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THE RETIRED Zacharias Sanchez

Water Diamonds

Spring Rock.

Triad 32

Author: Edgar R Perez C

edrapecor55

Id author13919

book id 8020

id 6083

All rights reserved

©EdgarRPerezC2018

Short Story, Romance, Adventure...

In those 50s.....

©Edgar R Perez C 2018-05-10

#action #short stories #edrapecor

The characters and situations are absolutely fictitious; product of the author's imagination. Any similarity is just an antiprobabilistic coincidence, totally far from reality.

Sinopsys..

After his initial failure as a secret service agent, when he was unable to capture the Lord of Lords in Caracas, Zacharias Sanchez was assigned to the regions of Arizona and New Mexico during the Second World War, ... His investigative career was abruptly interrupted when he was accused of the murder of actress Noa de Haro and her fiancé Bradley Willis in an obscure case that was never solved in Mohave Village.

Since then, he has been living undercover as an independent free agent. A completely different branch of activity from his police career, until he decided to retire.

That's when another kind of trouble began.

.......

Water Diamonds

May 19, 2018-05-19

Thriller, action, adventure..

Set somewhere bordering the lonely state highway A32.

Over there...1950s....

Edition March 2020

All rights reserved.

Characters, situations, places, times, details, plot, are simply a fiction of the author. Without any connection with real situations and characters. In any case, a coincidence, would be the strangest and most antiprobabilistic coincidence.

©EdgarRPerezC2018.

.

Fourteen hours of continuous driving on the road is more than enough to take the joy out of driving for anyone. Not for José, Miguel, Luis, Rafael, the prince, the shadow, the only one, the white one, the professor, the old one... So many names and nicknames didn't matter anymore. Every professional specialist falls in his last job. Every hitman makes a single mistake. The final contract. To say publicly that he retires. Not accepting a contract. Fail. The No. He just disappeared and that was it.

He was 59 years old. Enough money, good contacts. The best and loyal ones. His own independent network. A son somewhere. Now a retirement, quiet, discreet, not answering the phone, not showing up in the usual places.

That's why the fourteen hours on the road. The countryside. Not an active countryside, full of farms and commercial activity. A distant countryside, where only one town appeared on the map and nothing else. There was just one. At the end of the map. On the A32 highway, 540 kilometers from the provincial capital of the south and 750 from the provincial capital of the east. . I had read it. 972 inhabitants. With him it could be 973 inhabitants. Perfect. It would be a matter of visiting it and deciding.

There should be a boarding house or a house to rent. A place to read. To watch TV and be in peace. Sitting in a rocking chair, to watch the sunrise and also the sunset. 88 special jobs I had done, for good and for bad, well paid. A good performance. He never felt bad about it. Nor did he get nightmares. He didn't know them. He never cared about them. They were targets. All with children, or wives, and people who depended on them. Just like him. It wasn't a problem. Someone wanted them out. They paid good money. He was available. Famous in the field for leaving no collateral damage. Precise, cold, lethal. If he didn't do it, someone else would. Simple and straightforward.

He provided the solution. . Fast, reliable, simple, no witnesses, no loose ends, anonymous, it wasn't about the money. I had enough. It was more about execution and planning. He considered himself a planner. Not an executor. Like everyone else; he had a code. Not children, not pregnant, and certainly not a priest. Once he accepted a contract he would not let himself change it, or void it.

He arrived in town. His red Cadillac and gleaming black electric roof, was the right one for such long trips. It was a superb road performer. The best of the best. A trophy from his last job.

From a distance he could see the town. It was not a pleasant little town at the end of a downhill road. Nor was it perched on some mountain. It was a uniform, square town, with the main street, which was nothing more than the widened road, and businesses on it. A few pick up 4x4s, almost all averaging 20 years old. He saw the business. A small market. Right there he would inquire.

It would buy knick-knacks, cookies, soft drinks, some food. No cigarettes or beer. He had been out of the habit for years. He did, however, fancy a good cup of coffee. A nice big cup.

He saw the young woman talking in front of the sales clerk standing behind the small counter and the old cash register on the end next to the wall. Classic. The obese sales clerk, with a glass on her head and an apron, which no one knew what she was wearing it for.

--Young girl. You understand. I don't want any trouble. Don't insist. Your money is not worth here,--" the woman said sternly, more frightened than anything else.