The Execution Read Online Free PDF Page A

seemed romantic and exciting. His estate, his fine things, his commanding attitude. Just being in his presence was seductive.
    But now that he had seen his uncle’s work up close, Ramon felt sickened. His uncle, he knew, was not paid by the head. The job was already completed. This was more of a flourish. And Ramon had seen quite enough already, thank you.
    But before Ramon could think of an honorable way to protest, the fat man shoved the tool into his hand. Extremely heavy, the wooden handle smooth and worn from having seen so much use. Its crude fan-shaped blade dripped blood onto the ground.
    “I made this tool with my own hands,” Ramon’s uncle said. “Mesquite wood. Very tough. And the blade was hand-forged from steel from an excavator tooth. A Caterpillar 321, if I’m not mistaken. American steel, the highest quality.”
    Ramon held in his hand the weapon that had beheaded dozens of men. “What is it called?” asked Ramon, stalling desperately.
    Ramon’s uncle eyed him, shaking his head. “It has no name.”
    The last prisoner rolled from side to side on the ground, his flex-cuffed hands covering his crotch. He was a thin, hairless young man, not many years older than Ramon himself. He had pure Indian features. And all Ramon could think, looking at him, was: Why do you not scream?
    The prisoner just stared up at Ramon, his eyes dark and frightened . . . and yet he did not break Ramon’s gaze.
    Ramon’s uncle motioned with his hand, a precise downward motion. “Let the weight of the thing do the work. Half of the job is just lifting it up and dropping it.”
    Ramon said, “What is the other half?”
    “The muscle this task requires is not mere body strength. You must commit to the act. You must drive the blade down and make sure it finds its mark. The thing knows its job. If you do it carefully, and decisively, the thing will do its job kindly. Otherwise . . .”
    “Otherwise?” asked Ramon.
    “Otherwise you will bungle the job, and try again. Do not take many hacks where one is sufficient.”
    The sirens were getting louder. Ramon knew he did not have much time. He also knew he did not want to do this. And he knew that his uncle knew.
    “Now is your time,” said his uncle, the brim of his ball cap shading his penetrating eyes. “This tool is a special object. It will find you out. It will do the command not of your grip, but of your will. Of your commitment.”
    The tiny hummingbird flew between them, zipping right, then darting away, heading in an upward arc toward a long row of palm trees on the far side of the plaza.
    Ramon’s uncle said, “Do you see? Even our little friend knows. It is time to go.”
    Then his uncle turned, made a circle in the air with his hands, and began walking away. Suddenly the Zetas around the plaza weren’t lounging anymore. Everyone stood and began sprinting for their trucks: two armored Humvees, an Escalade, and a Ford pickup with a heavy tube frame welded to the back, on which was mounted a belt-fed machine gun.
    The fat man, however, stayed with Ramon. He stared at him with black, expressionless eyes. “Come on, you little pendejo . Get it over with. Your uncle is not someone you want to disappoint.”
    Ramon looked into the face of the decapitator. He saw pleasure there. “Leave me.”
    “You can’t do it.”
    “Leave me now,” Ramon said. “I’ll do it. And then I will tell my uncle how you doubted me.”
    The fat man shrugged, but didn’t give up on taunting Ramon with his eyes. He walked back to the big GMC and started closing the gate to the bed, obstructing Ramon’s view of the litter of heads lying there.
    What had become of his world? Ramon felt his entire body trembling. His armpits and face were slick with sweat, even though the sun was barely higher than the buildings at the edge of the square.
    He was aware of the eyes of the man at his feet, looking up at him. Ramon did not look down.
    He had to do it. He had to. If he didn’t kill