by Louisa Luna
Vega dialed the numbers on Javier’s business card. The phone rang once, and then he picked up.
“Miss Vega,” he said, his voice like a growl. “You have good news for me.”
Statement, not a question.
“I have a place to meet in two hours. Can you and your people be there?”
“Of course,” he said, amused.
Vega gave him the coordinates.
“You will bring the four girls and Mr. Mackey to me then,” he said.
“That’s right,” said Vega.
“And what about this Rafa,” Javier said. “Do you have him as well?”
“Like I said, he’s in police custody in a hospital. You’re going to have to employ someone else to help you with him.”
She didn’t breathe, waited for him to respond.
“Hm,” he said. “I suppose I can do that.” He paused and exhaled, satisfied. “Very well. I will meet you in two hours. Please don’t be late, and also, Ms. Vega?”
He paused again, waiting for her acknowledgment.
“Yes?” she said.
“You should not be joking about this,” he said. “This is not a thing to joke about.”
“I will be there in two hours,” Vega said.
“Yes, you will. Goodbye.”
Vega tapped the red button on her phone and sighed.
“Ready?” said Cap.
Vega nodded.
They unbuckled their seatbelts and got out of the car. Vega set the bolt cutters and the duffel bag on the hood and unzipped the bag. Cap leaned forward from his side of the hood and peered inside the bag, which looked to be full of chains. Vega pulled out a thin steel tool, about a foot long, with a circular head on the top. Cap considered himself moderately handy around the house but didn’t recognize this particular piece.
“Torque wrench?” said Vega, like she was offering dessert. “I also have a tow chain with grab hooks and a steel drilling hammer.”
Cap nodded toward the wrench, and Vega passed it to him. It was heavier than it looked, top-heavy from the head.
“You want to knock on the door, see how far you get?” said Vega, tossing the duffel back into the car.
Cap nodded.
“I’m going around to the beach side. On the website it looks like there are decks for all the rooms with glass doors,” she said. “See what condition he’s in. You can try to talk to him. Maybe he’s ready to break.”
“And if he’s not?” asked Cap, knowing the answer.
“Then I’ll be right there,” said Vega, lifting the bolt cutters off the car. “Unless he’s totally looped I don’t think he’ll shoot first. But you should switch the safety off on your Sig just in case.”
“Good idea,” Cap agreed.
He took out the Sig and flipped the safety, returned it to the holster. He slid the torque wrench into his belt on his side.
“Um, excuse me?” came a scratchy voice.
It was a leathery, tanned woman in a floral print dress and Havaianas flip-flops. She stood at the open door of the check-in bungalow. Cap wasn’t sure if she’d seen the gun or not, but he knew she did see Vega resting the bolt cutters on her shoulder and Cap wearing the torque wrench on his hip.
“Can I help you?” the woman said tentatively.
“No thanks,” said Cap. “We’re good.”
The woman retreated into the bungalow.
“She’s probably calling the cops,” said Cap.
Vega shrugged.
“More, the merrier,” she said.
They headed to the end of the strip and stopped three doors from the last room, two doors from where Mackey’s van was parked.
“Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,” said Cap, reading the numbers off the doors. “Got to be one of those.”
They stood side by side, not moving for a moment.
“It’ll take me a minute to get there,” said Vega. “Watch your back.”
Then she took off, striding through the parking lot toward the road and then to the left, toward the entrance to the beach.
Cap rolled his shoulders back and took a hearty breath through his nose. He could smell the clean salt of the ocean. Then he took a few steps and knocked on the door marked 14.
* * *
—
Vega walked down a concrete ramp to the sand. There were two signs at the end: OCEAN BEACH, with an arrow to the left, toward the Surf Motel and others like it, and DOG BEACH, with an arrow to the right. DOGS NEED NOT BE LEASHED.
Past a red thatched fence running perpendicular to the ocean, Vega did see some dogs, kicking up sand clouds and splashing in the water, their owners throwing balls and sticks. She saw two gray, stout-legged dogs with long, strong jaws wrestling, their heads big as helmets.
“Aw, you love your sister, don’t you?” said their owner, taking pictures of them with his phone.
Vega walked on the sand to the motel. The decks of the rooms were on stilts, but they were higher than she’d expected, about ten feet. But the stilt structure was wood, and there were plenty of angled braces on the posts leading to the beams of the decks. The question was could she climb up one-handed while holding the bolt cutters in the other.
She jumped once to get used to the feel of the sand under her boots, holding the bolt cutters down at her side in her left hand and reaching her right high in the air. She tried a couple more jumps, her fingers just scraping the brace, wet and sandy from the beach, and on the third grabbed it hard, the muscles in her fingers locking, nails digging into the soft wood. She pulled up with her right hand and hiked her legs around the standing post.
She gasped and slung the bolt cutters up across the brace, placed one hand at the end of the handles and the other on the jaws and used it for leverage as she pulled her whole body up. She sat on the brace, balancing, bolt cutters on her lap, and then carefully leaned backward, grabbed one of the rails on the platform above, and peered out, onto the deck surface of the corner room, number 16. She couldn’t see inside the room, just the patio chairs and small round table on the deck. She slid the bolt cutters through the rails onto the surface of the deck and climbed up.
* * *
—
Cap knocked three times quickly on the door to room 14 to make it sound like he was bringing fresh towels instead of being about to raid the place like a SWAT agent. He waited another minute, moved down to 15, and knocked. Blackout curtains hung in the window, no space in the middle or at the edges. Cap knocked on the door again and got close to the window, bringing his hands around his eyes to block the light and see inside, but he couldn’t make anything out beyond static dark shapes.
He stepped back from the window and continued to the next and last door, room 16.
* * *
—
Vega crouched in the corner of the deck against the wall. The sliding glass door was a foot to her left. She hadn’t leaned forward enough to look inside, didn’t want to show her hand just yet. She knew it would all have to happen quickly—she’d have to look, assess, and swing.
She felt the mist from the ocean on her face and wiped her chin on her shoulder. She stood slowly, holding the bolt cutters with both hands by the handles, jaws aiming down, like it was a weighted bat and she was in the bull pen.
* * *
—
Cap knocked on 16. He waited, knocked again. He had a strong feeling Mackey had to be in one of them, so Mackey was either not there at the moment, asleep, or just not answering. So, Cap thought, he would have to check that box, move on to the next plan. He bent down to examine the doorknob, which didn’t look exceptionally sturdy, and thought the head of the torque wrench would easily crack it open. There was a dead-bolt cylinder above the knob as well, so Cap figured he would have to knock the doorknob off and then jam the wrench into the cylinder. Subtle.
&
nbsp; He pulled out his phone, texted Vega: “No answer 14 15 16.”
Then he heard the thick snap of a dead bolt unlocking. He turned and reached for his Sig at the same time but wasn’t quick enough. Mackey was there, at the door of room 15, open just a few inches but wide enough for him to point what appeared to be a .50 caliber handgun at Cap’s head. Cap recognized the gun as a Marlin. His former partner used to call them IBD pistols. Itty-bitty-dick guns for guys who needed to compensate. He could make fun of it all he wanted, but at that range, about a yard away, Cap knew that kind of round could blow through his skull as if it were an eggshell. He slowly raised his hands.
* * *
—
Vega felt her phone hum in her pocket but didn’t look. She took a step away from the wall and could see only a sliver of room 16 through the glass door. She breathed deep, loaded her lungs with air, and stepped in front of the glass, holding the bolt cutters high above her right shoulder, starting to swing.
She stopped short and stumbled backward when she saw the room was empty, and she knew it had to be one of the others, either 14 or 15.
* * *
—
Mackey looked tired. That was the first thing Cap noticed. The second was that there were no girls, just a double bed, which took up most of the room and looked like it hadn’t been touched in some time.
“They’re not dead,” said Mackey, watching Cap’s gaze wander.
“Okay.”
The room was warm and muggy, the air-conditioning struggling.
“Where’s your partner?” he said.
“She’s not here,” said Cap.
Mackey looked him up and down.
“You have a semiautomatic handgun holstered under your jacket,” he said. “You seem smart enough not to make a move for it.”
Cap kept his hands up, near his shoulders.
“Where are the girls?”
Mackey nodded toward the connecting door to room 14.
“They can’t talk right now.”
“How do you expect this all to end?” Cap asked honestly.
Mackey cocked his head to the side and twisted up his mouth as if the question had really gotten under his skin. Were his eyes watering with tears? Cap couldn’t tell. The room was gray, vertical blinds rippling slightly over the glass door.
“How do you think?” Mackey said, suddenly petulant. “You don’t know me, Mr. Caplan.”
Mackey paused, swept his tongue down over his lower lip feverishly like he had little muscle control.
“Maybe not,” said Cap. “But this isn’t going to end well for any of us if you hurt those girls.”
Mackey sighed, moved his tongue around inside his mouth now, from one cheek to the other, like he was trying to stretch them out.
“I’m an optimistic guy, Mr. Caplan. I’ve worked on the federal level of law enforcement my entire adult life because I believe in the fairness of it.”
Cap labored to stay calm, breathed deep through his nose.
“I busted my ass in college, master’s in criminal justice, top of my class every time. Outlasted everyone to get the right internships—and DEA came for me, you understand?” he said to Cap, as if he’d doubted this. “They recruited me out of school. I didn’t come to them.” He paused to swipe his tongue over his bottom lip again. “I’ve given them my whole life, and I barely crack one twenty-five a year.”
“That’s a lot of money to some people,” said Cap.
“Not to me,” said Mackey. “I risk my life, Mr. Caplan. Every day.”
Cap felt his ears and neck grow hot, the anger roiling in his chest.
“That’s what public servants do, Mackey,” he said, as calmly as he could. “They serve.”
“It wasn’t good enough for you though, right?” Mackey said, taunting him. “You were a cop. You got out and probably make a very nice living in the private sector. That’s all I want, too,” he said earnestly, as if he were talking straight now, law enforcement brother to brother.
“But here’s where we’re a little different, Mackey,” Cap said, straining not to shout. “My private sector work is legal. You’re trafficking little girls for Mexico’s biggest cartel boss.”
“The girls are fine,” Mackey snapped. “Do you know how much Perez paid me to watch them?”
Cap didn’t speak, didn’t want to indulge Mackey with a guess.
“Two hundred K apiece,” he said, his eyes glassy with the thought of it.
“I guess you shouldn’t have let that psycho kill two of them then,” said Cap.
Mackey’s face went white. He swallowed, bared his teeth.
“That was not my fault.”
His resolve was weakening, Cap thought. Maybe they could all get out clean. Switch tactics.
“This could be an opportunity,” Cap said, his voice softer. “Right now you owe Perez four hundred K for Maricel Villareal and Dulce Díaz, right?”
“Plus penalties,” said Mackey, appearing depleted.
“Okay,” said Cap. “Make a run for it. Just go. Keep the money, and I’ll keep the girls.”
Mackey took a step closer to Cap, now about a foot away.
Cap watched his face. Big pupils, sweat coating the skin, tongue still licking the lips. He pictured himself on the floor of the motel room, skull blown open, blood seeping into the powder blue carpet. Vega, he thought to himself, now would be a good time.
* * *
—
Vega lifted one leg over the railing, then the other. She pressed her back against the wall, leaned her head forward, and tried to see through the sliding glass door of room 15. The vertical blinds were drawn but not tightly, the strips waving from the gusts of air-conditioning or a fan inside.
She could make out only shapes at first. It was dark in the room, and the sun was beginning its drift downward. She took a small step closer, and pressed her forehead against the glass, tried to see between the swaying blinds.
Near the door, there was Cap with hands up, and Mackey pointing a gun at him. Vega stared at Cap’s face. If he was nervous he didn’t look it, trying to talk, stall. Vega knew even if Mackey was desperate, it would take a fair amount of narcotics or severe psychosis to undo the years of law enforcement training. If he heard a loud noise behind him, he would probably not just discharge his weapon. His instinct would be to turn toward the source, not fire at the current target, which was Cap’s head. Right? she thought.
Right.
* * *
—
Keep him talking, Cap thought. Make him angry, make him sad, just make him talk a minute more. Cap didn’t dare look at the glass, didn’t want to give Mackey any hints.
“You married, Mackey?” he asked.
“Divorced,” Mackey answered, indulging Cap for the moment.
“Me, too,” said Cap. “It’s rough.”
Mackey shrugged gently.
“She was a real cunt,” he said.
Cap winced.
Mackey smirked.
“What—you don’t like that word?” he said. “It’s an accurate descriptor.”
“Kids?” said Cap.
“No.”
“I have one,” said Cap. “She’s seventeen. I am mostly worried about her most of the time.”
Mackey wasn’t listening, Cap could tell. He was weighing his options. If he killed Cap, would it make more trouble for him or less?
He appeared to decide quickly; he stepped right up to Cap now, pressed the nose of the gun in the middle of his forehead. All of Cap’s muscles seized up on reflex. He raised his hands higher, scrunched his shoulders up around his neck, knew that if Mackey fired now it wouldn’t just be his skull blown to bits; he wouldn’t have a face anymore, possibly not even a whole tooth to identify.
“Her name is Nell,” he said. “I cal
l her Bug—that’s a nickname.”
Cap shut his eyes for just a second, then opened them and let his gaze drift to the glass. He saw Vega’s face in the corner, her eyes on him.
“But she likes it. Even though she’s growing up fast, she still likes that I call her that. But I hate to break it to you, Mackey, for the most part—”
Cap turned to look at the glass now, didn’t hide the fact that he was looking at all. Vega’s face was gone.
Mackey turned too, confused.
Cap continued: “Women really don’t like it when you call them names.”
* * *
—
She aimed for the single pane of the glass door instead of the double. She spun around fast, full 360 to build the momentum like a shot put thrower, and smashed the jaws of the bolt cutters right in the middle, shutting her eyes the second before she made contact.
The glass shattered, sprayed in a shower of shards and splinters into the room, back-splashing jagged chips onto Vega’s face and chest.
Vega dropped the bolt cutters and leaped to the ground, made her body flat right after she heard the shots.
* * *
—
Cap remembered as a young cop there were situations when he wasn’t sure he would make it out with his limbs and his head intact, and the moments would slow down, crawl by at an almost painful rate, but as he got older the inverse seemed to be true. Things went fast now, sucked through a wormhole, the clock’s counter on anabolic steroids, racing through the minutes.
He thought about that in less than a second, as the glass exploded into the room. Mackey had already begun to turn toward the noise, and Cap couldn’t see Vega clearly, the blinds blowing in the wind from the ocean, bits of glass flying through the air onto the bed. Cap could feel it blow into his hair and the side of his face like gravel. He pulled out the Sig and saw Mackey shield his eyes with his arm and fire the Marlin twice at the waving blinds.