The Lawless Kind

by Hilton, Matt

  I clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘I owe you one, pal,’ I said.

  ‘You owe me more than one. I saved all your arses.’

  ‘You did, and I’m grateful.’

  Marshall stopped the SUV and climbed out. I slid across into the driving position, as the other car pulled up and Marshall waved to the two men inside. He bent down, looked in at my three friends. ‘I knew Joe way back when he was still young and reckless. Now he’s just reckless. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?’

  After receiving affirmations, he returned his gaze to me. His fake orb was still, his real one jiggling. He extended a hand. ‘It was good serving with you again, Hunter.’

  ‘You too, Marshall.’ I accepted his hand.

  ‘Don’t know how they’re going to clear up this mess,’ he said. ‘But that’s not for us to worry about, I’m sure between them our sponsors will come up with enough bullshit to confuse the issue. But they won’t get started for a while yet. I don’t suggest you try to leave by the border crossing here. It’ll be shut down tighter than Howell Regis’s arse.’

  ‘Maybe I can find one of those coyote gangs willing to smuggle us across the border,’ I joked.

  ‘No need. The fences are high here, but it’s all for show. The North American Alliance is gaining impetus; the border’s not so heavily patrolled now that the Yanks, Canadians and Mexicans are all becoming buddies. Go west a few miles and you’ll find the fence is non-existent. That’s the way I brought my guys in-country.’

  ‘You going out that way?’

  ‘No. We should head east. If there is any pursuit, I’m hoping they go after you guys.’ He winked. Then he slapped the roof of the SUV. ‘Go on. I’d best get going too.’

  ‘Regis,’ I said.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about him causing any more trouble. He’s back in there under all that rubble.’

  ‘Best place for him, in the dirt,’ Marshall said. ‘Buried alongside his pal Molina.’

  ‘Hopefully when the cops arrive, they’ll think Molina and Regis were shooting at each other. It’ll let us off the hook, unless someone spills the beans.’

  ‘Who’s going to admit that they were part of that mess?’

  He shrugged at his own question.

  Then he got in the car with his friends and they drove away. He didn’t look back. Or if he did I didn’t notice. I was too busy smiling at Kirstie as she peered at me from inside Rink’s commandeered vehicle.

  Chapter 50

  ‘Come in, Joe. I’m glad you’re here. For a few days there I thought I’d seen the last of you.’

  The doorway of her first-floor apartment framed Kirstie Long. The soft light spilling from within added an amber halo to her hair where it hung loose around her shoulders. Her face was partly in shadow, but her eyes and lips glistened, reflecting the streetlamps outside. Her apartment was in a nice neighbourhood of Washington DC, and must have cost a huge amount of money. The house, Kirstie had told me, had been his parting gift when Jorge Molina returned to Mexico. He owed her more than a decent home for the trouble he’d caused her and Benjamin, yet, compared to the poor hovels of those that Molina had used and abused in Mexico, Kirstie had done all right out of the deal. However, I’d noted the realtor’s sign before mounting the wooden stairs to her front door. She was selling up.

  ‘Thinking of moving house?’ I asked, hitching a thumb towards the FOR SALE sign.

  ‘Too many bad memories here, Joe,’ she said as she stood aside and beckoned me in. ‘For me and for Benjamin.’

  ‘A fresh start might help. How is the boy?’

  ‘Taking time to adjust, but that’s to be expected, I guess.’

  ‘He’s young enough to forget what he went through, it’s you that will have nightmares for months to come.’

  ‘I’ve put it behind me. What have I to fear now that Jorge can’t harm us any more?’

  Truth was, trouble could come at her from any number of directions, but it wouldn’t serve any purpose to tell her so. I offered a consolatory nod. I moved from the vestibule into the living space while Kirstie closed the door.

  Her sitting room was spacious, stylishly furnished, with overflowing bookshelves that lined the walls. Recalling that Kirstie worked as a PR manager for a number of best-selling authors, sports stars and celebrities, I assumed many of the books were gifts from her clients. ‘How many books are here? Thousands? I don’t envy you having to pack all these when you move.’

  ‘I thought that you might be around to lend a hand . . .’

  Her words held more meaning than their face value. I hid my smile as I sat down on the settee. Kirstie sat opposite, in a recliner. She was wearing a cream-coloured sweater over blue jeans that adhered to her slim thighs. She was barefoot. A paperback thriller lay open on the floor, where she’d placed it on hearing the doorbell. She was relaxed and at ease, believing that the threat to her and her son had ended when Marshall’s SUV smashed Molina to death.

  ‘Do those kind of books still excite you after everything you experienced?’ I asked.

  ‘I read them to escape the real world,’ she explained, ‘and to force out the memories of what happened in Mexico. They work for me.’ She toed the open book. ‘Those fictional characters suffer much more than I did. Though I haven’t read about anyone who endured your pain. I’m surprised you’re up and walking around.’

  ‘You should see me when no one’s looking. I’m like an old man of ninety.’

  It was almost a month since we’d escaped the warehouse at Agua Prieta. When driving the SUV across country and into the USA I’d existed on adrenalin and the need to find medical assistance for Velasquez. His injuries were more concerning than mine, and I’d barely given my wounds a second thought until we got him to a hospital at Sierra Vista. To be honest, other than the bullet wounds to my forearm and leg that I’d practically forgotten about, most of the cuts were minor and didn’t need stitching. The gunshot wounds I cleaned and dressed myself later, because – if I’d announced I’d been shot – the surgeons were duty bound to report all shooting incidents to the police. They didn’t believe our story that we’d been in a traffic collision, but the doctors there were discreet enough to give us a break. After Velasquez was cleaned up and medicated, he discharged himself, and we continued to a rendezvous with Walter Conrad at a private airstrip near Fort Huachuca.

  My goodbye with Kirstie had been brief, before her grandfather whisked her and Benjamin away in his private jet. He made room for Velasquez and McTeer, but Rink and Harvey stayed behind with me. It was important that I didn’t tag along, because Kirstie and Walter had a lot of talking to do, and many lost years for Walter to explain. The rest of us had taken rooms at a tiny motel on the fringe of the Coronado National Forest, where we crashed out and, having eaten and drunk my fill, I’d slept for a full eighteen hours. When I woke up, and made myself presentable, we headed to the airport at Tucson and took the first plane out to Florida. I slept all the way back, and on waking felt like I’d been strapped to one of the wings the entire flight home. I felt even worse over the next couple of days, before the agony began to subside. I could move OK now, but anything vigorous had to be considered first, and attempted gingerly.

  ‘Where’s Benjamin?’ I asked.

  ‘Bed.’ She indicated a baby monitor on a table next to her chair. ‘He’s sleeping soundly.’

  Jorge Molina had doped the boy with medication to help him sleep, I recalled. ‘How’re those teeth of his? Still troubling him?’

  ‘He already has all his teeth, he is almost five, remember.’ Her eyes flashed. ‘I think the reason he had a sore mouth was because he’d been slapped, and the medication was to stop him crying. Jorge didn’t want a weakling for a son. You’ve heard what Jorge wanted him to do to me . . . I dread to imagine what else he had tried to force Benjamin into.’

  To think I’d entertained thoughts that Jorge might be a good father, and didn’t blame hi
m for chasing us so diligently to get his boy back: how wrong could I be? ‘He was sick in the head, Kirstie.’

  ‘Did you hear that he’d been poisoning his own father?’

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me. He was on a power trip, and the only way he could secure his position with the cartels was to kill off his old man and step into his shoes.’

  ‘What has happened in Hermosillo?’

  ‘I haven’t heard much. Only that one of the other cartels has moved in, seeing as Old Man Molina is on his last legs. But that was always on the cards. Without his CIA connections Jorge was a bit player; the other cartels would have eaten him alive. As far as the fighting’s concerned, the general consensus is that two cartel factions were competing for control, and our presence there has never come to light. Same thing at Agua Prieta. As luck would have it, the Federales were already engaged in fighting with some of Molina’s crew at Moctezuma. It’s believed that the battle spilled over to Agua Prieta, where Molina’s men had a falling out. It actually helped our case that Regis and some of Marshall’s men were found in the warehouse, because it gave validity to the story. They’ve been identified as mercenaries, and to all intents and purposes they didn’t get on too well with their employers. People are swearing that the two sides broke into a gun battle when they couldn’t agree on their share of profits. Anyone who knows the truth is happy to play along.’

  ‘What about the Border Control officials that were involved?’ Kirstie asked.

  ‘Some of them have disappeared, others have been arrested and face charges of corruption. Who knows how that will pan out.’

  ‘One of them was there in the room when Jorge tried to force Benjamin to stab me: what if she tells?’

  Yes, I remembered her: the woman who Rink tossed out of the room. I also recalled how quickly she ran away. I was willing to bet that she’d kept on running. There was nothing to gain by staying in the area until the police arrived. Even if she hadn’t, was she likely to admit that she had held down a foreign national while a maniac coaxed a child to cut her throat?

  ‘To be honest, Kirstie, the trouble we were involved in was only one of dozens of violent confrontations throughout the country that week. Things are in turmoil, and the Federales are hard put to keep up, let alone spare any time to investigate ancient history. They’ll be happy that another of the major gangs has been broken, rather than start looking for motives why.’

  ‘So you think we’re safe from prosecution?’

  Shrugging, I said, ‘Pointless worrying about something unlikely to happen.’

  ‘Only unlikely?’

  ‘There are always crusaders for the truth. We can only hope that there are juicier lies for them to concern themselves with. The impending North American Alliance already has the conspiracy theorists jumping up and down; our story will be lost among thousands of other tales soon enough. When they can go after the politicians and make loads of noise, who’s going to trouble a woman who simply retrieved her abducted baby?’

  ‘It makes a good story, you have to admit.’

  ‘Hope it doesn’t end up in another of those mystery books you’re so fond of,’ I joked. ‘Please don’t tell any of your author friends what happened.’

  ‘My lips are sealed.’ She mimed zipping them together. When she caught me staring she relaxed her mouth, her bottom lip protruding. I watched as blood flooded her lips and would swear they were riper than before. There was nothing I wished for more than to touch her.

  Three days earlier, Rink had warned me about this moment. I’d limped into his office at Rington Investigations, grunting as I sat down opposite him. I stretched out my leg, rubbing at the muscles in my thigh.

  ‘You’re getting old, brother,’ Rink said.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘It’s been weeks since I exercised. I’m going to do some running soon. I’ll be good once I’ve put the miles in again.’

  ‘Your knee still giving you trouble?’

  Actually it was. Of all the minor injuries I’d picked up in Mexico, the twisted knee I’d acquired while avoiding being crushed by the SUV in Hermosillo had stayed with me longest. But it was on the mend, and I was confident of a full recovery. All my other injuries had faded, even the horrendous welts from Jorge Molina’s rope. The bullet nicks on my leg and forearm were pink scars now, the myriad scrapes and scratches from flying glass a network of fine scars that would disappear now I was back in the sunshine.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I lied.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ he offered. ‘A nice easy ten miles to get us started.’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow, eh? Or the next day.’

  Rink winked. ‘Knew that knee was giving you hell.’

  I offered him a sheepish grin. ‘Just don’t tell anyone, eh?’

  ‘You seeing Kirstie this weekend?’ Rink asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You should take it easy, brother.’

  ‘We’re taking everything one step at a time, Rink. The same as my fitness regime.’

  He held me under his gaze. I knew something was troubling him: our association with Walter had grown to be a burden he wasn’t happy carrying these days.

  ‘You still think it’s wrong for me to date Walter’s granddaughter?’ I asked.

  ‘No. Not in that sense, brother. What I said back then, I was just trying to make you see where a relationship with Kirstie might lead you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be hearing any wedding bells if that’s what’s bothering you.’

  He grunted out a laugh, but it was hollow and humourless. ‘You know what I’m worried about.’

  He was intimating that if I was close to Kirstie then I’d be too close to Walter, and by virtue to Arrowsake. And, because he’d never turn his back on me, so would he.

  ‘You don’t find it strange that, after what went down in Mexico, we haven’t been hauled in by the feds yet?’

  ‘I know where you’re heading with this,’ I said.

  ‘Good. You need to heed my warning. Walter had another CIA agent murdered, for Christ’s sake, and it’s like Thomas Caspar never existed. How could he get away with that?’

  ‘We don’t know for sure that Walt had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Bullshit! You know exactly who was on the other end of that garrotte. And you know who sent Vincent after Caspar.’

  ‘Stephen Vincent doesn’t work for Walter,’ I reminded him.

  ‘No. Agent Vincent is Arrowsake through and through. But doesn’t it make you think . . .’

  ‘It does,’ I admitted. ‘How or why did Arrowsake get involved? I know what you’re thinking, Rink: you believe Walter asked them for help and now he owes them, and it’s most likely us who’ll end up repaying his debt.’

  Rink shook his head. ‘What I’m saying is that we don’t know Walter the way we think we know him.’

  ‘Shit,’ I said.

  ‘Shit doesn’t begin to describe it if I’m right,’ Rink said.

  ‘You mean Walter hasn’t cut ties with Arrowsake? For a hit on someone as important as Caspar, it would take someone with a lot of juice in the organisation to give it the green light. Caspar’s death has been covered by a smokescreen, the same way as the trouble down in Mexico has. We’ve been allowed to get away with everything because to name us would also name Walter. Arrowsake aren’t going to let that happen, are they?’

  ‘You’ve got it,’ Rink said, though he didn’t seem happy with my epiphany. ‘Walter hasn’t moved away from Arrowsake at all. He’s moved up in rank. He’s where he always intended to be, Joe, and you know where that leaves us.’

  ‘He can’t make us work for him again.’

  ‘Can’t he? I’m not saying he’d force us, but if he can play on your loyalties . . . Shit, Joe, if you’re canoodling with his granddaughter you’re as good as hooked in.’ He mimed snicking a dog leash to a collar round his neck. ‘We’re fucked, brother.’

  ‘No. I won’t let it happen again. No more Walter Hayes Conrad.
No more using us as his personal assets.’

  ‘You think so, brother?’ Rink asked with a slow exhalation. ‘Then you’re stupider than you look.’

  Simply by being here in Kirstie’s apartment, I’d kind of proved Rink’s point for him. Didn’t stop me from coming to a decision. Getting up from the settee without showing discomfort was a struggle, but I pulled it off. Kirstie stood also.

  ‘You’re going so soon?’ she asked, her disappointment obvious.

  ‘No.’ I held out a hand to her. ‘Just wanted to finish something we started back in Mexico. You asked me if I’d kiss you again, and I said we’d talk about it once you were safely home. You ready for that talk?’

  ‘My grandfather warned me about you.’

  ‘He did?’

  ‘He said you’re too impulsive for your own good.’

  ‘Maybe he’s right. But I won’t know for sure until you order me to get out.’

  Kirstie flushed, but she didn’t give me my marching orders. She began kissing me in the living room, and didn’t stop until much later in the bedroom, as we slept naked in each other’s arms.

  Thanks and Acknowledgements

  My thanks and gratitude goes to Denise Hilton, Luigi Bonomi, Alison Bonomi, Sue Fletcher, Swati Gamble, Eleni Lawrence, Jim Hilton, my family and friends, and to all the readers who choose to pick up a Joe Hunter book.

  Special mentions of thanks this time go to Lee Marshall, Ian McAdam, Graham Smith, and Kirstie Long, for allowing me the use of your names. Hope you don’t mind the Joe Hunter treatment your fictional equivalents went through?