by Dean, Jason
‘I was just about to say that,’ Clea said. ‘It smells like old pizza.’
Strickland paused just before the last door on the right and nodded. ‘Maybe Nicky had to leave in a rush and left the dishes for later.’
Bishop didn’t think that was it. Something didn’t feel right here. As Strickland opened the last door, Bishop moved his left hand towards the Glock in his rear waistband.
‘Oh, shit,’ Strickland said, and halted in his tracks as he stared at something in the room beyond.
Bishop’s fingers were actually brushing the Glock’s handle when the door to his left was suddenly yanked open. Clea gave a short shriek of alarm as a stocky Latino man with small hard eyes appeared in the doorway, aiming a large revolver directly at Bishop’s head. At the same time, the door to his immediate right was pulled open and Bishop saw another Latino, burly, shaven-headed, standing there holding a .45 automatic. He raised the barrel until it was pointing midway between Clea and Bishop.
‘Alto,’ this one said.
Bishop’s limited Spanish was rusty, but that one was obvious. ‘Nobody make any sudden moves,’ he said, raising his own hands.
Clea turned to him with wide eyes, and then raised hers as well. Strickland already had his hands up and was being urged back into the hallway by a third armed man.
A fourth man emerged from the main living area and stood at the end of the hallway, watching them all. He was clearly the man in charge here. He had slicked-back hair and stubble covered the lower part of his face. He was also holding what looked to be a very large Desert Eagle 9mm at his side.
‘See, Ramon?’ he said to the man watching Strickland. ‘Didn’t I tell you today was our lucky day?’
FORTY-EIGHT
Nice to know it’s somebody’s, Bishop thought as the Glock was plucked from his waistband.
‘Anybody else got weapons on them?’ the man with the stubble said, with barely any trace of an accent. ‘If you lie, we’ll know.’
‘Just me,’ Bishop said.
‘Okay, bring them all in here,’ Stubble said, and went back into the living room, turning on the lights as he went. Strickland and his guardian followed him. Bishop felt something hard prod him in the spine and he started walking with Clea, their two shadows following close behind. But not too close. They weren’t stupid.
‘What do we do?’ Clea asked, her voice almost breaking.
‘Whatever they tell us to do,’ Bishop said. ‘We don’t have any other choice.’
‘I’m scared.’
‘I know.’
They entered a large, sparsely decorated living room that contained two small couches, an easy chair, a large wooden coffee table, and a flatscreen TV affixed to one wall. It was currently turned off. Bishop saw old pizza boxes strewn all over the floor, some containing partly eaten food. The coffee table also held a sizable amount of empty beer bottles and cans. There wasn’t too much mess, though, suggesting they hadn’t been there long. He also detected a vague scent of marijuana in the air, faint like an old memory, but there were no ashtrays in sight. They’d probably smoked out on the balcony so as not to completely stink the place out.
‘Everybody face the wall,’ Stubble said. ‘And keep those hands up.’
Bishop did as he was told and placed his palms against the wall. They all did. He felt himself being expertly patted down by his watcher, who eventually said, ‘Clean, Geraldo.’
The one checking Strickland said, ‘Mismo.’
‘Hey, watch it,’ Clea said.
The fourth man chuckled and said, ‘Nada, Geraldo.’
Strickland turned his face from the wall and said, ‘Look, who the hell are you people? You’re not cops, I know that. But I don’t—’
‘Shut your mouth, pendejo,’ Geraldo said, ‘or I’ll do it for you. Now all of you turn round and face me.’
Bishop turned and looked at the man with the stubble, Geraldo. He already had a pretty good idea who they were. So would Strickland once he’d thought it through. He just couldn’t figure out the why yet.
‘Now sit on the floor,’ Geraldo said.
Bishop lowered himself to the floor and sat with his legs crossed. The other two did the same.
‘Watch them,’ Geraldo said, and walked out into the hallway. Bishop looked around and saw the first man – the stocky one with small hard eyes – was standing next to the draped windows, while another stood against the opposite wall. The third was somewhere behind them. Bishop sighed. They were clearly professionals, automatically spacing themselves out at three of the compass points for maximum cover.
‘My fault,’ Strickland said quietly, shaking his head. ‘I should have known.’
Bishop turned to him, remembering his pause just before turning the key in the lock. ‘You heard something at the front door.’
‘No, but I thought I saw some scratches around the lock. I should have known.’
‘Water under the bridge now.’
The guard behind prodded Strickland with his boot and said, ‘¡Cierra la boca!’
The man by the window chuckled. ‘That’s Felipe telling you nicely to shut your mouths. I do what he says if I was you. He got a bad temper.’
A few seconds later, Geraldo returned holding a black holdall. He placed the bag on the coffee table and used one hand to casually sweep the empty beer bottles and cans onto the carpet. Then he pulled out a metallic grey laptop from the bag and set it down on the table, along with a smartphone and a small webcam. He moved the easy chair closer to the table and sat down and opened the laptop. He was partly side-on to Bishop, so Bishop was able to see a condensed, distorted view of the screen.
‘What’s happening now?’ Clea whispered at Bishop’s side.
Geraldo was moving his index finger across the trackpad as he activated a program.
‘Probably calling his boss,’ Bishop whispered back.
‘You mean Hartnell?’
‘No, not Hartnell. Worse.’
‘What could be worse?’
There’s always something worse, he thought, but said nothing. It wouldn’t help matters.
Another display screen opened up and Geraldo keyed in a password. Probably Skype, or a more secure variation of the same. There was a sharp ringing tone, which lasted for about thirty seconds, then it stopped and Bishop saw a face appear on the screen as the person he was calling answered. Geraldo repositioned the webcam until he was satisfied and started speaking rapid Spanish, ending almost every other sentence with a jefe. The man at the other end said nothing for the most part, just listened.
Finally he said a few words in a low, guttural voice. Geraldo said, ‘Momento, jefe,’ and turned the webcam round until it was facing the three captives. He also repositioned the laptop so they could all see the man onscreen clearly. Bishop saw a fairly handsome, dark-skinned man in his mid- to late fifties. He had heavy jowls and his thick black hair was greying at the temples, just like it was supposed to. He was wearing a white shirt open at the neck. He looked like a benevolent uncle, except Bishop knew better.
‘Oh, shit,’ Strickland whispered.
Bishop had to agree. Although he’d never seen that face in his life before, he knew without a doubt that he was now looking at Hartnell’s partner, Rafael Guzman.
FORTY-NINE
On the screen, only the man’s eyes moved as he took in the three captives. Then he gave a single nod of his head and said, ‘Bueno. It is him. Good work, Geraldo.’
‘Gracias, jefe.’
‘English for our guest, I think.’
‘Whatever you say, boss.’
‘And how are you, Señor Strickland?’ the man on the screen asked. ‘You look healthy enough.’
Strickland kept his gaze on the floor and shook his head slowly from side to side, muttering, ‘Oh, this is bad, this is so bad.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ The man’s eyes shifted and he said, ‘As for these other two, I recognize the man from the news, but who is this woman?’
&
nbsp; Geraldo turned to Clea. ‘Tell the boss who you are.’
She swallowed and said, ‘My name … My name’s Clea Buchanan. I … I own a craft shop in north Colorado. These two men … they came into my shop yesterday and took my car and forced me to go with them. I don’t have anything to do with this. I didn’t even know this man’s name was Strickland until just now.’
‘Yes, yes, very interesting.’ Guzman’s eyes became hooded. ‘Geraldo, I do not understand why these two are still breathing. Señor Strickland is the only one I want.’
‘I know, jefe, but you didn’t give me specific orders about what to do if he had people with him. And I didn’t want to do something I might regret later.’
The older man’s lips slowly transformed into a smile. ‘Good, Geraldo. I approve of this kind of thinking. And now you mention it, I do have some questions I want to ask them.’
‘I’ve got a few I’d like to ask you, too,’ Bishop said.
Without warning, something hard suddenly connected with the back of Bishop’s neck. He toppled over, putting a hand out to stop his head hitting the floor while he pressed his other hand to his neck. It was already throbbing in pain.
‘Talk when the boss asks you something,’ Geraldo said. ‘Not before.’
‘Why, what’s he afraid of?’
Bishop expected more pain for that one, but the man on the screen said, ‘Wait, let him speak. Señor, you are either very brave or very stupid. Which is it?’
‘Since I’ve got four guns aimed at my head, probably the second one.’ Bishop sat up again. ‘You are the Rafael Guzman, I take it?’
‘You have heard of me?’
‘Word gets around, Señor Guzman, even in my circles. I have to say I’m curious as to how you even knew about this place.’
Guzman smiled. ‘Curiosity. Now that is a quality I value. It is because I am also a curious man that I have remained in my current position for so long, while the more ignorant have fallen by the wayside, bleeding, often begging for their lives. Do you understand?’
‘Sure. Information is power, especially in your business.’
‘Exactly. And over the years I have collected a great deal of information on associates and competitors, as well as people close to them. I believe you can never know too much about anybody. As for Señor Strickland here, a few years back I simply had one of my people compile a complete dossier on him, just as I have done with many others in Hartnell’s employ. Such a simple little strategy, yet you would be amazed at the kind of results it can produce. I am surprised those in my position don’t do it more.’
‘Maybe they don’t have your kind of unlimited manpower.’
Guzman tilted his head as though this thought had never occurred to him, although Bishop was sure it had. ‘Perhaps. In any event, I soon learned of this long-term friendship with his little friend from high school and filed the information away for possible future use. Once I learned of Strickland’s escape with you yesterday I decided to post some of my men at that apartment in case he decided to drop by. It seems my instincts were correct. And now you will answer some questions for me.’
‘Seems only fair,’ Bishop said.
‘Firstly, am I correct in assuming your name is James Bishop?’
Bishop frowned. ‘How’d you know that?’
‘My sources are everywhere. Now why did you come to this apartment, Señor Bishop?’
‘We’re running low on gas, Strickland and I don’t have any money, and Clea here’s down to her last twenty. And we can’t use her credit cards for obvious reasons. So Strickland told me about this old pal of his and said he might be able to supply us with enough to send us on our way. Instead, we ran into your boys here.’
Guzman was silent for a few moments, thinking. Then he said. ‘Next question. From the photo I saw on the news, it appeared as though Strickland’s son also escaped with you, yes?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So where is he?’
‘He’s currently in the hands of your business partner, Felix Hartnell.’
Guzman sighed. ‘Geraldo. Barriga.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Geraldo got up, took a few steps towards Bishop and kicked him in the belly with everything he had.
It felt like somebody had just pitched a four-seam fastball straight at him. Bishop let out a whoosh of air and doubled over at the sudden flaring agony, clamping both arms around what was left of his stomach. He wheezed and hacked as he tried to take in more oxygen, and it took him about thirty seconds before the pain lessened enough that he was able to breathe more like a human being.
Clea was looking at him with wide eyes. He shook his head at her, hoping she wouldn’t ask if he was all right. She was supposed to be their unwilling hostage. He looked up and saw Geraldo had already sat back down and was watching the laptop screen, where Guzman was watching the scene with mild interest.
‘Listen to me very carefully, Señor Bishop,’ he said. ‘I do not have, and never have had, a business partner of any kind. I have only associates with whom I do business, that is all. Do you understand the difference?’
‘I do now,’ Bishop said, wincing. ‘You make your point very convincingly.’
‘I find it saves time. Now you were saying, about the boy …’
Bishop took a few more deep breaths, and when he felt he was more in control of himself he said, ‘Two of Hartnell’s men ambushed the three of us yesterday morning outside Vegas. There was gunfire, Strickland’s son panicked in the confusion and they grabbed him and took off. Later on, Hartnell’s man – Callaway – called and said the boy dies unless we get to Ohio by tomorrow before dawn and hand Strickland over instead.’
Guzman raised a single eyebrow. ‘Ah, things begin to fall into place now. And if you go to the police …?’
‘Hartnell will find out, and he’ll kill the boy. He’ll probably wait until the trial’s dismissed, but he’ll still do it. There’s no reason for him not to.’
Guzman nodded. ‘Yes, of course he will. But I still do not understand. You are clearly not a member of the law enforcement community, so why does any of this concern you?’
‘I made a promise that I’d keep the boy safe.’
‘I see. And do you always keep your promises?’
‘If I can. It’s what separates us from the animals, after all.’
Guzman nodded in approval. ‘We have something in common then.’
‘In that case, you mind if I ask you another question? Or do I risk getting another kick in the stomach?’
Guzman’s smile returned. He seemed to be enjoying himself. ‘Everything in life is a risk, as you know. Ask your question.’
‘Well, it’s pretty obvious why Hartnell wants Strickland, but I don’t get your interest in him. Mind enlightening me?’
Guzman tilted his head a little. ‘It is very simple. Hartnell is an important business associate of mine. If he is convicted my organization will be forced to seek other outlets for its product. That takes much time and effort. Also, buyers for my product are often unreliable when it comes to payment. In my business, I stick to what works and make changes only if I have no other choice. And the system Hartnell and I have developed over the years works. Also, with Strickland now in my possession, my negotiating power with Hartnell instantly increases by the power of ten. So as you can see, by keeping Hartnell out of jail I am simply looking out for my best interests. And all with the very minimum of effort.
‘Unfortunately for you,’ he continued, ‘my interest is only in Strickland here. I have enjoyed this chat, but I’m afraid you and the woman are now surplus to requirements.’
Geraldo slowly got to his feet and said, ‘Orders, boss?’
‘Yes,’ Guzman said. ‘Finish them both.’
FIFTY
Clea began to cry. Strickland kept his gaze on the floor and said nothing. Bishop thought furiously as he watched Geraldo take the huge Desert Eagle from under his jacket and pull back the slide. The noise echoed loudly throughout t
he room. Bishop knew they only had seconds left, but he also knew there had to be a way out of this. Had to be.
He quickly went over the main parts of the conversation in the diner this morning, when Strickland had been talking about Guzman, and decided there was a possibility there. Just a very tiny spark of something, but would it be enough?
‘Please,’ Clea said, wrapping her arms round herself. ‘I’ve done nothing to you people. God, I just work in a shop.’
‘It was just your bad luck to get involved, lady,’ Geraldo said. ‘But I’ll make it quick.’ He slowly raised the gun and aimed it at her head.
‘Don’t we get a last request?’ Bishop said.
‘Wait, Geraldo,’ Guzman said, holding up a hand. Geraldo lowered the gun. ‘And what do you want, Señor Bishop? A cigarette, maybe? A shot of whiskey? What?’
‘Just some answers to a few questions.’
Guzman frowned. ‘And what difference will the answers make to you, knowing what will happen afterwards?’
‘Maybe no difference at all, but I think I can offer you some food for thought. Why not indulge me? Other than a few minutes of your time, what have you got to lose?’
After a short pause, Guzman said, ‘Very well. Talk.’
‘Okay, you said you’re doing all this to protect your business interests, to keep the whole operation running smoothly, as well as to increase your bargaining power with Hartnell. But that’s not the only reason, is it?’
Guzman raised an eyebrow. ‘Is that a question?’
‘Just a rhetorical one. The thing is, I know the media paint all you cartel boys as bloodthirsty psychos and maybe a good percentage of you are, but I’ve also met enough of your countrymen to know personal debts carry a lot of weight in your part of the world. You people are big believers in honour and paying off obligations, all that stuff. Which is something I can relate to.’