04-08-2015, 09:21 AM
PPC: Jorge Ospania
![[Image: javier-pereira-492319l.jpg]](http://static.cinemagia.ro/img/db/actor/03/56/43/javier-pereira-492319l.jpg)
Sweat pooled on Jorge’s palms. His fingers drummed against the arm rest on the door as he hummed a tune under his breath. The windows stayed down despite night having fallen. The front of his singlet was still wet.
The heat he could deal with. It was in his blood. Twenty kilograms of cocaine hidden in modified compartments smuggled out of Mexico City was not. Driving into a den of murderers didn’t help either. It was fucking insane. Suicide.
The car swayed and Jorge cursed, glancing at the man next to him. The bastard didn’t seem to stir. Thank fuck.
Raul didn’t say much, his eyes glued to the road. Another crazy fucker. Ex-Cartel of some sort who was out for revenge. The tattoos painting his huge arms had been earned with blood. Jorge was glad Raul was on their side now.
He breathed a nervous sigh and fumbled at his pocket for a joint and lighter. Smoke filled his lungs and he tilted his head backwards wanting to disappear into the cracks of the cushioned seat. He should have listened to his mother, but once again Jorge Ospania was about to do something fucking stupid. He should have listened to his mother, but she was dead. His father probably snorting cocaine somewhere in the countryside; maybe kidnapping a few women to use and throw away.
Maybe the fucker was dead. Jorge smiled at the thought of his faceless father trembling at Oakland’s feet. Jorge had been there when Oakland had wiped the smile off that smug Guitterez’s face. The fucking coward was only a big shot until a stronger, more ruthless motherfucker turned up.
Jorge took another drag, careful to blow the smoke out of the window. He didn’t want to think about the guy sleeping next to him. There were whispers about the soft, pale faced man that were at odds with his delicate features. He was supposed to be one dangerous bastard and all kinds of crazy.
“Put that shit out,”
Raul growled. “We’re here.”
Jorge took one last puff before flicking the remainder out of the window. Lights were fast approaching the speeding vehicle and Jorge got his first look at ‘here’.
What a fucking shit-hole, was his initial reaction. If he had doubted before, the sight of the run down backwater expelled it. The smell was familiar. Drugs, sex, filth and fear. Raul began to slow down. A pack of rough looking bastards with AK’s homed in on them and Jorge slipped his hand underneath his singlet to the pistol tucked into his shorts. Raul shouted some bullshit accompanied by a bunch of waving and hand gestures and the pack backed away.
“We will meet the contact now. Wake him up.”
Raul said.
Fuck.
Cringing, Jorge stretched a hand towards the sleeping man and shook his shoulder. “Wake up. It’s nearly show-time.”
Edited by Damien, Apr 8 2015, 09:22 AM.
Sweat pooled on Jorge’s palms. His fingers drummed against the arm rest on the door as he hummed a tune under his breath. The windows stayed down despite night having fallen. The front of his singlet was still wet.
The heat he could deal with. It was in his blood. Twenty kilograms of cocaine hidden in modified compartments smuggled out of Mexico City was not. Driving into a den of murderers didn’t help either. It was fucking insane. Suicide.
The car swayed and Jorge cursed, glancing at the man next to him. The bastard didn’t seem to stir. Thank fuck.
Raul didn’t say much, his eyes glued to the road. Another crazy fucker. Ex-Cartel of some sort who was out for revenge. The tattoos painting his huge arms had been earned with blood. Jorge was glad Raul was on their side now.
He breathed a nervous sigh and fumbled at his pocket for a joint and lighter. Smoke filled his lungs and he tilted his head backwards wanting to disappear into the cracks of the cushioned seat. He should have listened to his mother, but once again Jorge Ospania was about to do something fucking stupid. He should have listened to his mother, but she was dead. His father probably snorting cocaine somewhere in the countryside; maybe kidnapping a few women to use and throw away.
Maybe the fucker was dead. Jorge smiled at the thought of his faceless father trembling at Oakland’s feet. Jorge had been there when Oakland had wiped the smile off that smug Guitterez’s face. The fucking coward was only a big shot until a stronger, more ruthless motherfucker turned up.
Jorge took another drag, careful to blow the smoke out of the window. He didn’t want to think about the guy sleeping next to him. There were whispers about the soft, pale faced man that were at odds with his delicate features. He was supposed to be one dangerous bastard and all kinds of crazy.
“Put that shit out,”
Raul growled. “We’re here.”
Jorge took one last puff before flicking the remainder out of the window. Lights were fast approaching the speeding vehicle and Jorge got his first look at ‘here’.
What a fucking shit-hole, was his initial reaction. If he had doubted before, the sight of the run down backwater expelled it. The smell was familiar. Drugs, sex, filth and fear. Raul began to slow down. A pack of rough looking bastards with AK’s homed in on them and Jorge slipped his hand underneath his singlet to the pistol tucked into his shorts. Raul shouted some bullshit accompanied by a bunch of waving and hand gestures and the pack backed away.
“We will meet the contact now. Wake him up.”
Raul said.
Fuck.
Cringing, Jorge stretched a hand towards the sleeping man and shook his shoulder. “Wake up. It’s nearly show-time.”
Edited by Damien, Apr 8 2015, 09:22 AM.