The Best Way to Kill a Giant

In The Cartel Banker, Joe is forced to fight a giant bodyguard three times. The first time he loses and is saved by bouncers. The second time he loses and is saved by a man with a shovel. The third time, he has no savior.

This excerpt from The Cartel Banker portrays Joe’s third battle with the giant.

Give a Man a Rope

Sanjay had little experience with boats. I gave him a crash course and forced him to take the wheel for practice. The still air kept the waters calm. A storm front was on the way but had not yet arrived. We cruised with running lights on for three miles. On the right side of the lake, a mix of modest and opulent homes rested atop the cliffs. I changed into the wet suit and dipped my hand in the water, not much over sixty.

We came to a half mile from Kenji’s place, and I asked Sanjay to steer closer to the shore. Lifting the binoculars, I searched the cliff. There it was! I recognized the mansion from the stairs zigzagging down to the boathouse. I reached to switch off the running lights, and then studied the dock.

I put the binoculars back in the dry bag and rolled it tight. My eyes darted to the house and the dock and the water around us. We were seventy yards away, and I doubted anyone from the house could see us. My heart thumped like I’d been running a race.

“Shift into neutral.”

Sanjay pulled the lever back, and we slowed to a drift.

In the dark, I couldn’t see his facial features clearly, only his head and body against the ambient light.

“Thanks,” I said.

I slipped over the side. A film of shockingly cold water crept next to my skin, but my body soon created a layer of warmth inside the wet suit.

He lowered the dry bag, and I pushed off. When I had drifted ten feet, he engaged the motor and the boat slowly receded into darkness. Within seconds he was gone.

I maneuvered the bag to my back, slipped the handle around my neck, and used small breaststrokes to move forward. Water splashed in my mouth—fresh, cold and earthy.

I kept the mansion in sight, watching the staircase for any sign of detection. Most of the windows were dark, but bright light shone from the great room. Water lapped against my ears, and I tried to keep my breathing steady.

Inside of a hundred feet, I recognized the forms of a boat and two Jet Skis in the boathouse. Once inside, I hoisted the dry bag onto the decking and pulled myself out of the water. I walked to the open doorway and scanned the staircase and patio but saw no one.

Stepping back from the door, I considered next steps. Put on dry clothes, load up weapons and gear, and haul-ass up the staircase. It would take less than a minute to ascend. What had I missed? I scanned the room. In the darkness of the far corner, a tiny green light flickered. What was that? I walked closer but couldn’t see it clearly, some sort of small box.

Back at the doorway, I glanced up at the patio and saw them in the lamplight. Two men stood at the top of the stairs: one normal-size man and one giant. The normal-size man pointed to the dock. The giant turned toward the stairs and began descending the first section.

Damn! The green light must be a motion detector.

Rafael reached the bottom of the first section of stairs. He plodded slowly, deliberately.

I tore at the dry bag. I would shoot it out with Rafael. The guns lay at the bottom. Out came the jeans, the shoes, and the penlight.

Rafael reached the next landing, only two more to go.

I grabbed the pistol, pressed a magazine into the grip, and racked the slide. Stepping outside, I pointed the gun at Rafael, who was still a hundred feet away, too far for a clear shot.

He passed through the lamplight at the next turn. He appeared bigger than ever, taking the stairs one at a time, his massive shoulders swaying from side to side with each step. His arms hung loose, but I didn’t see a gun.

Rafael reached the last section of stairs, clearly visible now, with his dark mop of hair, thick mustache, and brown polo shirt. He reached the bottom and turned to face me, unarmed. When he moved, I raised the gun.

I’m going to shoot you dead.

I waited. He was forty feet away and had to see the gun raised in his direction. Still he came, thirty feet now.

With feet shoulder-width apart, I lined up the sight and waited two more steps.

Boom! Boom!

Sounds of explosions bounced off the limestone cliff. My shots tore into his chest.

The giant staggered, and I waited for him to fall. He swayed like a tree but then stood straight again, took a step forward, and another, only fifteen feet away now.

No. No one could take two bullets in the chest. He was a mountain of a man, invincible, and ten feet away.

Boom! Boom!

Taking two steps back, he almost fell, swaying again. Then he smiled and started running.

Of course—the added size—he wore body armor.

I dropped the gun, crouched, and lunged at his knees like a tackler. His arms closed on open air above me, but the impact of his thighs and legs pulled me backward, and we rolled on the deck. We came apart and I scrambled to my feet.

He rose to his full height and roared, an inhuman sound. Rafael glanced at the water to the side, and edged a step closer to the boathouse. He smiled and charged a second time, arms opened wide.

I feinted left and stepped right, outside of his arm. His fist swung by, and I landed a right hook against his shoulder. Useless.

He stepped toward me. I edged into his range, and he swiped a massive fist. I rocked out of the way and landed a straight right to his cheek. His head snapped back and his weight shifted. I moved to my right again.

Instead of circling, as he should have, he looked at the water and stayed put. I moved closer, and he lunged at me with both fists in front, his legs churning. His fists hit my chest and sent me sprawling. At the end of his charge Rafael stumbled and fell.

I rose to my knees. He clambered to get up. I punched at his face, landing two decent shots, and he shouted in pain.

He pivoted on his knees and swept his left arm across, grabbing me. He hauled me in and stood. We faced each other, my belly at his chest. I swatted at his shoulders as he squeezed me with both arms. I had no leverage to hit him. I kicked my feet at his legs and twisted from side to side. He lifted me higher, my head rising to eight feet. I scratched his face and tried to tear off his ear. He yelled and set me on my feet.

It startled me, but then he leaned to one side, crossed his arms, and grabbed me around the middle again. Straightening, he lifted me with ease and flipped me upside down. I held his knees for purchase, but then he dropped me on the deck.

I tucked my head and crashed onto my right shoulder, the rest of my body falling, my back slamming into the wood. My head settled onto the hard surface, stunned, my muscles unresponsive.

He turned me onto my stomach, arranged my arms to my sides, and reached to lift me again. Full awareness returned. I faced away from him, legs down and a foot off the deck. He squeezed me like a vise. I tried to twist my torso without success. He breathed heavily and grunted with each step.

Think now, think. Not much time.

Rafael did a side shuffle to get closer to the boathouse. Why did he walk so close to the wall when the deck was so wide? Suddenly I remembered Rafael eyeing the water, nervous. Then I realized he couldn’t swim.

Immobile from the waist up, I could swing my legs from side to side. I performed a test by swinging them together to the left. He grunted and made an adjustment. When I swung them back to the right, he shifted again. The lateral force of my legs swinging created a torque that challenged his grip. We neared the end of the dock. A coiled rope lay on the deck ahead. Quick now.

I pointed my toes straight down, tightened my core muscles, and swung my legs hard to the left. When he shifted, I swung them back with everything I had. The force turned him to the right until he faced the boathouse two feet away. I bent my knees to bring my feet against the wall and then shoved hard to push us both backward. He stumbled and began to fall. To keep his balance, he had to let me go. I hit the deck, and he took steps backward, closer to the edge of the dock. I landed on my side and reached for the rope. As I stepped toward him, he regained his balance and stood straight.

Standing with my left leg forward, I brought my right leg up in the chambered position, toes pointed straight, and focused on the target: the sciatic nerve in the back of Rafael’s thigh. I rotated my hips and kicked through the target, my leg accelerating and snapping at the last moment. A solid smack sounded when my instep crashed into his thigh.

He groaned, staggered, and nearly fell, his face contorted. He stood a mere foot from the edge of the dock. Now!

I breathed deeply to expand my lungs. His eyes cleared, and his lips screwed into a snarl. He threw his shoulders back and held his arms up, ready. I committed fully to the charge, my knees bent to keep me low, my legs springing from the deck to maximize power, my mind fueled by fury. He put his arms out, but I had momentum, and we crashed over the deck to fall in the water.

We landed with a grand splash and tumbled below the surface. The cold attacked the skin on my head, neck, and feet.

Rafael went crazy. He thrashed under the water with his mighty arms, desperate to find a hold. His hand smacked my face randomly and then came back to grab at my shoulder, but the wet suit offered no hold. I swam under, then out and away.

I came to the surface. He was like a large animal caught in quicksand, turning this way and that. He swatted at the water, trying to make it solid. His eyes were terrified, and he shouted a ghastly cry.

“¡Auxilio! ¡Me ahogo! ¡Auxilio!”

He went under and then resurfaced. The sight of the deck, ten feet away, gave him new life.

He yelped, “Ayyy ayyy oooo . . .”

Water flooded his mouth. He sputtered and coughed, but the thrashing brought him closer to the dock. He uttered a cry of hope; the dock was his savior if he could only reach it.

He couldn’t have noticed me approach from behind. I treaded water toward him, working the rope at the same time. I made a loop and wrapped the line around itself and through to make a simple noose. He struggled three feet from the dock. In a few more seconds, he would reach safety.

I flipped the loop around his head and tightened the noose, then inhaled and dived under, the rope feeding through my hand. Once down six feet, I kicked toward the dock, still letting out line and feeling in front of me with my free hand. The floating barrels were somewhere in the cold dark water. I kicked hard again and my hand struck something plastic, a barrel. I felt under it and found a metal crossbar. I looped the rope around the metal support and brought it back to my hand. Wiggling my way under the barrel, I placed my feet against the crossbar, the rope in my hands, and then I shoved away from the bar to pull the rope taut.

The rope fought me, spastically jerking, as if there were a huge and angry fish on the other end. I took up the slack and pushed with my legs once more, taking out another foot of slack. The line continued to fight. I pushed one last time to make sure. My body screamed for oxygen. Not yet. Not yet. I looped the line around the crossbar twice, tucked it back under itself, and then pushed off from the beam, desperate to reach the surface. At the top, I gulped at the air and watched.

His lower body and torso thrashed at the water, making a terrifying noise, desperate, primitive. His legs banged into the dock. A huge hand flailed above the surface, grabbed the deck and pulled, but it was hopeless. His hand let go and shot back under.

I swam to the ladder and climbed onto the dock. The sounds of Rafael’s struggle grew softer. I picked up the Beretta, stepped toward the boathouse, and heard a rifle crack. A hole appeared in the wall two feet away. A second shot followed, and a bullet tore into the decking at my feet.

I stopped and stared, my mind fuzzy, my whole body tingling.

Move. Move now.

Rushing toward the boathouse, I glanced at the mansion. A man stood at the top of the stairs, sighting down a barrel. The muzzle flashed, and another hole appeared in the boathouse wall. I stayed inside for only a second, then stepped out and aimed toward the man. It was too far to hit him, but I could make a racket.

He held the rifle to the side as if to examine it, and I emptied the magazine in a few seconds. The explosions in my ear would be noisy pops on the patio, like throwing baseballs at an elephant, but I must have hit something, the stairs or a pot or a window, because the man jumped back.

Someone shouted in Spanish from the mansion, and the rifleman slinked away.

Rafael continued his worldly struggles, nearly done. I walked to the edge and watched, mesmerized. His legs kicked weakly a few more times and then stopped. His waist slid beneath the surface and slowly dragged his legs down. The water rippled in all directions, but quickly settled, and after a few more seconds, the surface was perfectly smooth.

 Excerpt from The Cartel Banker (Joe Robbins Book Two) Get the full novel on Amazon.

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