An original story based on Psalm 27
Drew was now out in the open and didn't know what to do next. He knew he had to get away, but where? Wes and Jose were now running after him. Jose called in several of their compadres and the next thing Drew knew, about five more enemies came upon him, three in a jeep and two in a helicopter. He was fumbling for his iPhone and was able to call Kyle. "Hey Drew! Where have you been? Everyone is looking for you! You're Aunt Rita is beside herself with worry!", Kyle told Drew. "Some dudes are after me Kyle! I'm near the mountains in the foothills! I need help! It has something to do with Sheila's disappearance!", Drew sputtered. "I gotta go! Get help!", Drew exclaimed. He was on foot and the jeep was coming at him, with bullets flying past him. The helicopter was hovering, trying to get a shot at him. He was almost out of the foothills, back to his Cherokee. He dodged bullets and tried to start his jeep, but it didn't start...not at first. He finally was able to rev up the engine and take off back into town. If I go back to town it may draw some attention, he thought. Or at least keep the helicopter from honing in on me. He thought back to that Youth Night. Psalm 27:3. "How did it go?", he asked himself. He quoted it out loud. Though a host encamp against me, my heart will not fear; though war rise against me, in spite of this, I shall be confident. He thought for a moment with a little confusion. He questioned God again. "How, God?" No answer this time. Panic set in again. He cursed.
By this time it was one in the afternoon. The traffic was thick and his attackers had backed off, in the jeep as well as the helicopter. His cell rang. Unknown number. Another call from the nut with a kids song fetish? Not this time. It was SHEILA! She was sobbing and he tried to calm her enough for her to cry out, help me! He also heard a number and a street location. He got the street, but couldn't pick up on the address. 776 something, Somerton Ave. He was practically in tears, when a man's voice came on the phone and told him to go to 7765 Somerton Ave...alone. He gulped in fear. He put in the address into his GPS and drove. He reloaded his pistol and got more ammo for back up. He thought to call Kyle, but knew he would be putting his best friend in danger, so he squashed the thought and went on. He knew he couldn't even tell Kyle what was happening. It was now two o'clock. He had fifteen minutes to get to the address. It was an old theater, where back in the 1920's they did vaudeville. It hadn't been used since the late '30s. The roof was collapsing and the blue paint was worn. Windows were broken and graffiti was spread across it like wild fire. He froze. He knew what this was used for, and he knew he should have known what was happening when he came across the South American...it was a place a drug ring hung out. The South American mafia ran out of there. Drew knew this because of the news. He saw it on the local ten o'clock news one night three months ago. In fact...oh no!, he thought. Sheila called in reporting a certain drug dealer who was snooping around the high school. She had several friends get hooked on drugs from this guy by the name of Estavez, Jorge Estavez. He was a drug dealer who was in the South American gang, Las Serpientes. Translated in english is The Snakes. He thought to himself, This is why Sheila was taken!
He came to this steel black door in the back of the antique building. It wasn't part of the original architecture. This was put in in the 1990's, when Las Serpientes came to make their first visit. He then recalled that night on the news. Senor Raul Juarez was the mafia drug dealer and Jorge Estavez was his third man in the ring. He was a bad dude that got kids as young as ten to try anything that they had brought over from Columbia. Drew cringed and cocked his gun, ready. He rolled the door open. It was quiet except for a faint cry way in the back room, where another steel door, obviously not original, was locked. He heard two gun shots and ran toward the crying. He realized he had to play it cool and quietly walked to the door. A tall, muscular South American man walked out with a machine gun and looked straight at Drew. He called out to Drew, "Senor Hernandez is waiting, please step inside." Before he was able to enter the man searched him head to toe and confiscated his gun. He thought, Oh no! Not good! Both men entered and Drew had a machine gun aimed at his head from the back. Two more men with muscles and guns were on both sides of Hernandez. "Come in," he demanded in a soft but firm tone. Senor Rafael Hernandez was a man of only 5'6", but was the second most powerful in Juarez' mafia. He didn't look threatening, but his voice boomed strength and evil. "Glad you made it. Come. Sit down and have some tequila," he demanded. The only problem with that is that Drew never drank tequila. But it was demanded.
He took a sip and about gagged. He still remembered Psalm 27:3 and somehow knew God would take care of him. He was surprised by that, nevertheless. Senor Hernandez spoke again. "I have a deal for you. In order to get your girlfriend back, I need a favor of you." Drew took a deep breath. He was glad he wasn't going to be killed...just yet. "What do you need me to do?", Drew asked with a shaky voice. The man put his hands together with his fingertips, under his chin, and just stared blankly at Drew. Drew didn't know what would be next and that scared him. The man slightly laughed. Drew asked again, "What do you want me to do to get me and my girlfriend out of here?" The man hesitated, then stated, "Patience, my boy!" He motioned for one of his men that had a package. The man brought it to Hernandez. Hernandez looked directly in the eyes of Drew and said, "Take this package to San Juan, Puerto Rico, at 555 La Roca Calle." It must be drugs, Drew thought. And Puerto Rico!? Hernandez got up and went over to Drew and put his hand on his shoulder. "I will send a plane tonight at 8. Get what you need at home and be back here at 7:30. We will be watching you!", Rafael Hernandez ordered. Drew walked out, hearing the cries of pleas from Sheila. He held strong and confident. He would only do this for her, because he loved her. It can't be that bad. I'll get over there in secret, and leave in secret. No one will know, he thought to himself. Oh God, if you have never helped me before, please help me now, Lord. He looked back at the building as he was getting in his jeep and leaving. He looked up and prayed he'd find the confidence David found in Psalm 27.
He came to this steel black door in the back of the antique building. It wasn't part of the original architecture. This was put in in the 1990's, when Las Serpientes came to make their first visit. He then recalled that night on the news. Senor Raul Juarez was the mafia drug dealer and Jorge Estavez was his third man in the ring. He was a bad dude that got kids as young as ten to try anything that they had brought over from Columbia. Drew cringed and cocked his gun, ready. He rolled the door open. It was quiet except for a faint cry way in the back room, where another steel door, obviously not original, was locked. He heard two gun shots and ran toward the crying. He realized he had to play it cool and quietly walked to the door. A tall, muscular South American man walked out with a machine gun and looked straight at Drew. He called out to Drew, "Senor Hernandez is waiting, please step inside." Before he was able to enter the man searched him head to toe and confiscated his gun. He thought, Oh no! Not good! Both men entered and Drew had a machine gun aimed at his head from the back. Two more men with muscles and guns were on both sides of Hernandez. "Come in," he demanded in a soft but firm tone. Senor Rafael Hernandez was a man of only 5'6", but was the second most powerful in Juarez' mafia. He didn't look threatening, but his voice boomed strength and evil. "Glad you made it. Come. Sit down and have some tequila," he demanded. The only problem with that is that Drew never drank tequila. But it was demanded.
He took a sip and about gagged. He still remembered Psalm 27:3 and somehow knew God would take care of him. He was surprised by that, nevertheless. Senor Hernandez spoke again. "I have a deal for you. In order to get your girlfriend back, I need a favor of you." Drew took a deep breath. He was glad he wasn't going to be killed...just yet. "What do you need me to do?", Drew asked with a shaky voice. The man put his hands together with his fingertips, under his chin, and just stared blankly at Drew. Drew didn't know what would be next and that scared him. The man slightly laughed. Drew asked again, "What do you want me to do to get me and my girlfriend out of here?" The man hesitated, then stated, "Patience, my boy!" He motioned for one of his men that had a package. The man brought it to Hernandez. Hernandez looked directly in the eyes of Drew and said, "Take this package to San Juan, Puerto Rico, at 555 La Roca Calle." It must be drugs, Drew thought. And Puerto Rico!? Hernandez got up and went over to Drew and put his hand on his shoulder. "I will send a plane tonight at 8. Get what you need at home and be back here at 7:30. We will be watching you!", Rafael Hernandez ordered. Drew walked out, hearing the cries of pleas from Sheila. He held strong and confident. He would only do this for her, because he loved her. It can't be that bad. I'll get over there in secret, and leave in secret. No one will know, he thought to himself. Oh God, if you have never helped me before, please help me now, Lord. He looked back at the building as he was getting in his jeep and leaving. He looked up and prayed he'd find the confidence David found in Psalm 27.
I had been planning to write more often, but life got in the way. Stay tuned for Part Four in a couple of days.
God bless,
Sabrina
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