Carlos had an unusual birth defect. For all his planning and efforts to contain and control himself in a situation when he lost his temper, it triggered an adrenaline leak into his system which doubled his strength thus giving him the moniker Raging Bull. Juan loved to tease his older brother, but he had to be careful that he didn’t push the wrong buttons on Carlos. The one time was quite enough and ever since then they’d worked together like well-oiled machinery. Carlos, at a lean 1.83 meters, muscular, black hair with a mustache, and Juan, at 1.52 meters, stockier but muscular, black hair with no facial hair, could easily be candidates for GQ Magazine, when they were cleaned up. Neither of them had problems attracting females and thoroughly enjoyed them.
“Where the hell are they?” asked Carlos. “I don’t know why I let myself get talked into using gringos for this operation. You know they can’t be trusted! If they screw this up--”
Juan interjected, “Then we won’t have to worry about them ever again. Look, you don’t fly into the U.S. looking like us without attracting attention. They are wanted fugitives with nowhere else to go. They can’t go back to where they came from, and we are the only ones who will work with them after the Mexican police started cleaning house. After the enemies they made at the Night Owl shoot out, their ONLY option is to work with us.”
Juan looked up at the weather and in particular the clouds moving in and added, “I sure don’t like the looks of the weather. These clouds have the look of Nympho-Cumulus all over them.”
Carlos stared at Juan for a moment and said blankly, “….Nympho-Cumulus?”
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