by Easton, Don
“You think there’s a chance he won’t have his way?” Jack kept his expression neutral, masking his knowledge that Big Al wouldn’t be getting his way ever again.
“He was responsible for letting you escape … along with everyone else in that house. I wouldn’t want to be in any of their shoes right now.”
“Think they’ll get spanked?”
“There’s a good chance of it, although Big Al is high enough up he might be able to deflect the heat off onto the others. We’ll have to wait and see what happens. Maybe our friend will hear something. In the meantime, when you get back to Canada you may want to think about packing a gun with you on a permanent basis.”
“Just one?”
“What are you trying to do? Become an American?”
Jack chuckled and was relieved the rest of their conversation was light-hearted. Two men arrived for the security detail and after Adams made a quick introduction, one of them handed Adams two cellphones. He gave one each to Jack and Lily and said, “Make as many calls as you want on these tonight. Courtesy of the U.S. government.”
Lily immediately called her mom and while she was on the phone, Adams looked at Jack and said, “I should stay with you tonight.”
“It’s almost six … I haven’t slept in forty hours,” complained Jack, “and I have the worst headache I’ve ever had in my life. What do you want to do? Keep me awake bullshitting all night?”
“Well … yeah,” grinned Adams. “I thought we could talk about what kind of gun you should carry. I could explain the different calibres to you and what type goes best if you’re wearing a bathing suit. That sort of thing.”
“Please, no jokes. Laughing makes my head hurt worse. Go home to Yolanda. We’ve got work to do in the morning and I’ve still got my notes to write tonight.”
Adams nodded and said, “Get some sleep. You, too, Lily! I’ll see you in the morning.”
As soon as Adams left, Jack called Natasha. With the one-hour time difference it was five o’clock in the evening in Vancouver.
“Hi, babe! It’s free to talk,” said Jack.
“Good. Where are you?”
“Still in El Paso, but the mission is accomplished. We found Lily. She’s with me right now talking to her mom on another phone.”
“I know. Lily also called her mom about an hour ago. Her mom called Marcie and she called me. That’s wonderful. I’m so happy.”
“Me, too.”
“So everything went okay?”
“A few drinks, a few laughs, nobody got hurt. Well, I picked up a small cut on the top of my head. Nothing serious.”
“Your voice doesn’t sound quite right. You sure everything is okay?”
“Actually it was hell, but I’m okay. I’ll tell you about it when I get home. Right now, I’m exhausted and … uh ….”
“And what?”
“It’s been one of those days where the importance of family really hits home. I love you so much.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’ve got a favour to ask. Is Mikey awake?”
“It’s five o’clock. What do you think? He’s propped up in his highchair with Pablum all over his face. Do you want to say hi?”
“Yes, but first I wonder if I could get you to sing to him. There’s something I would like to hear.”
“Sing to him? Okay … do you want me to sing the Dr. Hook song, Freakin’ at the Freaker’s Ball?”
“No, not that one. Your song about him being our little boy, our pride and joy.”
“I can do that.”
Jack listened to Natasha sing the song and didn’t care if someone saw the tears streaming down his face.
“How was that?” asked Natasha.
“Probably the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Let me say hi to the little fart.”
Jack unsuccessfully tried to get Mikey to talk, but eventually Natasha cut in and said, “Well, you got him to smile and spit Pablum all over the mouthpiece.”
“I heard him.”
“So when are you coming home?”
“Tomorrow is Friday … we have a mop-up operation to do in the morning. A couple of houses to search. I also have to arrange for Lily to get proper travel documents, not to mention clothes. Everything she had was stolen. Still, with luck, there is a flight out of here tomorrow around four in the afternoon and it arrives in Vancouver just before ten at night. I’ll call you later to confirm it.”
“So tomorrow won’t be dangerous?”
“No. The bad guys know we’re coming so they won’t even be there.”
Jack was right about the fact that he didn’t have to worry about the bad guys. It was the good guys who were still after him.
chapter forty-six
* * *
Just before dawn, Adams arrived at the hospital and handed a bag full of clothes to Lily.
“You’re a little smaller than my wife,” he said, “but at least it will give you something until you get home.”
After Lily thanked him, Adams looked at Jack and said, “So? Are you ready to go for a ride?”
“I feel good. Let’s do it.”
After promising Lily he would be back to pick her up before noon, Jack left with Adams.
On their way to the airport, Adams said, “Slater never returned to our side of the border yesterday.”
“I’m not surprised. I don’t think the cartel would have taken too kindly to him saying I was his cousin and he has known me all his life.”
“Maybe we could send a request over to Detective Sanchez to investigate his disappearance,” chuckled Adams.
Jack smiled. “I’m sure Sanchez knows the right people.”
Minutes later, Jack and Adams taxied onto the runway in a U.S. Customs plane. By first light, they were flying along the border within easy sight of the radio tower on the Mexican side.
“You owe me a beer for making me hang and bake on that son of a bitch,” said Adams.
“I’m surprised you could climb it with all the guns you carry.”
It didn’t take long before Jack spotted Casa Blanca. There were no vehicles visible in the yard or on the surrounding hills.
The plane circled over three potential houses on the American side of the border. Two of the houses had vehicles in the yard. The third house didn’t.
Jack and Adams looked at each other and silently nodded in agreement.
The plane was taxiing back up to the private hangar when Adams received word that entry teams were preparing to hit the houses on each side of the border simultaneously. Each team also had a representative from the opposite country.
“We’ve been invited to watch,” said Adams. “You’re the guest of honour. They want you there to give the signal for the teams to go in.”
“Uh, thanks for the honour, but tell them not to wait for me,” said Jack. “The places will be empty.” Well … except for maybe two bodies at Casa Blanca …
“They know, but it will take them that long to get the warrant. They’ll wait for you, regardless. Everyone thinks you’re a hero. Go out and act like one. You’re in my country, it’s the American thing to do.”
“Will I be expected to shoot a gun off or something?”
“Hell, yeah! Did you bring your camera? Maybe we could even stage a car chase.”
“Had enough of that yesterday.”
Their one-hour drive out to the American side of the tunnel was strangely quiet. Both men knew it would be the last day they would work together and each dealt with the sadness quietly.
When they arrived, Jack was taken inside the back of a SWAT command-post truck where he was handed the police microphone and given the nod. Jack grinned at Adams as he squeezed the button and said, “Teams ready?”
“Team one ready,” drawled a voice in response.
“Team two are ready,” came a second voice.
“Go, go, go!” yelled Jack.
The initial results on the American side were as expected. The house had been cleaned out,
but a tunnel entrance was located under a kitchen counter like the one in Casa Blanca.
Casa Blanca itself was a different story and the SWAT commander relayed the information as he received it over his headset.
“They’ve got six bodies over there,” said the commander.
“Six?” replied Jack.
“Five in the kitchen were lined up against a wall and taken out with one or more automatic weapons. Another body is in a back bedroom.”
“Have they identified them?” asked Adams.
The commander nodded and said, “Just getting to that. Of the five in the kitchen, three were known members of the Guajardo cartel. Sanchez … who they say was a cop, Eduardo Cortez, and a guy they call Berto. The other two are unidentified.”
“There were two mercenaries hired to work as security,” replied Jack. “Berto told me they were from South America, but I never got their names. Bet it’s them.”
“You gotta be kidding,” exclaimed the commander into his microphone. He looked at Adams and Jack and said, “The body in the bedroom is another cartel member by the name of Pietro Franco who goes by the nickname of El Pero. He was found half naked and someone literally put a round up his ass. No powder burns so it must have been real up close and personal.”
“Yeah, Jack said someone was shot in a bedroom,” replied Adams, while staring at Jack. “I just didn’t hear the part about it was up his ass.”
“Hang on, there’s another one,” continued the commander. “They found a seventh body at the bottom of the ladder in the tunnel. They say it looks like someone chewed the guy’s nose off and threw him headfirst down the shaft. Probably has a broken neck.”
“Let me guess,” said Adams. “Was it Alphonse Franco? More commonly known as Big Al?”
“Yup. How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess,” replied Adams, looking at Jack.
“Hang on, someone else has something,” said the commander.
As they waited a moment, Adams leaned over and whispered in Jack’s ear. “Hope you used dental floss after.”
Jack looked surprised at the comment, then a look of concern came over his face, and he shook his head in denial.
“Okay,” said the commander. “Doesn’t look like we can give you guys a tour of the tunnel. The bastards have it booby-trapped with plastic. We’ll probably blow it up ourselves rather than risk anyone’s life by trying to dismantle it.”
Both Jack and Adams voiced their agreement and stepped out of the command vehicle.
“Looks like the Guajardo cartel didn’t appreciate some of their guys letting you escape yesterday,” said Adams.
“Looks that way.”
“You want to hang around and see them blow the tunnel?”
“Not really. I’m hoping to catch an afternoon flight.”
“I’m still supposed to take you back to the office. The bosses want to shake your hand and congratulate you before you go.”
“Politics.”
“You got it.”
Adams unlocked the Camaro and seconds later, they started the one-hour trip back to El Paso.
“Guess you’ll be glad to get home,” noted Adams.
“You wouldn’t believe how bad,” said Jack sombrely. “I want to go home and give my wife and kid the biggest hug I ever have. I didn’t have time to get into all the details with you yesterday, but after Big Al handcuffed me to a pipe, he had El Pero give me a shot with a cattle prod while asking me some personal questions.”
“Like the names of the guys you work with? Their home addresses, names of their relatives … and your wife and kid’s names?”
“Exactly,” said Jack in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Those are some of the same questions they asked my last partner when they grabbed and tortured him. I told you about him. He ended up quitting because of it.”
“You told me he was tortured. I didn’t know they were going after his family.”
“Yeah, well … they were.”
“That’s … that’s … I mean, you can’t let them get away with that!” said Jack vehemently. “Once that starts happening we’ve all lost. No cop will do their job.”
“Tell that to our friend across the border.”
“Okay. Very few cops will do their job. But you must know what I mean? You’re a street cop. Front line. Not some desk jockey who doesn’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand alright. Believe me, I understand,” said Adams.
Jack looked at Adams’s face. Earlier he had thought his friend was simply tired. But there was more to it. His face was haggard and dark sacks of skin hung from eyes which were now twitching. Something more than lack of sleep was troubling him and Jack could see he was trying to decide whether to tell him something.
Jack remained silent, not wanting to press him. If he wants to tell me something, he will. If not, that’s his choice …
And then Adams talked. The words started to spill out of him, picking up speed as he went. “Remember when we had coffee at your hotel the morning after you went to the whore house with Big Al? When I told you I was in deep shit?”
“Yes, but you said you didn’t want to talk about it because we needed to focus on what we were doing.”
Adams took a deep breath and let out a long sigh and said, “Well, I’ll tell you about it now. You know Rafael Guajardo heads the cartel?”
“Yes … and below him are the Carrillo Fuentes brothers.”
“Right, but below them comes three lower bosses, who also happen to be brothers. One of them, a guy by the name of Chico, took part in my partner’s kidnapping.”
Something about the tone of Adams’s voice gave Jack an indication about where the conversation was going.
Jack suddenly understood something. Something that floated in the back of his mind from the first day he met Adams.
This car … Adams is the junior guy, but he always gets the best car …
“I grabbed Chico outside a bar in El Paso and —”
“Man, this is a great car!” exclaimed Jack. “Stereo, air conditioning —”
“I’m trying to tell you something,” said Adams, looking hurt that Jack would interrupt him when he was talking about something so serious.
Jack gestured to his mouth with his fingers and pointed at the air vents on the dash.
Adams frowned and continued, “So I grabbed him and took him about fifty miles out into the desert and —”
“I always wondered why you got the nice car,” said Jack loudly.
“Jack,” pleaded Adams, “I’m trying to —”
“Remember when I commented on it? I know where I come from the bosses scoop the best cars, but you always end up with this one. Wow,” added Jack sarcastically, “you sure are a lucky guy. The bosses must think you’re pretty special.”
Adams stared at Jack as his mind processed the conversation.
Jack made the gesture again of putting his fingers to his lips, as though he was pulling the words out and tossing them into the air vents on the dash.
A look of absolute shock came over Adams’ face when he realized what Jack was telling him.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said Jack, “but I have to take a leak. Mind pulling over?”
Adams looked dumbfounded, but nodded and mumbled, “Me, too,” as he pulled over to the side of the highway.
Once Jack and Adams took a short stroll away from the car, Jack said, “The problem with being a good cop is learning to live with your conscience … especially doing our type of work. You’re always questioning whether or not you’re doing the right thing.”
“Yeah, I agree with you there,” mumbled Adams, still looking dazed.
“Maybe that’s what differentiates a good cop from a bad one. Sometimes we make mistakes and have to learn to live with what we did. That’s the problem with being human.”
“What are you really trying to tell me?” asked Adams.
“Well, to start with, I’m telling you I think you
are a hell of a good cop. I’m really going to miss working with you.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Adams, glancing back at the car, wondering if Jack’s fear was simply paranoia.
“You and me think … and act much alike,” continued Jack. “Our job is also filled with secrets. Some secrets if known could get someone killed … or sent to jail. I have done things I felt were morally right, but a court of law would not agree.”
“Like yesterday?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“That pisses me off.”
“What does?” Jack asked.
“Okay, I know five of the bodies they found in Casa Blanca were knocked off by the cartel because they fucked up. Probably means good news for you, because they took the retribution out on them.”
“I’m happy with that. So what’s your point?”
“My point is I thought you and I were friends,” said Adams.
“I think we are.”
“Friends trust each other … but you obviously don’t trust me.”
“Why would you say that?”
“You didn’t see the look we both gave you yesterday in the car when you said some guy killed El Pero?”
“No … guess I was busy consoling Lily,” said Jack, frowning.
“There is no goddamned way any of the cartel guys at Casa Blanca, with the exception of Big Al, would have ever picked a fight with El Pero.”
“We spoke about that last night. Maybe it was someone else’s relative.”
“Bullshit. El Pero was too high up. Even Big Al wouldn’t give him shit in front of the guys. So for you to say somebody argued with El Pero about whose turn it was to rape Lily is absolute crap. Then to say the guy went in and shot him after is ludicrous. At first I was thinking you didn’t want Lily to know … and that makes sense. I presume she didn’t see you or had her eyes closed or something?”
“Do your bosses think its bullshit?” asked Jack, avoiding Adams’s question.
“They’re desk jockeys. They don’t know squat. That’s not the point. Let me finish. Now I learn Big Al was found at the bottom of the shaft with a broken neck and his nose bitten off … there is no fucking way his guys would do that.”