Incitement

Incitement

Prologue

Eighty.

That was how many paces it took to patrol each side of the building. Two years of sentry duty meant he had walked the circuit thousands of times. There was a lot of time to think while working and, given his nature, that usually meant worrying about one thing or another. But even when his mind was otherwise occupied, he still subconsciously counted off the steps.

He went over his checklist of current troubles. Maria had been unwell lately but she refused to visit the doctor, saying it was a waste of money. His eldest boy had been staying out later and later and he suspected his son was falling into bad company. More mundanely, as was usually the case, he was struggling financially. The younger children badly needed some new clothes and, once again, there was a problem with the starter motor on his truck.

Seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty. Turn the corner.

Roberto appreciated what he had. From his early days, scrabbling to make a living in the nearby Mexican border town of Conchillo, to the last couple of years working for El cártel de Zaragosa, there had been many reminders of how hard life could be. Some of the things he had seen were better forgotten. Sentry duty might be tedious but it provided for him and his family.

His wife did not like him working for the cartel. She had reluctantly agreed only after he had pledged to limit his participation to guarding the compound outside town. The truth, however, was that all of them sometimes had to participate in the punishment of those who crossed the cartel. He hated the deception, but who could afford to pass up the chance of a steady wage?

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.

Patrol was the worst part of the night shift. At least if you were inside, you had company and even the chance to catch up on some sleep. Outside, you spent most of the time alone, pacing your circuit. He didn’t enjoy the violence; he never strutted around as some of the younger men did, infused with the sense of power that came with their brutality. Where he did find common ground with them was on the pointlessness of this monotonous work.

Two pairs of men were assigned to each four-hour shift. One pair patrolled the perimeter fence, while the other took care of the building. The extensive security didn’t take into account the absence of any threat to the cartel: the dual strategy of intimidation and corruption had worked. Night after night, all this wasted effort.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

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