The Death Row Complex - Free Sample

By the time they caught up with him, he had forgotten to keep running. Lawrence Naden was incoherent and scarcely recognizable – the sloughed, discarded skin of a human being.
It had been a rainy week in Tijuana. A brown river carried trash along the gutters of the squalid street. Piles of refuse collected in rough areas, generating dams that would eventually break with the weight of the water and garbage behind them.
A burst of static abbreviated the heavily accented warning from the megaphone. “You’ve got nowhere to go, Naden!”
The dark-skinned officer holding the megaphone motioned, and several federales carrying M16 rifles filed steadily across the sloping yard, taking care to maintain their footing in the thick mud. Others were already entering the house from the back.
Except for a handful of onlookers, most of them ragged children, the street was abandoned. The regular residents had fled at the first rumor of approaching law enforcement. This time, however, the federales were looking for a single individual. Drugs were only a secondary concern.

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