by James Samuel
He couldn’t hide the wide smile spreading across his face. “Not on your life.”
“Anyway, what about the other issue?”
James turned towards the bedroom door, where he could hear the distinct sound of Jessi playing a game on her phone. “No. She’s still here.”
“We talked about this, James. You said you would do it. It has to be now. We have to go to Florida this week. She can’t go with you. If she goes, I’m out.”
“I know, but it’s not that easy. She doesn’t want to go back to Montoya.”
“I don’t care what she wants. She can’t stay with you. You’ll get her killed. She’ll become a target for everyone you’ve ever upset.”
James nodded at the carpet of gentle lights before him. He knew Jessi couldn’t stay. His lifestyle would never permit a full-time partner. It made him vulnerable, a weak point for his enemies to exploit. In the face of that cold logic, he had no counterargument.
“This isn’t difficult, James. You have no choice. You’ve had your fun with her, now send her back to her brother where she belongs. If he knows you took her home with you, we are going to have two angry cartels after our blood.”
“I know.”
“Fine. I’ll speak to you again when your passport is ready.”
James clicked his touchscreen to end the call. He glanced at the closed bedroom door. He’d known how this relationship would end the moment they left the hacienda and returned to James’ home in Guanajuato. The days they’d spent together had been a blur. He’d forgotten his work. He’d forgotten himself.
Did she know that this relationship had no hope of progressing beyond this short liaison?
His phone vibrated in his hand. He unlocked the screen to find a message from Sinclair. “It’s better to rip off the bandage quickly than drag it out. It’s for the best.”
James locked his phone and slipped it into his pocket. He knew he had to do this, but it didn’t make it any less agonising. Despite his job, he wasn’t a monster, or at least that’s what he liked to believe.
“Jessi.” He knocked on the door. “Are you awake? We need to talk.”
“Yes, cariño.”
James entered the room to find her lying on the bed wearing nothing but a black t-shirt barely reaching the tops of her thighs. At that moment, he wanted her. He wanted her bad, but Sinclair’s message rang clear. This couldn’t go on. A few days was already too long. The longer he took the harder it would be. He had to face the truth.
“Look, Jessi.” James sat on the edge of the bed. “I need to tell you something and I need to be honest about what’s going on. I came to the hacienda to save you from Quezada because I made a promise to your brother to return you to him.”
Jessi put her phone down. The happiness etched across her face ripped away like a child’s drawing caught in the wind. “I already told you I’m not going back to him. I don’t want that kind of life for myself.”
James sighed. “I know, but I’m leaving. I can’t stay. In my line of work, I can’t protect you. You have to go.”
She cradled her hands in front of her as she crossed her legs, her head falling towards them with the weight of it all. James felt rotten for saying the words, but he had to. He got off the bed for fear of becoming too close to her. Feelings didn’t matter in this business.
“I’ll take you back to your brother today,” he said matter-of-factly.
Her eyes stung red with tears. “No, I won’t go. You can’t make me.”
James locked gazes with her. “There’s no other choice.”
“You don’t understand.” Jessi leapt up from the bed. “You don’t understand Mexican families and you don’t understand what it’s like to be the family of a narco. Always being watched. Always being controlled. Never knowing if something’s going to happen to you or someone you love. That’s not how I want to live.”
He threw his hands up. “What did you think was going to come of this?”
“I don’t know,” she cried. “I don’t know. All I know is I won’t go back to him.”
James didn’t say anything. No, he didn’t have a cold enough heart to force her back to Montoya.
“Are you going to take me back?”
He shook his head slowly but deliberately. “No, it’s your choice. You do what you like. But you’re still the sister of a drug lord. You’re still marked for death. Quezada and the rest of them will come back for you after I’m gone. You need to see sense. Your brother can protect you better than you can.”
“He only ever cared for me when Quezada took me. See, you don’t get it. It’s about honour and pride. I mean nothing to him.”
James’ legs shook with the effort of trying to stand strong. He felt like a cliff being eroded by the raging tempest beneath him. He grabbed a short wooden stool and faced her.
“Maybe I don’t understand your culture,” said James. “But I’m not here to understand it. This is a job for me, and now I have to do my job. You make your decision.”
Jessi clenched her jaw. “I won’t stay in Mexico then. I have money. I can take it and leave. Go to Europe. Go to America. Anywhere but here. This land is cursed.”
He nodded. “If that’s what you want. I can take you to the airport.” James approached her. “Let me do that at least.”
Jessi thrust out a hand to stop him in his tracks. “No, I’ll take a bus. I know why you wanted me. You got what you wanted. Now, leave me alone. I want nothing from you.”
“It wasn’t like that –”
“Get out!”
James let his hands drop to his sides.
“I’m sorry, Jessi. If you change your mind, the offer is still on the table.”
“Just go. I never want to see you again.”
He knew enough to know when to stop fighting. During the short time they spent together, he thought he might feel something for this woman. It wasn’t just about the sex. He felt something stirring in the heart he’d hardened for so long. With the slamming of the bedroom door, he relocked the cage over his heart, once again.
“Goodbye, Jessi.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Sinclair arrived at the little taqueria near the Guanajuato bus station; the same taqueria where he’d met James when he first arrived in Guanajuato. He found Blake leaning against a nearby tree with his arms folded. The aviator sunglasses glinted with the speckles of sunlight breaking through the trees.
“You’re late,” said Blake. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Why did you want to meet like this?”
Blake pushed himself away from the dry, dead tree. “Where’s Winchester?”
“Working.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Sinclair inclined his head towards Blake. He saw right through him now. Like James, he would have loved to reveal what he knew. All he had to do was keep up the ruse a little while longer and Blake would fail his mission.
“James is returning Jessi Montoya to her brother,” said Sinclair. “Speaking of which, I heard Santa Maria de Guadalupe has broken out into civil war. A man named Fernando Gomez is after Quezada.”
Blake’s lip upturned in disgust.
“This is something of a problem,” Sinclair continued. “Quezada will go to ground and there will be a full-blown war. I wish we knew more about this Gomez fellow and how he’d become so bold. By all accounts, Quezada always controlled his cartel with an iron fist.”
“If Quezada was dead now, we wouldn’t have a civil war on our hands.” Blake clasped his hands behind his back and scuffed his shoes on the dusty ground. “That god damn Winchester letting Quezada go like that. He should be six feet deep, but here we are.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter now.”
Blake hocked a globule of spit onto the parched earth. “I’m going to have Winchester hauled in front of Gallagher for this. Letting the target escape because he started caring for some narco bitch is unforgivable. Every casualty that comes out of this is on his head.
”
Sinclair straightened his back. If it weren’t for James’ decision not to shoot Quezada on sight, they would have never known about Romero’s role as the jilted bride. Who could have predicted the drug lord would uncover this sordid scheme?
“Let James manage this situation how he likes. This is his contract, not yours.”
Blake took a deep breath. “Does he have a plan?”
“Nothing concrete yet. He needs to track down Quezada again. Things have been made much harder, admittedly, so now we need to start the process again. This war, on the other hand, should cause things to be rather more fluid.”
“I’m reporting this to Gallagher, and he’ll find a solution. Winchester is in over his head and he’s caused enough damage.”
“No. Don’t. This is not going to help. Give it just one week and he’ll get the job done. He always does.” He clicked his tongue. “Remember, it’s not just James who will be on the receiving end of anything Gallagher does. I’m working with him and I’ll take the blame as well. I’ve helped you here.”
Blake ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. “One week, since you’ve been such a help to me.”
Sinclair nodded. He just wanted to get away from Blake and get to work. Blake would tattle to Gallagher in an instant if he believed it would land James in hot water. He couldn’t afford Gallagher to start sticking his nose in their business now.
“Now, go. If I don’t hear that the job is done in the next week, I’ll make the call to Gallagher.”
Sinclair departed the scene with Blake’s words ringing in his ears. All he needed was time. If James could work his magic again, Romero and Quezada would be dead, and Blake would be humiliated.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Deerfield Beach, Florida, United States of America
Scott drove his black saloon down I-95. With his GPS perched on the dashboard, he followed the route with a careful eye. Every so often, he would look up as the sun began to curve down from the sky. He didn’t know the area well. Romero had left vague instructions about where to meet him.
He continued to drive until he came to an intersection. On his right, he found a Dunkin’ Donuts, its exterior, trimmed with pink, sticking out against the dull concrete and the distant green fields. Scott drove into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot and killed the engine.
Scott picked up his phone and hit speed dial for Romero.
“Where are you?” asked Romero.
“In the parking lot of the Dunkin’ Donuts, you told me about. What do you want me to do now?”
“Alright, I want you to drive out of the parking lot onto the main road. Take a left and keep driving. You’ll see a small stream on your right. When you see a hut, you’ll find a narrow dirt road. Drive down there until you hit the canal lock. Park the car and walk across the bridge and I’ll be waiting for you there.”
“Yes, sir. Can I ask what this is about?”
The line went dead. Scott clicked his tongue as all the possibilities ran through his mind. Romero had never acted with such secrecy before. Whenever Scott had a job to do, he received details. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. His rational mind told him to run. Did Romero know the truth?
Scott knew if he backed out now he would find himself in a Federal prison after everything he’d done. How many months had he spent doing Romero’s bidding, acting as a slave as he helped him carry out his crimes? He balanced the phone back in the dashboard holder and turned back onto the freeway.
As vague as Romero’s instructions were, he didn’t have any difficulty finding the road he described. The overgrown grass on the sloping banks fought for prominence with the reeds poking through the still water. His car bumped along as he tried his best to manoeuvre it around the waterfilled potholes. About a half-mile later, he came to the end of the road.
He found Romero’s car angled towards the bridge. Scott pulled up next to it. Not a sign of humanity. The wind tickled the tops of the trees far across the stream. Scott checked to make sure his pocket-sized Colt 380 Mustang was loaded before stepping out of the car onto the dusty road.
He peered into Romero’s car to check for an ambush. Nothing. Scott tried to maintain his confidence as he passed Romero’s empty car and strode towards the bridge. His leather soles clanged against the metal. At the crest of the bridge, he saw Romero smoking a cigarette, still wearing his sunglasses in the fading light.
“Sir?” Scott raised a hand.
Romero beckoned to him with his free hand. “Good. You made it. Come on, I think I’ve solved our problem.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“You got your gun?”
“Always.”
“Then follow me.”
Romero led him down a tiny dirt road between the fields. His soles sank in the soft ground. The thin line of trees on his left helped shield the road from the remaining sunlight. In less than an hour, they wouldn’t be able to see without flashlights.
“There.” Romero pointed down a dirt track leading into the overgrown field. “We’ll get our answers now.”
Scott squinted and, to his horror, he found Senator George Black and his ally Jack Hewitt kneeling in the dirt. Two of Romero’s nameless, faceless thugs stood guard behind them.
“How?”
“We got lucky. I found them in Pompano Beach drinking coffee. I would have called you to help, but we took an opportunity. Now, I want answers. I want to know how we can get to Phelps and anything else he might know.” Romero chuckled. “The senator has already had a little accident.”
Scott let out a maniacal laugh. He thought Romero had rumbled him. He straightened himself up as his confidence flooded back to him. In Romero’s eyes, he remained his most loyal companion.
“Kill them afterwards. We can’t let them get back to Miami alive. Come back to the house and we’ll plan our next move.” Romero gritted his teeth. “Make the senator suffer for thinking he could play us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Romero called to his thugs in Spanish. They left their captives to Scott and departed with their boss. Neither of the thugs acknowledged him as they passed. As Scott approached the two men, he found their hands bound with heavy-duty zip ties. They wouldn’t pose a threat to him. Besides, he had a gun.
He watched as Romero disappeared back over the bridge. Scott took a deep breath as he inspected the bruised faces of the two men now in his charge. Rags were stuffed into the mouths.
“Jack Hewitt?” said Scott.
Jack made an anguished grunt.
Scott pulled the rag from his mouth. “What happened?”
His captive coughed, spluttered, and spat out the taste of the oily rag. “Can you take these things off?”
Scott complied and freed Jack. His wrists bled from the plastic slicing into the skin with every slight movement. Jack climbed to his feet on unsteady legs.
“He took us out of Pompano Beach. We didn’t have a chance to fight back or run away. He just came down on us.”
“Then we need to move quickly,” said Scott. “We can’t continue with the current arrangement.” He put his hands on his hips. “This is where he wants you to disappear.”
Jack looked past Scott and tried to arch his head above the high reeds. The sound of a powerful engine fading into the distance signalled Romero’s departure.
“Should we call the Bureau before we start moving?” asked Jack.
George’s eyes swivelled in their sockets at Jack’s mention of the Bureau.
Scott couldn’t help but smirk at his new revelation. “The Bureau can wait until later. This is our only advantage. We need to make it count.”
Jack rubbed his bloody wrists. “Bastard tightened them as much as he could. I thought I was going to lose my hands if I kept those on much longer. Take them off the senator.”
He moved to remove George’s zip ties then stopped. They had to make this count.
“What are you doing, May?” asked Jack.
“
The senator could be useful to us. We should question him before we decide what to do next. It might be our only chance.”
“Fine.”
Scott removed the gag from George’s mouth. The rancid smell of human faeces rose from the politician. “Senator Black, we have a few questions.”
George coughed and spat as tears ran down his face. Tears of relief or tears of sadness, he wondered.
“My God…” Scott muttered. “The smell.”
“I had to sit in the car next to him,” said Jack.
“You’re both with the FBI?” George stuttered. “This whole time, Jack?”
“I made a deal with the FBI. I’ve reported on every deal you’ve ever made, George. They approached me a long time ago and I decided to cooperate with Agent May here. It’ll clean my record.”
George slumped on his haunches. He had no smart rebukes or intelligent defences to offer. This time, the career politician realised he’d been caught.
“George,” said Jack, almost tenderly. “It had to be this way. They had enough on us to send us down for life in a Federal penitentiary. I wasn’t going to go down with you. I was only getting the scraps anyway. There was no big mansion in the country for me.”
Scott tapped Jack on the shoulder and gestured to him to follow.
They moved further away from George, leaving him alone in his soiled suit. Scott looked back to find the fallen senator weeping where he sat. He couldn’t even use his hands to hide his tears. Scott felt no pity for him. George would have taken every penny in his greasy hands and headed straight for the Bahamas.
“Jack, we have a few options, and I’ll give you a choice here. You’ve proven your worth in nailing the senator. Only you know how much evidence you have against him, so use your common sense here. Do you think you have enough?”
“I mean, I’m no lawyer…”
“Then we have two options. We can kill him where he sits and blame it on Romero. That way I can continue going undercover. You’ll be taken into protective custody. The second option is we can question him and, if we feel like he has something to offer, take him into protective custody. Romero will never know both of you are still alive until it’s too late.”