by Don Winslow
Tim braced himself for the kick that didn’t come. Realized that Huertero was too deep inside himself to lash out. That would come later.
“When they found her it was in Crete,” Huertero said softly. “She had died of a heroin overdose. Can you imagine a better way to punish her father than to die of an overdose of Mexican Brown? I can see her lying on that cold stone floor. In her own vomit and her own shit. I see this every time I close my eyes for six endless years. For six long years I ask Why? Then I find out that it was you.”
He pulls a pistol from his silk jacket.
Tim flinches when the cold metal touches the front of his skull.
“Look at me,” Huertero says.
Tim looks up. He’s trying not to shake but it isn’t working.
He jumps at the sound of the hammer clicking back.
“We will meet in hell, Bobby Z,” Huertero says.
Tim sees the man’s finger tighten on the trigger.
Just do it, he thinks.
Nike time.
Over.
Just do it.
He hears Elizabeth’s soft sobbing.
Waits for the last big bang.
Closes his eyes and sees Kit’s smile.
73.
Life hasn’t been good to asshole Wayne LaPerriere.
Like he’s been long overdrawn in the bank of karma but he never thought it would come to this.
Room service fucking waiter at the fucking Ritz-Carlton.
Which was the idea, you know, so he could spot those rich dick-heads too stupid to put their valuables in the safe-deposit box at the front desk. Humiliating, bringing omelettes de fines herbes and smoked salmon fettuccine to rich assholes who sometimes don’t even bother to stop fucking in the bedroom while he sets the tray in the sitting room, but remunerative when he can turn Al Matteau on to a score and get a piece. And sometimes he got a look at some tit or some pussy, and once he even thought he was gonna get laid but her limpdick husband came wheezing in.
So it wasn’t all that bad, but on this particular morning asshole Wayne LaPerriere almost swallowed his teeth when he went to deliver goddamn fucking early-morning coffee and croissant and Tim Kearney’s standing there.
Now the last time Wayne had seen Kearney was when he picked him up from the joint and did a Gas n’ Grub on the way to a bar where they got drunk and arrested. And what Wayne did was Wayne got right on the train the detective offered and put the gun in Tim’s hand and walked away with nine months on the farm.
Last person in the goddamn world Wayne wants to see is Tim Kearney, who Wayne heard was in the deepest of possible shit having slicked a very large Hell’s Angel named Stinkdog in the yard, but there’s fucking Tim at the fucking Ritz-Carlton, real as life.
Longer hair and gained a little weight maybe, but it’s Kearney, and Wayne slips his hand under the linen napkin and reaches for the knife.
But Tim doesn’t recognize him.
Asshole Wayne LaPerriere can’t fucking believe it, but the arrogant bastard doesn’t recognize his old best friend. Just juts his chin and says Set it down over there and goes back to shaving.
And some guy in the bathroom is yelling to eat his fucking croissant in a fucking hurry because they got to get to the fucking harbor, and Tim tells the guy to go fuck himself.
And goes on shaving like Wayne’s invisible.
Uppity son of a bitch. If Kearney, who is as big a loser as was ever born, is ordering up room service at the fucking Ritz-Carlton, he has to be on to a very large score, and the least he could do is share it with his old buddy, Wayne thinks. Who the fuck gave him a ride home from the joint? Kearney’s own parents wouldn’t pick him up, but there was old Wayne, and how does Kearney treat him now?
Like some loser, that’s how.
Fucking Kearney’s too good for him now.
So asshole Wayne LaPerriere is like steaming as he goes back to the kitchen. He’s pissed and he throws his faggoty little waiter jacket to the floor and says he quits this asshole job.
And what Wayne does is he goes right out to a phone booth and calls an Angel buddy who sells him some meth from time to time and says, “Don’t you guys have a beef with Tim Kearney?”
“Yeah, what about it?” his buddy asks.
“He’s at the Ritz-Carlton.”
And the Angel like snorts and says, “Tim fucking Kearney is not at the fucking Ritz-Carlton.”
And laughs, which makes Wayne all the madder.
“Yeah, well, then I saw a fucking ghost,” Wayne says. “Anyway, in case you’re interested, he’s going to the harbor.”
And his buddy says, “You didn’t see a ghost, you saw a fucking dead man.”
Few minutes later there’s an army of bikers headed for Dana Point Harbor, and asshole Wayne LaPerriere, he’s happy and relieved that Tim Kearney is about to be a dead fucker, because it really takes a load off his mind.
74.
Huertero’s hand quivers.
Then the finger lets up on the trigger.
Huertero’s shaking his head.
“It’s not enough,” Huertero says sadly. And Tim figures like Huertero’s gonna shoot him in the belly and leave him or set him on fire or something. He’s getting ready for it when he hears Huertero order, “Get the boy.”
Hears Elizabeth shriek, “No!”
One of Huertero’s boys grabs her and clamps a hand over her mouth.
Huertero lifts his chin, looks in Tim’s eyes and says, “A child for a child. You will watch and then perhaps I will give you the mercy of death.”
Tim lunges for him but Huertero’s boys are too quick, too good.
When they let Tim up he sees Kit standing there.
Looking so scared.
“Don’t do this,” Tim says to Huertero.
“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Huertero asks. “Horrible even to contemplate.”
“I’ve met some low motherfuckers in my life …” Tim says.
Huertero gestures for them to take the boy to the edge of the ravine.
Tim imagines the bullet in the back of the head and Kit’s body flying off the edge.
“He isn’t my kid,” Tim says.
“Yes, I am!” Kit shouts.
Huertero kneels next to the boy.
“Son,” he whispers, his words a fatherly caress, “you will tell me the truth and I will spare this man’s life: Who is your father?”
“Kit—” Tim warns, but Huertero’s man clamps a hand over his mouth.
Kit looks Huertero in the eye and says proudly, “Bobby Z is my father.”
“This man?”
And Kit looks at Tim with a look that Tim recognizes as like pure love, man.
And says, “Yes.”
Huertero looks at Tim and asks, “Would you deny such a brave son?”
Huertero puts his arm around the boy and ushers him toward the bridge.
Kit balks. Tears himself from Huertero’s arms and attacks the man holding Tim. Goes for the back of his neck and tries to haul him off his father. Bites, scratches, kicks and punches. Screams, “Let my daddy go!” and wails away and Tim’s just trying to reach around to hold the kid’s arms, just hold him so they’ll at least have to do them both and maybe he can hold his hand over Kit’s eyes as they fall, be X-Men or something so it won’t be real until the kid wakes up in heaven.
But he can’t hold on and feels the kid slipping away from him. Kit’s played out, and when Tim can get his head turned to see, one of Huertero’s men has the boy in a bear hug. Both of Kit’s feet are off the ground and kicking.
Like a hanged man’s feet.
“You look for me in hell,” Tim tells Huertero. “I’ll be coming for you.”
“You haven’t seen hell yet,” Huertero says.
“Daddy, help me!” Kit’s screaming, and Huertero smiles at Tim as if to say that’s hell, and Tim reaches for him but can’t get there. As they carry the boy to the edge, they lever Tim’s head up so that he has to watch.
&n
bsp; Elizabeth says to Huertero, “You won’t hurt the boy.”
“You underestimate my grief.”
“He’s your grandson.”
Everything stops.
75.
Escobar’s put the whole move into a freeze.
He’s got a net thrown around the Bluffside Walk, and no one, not even the legendary ghostman Bobby Z, is getting out of there.
So Escobar’s standing on a knoll with DFN Cruz and Cruz is checking out every possible firing angle and Cruz, he’s in heaven. Escobar, he’s looking down at that harbor. He can see the whole thing and as usual he’s thinking ahead.
What he’s thinking is that Bobby Z is a dope smuggler who’s been bringing his product in from the sea. And what’s good for bringing in is good for getting out, so Escobar decides it’s a good bet that Bobby is going to finish his business and get on one of those boats.
He points this possibility out to DFN Cruz and they talk it over like two professional men. How Cruz can get a shot on whatever dock Bobby has to walk down to get on his boat. If he misses, Escobar says, talking over DFN Cruz’s objection, the boat has a long way to go to get away.
Boat has to pull out of the slip, then cruise slowly on the inside of the long stone jetty that forms an oval ring around the harbor. A long way inside that quiet strip of water, then under a bridge until it gets to open water.
“Can you hit that far?” he asks Cruz.
“Won’t have to,” Cruz says.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“I can hit that far.”
Escobar’s getting anxious.
“Would it be better from the bridge?” he asks.
Cruz shakes his head.
“It would be a good shot,” he admits. “But I want to get away.”
Everyone and his fucking mother would see you shoot from that bridge. You’d have to be a crazy motherfucker to shoot from that bridge. He doesn’t say that to Escobar, though. Escobar is an intelligent man but a little uptight right now.
Besides, there’s a whole line of bikers sitting on that bridge, and the last thing Cruz wants now is a hassle with a bunch of bikers.
“I’ll take the shot from here,” Cruz says.
Death from Nowhere.
76.
“She was pregnant,” Elizabeth says. “That’s why she ran from you. She was afraid. I tried to get her to have an abortion but she wouldn’t. So we concocted a plan. She would go away and have the baby as Olivia. Everyone would believe it: Olivia was the most promiscuous of us. Olivia would raise the baby as the awkward result of one of many affairs. I would help.
“It worked as far as it went. We fooled everybody. But poor Angelica … You were right, she couldn’t fool herself. She yearned for Bobby, she yearned for her son. She would have taken the boy back but she was so afraid of your anger. Afraid of what you would do …”
Elizabeth juts her chin toward the bridge. “She was half afraid that you would kill the child.”
“Kill my grandson?” Huertero blinks. “Mi carnal?”
Elizabeth looks at the thug holding Kit and snaps, “Put that boy down.”
Kit runs to Tim and throws his arms around him. Digs his face into the man’s chest to hide.
“Olivia couldn’t raise a kid,” Elizabeth snorts. “Olivia couldn’t raise a houseplant. I should have known that. Her eighth rehab or whatever and I was planning to take him myself. Then he shows up and I thought, you know, fuck it, he should know he has a kid.”
“A grandson,” Huertero mumbles. His eyes fill, then overflow with tears. He’s weeping as he says, “A grandson. A treasure.”
Tim can’t believe like what the fuck he’s hearing and why Elizabeth like didn’t mention this tidbit maybe a little earlier, and next thing he knows, Huertero’s sitting on the ground beside him trying to get Kit’s attention, saying, “You’ll have everything. Toys, boats, games, horses. You will have a stable of horses to ride, you will be like a prince from a fairy tale. We will ride together early in the mornings and I will tell you stories of your ancestors and how they conquered Mexico and how they fought the Comanches and the Apaches and the yanquis. And you will have a sweet woman to teach you Spanish and Elizabeth will be your nanny. Would you like that?”
He’s reaching around and trying to hold the boy or just to touch him, but Kit clings to Tim and buries his head further into his chest. Blood drips from Tim’s nose onto the boy’s hair.
Huertero gets up and tries to brush the dirt from his slacks.
“Take the boy,” he orders.
“The boy stays with me,” Tim says. “Take your money and go.”
Huertero just smiles and says, “Take the boy.”
“Slip ZZ,” Tim says. “The Nowhere. You can be on it and out of here, but leave me the boy.”
Elizabeth starts to say something but Tim snaps, “Shut the fuck up!”
Because he like knows it’s over. Knows Huertero’s going to get the kid and the money and whack him. And the kid’s going to have a rich, shitty life but at least he can go through it knowing his father wanted him.
Ain’t that much for a kid to ask.
“I’ll go with you,” Kit says to Huertero. “I want to go with you.”
“Kit—” Tim says.
He hears Kit saying, “If you don’t kill him.”
Kit’s a smart, tough little fucker, and he’s saying, “You can’t take me if I don’t want to go. I’ll start screaming and yelling and you can’t stop me. And I’ll tell them you kidnapped me and you’ll go to jail.”
Tim figures Huertero’ll like freak, but the old fucker like beams and says, “The boy has spirit.”
“The boy is serious,” Kit says.
And the boy has sat up a lot of late nights watching movies on television, because the boy says, “I want a letter from him every year, and him and I have a code so I’ll know if it’s faked. As long as he’s alive I’ll stay with you.”
“You have your mother’s blood,” Huertero says.
“And my dad’s,” Kit says.
Huertero solemnly sticks out his hand and Kit shakes it.
“We have an understanding,” Huertero says. “My word of honor.”
“Word of honor,” Kit says.
And Tim doesn’t say anything, because he wants the kid to think what he wants to think. Like he saved his daddy’s life, but Tim knows Huertero’s honor is worth absolute shit.
But there’s Kit standing in front of him trying to be brave, and Tim puts his arms out and the kid hugs him and Tim whispers 7 love you and Kit whispers I love you, too and it’s like fuck brave, because they’re both crying.
Next thing Tim knows, Elizabeth’s taking Kit by the hand and taking him away, and Tim touches Kit’s fingers and then they’re gone.
And Tim’s kneeling in the dirt, crying.
On the way to the car Huertero mutters to his head honcho, “After we get on the boat, kill him.”
The man nods. “I’ll wait here.”
Huertero shakes his head.
“You won’t have to,” he says. “He’ll be coming.”
“¿Sí?”
Sí, Huertero thinks.
Huertero knows men. He knows that man will be coming. A son such as that, the man will be coming for him.
And while he’s saying this, lifetime loser Tim Kearney is letting himself slide over the edge of the ravine. Toward the top of the palm trees, toward the sharp rocks, Tim Kearney doesn’t care.
Tim Kearney’s sick of losing.
Semper Fi, man.
77.
One Way’s getting the boat ready.
Feels good to him, too. Feels like old times, and it’s coming back to him, the lines and the rigging. He’s spent the night working on the engine, getting it humming and throbbing, and One Way has to wonder what he’s been doing all these years in between.
It’s been like one long weird trip, you know, and now he’s ready to leave it behind. Sail away, man. From the Hotel Cali
fornia.
So he’s standing on the deck looping the spare lines into neat coils, feeling the sun on the back of his neck, and he’s waiting for Bobby to come and hand the money over so they can leave it all behind. Him and Bobby and Bobby’s woman and kid, and One Way’s blissed out on the thought of teaching the young Z how to sail.
Then he sees them coming and alarms go off in his head because Bobby isn’t with them. A long black limo like a hearse pulls up and the boss Mexican gets out with a bodyguard and a woman and a kid. And One Way only has to get a glance at the kid to know it’s the little Z, and here they come walking down the dock toward the boat, but Bobby isn’t with them.
The old Mex looks at him and pushes the kid onto the boat and orders, “Take him below!” so One Way does. But the bossman Mexican stays on the dock. Like he’s waiting for something.
One Way’s getting pins and needles through his stomach. Something’s real wrong here, so he runs below and starts the engine in case they have to get out of here quick, and when he comes back up he sees Bobby come onto the deck with Gruzsa coming up behind him.
And Escobar and DFN Cruz up on the bluff and the Angels on the bridge, they all see the same thing. DFN Cruz has the crosshairs straight on Bobby’s back, and the Angels have their AR-15s laying on the rail of the bridge, and Huertero’s man, he has his pistol drawn, and Bobby, he seems to feel it because he stops and turns around.
Just as Tim Kearney staggers out from the ravine. He’s standing at the base underneath a big palm and he looks straight across at the dock and his eyes meet Bobby Z’s for just a second.
They give each other the funniest damn look, and then Tim hears Gruzsa screaming, “NOOOOO!” and Tim suddenly gets the whole damn setup. Like Gruzsa set him up to take the rap for Bobby Z and then Gruzsa and Z go sailing away with the three million, so it’s like this sudden moment of enlightenment and then wham, the world opens up.
Like one second Z is standing there and the next second he like just dissolves, man, so many rounds hit him from so many angles.