Diablo

by James Kent

  ‘Mind if I ask what you’re drinking?’ she’d said in a silky voice like it was made of nectar. And that was it. He was hooked and reeled in like a helpless fish. No point fighting it.

  But now he wasn’t so sure because he didn’t like mysteries, especially ones that involved him in some way that he couldn’t predict and control. Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but it doesn’t hurt to check, does it? And Lavinia doesn’t need to know, does she? He’d better get onto it then, before Gifford’s crew took his advice to heart and tightened up on their cyber security! Damn, what a bind! And then the nasty, fleeting thought went through his mind of ringing Sally back and telling her, “Ok, turns out the bit about hacking into the Fed’s servers was a bunch of crap so you can hold off on that . . . I was being fed a pile of bullshit is all, so it’s not the big deal I thought it was. Sorry about that” etc. etc., just to make it easier for Eddie to bust in before the cyber door slammed shut like a steel vault. But he immediately dismissed it. Dumb idea! Ok, time for the Ferret to prove his ferreting skills.

  Swann fetched out the small map showing where Silva’s ranch was, and turned it over to read Eddie’s cell number. He booted up the phone he’d bought in Barstow on the way and dialed the number.

  Eddie answered on the third ring, not recognizing the number calling him, which made him slightly nervous. It could of course be the big guy, he realized, but he wasn’t expecting to hear from him for the next day or two. So, either something’s happened or it’s someone else. He was worried that maybe one of Silva’s guys had found him somehow. But that must be wrong too, because he’d only just recently bought the prepay, when he breezed through Needles on his way north, so there was no way they could know either the number or where he was. He had only used the phone a couple of times to ring home, with no answer so he’d left a message for his folks. No harm there.

  ‘Yeah, who’s this? I ‘aint home so leave a message!’ he said like a smart ass. Then he heard Swann’s voice and breathed a small sigh of relief. Swann was blunt as usual and had no time for polite greetings. ‘I’ve got a job for you, so get your ass over here and I’ll explain it. Then you can get on your bike and go grab the rest of your shit.’

  ‘Why? What for?’ he asked.

  ‘Just get over here. I’ll explain when you’re here.’ He hung up and tossed the phone on the bed and thought. He’d better be as good as he says he is! Otherwise, it could get messy!

  *

  But Swann had bigger fish to fry than worrying about who this Lavinia really was. He would set the Ferret onto that while he dealt with Diablo and his boys. He decided he would head off to Arizona and have a look around while the Ferret was grabbing his gear in Caliente. Then he’d meet him up in Kingman and set a trap for Silva, like sending another message on Silva’s old cell to his pals in Korea.

  A few minutes later, Eddie knocked on Swann’s door at the Desert Ranch motel. ‘What’s the plan boss?’ he asked as he walked in.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you . . . something right up your alley because it’s borderline illegal,’ said Swann who was sitting on the easy chair with his feet up on the table and his arms crossed. He had his SIG Sauer pistol on the table beside a cleaning kit and a box of ammunition, plus a few other tools of the trade. Eddie looked at it all, then he smiled and gave Swann a knowing look, like a “wink-wink-nudge-nudge” type look. ‘Well I wasn’t expecting to hear that!’ he said.

  ‘No, well me neither. But it’s important. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t ask.’

  ‘Ok then, shoot!’

  ‘Jump on your bike and head on up to Caliente for your clever computer gear, then come back here. I want you to bust into a database for me,’ he paused as Eddie’s eyes grew wide as saucers, Swann enjoyed watching his reaction; then he added, ‘. . . the Bureau’s database in LA to be precise. I need you to find out about a “Lavinia Pearman”. She’s recently started working there and I want to know who she is, what’s on her file, everything you can dig up on her background.’

  ‘Yeah, I know who she is, sort of. I read your email, remember? But Jesus! I thought you were a Fed or something! I mean you chewed me out yesterday for doing exactly that! Is this some kind of lame entrapment?’ he asked.

  ‘Forget that! Something’s come up and I need your skills, off the books.’

  ‘Ok. Sure. Sounds cool. But why? Who is she?’

  ‘Never mind why. And that’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound like “borderline” illegal to me! That sounds like actual illegal!’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Swann, ‘Let’s not split hairs.’

  ‘Ok, no worries,’ said Eddie amused and intrigued as to who and what Swann really was. ‘Does that mean we’re partners now?’ he asked.

  ‘In your dreams! So, can you do it?’

  ‘Do bears shit in the woods? Of course I can do it.’

  ‘Good. There’s just one thing . . . after what you told me in the diner yesterday, I rang the office and told them what’s been going on, and that they need to sort their shit out because the place leaks like a sieve. They’ll be onto it, so you won’t have much time, if any, to break in before they do. So, go get your shit,’ ordered Swann.

  ‘That’ll just slow me down probably. Don’t worry about it. But I’ll just do it there in Caliente as it’s easier . . . bit of a mission packing everything up and then carrying it all on the bike back here when it makes no difference where I am. All I need is the internet. And they’ve got it there, last time I looked.’

  ‘Smart ass!’ said Swann. ‘Whatever. Just do it if you can. Then I might think about compensating you for your time and good behavior, so-to-speak.’ As an afterthought, he said for Eddie’s benefit, ‘Just so you know, I’m not your average run-of-the-mill “cop” . . . I’m not any kind of cop. I’m not a Fed either. I do things differently so don’t be surprised if I bend the rules here and there to get a job done. Everything I do is completely off the books, but also sanctioned. Are we clear?’

  ‘Sure boss!’ said Eddie, excited by the apparent turn-around in his fortunes, and impressed by who or what Swann was. ‘Very clear!’

  ‘Good,’ said Swann. ‘And if you talk to anyone, anyone at all, about me or what I do, you’ll be my next wet job! You got that too?’ He picked up the SIG and removed the clip, checked it and then reinserted it as though to make a subtle point.

  ‘Yes sir! I do get that loud and clear!’

  ‘I figured you would. Right, after you’ve done this little job for me,’ he continued, ‘I want you to meet me in Kingman as soon as you can, so let me know when you’ve got somewhere with it and we’ll go from there. In the meantime, I’ll be having a look around there, and further up the road near where Silva’s ranch is, if I can read your shitty little map properly.’ Then he thought for a few seconds and added, ‘Oh and give me Silva’s old cell phone. I’ll use it in Kingman . . . see if I can lure some of his guys down there thinking it’s you!’

  Eddie nodded and said, ‘I’ll go fetch it and drop it off on my way north. Then I’ll text you when I get to Caliente.’

  ‘By the way,’ said Swann as Eddie was about to walk out the door, ‘Since there’s a good chance now that you’ll find out a few things about me that are supposed to be buried, I might as well tell you . . .’ he paused for a beat, then continued, ‘the “S” in the email stands for “Swann” . . . but you’re not cleared to use it so you’ll still call me “Boss”! And you never ever mention my name to anyone, EVER! Or, like I said, you’ll be my next wet job. And that is no idle threat!’ Swann seared him with a stare of deadly menace, making it clear he meant business.

  Eddie looked back at him and nodded again. ‘Absolutely! Sure thing Boss!’ Then he left Swann’s motel room feeling slightly nervous and frightened of this incredibly dangerous guy he’d just latched onto. He walked back to his motel down the road to fetch his gear and his Harley, and Silva’s old phone.

  21

  Kingman, Ar
izona.

  Swann got to Kingman late in the day even though it was not a long drive from Boulder City.

  After Eddie had dropped off Silva’s old cell phone, on his way back up to Caliente, Swann walked downtown to buy a detailed map of the Kingman area so that he could study the layout of the town. That allowed him to decide how best to set a trap for Diablo’s hitmen if they took the bait. They would, no doubt, be monitoring the old phone, thinking it was Eddie making calls and sending text messages. However, Swann was realistic and knew there was a risk that they wouldn’t take the bait at all because there would be no reason for Eddie to still be using it. What would be the point? He had already done the damage by screwing Diablo’s plans. That in itself was a massive setback, so what would be gained by continuing, other than to taunt?

  Silva would therefore be suspicious and suspect some kind of trick, but he could also be so fixated on snatching Eddie off the streets that he would ignore the red flag and send his advance punishment squad, consisting of Pedro Torres and Tyler Randall. He couldn’t afford not to go and find him! We can’t have the little rat bastard running around loose forever, can we? Eddie was a loose end that needed to be tied off. Silva would naturally be confident of a good outcome, regardless of what Eddie himself might be planning. What’s the worst that can happen? he would be thinking, It’s just Eddie isn’t it? Some skinny little rat up against two armed and experienced toughs. Silva would also be keen to get the issue dealt with as quickly as possible so that he could get back to more important things, like making millions by exploiting the weak and the vulnerable, or by selling Uncle Sam’s dirty laundry to foreign powers with the help of his new hacker, Cricket. And that is what Swann was banking on; Silva’s sense of revenge and his innate need to tie up loose ends. It was the life-blood of every tyrant and gangster. Without it, they would never be taken seriously. But there was also a message in it: No one pulls a fast one on El Diablo Gordo and gets away with it! There was a price to be paid, as many had found out to their cost; it usually ended in “unpleasantness”, to use the polite term for the old torture-followed-by-death routine. Therefore, Eddie had to be dealt with. End of story.

  Silva’s boys would of course be cautious in case Eddie had teamed up with a bunch of his mates who felt like having some fun. Unlikely, but still possible.

  *

  Swann had spent some time studying the map of Kingman and cruising around the town looking for options. He needed a place that would make sense to Silva and his hitmen, some anonymous and cheap motel that Eddie would likely hang out in and situated on a main drag for easy access and escape on his hog; the kind of place an inexperienced guy might look for. But Swann also needed a place that suited his own requirements where he could observe from a distance and then deal with a couple of heavies when and where it suited him without causing too much of a disturbance for the local inhabitants; somewhere with nearby open country, not too many other buildings around and easy main-road access.

  He found the perfect overlaps: a cheap motel on the old Route 66 near a Taco Bell just a few clicks south-west of the Army’s airplane bone yard, and a sleazy bar called Fatso’s on the Stockton Hill Road. Very convenient.

  The sleazy bar was the perfect spot for murder. Full of loneliness and anonymity. Ideal for an ambush. But first, Swann would lure the hitmen to the motel so that he could size them up before dealing with them. It was vital to maintain control from the very beginning. He preferred the northern end of the motel for “locating” Eddie in, for its observability from across the road.

  It was time to set the trap.

  22

  Kingman, Arizona. A few minutes earlier.

  Swann pulled into the carpark of the cheap motel and parked up near the northern end. He took Silva’s old phone out of the glove compartment and switched it on. He waited for it to boot up then he sent threatening text messages to random numbers in the contacts list. He dialed another number in the list and waited for it to pick up, but he said nothing down the line, just left the guy hanging . . . ‘Who the fuck is this?’ the guy kept asking after it was clear it wasn’t Vito Hernandez Silva calling, even though his number would have shown on the other guy’s display. After still no reply from Swann, the guy said, ‘You’re a dead man walking, whoever you are!’ before ending the call. Swann was enjoying himself. But the guy on the other end would know whose number it was so there would be confusion and anger. More relationships destroyed! Who cares? he thought.

  He left the phone switched on for a full minute more so that its signal could be traced by anyone looking for it, like the new hacker guy for instance. Cricket, or whatever the hell his name is. It rang a couple of times as a result of his threatening text messages and the phone call he’d just made, but he let it ring off unanswered. There would be some angry dudes out there somewhere, wondering what the hell Diablo’s game was, wondering what had happened to him for his phone to have fallen into someone else’s hands. A serious security breach. A gangster losing his phone and allowing all his contact names and numbers to be found and used by someone else is an unforgivable sin. It puts everybody in the chain in jeopardy. By any stretch, Diablo’s days would be numbered anyway after the chaos that Eddie had caused in his name, and he would have known that. It was standard practice; you mess up, you’re dead. End of story. Swann powered down the phone and threw it back in the glove compartment. With luck, it would have been detected and its location reported. And Silva would be sweating and fuming and worrying about his future after having lost control of his crew. One dead, killed by a traitor now running amok with all his contact names, numbers and addresses. It was like emptying a bag of feathers into the wind. Good luck rounding them all up again! There may be honor among thieves, but there was no forgiveness and no mercy if you dropped them in the shit. Wonderful!

  Swann figured he would have at least an hour before any of Diablo’s hitmen decided to show up to check the motel out; part of that time getting their damn shit together before hitting the road south . . . they’d argue and try to figure out what Eddie was up to. But Swann figured they would be cautious and try to stay out of sight while they cased the joint looking for any signs of Eddie, like his hog perhaps, up on its stand outside a motel room. Way too obvious if you’re a professional, especially if you’re riding around on a big, shiny chrome-encrusted Harley that looks like it’s making a lot of noise just sitting still with its engine off. But Eddie was hardly a professional. He was just a computer nerd who happened to like big bikes because he was overcompensating for his insignificance, making up for his scrawny rat face and his low stature in the pecking order. A nobody on a big “Fuck you!” kind of bike. Why else would a weedy rat-faced little nerd ride around on a chromed-up hog? What everyone would think. So they’ll be looking for a fat chrome-encrusted Harley to begin with, but they won’t find one. Well not Eddie’s at least.

  The Sun was disappearing below the horizon, but it was still warm and dry and quiet, save for the sounds of passing traffic. Darkening dusk, the light disappearing fast. A fine night for a killing.

  If Diablo’s boys were worth their salt, they would pitch up near the motel, but not go in. They would sit there for a while, observing from down the road, checking out the joint and getting a feel for the area, the ins and the outs, the choke points and the escape routes. And then they would jump out of their vehicle and go for a quiet walk, front and rear, splitting up . . . one in front and the other around to the rear, focusing on the northern end of the motel complex because that’s where the signal had come from, which meant Eddie must be in one of the rooms down that end. But which one? Then they would join up again and figure out their next move because neither of them would have seen Eddie’s hog so they wouldn’t be sure where he was at, which room he was in and where he had stashed the bike which wasn’t an easy thing to hide. They would be uncertain and frustrated, but not fazed because they would naturally think they were in complete control of what was going on and that they could therefore de
termine the outcome no matter what. It was just a matter of time, just a matter of solving the puzzle. Those sorts of thoughts. But they would be faced with having to approach the receptionist to get a look at the guestbook somehow without looking suspicious which isn’t easy and carries a lot of risk, like the risk of a commotion if the receptionist doesn’t like the look of them, so they’d probably pretend to be cops or Feds or private investigators. Or maybe they’d just fess up and threaten her with physical violence if she made a fuss about them wanting to see the guest log. The straight-forward approach. Not ideal. But they would be ignorant of the fact that they were being observed in turn. Ignorant of the fact that Swann was getting a fix on them to see what they looked like, how they carried themselves, how they were armed if possible. He would be sizing them up. And then he would break their heads. They had no idea of the storm coming their way. Which is how Swann liked it.

  Swann started the engine and drove out of the motel carpark. He turned left and drove a short distance. Then he pulled into the Taco Bell restaurant, parked and went inside for a meal. He chose a table near the window, but not in full view from the street, a table where he could see the motel across the main road and enough of the road where any suspicious vehicles that pulled up nearby would be easy to spot. Like a brown, dusty Jeep Cherokee with two assholes inside it, assuming that Eddie was right about who was likely to come looking. We’ll see what happens.