Chapter 13: The Trap
917 Words
The city was waking up to the sound of news anchors dissecting the scandal. Mendez’s face was on every channel—once the image of authority, now shadowed by words like kickbacks, intimidation, and corruption probe.
But Emilio knew this was the most dangerous stage. Cornered animals didn’t retreat—they attacked.
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The Bait
Three days after the warehouse fire, Emilio’s phone rang. It was Arturo, one of his long-time suppliers.
“Señor Rodriguez,” Arturo said, his voice low, “I have a line on replacement steel beams. Same quality, half the price. But…” he hesitated, “…it’s in an old freight yard outside Santa Cruz. You’d need to inspect it in person before the seller agrees to sign.”
Emilio frowned.
“That’s far from our usual routes.”
“I know,” Arturo said quickly. “But in this market, you won’t find another offer like this. And the client deadlines—”
Emilio’s mind weighed the risk. The Santa Cruz yard was remote, an easy place for someone to arrange an ‘accident’. But he also couldn’t ignore a lead that could save his contracts.
“I’ll take Torres with me,” Emilio said finally.
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Signs of a Setup
The freight yard was nearly deserted when they arrived—a stretch of cracked asphalt, rusting containers, and a single crane frozen mid-air as if abandoned mid-shift.
Arturo was waiting near a corrugated metal warehouse. He looked nervous, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds.
“The seller’s inside,” he said. “Wants to talk to you alone.”
Torres stepped forward. “That’s not happening.”
But Arturo shook his head. “He’s old-school. Don't deal with intermediaries.”
Emilio studied Arturo’s face. There was sweat on his temple despite the cool breeze. His eyes didn’t quite meet Emilio’s.
A warning bell rang in Emilio’s mind.
“We’ll all go,” Emilio said firmly. “Or there’s no deal.”
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The Ambush
Inside, the air smelled of oil and rust. Stacks of steel beams lined the walls. Emilio was about to speak when a loud clang echoed from the far end of the warehouse.
Torres turned toward the sound—and that’s when Emilio saw them: two men stepping out from behind the stacks, each carrying a length of rebar. Another figure emerged near the exit, blocking the way back to the car.
Arturo backed away, hands raised. “I didn’t know—”
But Emilio didn’t believe that for a second.
“Drop the bars,” Torres ordered, his voice like steel.
The men didn’t listen. They advanced.
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Fight in the Shadows
Torres moved first, shoving Emilio behind a crate. The first attacker swung, missing by inches as Torres countered with a crushing blow to the ribs. Emilio grabbed a loose steel pipe from the ground—its weight reassuring in his hands.
Another man lunged for him. Emilio swung hard, the pipe connecting with the man’s forearm. He yelped and stumbled back.
Torres was holding his own, but the attackers were pressing in. Somewhere above, a pulley groaned—then Emilio realized with horror that a stack of beams was being shifted, the crane hook swaying dangerously overhead.
“Move!” Torres shouted.
They dove aside just as the beams came crashing down, shaking the floor and throwing up a cloud of dust.
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The Escape
Through the haze, Emilio spotted a side door. He grabbed Torres by the arm.
“This way!”
They burst outside into the pale afternoon light. The freight yard stretched ahead—empty, silent. But just as they reached the car, an engine roared to life. A black SUV sped toward them from the far gate.
Torres shoved Emilio into the passenger seat, jumped behind the wheel, and slammed the accelerator. Tires screeched as they tore out of the yard, the SUV close behind.
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The Pursuit
The road out of Santa Cruz was narrow, flanked by scrub and old fences. Torres weaved dangerously, trying to shake the tail. The SUV stayed glued to them.
“Hang on!” Torres shouted.
He cut sharply onto a dirt track, dust billowing behind them. The SUV followed—but the path narrowed fast, forcing them into single file between two steep embankments.
Torres braked hard, sending the car skidding sideways. The SUV overshot the bend, clipping the edge of the embankment and flipping onto its side in a spray of gravel.
Torres didn’t slow until they were back on the main highway, the city skyline faint in the distance.
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The Call
When they reached Jorge’s office, Emilio was still shaking.
“That was no random mugging,” he said. “That was Mendez trying to end it without a courtroom.”
Jorge listened, jaw tight. “We’ll add it to the charges. This is attempted murder now.”
Emilio leaned forward. “Then we move faster. Before he gets another chance.”
Jorge nodded. “I’ll push for an emergency hearing.”
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Mendez’s Message
That night, a small package arrived at Emilio’s apartment. No return address. Inside was a single, polished steel beam—about a foot long—with a note taped to it:
> You were lucky today.
Next time, I won’t miss.
Emilio set the beam down slowly. His reflection in the metal looked like a stranger—eyes dark, jaw clenched. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. This was about ending Mendez’s reach for good.
- Writer
