in Río Bravo. He managed to make it halfway across the dance floor before Perrine nodded to Tomás. Half a dozen automatic rifles cracked at once, cutting the man down. He slid across the dance floor in a thick trail of blood, followed by his Bally shoes.
    Perrine had to tip his hat to Teodoro Salinas. The man didn’t flinch in the slightest as both of his partners lost their lives. The big, handsome man looked like he might have been waiting for a