by Bella Knight
“Photographed, fed, watered, medically attended to, fingerprinted, rights read to them three times by now, both in English and Spanish. Guns already tested for ballistics. Just solved more than a few border-city crimes. The murders of a Texas businessman and his wife on their way home from their daughter’s dance recital near Laredo. Don’t know if he was dirty or refused to get that way. A politician dead in her Brownsville home over Memorial Day weekend a few years back; she was very vocal against the violence happening across the border. A cheerleader in McAllen. Can’t figure that one, unless she was a message to a family member. Got survivors looking at photo six-packs now.”
Wraith smiled, clapped her hands. “Texas is a death-penalty state.”
“Glad I could make you happy,” said Saber. “You got Ivy’s statement?”
He handed over two pages of paper. “Look this over, please.”
“Sure,” said Ivy. She read it over and used the pen attached to the desk with a plastic wire to sign it.
“Nice working with you guys,” said Ivy. “Please let us know the final disposition on these assholes.”
“Sure,” said Wraith.
“If you guys are staying… we could use you in the Nighthawks. Or, if not us, the Iron Knights.”
Wraith and Saber looked into each other’s eyes. Wraith spoke first. “I’ve applied to stay here, and so has Saber. We’re gonna be out of town a lot, maybe even drop out entirely for six months, a year. But we’ll be back.”
Ivy nodded, then realized they weren’t looking at her but at each other.
“Sounds great. See ya.” Ivy turned, went to her bike, and went home to pack for a ride to a hotel near a water park where her wife and two children awaited her.
“Plan?” asked Wraith.
“Who do you want?” asked Saber. She smiled a long, slow smile. He sighed. “Okay, you can have her.” She gave him a blinding smile. “Okay, but I’m shotgun.” She kept smiling. “Okay, I’ll throw in anything you want from the vending machine.”
“A Coke and peanut M&Ms,” she said. She turned and sauntered toward the interview rooms. “Middle one!” he shouted down the hall. She waved at him.
Her Talamantes folder was inside the conference room on the left. There were subfolders on all the major players. She fished out the folders on Inez and her merry band, now much fatter with ballistics reports, fingerprints, and the crimes now linked to them. She took those folders, and the ones of Benicio Martinez Talamates, including his kidnapping, murderous, bastard son Ignacio.
Inez “La Diabla” Domingo Sanchez looked much different from the cool, calm, collected woman of the stills they had of her checking into her hotel. Her hair was down, curling over her shoulders. Her right arm was bandaged. Looks like Ivy only winged her, thought Wraith. Her heels had been replaced with white prison shoes. Her jewelry and belt were gone. She was lovely, even without makeup, under the harsh light of the overhead fluorescents.
“Lawyer,” she said, as Wraith came in and sat down.
“You’re not an American citizen,” said Wraith. “Don’t gotta do nothing but sit here.”
“I know my rights,” she said.
“Fine,” said Wraith. She pulled out a cell and made a call. “They’ll send someone up.”
Saber knocked on the door. “Thanks,” said Wraith, taking the soda and M&Ms. She drank in tiny sips, bit her chocolate-covered peanuts in half before slowly chewing and swallowing.
“Where’s the puta?” asked Inez, attempting to look bored.
“Long gone,” said Wraith. “Probably a state over by now. Why? Still trying to fulfill your contract?”
“She is an enemy,” said La Diabla. “Enemies do not last long.”
“Like the little girl in the cheerleader uniform in McAllen, Texas,” said Wraith, taking out the picture of the girl, before-and-after. The first shot showed Veronica, called Very by her friends, in her orange-and-black cheerleader uniform, posing with the school mascot, a tiger. The second photo showed a line of bullets nearly bisecting her waist, her eyes wide and staring in death.
“I did not do this,” said Inez.
“But you said it had to be done,” said Wraith. “Nothing gets done without your say-so. Unless you’re trying to tell me your people lift a finger without your permission.”
Inez snorted. “Nobody farts without my permission.”
“So, who hit the pretty little cheerleader?” asked Wraith, tapping the photo.
“Miguel,” said Inez. “Her father refused to pay. He had relatives in our city. Did not pay a ransom.”
“Did he pay?” asked Wraith, fishing out another candy.
“No,” Inez said, looking away. “They went to the north of Norteamerica.”
“Canada,” said Wraith, looking at the bio. “They had two more daughters. My guess is, you were looking for money for a relative they had never even met. I take it that poor slob is six feet under.”
Inez shrugged. “It is business.”
“A business of kidnapping and murder,” said Wraith. She took another sip of her Coke.
“Business,” said Inez.
The lawyer came in. A tiny woman with white glasses, a round face, and a narrow nose. She wore a gray suit that had seen better days.
“Ms. Sanchez,” said the lawyer, “I’m Becky Trallo. I’m your attorney.” She turned to Wraith. “You look like you fell off a motorcycle.” Inez chortled.
“I tend to work undercover,” said Wraith. “Special Agent Annika Jensen, DEA.” She held out her hand, but the lawyer ignored it.
“Now then,” said the lawyer. “Uncuff my client. I’m going to need some time to confer with her, with no surveillance of any kind.”
“I’ll give you the time,” said Annika, standing. “But I’m not in the habit of uncuffing mass murderers.”
“Alleged,” said the lawyer.
“I spent yesterday watching her stalk a woman, and attempting to kill her right in front of me last night,” said Annika. “The cuffs stay.”
Something swam behind the lawyer’s eyes. Annika took the files, then smiled, grabbed her can and the now-empty candy wrapper, and slowly sauntered out.
Deadfall Peter was on the other side of the door. “Already got one confession and you’re not even playing ball yet,” said Peter. “Great job.”
She smiled beatifically at him. “Where’s Saber?”
He smiled back. “Special Agent Thanh is interviewing the fuck out of Manuel. Keeps asking for Evil Babe there.”
“She’s his mommy, his capo, his reason for existence,” said Annika. “Gonna hit the head. If the lawyer sticks her head out, come and get me?”
“Will do,” said Peter.
She used the facilities and amused herself by looking at the Wanted photos. Talamates was there. “Not for long, baby,” said Annika.
She knocked, walked in, sat down. “You ready?” she asked. “The vending machine is all out of cherry champagne, but I think we have cherry Coke.” La Diabla flipped her off even with the cuffs on.
“Nice, polite,” said Annika, sitting down, leaning back in her chair. “So very sweet.”
Inez let go with a stream of invectives Annika knew were probably anatomically impossible. “Thanks for proving my point,” said Annika. “Shall we get on with it?”
“My client would like to plead guilty to stalking and attempted murder, but no other charges,” said the lawyer.
Annika laughed. “Ms. Trallo, I don’t think you have any idea who your client actually is. She is a hitter for the Talamates cartel in Mexico.” She laid out the first picture, of the smiling Very, then the death shot. “One fifteen-year-old. Your client has already confessed to ordering the hit on her, on American soil.”
She pulled out the picture of the smiling politician, an American flag behind her. “State Senator Elizabeta Chavez was working to improve the lives of Mexican-Americans and was against the mounting violence, especially against females, in Ciudad Juarez, across the border. A l
ittle girl was killed, in front of her parents, and she got mad, she got vocal.” She pulled out the other photo, of the senator’s brains on her kitchen floor. “Shot in her own home, on Memorial Day weekend. She was preparing a party. Her own mother found the body.”
“There’s no proof…” said the lawyer.
“Yes, we do, both ballistics and fingerprints, of your client and her assistant Pablo.” She laid both reports out. “I didn’t know your cartel worked in Ciudad Juarez. Or did they farm you out to the highest bidder?”
La Diabla slapped her open hands on the table, making her wrist cuffs jingle, and her lawyer jump. “I choose, I choose in all things. I’m not some puta handed over to a man’s friends for the night.” Her lawyer tried to shush her, but she wasn’t having any of it.
“So you chose to kill a woman in her own home?” asked Annika.
La Diabla tossed her head. “The job is always done.”
Annika slid out the stills captured by the security cameras. She was wearing her shades at night, but the camera clearly caught La Diabla, a man of Manuel’s build right behind her. “At least you did that one yourself, didn’t farm it out.”
La Diabla smiled. “I do not ‘farm things out.’ I send my men to prepare my way. Sometimes they are… overzealous.”
“What is the interest of the DEA in this?” asked Becky Trallo, trying to deflect Annika from digging deeper with a client who apparently wanted to crow about mass murder.
“We have lots of interests,” said Annika. “Like in this man and woman. Desmond Aido and his wife, Ana. I’m assuming his wife was the main target.”
They were a happy couple, entwined in an embrace on some sort of bridge. The next picture was of his arms outstretched toward his wife, her blood striping the ground, and blood from his belly pooling on the ground, and his wife with a single bullet to the forehead.
“She talked,” said La Diabla. “No one violates the honor of Benicio.”
“What did she do? Say he had a little dick?”
Annika relaxed as Inez lunged for her, and nearly dislocated a shoulder trying to jump over the table.
“Restrain your client, counselor,” said Annika, her voice bored. “She just tried to assault an officer of the court.”
“You’re being deliberately inflammatory,” said Trallo.
“I’m trying to figure out why your client snuffed out the lives of two people. This man crawled through his own blood to get to his wife, but she was already dead.”
La Diabla sat back down. She flipped her hair. “So touching,” she said, nodding toward the photo. “She was a puta. She told the police that Pablo was stalking her.”
“I take it he was stalking her, setting her up for the bullet,” said Annika. “What was her original crime against the Talamates?”
“Sinaloa,” said Inez. “She told the police about her sister going missing.”
“I take it her sister is dead?” asked Annika.
La Diabla shrugged. “Many girls, they end up out in the desert.”
“How many did you put there?” asked Annika.
“Don’t answer that!” Trallo’s voice hit the stratosphere.
Inez stared derisively at her lawyer. “I am not ashamed of what I do. Are you?” Trallo’s jaw dropped. “Some,” she said. “Six, I think. No, seven.”
“Wow,” said Annika. “Willing to kill on both sides of the border. Willing to stalk and kill women, so no alliances with your own gender. Oh, and we got a warrant to search your hotel rooms. I’m sure we’re going to be talking more about that. Your valet, Lucia, showed us her bruises, asked for asylum, and is singing like a canary in exchange for citizenship and relocation to somewhere very far from you.”
Inez lunged again, kicked her own lawyer trying to get up on the table. Trallo went flying. Deadfall Peter rushed in the room, and picked up Trallo. He pulled her chair away from Inez, sat it in a corner, and put her into it.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Trallo nodded. She gathered her papers and stuffed them into her briefcase. “I’ll represent her at the hearing, then she’ll need another lawyer.”
She glanced at her client, still trying to stare down Annika, and limped to the door. Peter opened it for her and shut it behind them. Annika stared at the woman, eyes bright with fury.
“Puta!” Inez screamed in impotent rage. “My Benicio will have your entrails on the ground.”
Annika continued to stare. “You forgot something,” she said, laying out three pieces of paper. She put the rest of the pictures away. “We have served a lot of warrants. We have all your text messages, your call history. We even broke into your messaging system. But, it wasn’t technically breaking and entering, since a judge ordered it. We cracked your codes. We’ve frozen your accounts. We’ve also leapfrogged our way back to Benicio. His accounts are being frozen, his assets seized. By this time tomorrow, he’ll be in the Mexican version of Supermax. Hear it’s worse than ours.” She smiled. “And he’ll be there with other cartel people, those from rival cartels. I don’t see him lasting long, do you?” She slid the papers back and left Inez tearing at her cuffs and attempting to dismantle the metal table.
She went into the hallway. Her boss was there. “Sir, someone needs to restrain her. She’s likely to break a wrist or foot that way.”
“On it,” Very Special Agent Rasker said. Two burly ATF guys went in, with shackles in hand. “Good work in there,” he said. “Are you sure this is the right place for you?”
“I just saw a golden dawn, and I took out La Diabla,” said Annika. “Damn right it is.”
He looked absolutely confused, then he nodded. “Alright. You finish your paperwork, then get some sleep. Report to work in two days.”
“Yes, boss,” she said.
She found her laptop all charged and ready to go on the end of Tranh’s desk. She turned it on, logged into their secure server, and typed until she thought her fingertips would bleed. Deadfall Peter brought her Sonic, including cheese sticks and chicken and her favorite lime drink. It seemed he brought enough for the whole office, from the sound of the rattling bags and slurps of drinks going on around her. She finished her meal, then kept typing.
“Wraith,” said Saber. He sat down beside her.
“You get something to eat?” He held up his iced drink. “Excellent,” she said. “I’ll be out of your hair in a minute.”
He laughed. “I finished before you did. Love to see you work, baby. And, no broken bones on Little Miss Screamy, at least not yet. I did my work in Jake’s office.”
“You call your superior officer, Jake?” asked Wraith.
“I don’t know how ‘superior’ he is.” He laughed at her side-eye. “We went to training together. He used to be my partner. He’s out of his mind with joy that I’m moving here. Gave me a line on an apartment. Anyhoo, let’s finish up and crash.”
Wraith finished her line, scanned it, hit Send, closed her computer, and unplugged it. She found its backpack case and stuffed everything into it.
“Let’s blow this popsicle stand,” she said.
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” said Saber. “I could sleep for a week.”
“I have two days,” said Wraith. “Don’t you?”
He held up a finger. “Don’t leave without me.” He walked back. “Jake!”
“You bellowed?” asked a tall black man in a charcoal suit. He had a wide face, his glittering black eyes narrowed at Saber.
“Forty-eight hours down?” he asked. “Gotta crash.”
“Um, fine,” said Jake. “Because I’m such a nice guy.”
Jake clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, boss,” he said. He tipped a finger at Wraith. She tipped a salute back. He smiled.
“And take care of that woman,” said Jake. “Don’t fuck it up.”
“Wasn’t planning on it,” said Saber. He took her hand and dragged her out into the sunlight like a hammer. They put on their shades and rode out into the morning ligh
t.
They were both as careful as possible. Adrenaline and exhaustion were poor bedfellows. The traffic was slow. They didn’t do any riding-between-the-traffic stunts. They made it back alive and parked the bikes in back to hide them from the street. They locked up their helmets, emptied their saddlebags, and trudged up the stairs. They both leaned on the door as she opened it, and stumbled inside. She managed to get the door closed behind her. The room was still, silent, dark. Wonderful.
Wraith got one boot off, then the other. She lined them up by the door, like little soldiers. She hung up the vented leather jacket on a chair and moved her fingers away as Saber’s vest went over her jacket.
He grabbed her shoulders and held her from behind. She felt his erection on her ass. He kissed her neck; she pulled her hair back to accommodate him. He nibbled, used his teeth on her earlobe. She sighed. She managed to get her jeans off; they seemed to have glued themselves to her because of the heat. She reached behind her and pulled up on his shirt. He disconnected himself long enough to take of her shirt and to, blessedly, take off her bra. Her breasts sprung free, and he reached forward, cupping them.
He kissed down the other side of her neck, and she moved her hair again. He stroked her neck with one hand while he stroked her right nipple with the other. He ran his fingers down her spine. She moaned. He ran his fingers down to her ass, cupped her. And then, he stroked back up. She leaned into him and ran one hand back to cup his ass. She used the other hand to cup his balls. She slightly squeezed them, causing him to cry out.
She reached back down to her jeans and fished out a condom. She handed it back to him. She heard him tear it open, and he stopped touching her, entirely, to roll it on. He leaned her forward and slipped his fingers in between her legs. She felt herself come in a burst of wetness after only a few strokes. He slipped inside her, kissing her neck, and she cried out. He started slow, then she increased the pace. He grabbed her hips, and moved harder, then faster. She lowered her shoulders, letting him in deeper. He groaned and came. She clenched, came, and held onto the chair, gasping. She slid off of him and stumbled to the shower.
She washed herself, stepped out, and dried her hair. She wondered why he hadn’t joined her. She found him on the couch, completely naked, socks and underwear everywhere, asleep. She laughed, got a sheet, covered him, and stumbled to bed.