by R. A. McGee
“Can’t you just play it off? Everyone here is dead already. Tell them you killed them all. Retaliation for Pascual.”
“I can try it, but the guy in the front seat? That’s Héctor. He’s not dumb; he may put two and two together.”
“Great.” Miri pulled her long hair into a ponytail and ran off.
Clark looked out the window, counting numbers. “Looks like there’s only six of them. Miri?”
He looked out the window again, where the men were exiting their trucks and fanning out around the lawn. “Hey, Miri?”
Something hard slammed into his back. When he turned around, Miri was handing him an AK-47.
“From César’s safe. Unless you want to use your pistol? I mean, that’s fine with me if you want to be outgunned.”
“Shut up, give me the rifle.”
Clark took the rifle, loaded it, and stuck an extra magazine in his back pocket. “Overwatch?”
Miri nodded.
“If this doesn’t work, I’m counting on you.”
“Don’t you always?” she said.
The pair looked at each other for a pregnant moment, then Clark watched as Miri sprinted out of the back door, disappearing around the side of the house.
Clark turned, prepping his lie, and headed to the front door. Closing it behind him, he met Héctor and his men on the front lawn.
“Jones? What the hell are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you all day.”
“I’ve been busy,” Clark confessed.
Héctor looked around. “You guys, go around back. You two, in the front,” he said, gesturing to a few of the men who’d arrived with him.
“No need,” Clark said.
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? I already handled it.”
Héctor looked around in confusion. “Where is everyone?”
Clark pointed to the grassy hillside. “I wanted to keep an eye on César, so I laid in for a while. Those idiots never even knew I was there. Then they started celebrating. I didn’t know why, but I figured it was something big.”
Héctor rubbed the top of his head. “They were celebrating Pascual’s death, huh?”
Clark faked confusion. “Big man’s dead?”
“Someone got him. You relieved me at the hotel. Said you were going to watch the hallway. Why did you leave?”
“That creepy fuck with the neck tattoo came out and said Pascual wanted me to hit the streets, to see what I could dig up. Not my place to argue.”
“So you don’t know nothin’ about what happened to el jefe?”
Clark shook his head. “Pascual was alive last time I saw him, but it all makes sense now. The celebration was too big for a regular day. César’s guys were loud, real disrespectful, you know? I figured their guard was down, so it was a perfect time to hit them.”
Héctor looked at him warily. “All by yourself?”
Clark squeezed the grip on the Kalashnikov, but kept it pointed at the ground. “You know what I’m about. Go look for yourself.”
Héctor didn’t have to. Two of the men came out and showed Héctor a pile of money and a bag of cocaine. One of them whispered in his ear.
“What do you mean it’s just sitting in a safe?”
“I made that little bitch César give up everything before I smoked him,” Clark said. “I assume I’ll get some of that money, right?”
Héctor nodded. “I guess the boss man should have asked you to clean house here a few weeks ago. He’d still be alive, huh?”
“The shit’s chess, it’s not checkers, you know?” Clark said.
Héctor looked confused by the reference, but nodded along anyway.
Héctor’s men moved in and out of the mansion, loading things into the pickup trucks. Clark stood out of the way, sneaking the occasional glance to a high grassy area to his left, wondering how many times the hidden Miri had aimed the iron sights of her AK on everyone there.
“You still down?”
“With what?” Clark said.
“Boss man’s dead, but the infrastructure is mostly in place. Since César and his guys are gone, there’ll be an opening for the business. Someone might as well take care of it, you know?”
“Nature abhors a vacuum.”
“I wish I knew half of the shit you were talking about,” Héctor said. “That’s why I’d like to keep you around. I’m going back to Mexico City. There are some people there that I need to explain all this to. Once I do that, I’ll be the new boss. You can be my number two.”
Clark pretended to mull the offer over. “I was thinking about taking some time off. Getting out of the game for a while. Things are too hot right now.”
Héctor looked disappointed.
“Tell you what. Let me think about it and I’ll let you know.”
“Deal.” Héctor handed Clark two enormous, Saran-wrapped bundles of money. “That good for you?”
“You’re very generous.”
“I’ll stay that way, at least with you. The rest of these idiots…” Héctor trailed off. He blew into his fingers and a sharp whistle rang out. “Vámonos, pendejos.”
Clark watched as the two trucks rode out of the compound, their trail of dust lingering in the air for several minutes after them.
Without so much as a sound, Miri had moved next to him, AK held lightly in her arms. She kicked at a large bundle of cash.
“Well, he seemed nice,” she said with a smile, flipping the selector on the AK back to safe.
Twenty-Four
Clark loaded the money into the Escalade and did one quick walkthrough of the house, to make sure he hadn’t left anything. There was nothing that he needed, so he moved around the car to the driver’s side, only to find it already occupied. “Uh-uh. My turn to drive.”
“I was here first. You get shotgun,” Miri said.
Clark sighed, hopping into the passenger seat.
“Why do you always act worried when I drive?”
“Because last time, we T-boned a box van.”
“Yeah, but that was on purpose, so it doesn’t count,” Miri said, stomping the gas and pulling out of the compound. Clark was glad to see it in the rearview mirror.
Since Samantha was killed, the specter of her death had loomed over him. Consumed him. He felt better than he had in a long time, all things considered.
“I can’t wait to take a shower,” Miri said. “The hotel I’m at isn’t bad, for Mexico. I mean, I’ve spent six months in a tent before, so I guess I can deal with anything, but the running water is nice.”
“We have to swing by my place first,” Clark said.
“What? Why? Let’s get the hell out of here. We can be in the States in a couple hours. Maybe stay in San Diego or somewhere tonight.”
“I left something in my rental.”
“What are you talking about? I know you, you don’t leave important stuff behind.”
“Well, I did, so we’re going back.”
“Clark, listen, you need to—”
“We’re going back.”
“Fine. But I want you to know that you’re delaying my shower, and I’m gonna get cranky soon.”
“I’ll get you a bottle, okay?”
“Better be a bottle of bourbon,” she said under her breath.
Clark gave directions to the laundromat. He felt little need for all the extensive countersurveillance techniques of the past few weeks. Everyone who would want to follow him was either dead or headed back to Mexico City. Miri pulled into the lot down the street from the laundry.
“I’ll just be a minute,” he said, slamming the door behind him.
He jogged up the street, past people coming and going. He looked at the soccer game in progress, but didn’t see Mateo. He went in the laundry and passed all the machines, went through the back rooms and up the staircase. The doorknob didn’t indicate his room had been entered in his absence, and he shouldered into it, slinging the door open.
The room was as he’
d left it. Clark retrieved the posterboard and broke it into pieces. He dropped the pieces into the bathtub, soaked them in cheap vodka, and struck a match, sending them up in flames. No sense in leaving such a damning piece of evidence behind. He waited until the alcohol had burned off and the board was charred, then flipped on the shower.
No sense in burning Señora Iglesias’s building to the ground either.
Satisfied the evidence was destroyed, Clark stepped out of the tiny bathroom and looked around. Only one thing left—the most important thing. He pulled the photo booth picture off the table, wiping off a drop of vodka that had dried on it.
He looked at the pictures again, remembering the day they’d taken them, and smiled. He stuffed the strip of pictures into his wallet.
Out of the room and down the staircase, Clark’s mind was filled with thoughts of Blackthorn and drug lords and his friend waiting in the car.
He stepped into the waiting room and saw three things, each a fraction of a second after the other.
First, he saw Mateo. The boy’s nose had been cleaned and, while still swollen, it looked good.
Second, he saw a look of sheer terror on the boy’s face. The kind of look that’s impossible to manufacture, and can only be conjured by something truly awful.
Third, he saw Sammy jamming a pistol into the boy's neck, glaring at Clark with wild eyes.
Twenty-Five
Miri sat in the Escalade for a few moments after Clark left and picked up the burner phone he’d left in the cupholder. Turning it over in her hands, she wondered where it had come from. She had no chance of figuring that out, but she knew someone who did.
Pulling out her own phone, she first dialed a series of numbers that resulted in a distinct tone, telling her that her phone was now using an encrypted network. Then she punched in a familiar number.
“Hello?” an energetic voice said.
“Lucy? It’s Miri.”
“Dude, how are you? I haven’t seen you in days. Or at least it feels like days. How is Mexico? Did you find Clark?”
Miri smiled. “You been hitting the sauce hard already, haven’t you?”
“What do you mean, already? It’s never too early for coffee, that’s the point of it, right? Don’t hate because caffeine and I are in a relationship.”
“Things are pretty serious between you two?”
“You could say that. I think he’s gonna propose soon. I just hope he asks my dad first.”
The two shared a laugh.
“Lucy, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“I have a burner phone. If I give you the phone number, can you tell me where it was purchased?” Miri said.
“Long story short? Yes. You can’t track it like a conventional phone, to find out who owns it, but there are ways to see what batch of numbers the company sent where. Just give me the number.”
Miri did and confirmed that Lucy had copied the numbers correctly.
“No problem, I’ll get on it. So… did you find him?”
Miri bit her lip. “Yeah, I found him.”
There was a squeal on the other end of the phone. “How is he?”
Miri hesitated for a moment. “He’s Clark, you know? But listen, I don’t want you to tell anyone, okay?”
“That you found him?”
“Not only that, but don’t let anyone know you’re looking that number up for me. Can you keep it under your hat?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the phone. “That’s why you called me, instead of using one of the sat radios?”
“We keep track of the transmissions on the satellite radios. I need this off the books.”
“How ‘off the books’ are you talking?” Lucy said.
“Just between you and me.”
“What about McHenry?”
“Even him,” Miri said. “Especially him.”
“No problem. Anything for you guys.”
“Thanks. I think it’s nothing, but I just have to be sure. Hey, let me ask you something else. David Butterfield?”
“What about him?”
“How sure are you that he’s the one who set me up in Costa Rica?”
“Pretty sure. I mean, I showed you all the evidence. He had phone calls back and forth with Ivan Petrovsky. He had deposits into his bank from Russian accounts. Everything I found pointed right at him, Miri. I’m so convinced, I’m waiting to read about him in the obituary section. If I were you… well, I’d do whatever it is that you do, but to him. He deserves it.”
“Is there any way you could look at it again? Just check the evidence again. Make sure it was him,” Miri said.
“Sure. I’ll dig it all up. The results are gonna be the same, though.”
“I hope they are,” Miri said. “Listen, I gotta go. Clark’s taking his sweet ass time, I need to hurry him up.”
“Okay. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”
“Thanks, Luce.”
“Miri?”
“Yeah?”
“Give the big guy a hug from me, will you?”
“I think I can manage that,” Miri said, and turned the phone off. She consulted the phone on the dashboard, turned the car off, and got out, chirping the lock behind her.
She walked up the sidewalk, in the same direction Clark had gone.
And they say women take a long time to get ready, she thought as she located the laundromat.
Twenty-Six
“Come on, Sammy. What the hell does this little kid have to do with anything? You’re mad at me, just get it over with.”
“Apparently, this kid is a friend of yours. He ran around town all day, telling anyone who’d listen about his friend, the big gringo who taught him how to box. I got ears everywhere. Easy to figure out he was talking about you. All I had to do was wait for you to show up.”
“And escape from three guys trying to kill you,” Clark said. “How’d you manage that?”
“Those guys were weak. They didn’t see me as a threat. Their mistake.”
“I guess so,” Clark said, trying to keep Sammy talking. Since he hadn't killed him yet, he must want something. Better to string things out and find out what it was, especially with Mateo’s life on the line.
He looked at the kid, little lines of clean skin where his tears had washed the dirt off his cheeks. When the boy looked up at him, Clark winked.
“No guessing, I know so. Weak and soft. Just like César’s getting. But not anymore. I’m going to march you in there and prove that you’re the snitch. Once I do that, he’ll have to take me back in.”
“That’s gonna be a tough one, Sammy.”
“Why?” The barrel-chested man raised his voice. “You’re coming with me. Don’t even try anything.”
“I’m glad to, but unless you plan on finding some hole in the ground and dragging me to hell with you, we’re not talking to César.”
“What do you… what’re you saying?”
“Your boss is dead.”
Sammy’s eyes darted around the room. “What do you mean? Today’s movie day.”
“Some of Pascual’s guys told me they found out that César ordered the hit on Pascual. By the time I showed up at César’s, the whole place was dead as a doornail.”
Sammy let out a guttural scream. “No!”
“Smoked.”
“I told Nieto that César made you kill Pascual, but I never thought…”
“He worked for Pascual, idiot. Of course he’d tell his buddies César ordered the hit on their boss. It’s your fault César’s dead.”
Another scream. Sammy dragged Mateo around the room with him as he paced around, moving erratically, alternatively raising the pistol to level it at Clark and pressing it back into the boy’s neck.
“You’re lucky you weren’t there, or you’d be dead too.”
Sammy stopped for a moment. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m still alive.”
“You should move into the mansion and take over
the business.”
Sammy nodded along. “Yeah. Yeah, I should. The work still has to be done. I can do it in memory of César.”
“Why not?” Clark said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure, creeping catlike around a washer. “Tell you what, if you need someone, I’ll come work for you.”
“Why would I want you? You’re a traitor. You played both sides.”
“What I did was smart business. That’s why you and I are still alive, Sammy. Because we’re smart.”
The man pressed the pistol into Mateo even harder. The boy’s sobs had stopped, replaced now by ragged breathing.
Clark gritted his teeth. “And we can work together, but I have to be honest so we can start with a clean slate.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sammy said. “Start making sense or you’re a dead man.”
“Pascual’s men didn’t kill César. I did. That make sense to you?”
“Not two minutes ago, you told me it was them. Now you’re saying it was you?”
“I lied. I do that sometimes. But listen, this doesn’t have to be an issue with us. I did you a favor. With César out of the way, you can move in.”
Sammy’s face went from confused to full of rage. “You son of a—”
The pistol at Mateo’s neck swung up toward Clark, who dived to his left. Two rounds were fired at the same time. The first bit into Clark’s right arm, the heat from the round searing into his skin.
The second round turned Sammy’s head into a pink mist. The stout man’s body went stiff and swayed forward, then fell backward onto the dirty linoleum. Mateo bolted away, running as fast as his legs could carry him out the front door.
Miri stepped out from behind the large washer she’d been hidden behind, dropping her arm to her side, a tiny plume of smoke rising from the barrel of her gun.
“You really know how to make friends, don’t you?” she said.
Twenty-Seven
Jack McHenry took his afternoon walk through the Blackthorn offices. This was necessary to relieve the pain in both his hip and his bladder, but the walk had become something of a tradition. It was his opportunity to see what the men and women in his employ were working on.