Blood & Tacos #3 Read Online Free PDF Page B

eyes and reflected on how things had gotten so out of control. There wasn’t any moment he could pinpoint, however. It had been a gradual process. He probably shouldn’t have started selling drugs, though. That was definitely a mistake.
    Dax opened his eyes to see that Sheriff Parsons had arrived to greet the trucks. A limo pulled up next to him and a tall, brown-skinned man with dark, slicked-back hair, wearing a dark suit and mirrored sunglasses stepped out. Chico Juarez. All the players were here. Time to mix it up, like a chemist mixing chemicals in a big chemical mixing machine.
    Suddenly, something whacked Dax on the back of his skull, and everything went black. Blacker than carbon, thought Dax, which was ironic because carbon’s chemical symbol was C, and he couldn’t.

    Dax regained consciousness when someone emptied a bucket of cold water on his head. He was inside the factory, tied to a chair. Around him were dozens of pallets holding plastic bags of crazy candy. Women wearing nothing but g-strings and steel-toed boots loaded the pallets into the trucks on forklifts. Sheriff Parsons, Chico Juarez, and several of his goons stood over Dax.
    “Enjoying the view?” asked the sheriff.
    “I am, actually,” said Dax, taking a good long look at the warehouse personnel. Either there was a correlation between bust size and forklift proficiency that Dax wasn’t aware of, or these women had been hired as much for their centerfold-quality bodies as for their warehousing skill.
    “Women are better workers,” said the sheriff. “We keep them nude so that they don’t try to steal any product. And also so that they are nude.” A stunning redhead walked past with a clipboard, and the sheriff slapped her on the behind. She scowled playfully and went back to work.
    “Well, three cheers for equal rights,” said Dax. The sheriff grinned. But Chico Juarez wasn’t in a jovial mood.
    “Joo theenk joo can just walk een here and blow up my merchandise?” growled Chico Juarez, in a thick Hispanic accent. He was holding Dax’s pack, which was filled with his custom-made bombs. “Who do joo theenk joo are?”
    “Name’s Dax Maxwell,” spat Dax. “I’ve got a score to settle with you. Those are my drugs.”
    “Your drugs!” exclaimed Sheriff Parson. He and Chico Juarez laughed the hysterical laugh of evil men.
    “How do you figure?” asked the sheriff.
    “I came up with the formula,” Dax said. “I’m the only one who has the right to sell that brain-busting bromide, and I’m closing up shop.”
    “I remember joo,” said Chico Juarez. “Joor wife screamed like a leetle girl when I killed her. And so deed joor daughter.”
    “My daughter
was
a little girl,” growled Dax, straining against his bonds.
    Chico Juarez laughed again. “Well, chereeff, maybe we chould let Meester Maxwell sample some of
hees
drugs.” Chico Juarez sneered at Dax, his eyes hidden behind the mirrored shades. Looking into the sunglasses, Dax saw his own reflection, and he reflected on the time he had seen his reflection in the front window of the drugstore earlier that same day, reflecting on his childhood and wondering where it had all gone wrong—and at that point, things hadn’t gone nearly as wrong as they had in the hours since.
Or had they
?
    Laughing, the sheriff grabbed a plastic bag full of fairy flakes from a nearby palette, sticking a knife into it and pulling out a knife-full of the demonic dust. He stuck the point of the knife into Dax’s left nostril.
    “
Dios mio
!” cried Chico Juarez. “That cloud candy is
dieciocho
times more powerful than regular cocaine. That much will keell him!”
    “That’s the idea,” said the sheriff. They both laughed. The sheriff put his hand over Dax’s mouth. “Take a deep breath!”
    Dax bit down hard, his incisors puncturing the sheriff’s hand. The sheriff jerked his hand away. The flesh tore, spilling blood on the factory floor. The sheriff screamed, and the goons raised