The Fastest Gun in South America!?
…………… “Get up, chink.”
A brutish hand yanked me off the bench. My legs were trembling, but I had no choice except to stand. The skinhead grabbed my hair and jerked my head back.
“Take him to headquarters. Torture him right up to the brink of death, and he’ll spill everything.”
“Can’t we have a little fun first?”
Thwack!
“Guhk!”
Someone slammed a fist into my gut. My breath caught in my throat. My knees nearly buckled, but the hand gripping my hair kept me from collapsing.
“Walk, you chink bastard.”
They started dragging me along. A gun barrel prodded my back. One step, two steps. I was getting farther from the bench. My survival odds plummeted with every move, plain as day.
Three steps, four.
“Why’s this fucker dragging his feet like that? Scared he’s gonna piss himself?”
“If he wants to piss, let him. Starting tomorrow, he won’t be shitting or pissing at all anyway.”
The thugs snickered as they hauled me forward. Five steps, six. And then… on the seventh.
Bang! Bang-bang! Bang!
The gunfire hammered my eardrums. The hand clutching my hair suddenly went slack. The skinhead’s body toppled backward, slamming into the asphalt. A dark red hole gaped in the center of his forehead.
Bang! Bang!
Two more shots. The guy jabbing my back with his gun barrel crumpled sideways. Blood sprayed from his neck like a fountain.
The rest followed suit. The shots rang out at intervals I could barely perceive—less than half a second apart. And with each one, another body hit the ground.
Bang!
The scrawny guy at the rear of the pack had his head snapped back. His eyes fixed on the sky, frozen in place.
In roughly five seconds flat, all six were down. Their blood pooled on the asphalt in vivid crimson puddles.
“Ugh… uwaaah…”
My legs gave out, nearly dumping me into the blood and corpses, but I barely held myself up.
Then, a rustling came from behind me—under the bench.
“Ahh, my back hurts.”
And there she was, the culprit. She brushed the dirt off her tank top and stretched like she’d just woken from a nap. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d just dropped six men without batting an eye.
She strolled casually through the bodies, rifling through their pockets. Wallets, magazines, even grenades—she took it all. Looting the dead felt as natural to her as breathing.
This woman’s no rookie. No doubt about it. Not at killing, and not at stripping corpses.
Once she’d cleared them out, she finally turned to me.
“Catalina.”
A curt introduction.
“And you?”
“Ma… Ma Hyuksu.”
“Chinese?”
“Korean.”
“Ah, Korean.”
Catalina nodded, scanning me from head to toe with an appraising gaze.
“What’s a Korean doing in this shithole city? Don’t tell me you’re a DEA agent?”
Her lips curved up. She was smiling, but it wasn’t playful. The same suspicion those thugs had voiced moments ago. The difference? Catalina hadn’t killed me over it.
At least not yet. But her patience could snap with one wrong word. A bad answer, and I’d be lined up with the corpses.
“No! Really, no. I’m just a tourist.”
“Ha, a tourist? In Santa Esperanza?”
She snorted. Didn’t buy it for a second.
“I run a YouTube channel? Uploading travel vlogs. That’s why I came here.”
“Filming travel vlogs in this hellhole? You’re nuts. I like that.”
I couldn’t argue. It was insane. Ma Hyuksu was clearly out of his mind.
“Fine. I’ll buy it for now.”
She shrugged. Not fully convinced, but at least she wasn’t drawing on me right away.
“So, here’s the thing.”
Catalina stepped closer.
“Help me out. Work with me.”
It was an order, not a request.
“Help with… what exactly?”
“Nothing big. Just help me move a bag.”
“A bag? What kind of bag?”
“These fuckers and their crew chased me for a while. I couldn’t get away clean, so I hid the bag nearby. Too heavy to carry while running.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. But the stuff inside is really valuable, so I have to get it back. Then we move it together to a safe spot. Simple, right?”
Simple, my ass. A bag worth cartel goons risking their lives—and from a woman who seemed cartel herself. Probably drugs, gems, or some insanely dangerous weapon.
“I-I just want to get out of here.”
I said it as politely as possible. She had a gun, and she’d just executed six men without flinching. No need to piss her off.
“You’re right, Catalina. Looks like I did something stupid. So I’m calling someone to get me out ASAP. I’d love to help, but… haha.”
I fumbled in my pockets as I spoke. The emergency extraction contact from my guide. With that note, I could escape. Cost be damned—nothing mattered more than my life. Call for pickup, get out of this city now.
Right pocket. Gone.
Left pocket. Gone.
Back pocket. Nothing.
What the fuck… I definitely put it in there!
The blood drained from my face. No note, no way to contact the guide. I hadn’t memorized the number.
“Looking for this?”
I snapped my head up at Catalina’s voice. A small scrap of paper pinched between her fingers. Folded, but unmistakable. The guide’s note. My one ticket out of this hell.
“Wh-when—?”
“Pulled it from your pocket while I was hiding under the bench. Can’t resist a little curiosity.”
A sly, teasing smile played on her lips.
“Your choice now. Come with me to fetch the bag… or wander this shithole alone without this—or me.”
……………
Catalina headed toward the bodies. Without hesitation, she stripped off the skinhead’s jacket. Bloody, but only the head wound had pierced it—the outer layer was intact enough.
“Put this on.”
The jacket sailed into my chest. Up close, the fresh blood glistened.
“No way, that’s a dead guy’s clothes. It’s covered in blood. Come on…”
“Put it on while I’m asking nicely.”
She was already peeling a shirt off another corpse, draping it over her tank top and snagging a hat too.
Fuck, she really wants me to wear this?
I got the point. Disguise. Basic camouflage to slip through enemy territory. But wearing a dead man’s blood-soaked clothes? A bit much, no?
“Three seconds, or I’ll mix your blood in too.”
Her hand hovered near her pistol. No joke in her tone.
Shit… she’ll really shoot.
No choice. I shrugged on the jacket. The stench hit like a punch—rusty iron mixed with something fouler, the unique reek of a dying body.
“Hat too.”
I grabbed the baseball cap from the guy who’d taken a bullet to the neck. At least this wasn’t bloody. I pulled it low.
“Good. Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“We need to get out of here first. This is Los Hermanos turf. Gunfight in their zone, all their guys dead? They’ll swarm if they notice.”
Los Hermanos. Sounded like another cartel name, like La Luna Negra.
“Run into those Los Hermanos pricks, and we fight again. You don’t want a fight that doesn’t pay, right? Let’s grab the goods and bail first.”
Catalina took the lead. I followed in the dead man’s clothes. The weight of the bulletproof vest—something I’d never worn in my past lives or original one—pressed down on my shoulders.
……………
About fifteen minutes later, after a few blocks, Catalina stopped in front of a building. Pocked with bullet holes in the concrete walls, covered in graffiti. The stench hit from ten meters away—public restroom, obviously.
“In there.”
She jerked her chin at the entrance.
“Third stall. Pull the brick behind the toilet—black duffel bag.”
“You want me to get it?”
“Obviously. Weird if I go in.”
Arguing priorities in a situation like this?
But no arguing back. She leaned against the wall, scanning the area, pistol half-drawn, ready to fire.
I stepped into the restroom. As expected, a nightmare. Floor slick with unidentifiable liquid, walls crusted with dried puke or worse.
Opened the third stall. Worse stench assaulted me. Toilet clogged, filled with black water.
“Fuck, this is insane.”
Checked behind the toilet. One brick jutted out slightly. Held my breath, yanked it free. There—the black bag. Military-style duffel.
Lifted it, and the weight hit like a truck. My arms sagged.
“Goddamn, what the hell’s in here?”
Even hauling it up strained my shoulders. Ma Hyuksu’s fit body struggled more than expected. At least fifteen kilos. Probably more.
Out of the restroom, Catalina snatched the bag. Zipped it open a crack, peeked, zipped back. I glimpsed white something vacuum-sealed in plastic.
No way that’s…
“Good. Let’s go.”
She sealed it.
“That’s not—by any chance—”
“Better if you don’t know. No joke.”
I dropped it. No point pressing; she wouldn’t answer anyway.
“Carry it.”
She shoved the bag back at me.
“Me?”
“Your arms look fine. I need to watch our backs.”
No retort. I slung it over my shoulder. The weight tilted me sideways.
“Move. Fast pace, we’ll make it in under forty minutes.”
Forty minutes lugging this monster? But no options. Catalina walked ahead. Without her, I was stuck in Santa Esperanza with no escape.
I shouldered the bag and followed.