The Wraith III: The Machete Unleashed!, Pt. 1

  By: Team Wraith

  Interrogation Room, Century Regional Detention Facility, Lynwood

  The time is 7:00PM. The interrogation room is stuffy and dimly lit. Two detectives: One tall and lanky dark-skinned African-American man with an Afro, trenchcoat, and sweater vest—and the other is a pale-skinned Mexican-American woman with a light-blue jean jacket and a white t-shirt. Each of them are wearing badges around their necks.

  The Mexican woman has a badge with a nameplate that says A. Mendoza, the African-American man’s says T. Poole.

  Across from them is a young Mexican-American lady in an orange jumpsuit. Her skin is a dark tan with tattoos of skulls, black roses, and guns up and down her arms. Below her neck are tattoos of fangs. Under both of her eyes, are red tear droplets that go all the way down to her jawline—signs that she may or may not be responsible for numerous deaths. Black eyeliner colors her eye sockets as well.

  She slouches in her chair, handcuffed. She picks at a jagged fingernail, ignoring the detectives as if they were nothing more than background static on a radio.

  “Okay, Valentina Madero,” Mendoza begins. “Age 22—"

  “You can call me Tina,” the young lady says, in a slow, nasally draw that is just above a whisper.

  She has a thick Spanglish accent typical of a working-class Mexican-American from Los Angeles.

  “In the Hood they call you The Machete though,” Poole says. “You the leader of Los Vampiros. Am I right?”

  Tina slowly turns to him, her eyes cold and lifeless.

  “I ain’t saying nothing,” Tina begins, shaking her head slowly, “without my lawyer present.”

  Poole and Mendoza look at each other and smirk. “She’ll crack eventually.”

  “The Kimura Foundation,” Mendoza begins. “The Yakuza. Tell us what you know about them.”

  Tina’s lips slowly curl. Her body is relaxed, as if she’s been asked this question a hundred times.

  “We know Los Vampiros get their product from the Yakuza,” Mendoza continues. “Just give us a few names.”

  Tina slowly sits up in her seat and rests her cuffed hands on the table.

  “?Orale!” Tina cheers, with a big toothy grin. “You fools want some names? Information?”

  “That’s the only reason we came here Tina,” Mendoza says.

  “Okay, mira,” Tina begins, looking into Mendoza’s eyes, “tu mamá es una pinche puta de mierda. ?Y… tu papá? Le gustan los ni?os.”

  Tina snickers, raising her eyebrows mischievously. She shrugs her shoulders.

  Mendoza’s face is red and scrunches up into a scowl. For a second, the badge around her neck feels like it’s choking her.

  Poole—who doesn’t know Spanish—gives both of them a bewildered look. He notices how angry his partner is getting, and also how calm and clever Tina is. His eyebrows raise; he doesn’t need to speak Spanish to know that Tina’s words were fighting words. He knows his partner like the back of his hand.

  After a few minutes of awkward silence, Mendoza takes a deep breath and smiles.

  “We can curse each other in Spanish all night,” Mendoza says. “But that’s not gonna help you beat these charges. If you don’t start talking, you’re gonna be in here for life.”

  There is a beat.

  “And without your little earrings and those, uh, machetes,” Mendoza says.

  Tina grimaces.

  “You think you gonna survive in here?” Poole asks, finishing Mendoza’s sentence.

  Tina leans in close, looking into Poole’s eyes. “I don’t need none of that to survive in this shithole. I’ve won all my squabbles in here, ese. Besides, I’ll find my way out.”

  As if on cue, the heavy door handle turns with a loud, metallic clack.

  The door swings open and a man marches in, cutting through the tension. He is a stout White man with a ring of brown hair clinging to the sides of his balding head. Before he even speaks, a wave of suffocatingly thick cologne hits the room—so strong that it makes Tina sit up in her seat.

  “Good evening everyone,” the man says. “I’m Adam Greenblatt, attorney at law. I’m Tina’s lawyer. I’m here to announce that she has been pardoned by the City.”

  Tina doesn't look surprised. She just watches Mendoza’s face fall, her lips slowly creeping into that mocking grin.

  “…The fuck?” Poole curses.

  “No!” Mendoza exclaims. “That can’t be right! Does Mayor Duval know what kind of person he’s letting back into the streets?! She’s a killer! She’ll kill again!”

  “Allegedly,” Tina taunts.

  Mendoza shoots her a look dripping with pure disdain.

  “I’m not going to say it again,” Adam says. “She’s free. Let her go.”

  Tina slowly rises to her feet. Mendoza stands up quickly and walks around the table toward Tina.

  “Arielle!” Poole calls, trying in vain to stop her.

  Mendoza gets in Tina’s face, leaning down. Tina smiles. Though Mendoza towers over the smaller girl, Tina doesn't flinch. She just gives that same eerie sneer.

  “Listen here, puta!” Mendoza whispers. “If you ever disrespect my parents again, when I see you on the street—.”

  Mendoza stops herself before she says something that could cost her her job. Poole looks in shock.

  Tina slowly begins to chuckle, before letting off a full-throated laugh as she is escorted out of the room by Adam: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

  Once she walks out of the room, Mendoza looks at Poole.

  “Kimura,” Mendoza grumbles.

  *

  Outside of The Jail, Lynwood

  Tina and her lawyer, Adam Greenblatt, have stepped outside. The air outside is cool and breezy as it usually is in Los Angeles at night. Tina is wearing a black sports bra with a red and black flannel over it, sleeves rolled up to just below her elbows. She also wears black cargo pants and black combat boots.

  “Tell the Japonesa I appreciate her lookin’ out,” Tina says.

  “Well you can tell her yourself,” Greenblatt says before handing her a burner phone.

  The “burner” is a small black flip phone.

  Tina shakes her head. “I gotta see mi abuela and get new earrings because that pinche bruja broke ‘em! Gotta be trucha. Can get caught slippin’ out here.”

  The phone rings. Tina stares at it for a bit—her chest tightening—before flipping it open and answering it.

  “Hola,” Tina says.

  “Welcome home sis,” the voice on the other side of the line says. It is posh and high-pitched. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “I was telling Adam to thank you for getting me out, Mai.”

  Mai laughs. “Well I was hoping I could see you in person.”

  Tina’s eyes narrow. It sounds like a set-up. She can feel it in her gut.

  “You know I don’t go nowhere without my earrings. How do I know—”

  “You have nothing to be worried about, it’s a celebration. Nothing will happen to you. I’m the reason you’re out, remember? And you know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

  Just then, a black SUV pulls up. The driver’s side window rolls down. A man with a black t-shirt, a gray jacket, and gray sunglasses is driving the car. Tina raises her eyebrows.

  “Damn,” Tina says, her eyes widening. “You’re not playin’ around.”

  “No, Machete,” Mai says, laughing for a bit before she collects herself. “I’m not. Minoru will take you wherever you need to go afterwards. See you soon.”

  Mai ends the call, the line going silent as Tina lowers the phone from her ear.

  Tina opens the back door of the SUV and steps inside.

  Minoru looks at Adam. “Have a good night, Mr. Greenblatt.”

  He drives off, leaving Adam standing there alone.

  *

  Penthouse, Kimura Tower, Chinatown

  Tina and Minoru step in through the front door. The penthouse is completely painted in red. The carpets are red. The furniture is red. The air inside is warm and toasty from cooking, with the room smelling like hot udon and yakitori.

  “You know you have to remove your shoes,” Minoru says.

  Tina nods her head. She kneels down. She begins unlacing and removing her boots, revealing black socks.

  “Machete!” Mai calls from the dinner table, not even looking behind to see who it is. She gestures them over.

  Mai is wearing a red and black leather sleeveless ninja suit. Her hair tied in a high ponytail, as usual.

  The two of them walk over to the dinner table. At the table are three sets of dishes. A bowl of udon with chopsticks and a plate of yakitori. Tina slowly sits down across the table from Mai. Minoru sits next to Mai, where his food is. Also at the table are three glasses of wine at each seat.

  “I wanted to thank you again Miss Kimura,” Tina says as the three of them begin eating. “The Foundation does some pretty righteous work.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mai says. “The Foundation believes that you have a bright future, Machete. I was a troubled young lady from the Hood once. We all make mistakes, right.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Tina and Mai look at each other. Tina chuckles, her lips slowly curling into a smile.

  “You must’ve spent all day rehearsin’ that one,” Tina jokes. She knows that this isn’t why she’s really here.

  Mai laughs hysterically. Tina and Minoru laugh with her, before Mai takes a breather and calms down.

  “Now,” Mai says, “let’s get down to business. Wraith business.”

  “Right,” Tina says, scowling. “The fuckin’ Bruja Amatista. I’m gonna skin that bitch alive. She can’t die, so that’ll make it even more fun.”

  Tina grips her chopsticks so tightly that her knuckles go pale, the tension visible in her hands.

  As Tina speaks, Mai takes a sip of wine and lets out a small, pleased sound. She smiles, bites her lip, and puts the glass back down.

  “Make sure you record that and send it to me,” Mai quips. “I could use some… entertainment in my stressful and high-functioning life. Oh yeah, by the way.”

  Mai whistles. Just then, two men walk out. Each man holding one machete in their hand.

  “Hurt and Pain,” Tina says, her mouth falling open. “How did you get them back? One-time took ‘em when I got locked up.”

  “Sweetie, it’s simple, I’m Mai Kimura. When I talk, everyone in this fucking city listens. So, I talked to some people.”

  “Not gonna lie, these are all kind gestures,” Tina says, “but I know you. You don’t do shit for free.”

  “I don’t,” Mai says, shaking her head and grinning slyly. She shrugs. “Well, usually, but I like you Machete. You remind me of your father. He was a good man.”

  “Yeah,” Tina says, head down looking at her food. She looks back up at Mai. “Which is why I need my earrings. I can’t go out like he did.”

  Mai closes her eyes and nods her head.

  “I was gonna stop by my grandmother’s and get new ones,” Tina continues, “but then you called me here. And I’ve got some other business to take care of too.”

  “I know you’re a… busy young lady, but I need The Wraith to suffer. Seems like you want her to as well. You’re itching for it. Think you can make that happen? For me?”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Tina replies. “When I start putting in the work I need to put in, The Bruja is gonna come lookin’ for me. Then, we’re gonna settle it. Once and for all.”

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Tina rises from her seat and grabs her machetes from the two men. She holds them in her hands, swings them around a bit, smiles, and nods her head.

  Mai watches her and drinks her wine.

  “I’ve gotta go Mai. Thanks for the food, and everything else. Los Vampiros will not forget the kindness you’ve shown us.”

  “I understand,” Mai says. “By the way, new product comes in tonight. It’ll be enough to get you back on your feet and keep your crew happy.”

  Tina smiles and nods her head. “Shit yeah, hermana!”

  Mai nudges Minoru.

  “Minoru,” she begins, before continuing in Japanese, “make her a to-go plate.”

  Minoru takes her food and goes to the kitchen.

  *

  A few minutes later, Minoru is back out with two Styrofoam clamshell plates. He begins walking Tina out alongside the two other men.

  “Oh by the way, Machete,” Mai says, eating. With one gulp the food bulges down her throat. “Have fun, and do everything I would do. HAHAHAHA!”

  Tina laughs with her as Minoru walks her out.

  *

  Inside the SUV, On the Street, South Central

  The black SUV drives down a narrow street in front of small bungalows and black fences. Tina Madero sits in the back seat between the two men who gave her her machetes back—both burly and baldheaded. Minoru is in the front seat driving, as smooth 80s Japanese city pop plays from the radio.

  “It’s at the end of the street,” Tina says, “at Fir and 92nd.”

  “We know where she lives, Machete,” Minoru says, his voice flat and menacing.

  “These Chinos know everything about everybody,” Tina thinks to herself as she takes a deep breath.

  The SUV arrives at its stop: Fir Avenue and 92nd Street.

  The two men sitting beside Tina step out of the vehicle first. As Tina tries to exit through the left door it is slammed in her face.

  “…The fuck?” Tina curses.

  “They’re getting your food and machetes for you. Be patient.”

  The hatch opens, the two men grab what they need and slam the door.

  “Now you may leave,” Minoru says.

  Tina raises her eyebrows before she pulls the door lever, popping it open.

  “Hey Machete,” Minoru calls.

  Tina turns toward him. “What?”

  “Don’t ever forget who your friends are,” he says.

  “Yeah,” Tina says, smiling. “I won’t, ese. Or should I say, japon-ese.”

  Minoru laughs, his skin thickened by a life of violence and death.

  She steps out. The two men hand her her machetes, and carry the food to her front porch, before they get back into the SUV and it speeds off.

  Tina lowers her machetes to the ground, allowing them to drag on the pavement—making an eerie grinding sound as she approaches her grandmother’s front door. Upon reaching the front door. She puts one machete down and reaches for her keys. She puts the key into the socket, and twists the doorknob. She picks the other machete up and steps through the door before closing it.

  *

  Dolores Madero Residence, South Central

  As Tina steps through the door, the lights are off. In the living room, sitting alone on her couch is a Mexican woman in her mid-60s; her gray hair is tied in a bun. The smell of incense fills the air. She sits at a small table surrounded by burning incense, human skulls, and two glass jars filled with blood. Her eyes are closed. She is wearing a black robe.

  “Mi hija/my daughter,” the woman says, not even opening her eyes. “Bienvenido a casa. Me da mucho gusto verte./Welcome home. It’s good to see you.”

  Tina leaves her machetes at the door as she walks in. She opens the door and grabs the plates of food from outside, placing them on the dinner table.

  “Yo también me puse bien feliz de verte, Abuelita. ?Cómo has estado?/It's good to see you too, Grandma. How have you been holding up?”

  “Ay, estos condenados juanetes ya no los aguanto, pero el Se?or Bouros ha sido muy piadoso./These damn bunions have been pissing me off, but Lord Bouros has been merciful.”

  Her grandmother’s eyes turn to the food on the table. “Ya veo que me trajiste algo de... comida japonesa./ I see you've brought me some... Japanese food.”

  Tina chuckles a bit before she looks down at her grandmother’s feet: Her right big toe is swollen and red. She raises her eyebrows.

  “Let me get you some Tylenol,” Tina says.

  “No,” her grandmother says, in a thick Mexican accent with flawless English. “I am communing with our Lord. Let it wait. I’ve survived worse.”

  Tina nods her head and takes a deep breath.

  She turns to her left and sees an envelope on the dinner table: “Dolores Madero, 1985 Fir Ave, Los Angeles, CA.” The letter is from Medicaid.

  “I know why you’re here, Valentina,” Dolores says. “The earrings. You took a big risk running around without them. What were you thinking?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice, Abuela. Mai needed to see me. I was worried too, but she was cool. She even got Hurt and Pain back, and promised us new product.”

  There is a beat.

  “It’s okay,” Dolores says. “We must not waste time. Come, kneel down.”

  Tina kneels down. Dolores begins chanting in an unknown tongue and puts the two jars of blood in the middle of the table. Tina looks up. She feels a pit in her stomach.

  Dolores places her hands over the jars, when suddenly a black steam is emitted from them. Dolores’s eyes turn black as she continues with her incantations.

  A pair of clear crystal earrings with blood inside of them begin floating out of the jars, one from each jar. Dolores takes hold of them, before slowly getting up. Tina closes her eyes and bows her head.

  Dolores continues her incantations as she places the earrings in Tina’s earlobes. Dolores sits back down. As Tina is kneeling, suddenly a black, electricity-like aura surrounds her body.

  “Mmph,” Tina groans as the power flows through her bones. “Gyeeea!”

  Her muscles begin to expand, her eyes roll to the back of her head as the aura surrounds her. Then, they roll forward again. The aura dissipates.

  “How do you feel?” Dolores asks.

  “I feel great Abuela,” The Machete says, with a bloodthirsty grin.

  “Good, now let’s get down to business. The three little ratas who sent you away. It’s time for them to go. They were from your crew.”

  The Machete seethes. “Who are they?!”

  “Juanito, Donkey, and Foolio.”

  “What?! Foolio?! My cousin?!”

  Dolores nods her head. “When it was revealed to me, I was disappointed. His father would be ashamed of him if he was still here.”

  “They all need to get chipped,” The Machete declares. “?Esta noche!/Tonight! Starting with that cabrón, Foolio.”

  There is a beat.

  The Machete continues: “Those other two pendejos can wait, I expected that from them. They were always weak and useless.”

  The Machete rises, power radiating through her like a sudden current. Beside her, Dolores struggles upright, wincing as a sharp pang shoots from her bunion.

  “Before I go,” The Machete says, “I need to ask you something. It’s about La Bruja Amatista; has the prophecy changed?”

  “Mi hija,” Dolores begins, “I am afraid it hasn’t.”

  “What?!”

  “The good thing is that she is forbidden by her own Lord from killing you, but she is destined to always defeat you. Nothing can change that.”

  The Machete growls. Dolores places her hands on The Machete’s shoulders.

  “Don’t get distracted,” Dolores says. “You’re home now. Take care of the mierda de perro in your own yard before worrying about someone else.”

  The Machete grits her teeth and balls her fists. “It’s not fair!”

  “There is nothing fair about The Celestial Order. But it does not stop you from doing what you need to do, and with the Japonese on our side, at least the police can’t touch us.”

  The Machete slowly shrugs her shoulders. She gives Dolores a hug.

  “Buenos noches, Abuela,” The Machete whispers.

  “Buenos noches, Valentina. By the way, you’ll need this.”

  Dolores reaches into her pocket and grabs a wrinkled red bandana. She hands it to The Machete, who ties it around her mouth.

  “Que el Se?or Bouros esté con ustedes./May Lord Bouros be with you.”

  The Machete nods at her grandmother. She heads toward the door and picks up her machetes. She turns to her grandmother one last time, who smiles and waves at her. The Machete nods, before opening the door and leaving.

  *

  On the Street, South Central

  The Machete walks down Avalon Boulevard with purpose, her machetes—Hurt and Pain—dragging on the pavement. The sound is so distinct and chilling that nearby civilians begin running back into their storefronts and homes.

  *

  “She’s back!” one woman cries, hearing the sound from far away as she sits on the front porch of her home. She quickly runs back inside and locks her door.

  *

  The Machete spots an alleyway and slips into its shadowed confines. Suddenly, a sharp sound echoes.

  CLICK!

  The Machete stops in place with a terrifying calm.

  “Looks like you got the drop on me, Foolio,” The Machete jokes, her voice slow, quiet, and nasal.

  She slowly turns back around to face him. A short, stocky cholo with fangs tattooed on his forehead. He wears a grey tank-top and black cargo pants.

  The two cousins lock eyes. The Machete’s eyes are like those of a lioness, Foolio shudders a bit.

  “I heard… you came home,” Foolio stutters, “I wasn’t gonna take any ch-chances.”

  “Why did you do it? Why’d you betray the Barrio, your own blood?!”

  “Because I want out, Tina,” Foolio says. “I’m tired of the streets! I saw a way out and I took it. Now, I gotta make sure I never have to worry about you again.”

  Foolio hesitates, the tension thick in the air; Tina watches him with a flicker of amusement dancing in her dark-lined eyes.

  “That stuff about the earrings giving you power is all bullshit,” Foolio says, gritting his teeth. “They didn’t stop Tio Hector from getting popped.”

  The Machete’s eyes widen. Beneath the bandana wrapped tightly around her face, a smile curls at the corners of her lips. In this charged moment, her guarded amusement flickers out from behind the mask.

  “That’s what I want you to think. You see, Foolio. I intentionally didn’t tell any of you the whole story about my dad. See, he died that day because he wasn’t wearing his shit.”

  Foolio’s face turns white.

  “Yeah, I lied,” The Machete adds. “Precisely for moments like this.”

  “I don’t give a fuck!” Foolio screams, his voice cracking. “Stop all that spooky shit, Tina!”

  The Machete grips Hurt and Pain tighter and stretches her arms out. “Go ahead vato, pull the trigger.”

  With the gun pointed at her head, Foolio pulls the trigger. The force of the bullet causes her head to snap back and sends her walking backwards.

  But the bullet does not penetrate. She regains her composure.

  Foolio growls as he continues shooting her in the chest, but the bullets still don’t penetrate.

  “AHAHAHAHAHA!” The Machete laughs. “You done yet, fucker? Hmm?”

  Foolio continues pulling the trigger with reckless abandon until he runs out of bullets.

  CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

  “Si/Yes,” The Machete says. “No penetrará./It won’t penetrate. It tickled though. HAHAHA!”

  Foolio’s eyes widen again. He drops his pistol. As he turns around to run…

  SLICE!

  His eyes widen. He drops to his knees and falls on his face. A lengthy and bloody gash is on his back, his tank-top sliced open as well. He turns around to face his attacker.

  “You know the rules Foolio,” The Machete says, her voice slow and menacing. “Blood in… blood out!”

  “?Por favor, Prima!/Please, Cousin!” Foolio begs, his mouth dripping with blood. “My bad, just take me to the hospital!”

  The Machete lifts her right arm and…

  SLICE!

  Foolio’s vision fades to black.

  *

  Hernandez Residence, South Central

  Somewhere else in South Central, Donkey and his brother Juanito sit inside their home playing video games, mashing away vigorously at controller buttons. Donkey—true to his nickname—is a skinny man with long hair, a big nose, and buck teeth. His younger brother, Juanito, is short and overweight.

  Donkey’s girlfriend smokes a blunt on the couch behind them. The smell of marijuana smoke fills the room. The game they are playing is a first-person shooter.

  Donkey gets a kill on Juanito.

  Juanito seethes.

  “Hell yeah vato!” Donkey cheers. “Take that, fucker!”

  Suddenly there is a loud banging on the door. They pause their game and look at each other.

  “Yo bae,” Donkey says. “Could you see who that is?”

  There is another knock. This time, it vibrates the whole house—knocking picture frames off the wall.

  “Hold it!” Donkey’s girlfriend calls as she runs to the door and looks through the peephole.

  Upon seeing who is outside, Donkey’s girlfriend shrieks.

  BOOM!

  The door is kicked off its hinges, sending it flying to the hard tile floor along with Donkey’s girlfriend; the back of her head smacks the floor hard. Donkey and Juanito pull out their pistols from their waists. As they look to see who it is.

  “?La Ma… La Machete!” Donkey cries, shaking and sweating profusely.

  The Machete observes the door beneath her. Donkey’s girlfriend is buried underneath, only her arms and feet visible. Her blunt remains on the floor next to her and it’s still lit. A puddle of blood begins emerging from under the door. No noise is heard. She slowly turns to the two brothers, walking past the sofa.

  “No good lying rats!” The Machete hisses, blades in each hand.

  She lunges toward Juanito and disembowels him with one swing of her left arm, he drops to his knees. Donkey is cut a bit by the right machete as he runs, before tripping on an extension cord.

  “Please,” Donkey says, his right side bleeding, “forgive me! I’ll leave the hood—”

  SLICE!

  One of the blades slashes his throat. He gasps for air as blood spurts from his larynx before he stops moving.

  The Machete observes the three dead bodies. Only the video game keeps playing. She pulls a small black bottle from her pocket and fills it with Donkey’s blood as it drains from his wound. When she is done, she closes it.

  “For Se?or Bouros and Abuela,” she says, looking at it.

  She puts it back into her pocket.

  “Now, time to get the homies together.”

  As she leaves the scene, she picks up the blunt that Donkey’s girlfriend left on the floor and begins puffing on it, before she coldly walks out of the house.

  To Be Continued…