Blood is Black in the Moonlight

could have taken Juan Vargas alive, but the dumb fuck pulled an AK on the Seals.”
The thing about the drug cartel is when one goes down, another emerges to take its place. As long as you still have Americans willing to snort and smoke that shit, you will never stop the drug trade.
“I murdered people for the Cartel.  Juan was getting suspicious of me, and I put the scent of a rat on this 18-year-old kid… his name was Chris Santiago.” I lower my head. “They stuffed him in an oil drum and burned him alive. I murdered that kid, Tanner.”
“Lobos, You did what you had to do to stay alive. Besides, that kid was going to end up dead anyway considering the track he was on.”
My boss shrugging off this kid’s death makes the bile swirl in my gut.
“What about Chris’s family? I mean, his parents adored me, and their son looked up to me like some big sister.”
“You know the rules, Lobos; we don’t interact with criminal’s families once the Op is over.”
I glower at him. “So that’s it? His mother and father are left in the dark about what happened to their child?”
“Lobos, you’re a UC operative, not a grief counselor. Besides, the CIA and the DEA can’t risk you blowing your cover to appease your guilty conscience.”
A flash of that kid’s bright smile enters my mind. “So just like that, Chris Santiago is just another notch on the CIA’s belt.”
He sighs and rubs his brow. “Lobos, you have been living with these pieces of shit for two years. Living and breathing their diseased existence.  So after the debriefing, I am putting you on paid vacation.”
I had plans to help that kid, but I murdered him. My hands are stained with his blood, another casualty, in the futile war on drugs. “We knew Jimmy was dirty”—he stares at his body in disgust—“we discovered he owed a ton of gambling debt to the Triads. If he didn’t pay them back, they’d kill his wife and kid. However, his family was dead before he even had a chance to collect the money. We found them dead in a hotel with their throats cut… even the goddamn kid.”
“So you knew he was dirty all along, and you put me with him anyway? What the fuck, Tanner?”
“I’m sorry, Lobos, I wanted to inform you, but the CIA said its best we not run the risk of you tipping him off. Plus, they had no way of knowing you weren’t dirty.”
I would ask why he didn’t come to us with this, but it’s obvious. The Triads told him no cops. That also explains his last words.
I put out my cigarette on the floor and put it in a baggie. Leave no trace Cartels have people on their payroll to do DNA tests.
He crosses his arms. “Jimmy’s gambling addiction finally done him in.”
“Yeah, I told the fucker to get some help, but he wouldn’t listen. Typical addict in denial—“I wince in pain—“did we ever find the assholes who killed his family?”
“We don’t know who the killer was, and even if we did, he’s likely back in China by now. But you need medical attention, so turn around and be arrested. You know the drill. You have to look like one of these pieces of shit.”
Most people dread being put in handcuffs, not me. I welcomed it. It was a sign the assignment was over, and I can go back home to Miami, to my husband.
***
A few days later, I’m sitting at a small Chinese restaurant in Miami, waiting for my boss and sipping a cup of low quality coffee. It tastes like the cheap mud water they gave us in the Army.  The place is not very big it has ten tables at the most, and dirty red carpet. I’ve been shedding tears all night. I haven’t slept at all. Feels like I’m wandering through a fog. All I can see are the faces of the people I’ve shot in cold blood without hesitation and Chris’s confused fear-stricken face as they were dumping gas on him. His cries still echo in my mind, and the smell of his flesh crackling in the fire stain my senses.
It wasn’t me! Devi, tell them it wasn’t me! Please!
I wanted to gun all of those assholes down and save that kid. But I would’ve just blown my cover, and ended up in an oil drum right next to him. However, that would’ve probably have been better than the pain I feel right now.
My boss sits down at the table. “Alright, let’s get your debriefing done, then we can get you on your vacation”— his brow furrows—“hey, what’s wrong?”
Breaking down into tears, my head falls in my hands. “I am sorry, Tanner. But I can’t… I can’t do this anymore.”
“Okay, I understand. No more undercover work then. There is a slot on the Doctor Shoppers’ task force I can put you on. It’s local, and it’s not undercover.”
“No, you’re not hearing me. I am done with the DEA.”
His eyes widen. “What! But you worked so hard to get here.” His voice full of shock.
Clasping my hands over my head. “I’m sorry.  I can’t do it anymore after this last one. The shit I’ve done keeps replaying in my head. I can still hear the screams of that Chris Santiago.”
“Jesus Christ, you’re going to throw away your career over a two-bit drug slinging punk?”
I place my badge on the table and push it to him. “I won’t be a part of an organization that sweeps the death of kids under the rug.”
He stares at the badge and sighs. “Alright, Lobos. I just hate it; I’m losing one of my best agents. But if this what you want, then I will email you the resignation forms.”