Sunday, September 14, 2014

I called a couple friends of mine to accompany me to the Petro Truck Stop. I had them wait in the lounge with a predetermined code to let them know if things went south. I did not have to wait long. In came Pedro looking bad. I mean that he looked sick. He must have stayed coked up for a few days is my guess.
  I stood up to get his attention and before he walked three steps there was a loud shot. I recognized the sound of a high power semi-automatic pistol. Two quick shots followed and Pedro went down. I did not hang around to check on him because by the time I heard the double tap I was already out the doors. All hell broke loose inside with people running out of the Petro not knowing where they were going, just getting away from the shots. I eased to my car and slowly left the premises heading south on I-15 to the strip and the safety of my Hotel suite. What the hell just happened? 
  As I was watching the news about the shooting trying to figure if I was on their hit list. My mind was racing. I could not maintain conscious flow of thoughts. Nothing close to this has ever happened before. I was afraid to use the phone for fear of my suite being bugged. If it was bugged they would have known I would be there, too. That makes me believe I was not a target. Pedro most definitely was the target. Why? Did he fuck someone out of their dope? Does not sound like Pedro. Did the Bolivians think that maybe he was the reason one of their high ranking cartel members was murdered a few days ago. I had to get out of Vegas, fast. I could not use the Leer for fear of being blown up in the middle of a flight. My mind is racing 90 miles an hour trying to see if it was possible I would be next. 
  I immediately went down to the Hotel safe and withdrew all my cash, jewelry, and passports. I had $560,000 dollars in cash. The rest of my money was tucked away in a dry dock for smaller fishing boats inside the well of a redone Chris Craft. It will be safe while I find a way to figure out what happened to Pedro.
  The phone rang in the rental car as I was driving East on I-70 just before the tunnel. It was a good 16 hours after Pedro got smoked. I picked up the phone with confidence because only one woman knew my number. The voice was indeed Latino with the man speaking softly he asked, "Did you hear about Pedro?" I played dumb and asked who the hell Pedro was. "You piloted a Leer that landed at McCarron just six days ago with Pedro, a few Rock Stars, along with several beautiful women. Now, let me ask again. Did you hear about Pedro?" I did not know what the fuck to say. Obviously, he knew when I landed and about my passengers. So, I took the bait. "Yes, I heard about Pedro. May I have the pleasure of getting your name?" He said in due time. all will be revealed. He then asked me if I was leaving Vegas I had better change my plans. Whew, at least he hasn't got a GPS tracker on my car. I thought it over about 5 seconds and turned my car around heading back to 'Sin City'. The only way I was to find out the truth is to hear this guy out. I have never fucked over any of my cartel friends so what or where do I fit into this. I damn sure don't know.
  I try to get my bearings just as soon as my mind slows down. Yep, here it comes the hot desert sun. Why is every time I travel I always end up in someplace HOT? Now, I've got to figure  where I am and find clothes appropriate to this time.

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