The Traveler by David Golemon

manufacture. Still, he knew that the execution today would serve its purpose. That fact was proven a moment later when a film crew was brought in. The two men, a cameraman and a sound person, were there to capture the majesty of the moment for the benefit of those who would try to damage him in the future. The black cameraman and the Mexican soundman took up station by the concrete wall near the front of the large balcony.
    Gutiérrez lit a large Havana cigar and then nodded at the prison’s warden, who was immaculately dressed in a royal blue uniform complete with scarf. He removed his saucer cap as he stood. His crooked, pencil-thin mustache turned up at the corners as he anticipated a great event ahead. The warden had been specially chosen from the Mexican army for his brutal reputation, and for the fact that he had been on the cartel’s payroll for nearly fifteen years.
    â€œBring them out!”
    The silence of the gathered inmates gave credence to the fact that this was not an excited gladiatorial arena as the only applause came from the elevated balcony of the warden’s office. The prisoners were silent and most crossed themselves as the fifteen prisoners were led forward.
    *   *   *
    As the chosen inmates had been gathered and hurriedly lined up, the last person to join was the wheelchair-bound prisoner who bravely faced his fate without pleading or comment. The guard who was pushing him smiled when the young man looked back.
    â€œWhen called, you will advance into the exercise yard in single file,” the guard by the large gate said as the sun filtered in from the outside, obscuring the excited look on the lead guard’s features. The man turned and exited the waiting area for the exercise yard, leaving only the one guard behind the wheelchair.
    â€œI hear they have something very special planned for you, my friend,” the guard said as his hot breath hit the young man in the back of his neck, making him cringe. “I have three thousand pesos that says you end up begging before—”
    The young man heard the thud and the hiss of breath as the hands holding the wheelchair handles fell way. The young man turned and saw the tattooed man standing in the place of the guard.
    â€œWhat are—”
    â€œNo time for twenty questions, kid,” the man hissed as his eyes scanned the other prisoners in front of them. Some had turned at the minor commotion, but decided that the guard wasn’t worth their precious and very limited time. “This is about the third damn plan we’ve had to scrap in the last twenty-four hours. This is plan D and there isn’t a plan E, so be quiet and do exactly as I tell you.”
    â€œWho are you?” the young man said as the large double-sided gate started to swing open.
    â€œI’m the asshole who bragged to his bosses this could be done, so I guess they’ll have the last laugh when this thing blows up right in my face.”
    The young man turned to face the front just as his heart fell through his belly to his ass. “Oh, my God, what are you going to do?” he asked as his voice broke just as he was pushed forward following the long line of fifteen condemned men.
    â€œShut up while I figure a new way to get us killed in the next few minutes.”
    As they broke into sunlight after the warden’s order to bring them into the yard, the tattooed man quickly scanned the area. The prisoners were of no help as a chain-link fence topped with razor wire held them in check. The three guard towers oversaw the entire area, including the exterior of the prison. One benefit he immediately noticed was that the three armed guards had their attention focused on the activities inside, not out. One break, but he needed more as he again quickly evaluated this new situation that had changed drastically this morning when it was announced that the mysterious and hard-to-corner cartel leader was arriving early.