ATouchofTequilabyGaryPonzoTakethepill,Malik.docVIP

A Touch of Tequila by Gary Ponzo “Take the pill,” Malik Karzai said to the man tied to the chair. Habid Najjar had been severely beaten—the wounds deliberately administered to his face. His eyes were swollen and his cheeks slashed open with a serrated knife. Habid’s head hung limp, barely able to keep it upright. One of Malik’s men was standing next to him holding a small white pill, waiting for the man to open his mouth. “I said take the pill,” Malik repeated, this time louder and with more force. Habid’s face wandered around the apartment as if searching for the source of the voice. They were in the front room of the Chicago apartment, the windows covered with blinds. Behind Habid was a tableful of Iraqi nationals passing plates of eggs and flat bread around the table as if Malik were simply watching cartoons in the living room. The one great room held the kitchen and living room with just a tall counter separating them. Malik slammed his gun down on the coffee table, then grabbed the pill from his subordinate and pinched the Habid’s nose until he opened his mouth to breathe. Then Malik forced the pill into the man’s mouth and watched until he was certain the pill had been dissolved. The soundproofed apartment held a dozen of Malik’s best men who were guarding the safehouse with surveillance cameras and guards roaming the grounds. Three of them stood around the tied-up man, waiting for their next order. “It is merely a sedative you imbecile,” Malik said. “I need you to be subdued for the next phase of our plan. Can you hear me?” Habid lifted his head slightly and tried to find Malik with blood seeping into his eyes. “Here I am, Habid. Right where I always am, in front of you and your traitorous ways. Did you really believe you could take the boy and leave in the middle of the night? How stupid did you think I was?” Habid coughed, his head bobbing up and down and his torso expanding and contracting with each labored breath. Malik