The Long Run, page 24
“Merida,” he growled. He anticipated her next question. “They’re on their way here. Our friends are waiting.”
“Good. I just spoke with jefe,” she said, using X’s code word. “He wants you to take them back home.”
The hairs rose on the back of Chucho’s neck. Home meant back to their cell. And a reprieve from justice. Only a coward would let these people live. They killed three of his men. Blood atoned blood. He bit back his anger.
“What if they don’t want to? “
La Doña clacked her teeth in thought. “If so, take the El Salvadorans out back. But not the other two.”
Of course. The El Salvadorans were disposable. They wouldn’t fetch much ransom, anyway. X must hope that ransoming the Americans would offset the costs of the undelivered drugs. That was short-sighted thinking to Chucho. Weakness. It opened an avenue for ambitious underlings wanting to replace the jefe. People like himself. He might snatch at the opportunity. But he had a score to settle first. And lots of things happened in firefights.
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll let you know when they arrive.” He clicked the call dead and set the phone down. He didn’t care what X wanted. La Doña either. Those gringos weren’t leaving Merida alive.
“Chucho,” Hugo said. He stood behind Chucho, holding his phone to his chest. “They found the truck.”
“Where?”
“A hotel near Chichén-Itzá. They found some hair clippers and dye inside an abandoned room.”
“What color?”
Hugo put the phone to his ear and relayed the question. A moment later, he looked at Chucho. “Blonde.”
Their near capture at the gas station had taught the escapees a valuable lesson. Chucho stood. He arched his back, cracking his spine like popcorn as he stretched. “They changed their look. Tell them to look for blonde women. And they probably split in twos,” he said. Hugo looked at him with glassy eyes. “Tell them, pendejo! Tell everyone!”
Hugo nodded and hurried to convey the message to all the lookouts. The other men stood as Chucho faced them.
“¡Vamos!” Chucho yelled with a wave of his hand. “They’ll be here soon!” He pulled his .45 caliber pistol from his waist band and checked its clip. It was full. It wouldn’t be once he emptied it into those bastards.
CHAPTER 43
Agent Dominguez
The DEA investigation was thorough. The stack of pages comprising their investigation of Carson Engineering ran three-hundred-and-fifty pages deep. And Agent Dominguez was on page two-hundred-and-fifty-nine. The current page concerned a dam project in Reynosa. The investigators laid out a convincing trail of breadcrumbs alleging how Henry Carson bribed local officials and gangsters to win the contract. But, it concluded, no proof of cash exchanging hands existed. Same as every conclusion preceding it. Detailed pages of criminal activity lacking any hard proof. The players were all listed, from Henry Carson to city council members to shadowy underworld characters who went by outlandish nicknames such as El Cejas, aka The Eyebrows, and El Tamalon, aka The Big Tamale. Hank’s name appeared once or twice as well.
She yawned and rubbed her neck. A tension headache throbbed her temples. She clicked her phone to check the time. Ten-fifteen. Even the janitors had gone home. She should have too. But nagging doubts about Henry Carson dogged her thoughts. The gangsters asked for him by name. Hank’s deflection towards Israel made sense if Israel had arranged the kidnapping. Kill the boyfriend first before taking Sofia. Some twisted sex slave scenario dreamed up by a demented ex. Hank dangled that lure, and Agent Dominguez swallowed it whole. But questions persisted. If Israel masterminded the operation, why did he wait until after her kidnapping to fly to Mexico? Why visit her family at all? And why was Hank still so damn calm?
“People want what they want,” she muttered. It was a line uttered by one of her trainers in Quantico. The class was about interviewing suspects, parsing their statements, and determining true motivations. “If you’re the perp,” she said, thinking about both Hank and his father, “what is it you want?” If Henry handed out bribes to stay in business, had he involved Hank too? And Carson Engineering was two decades old. Long enough for roots to twist into intractable knots. “Did you get in too deep, Henry?”
A fresh scenario formed in her mind. One that involved the DEA investigation. The DEA brought a lot of heat. Too much heat drove people away. Maybe that heat scared Henry into breaking from the cartel. And maybe the cartel disagreed. What if their kidnap target was Hank, not Sofia? As coercive actions went, kidnapping someone’s son was near the top. But Hank wasn’t at Club Bombom. So they took Sofia instead. This version of the story rang true. Like the investigation, it lacked any proof.
“Come on.” She flipped to another page. “Give me something.”
The summary of the dam project concluded with a roster of businesses, locations, and people involved. Most of the names she knew. A couple stood out. La Doña was a known associate of one council member. Agent Dominguez opened her computer and searched the FBI records. La Doña was a rarity in the underworld. A female gangster high up the food chain of a major cartel. A photo on her profile showed a statuesque white woman with short black hair striding from a car to a hotel. Judging by her stylish outfit, she was executive level and reported to X, the shadowy head of the Border Boys. Little was known about any of the Border Boys, except they were former Mexican army who received training at Fort Benning. Agent Dominguez sighed and returned to the DEA report.
The other name that caught her eye was Guadalupe Ordonez. He was a contractor hired to haul sand and aggregate to the construction site. A low-level grunt who only appeared on the roster because of his extensive communications with Hank. The investigators discovered a tranche of texts between them, discussing deliveries made between Reynosa and McAllen. Agent Dominguez scanned through them all and found nothing suspicious. Neither had the investigators. She moved to the computer to search for his name in the FBI database. When his profile page opened, her tension headache sank beneath the waves of sudden excitement.
Guadalupe Ordonez’s birthplace and age were unknown. He was a Mexican citizen whose first appearance on law enforcement’s radar was for a driving under the influence charge. It was later dropped thanks to the arresting officer not showing up for the trial. Guadalupe was a day laborer who had a penchant for public drunkenness and exposing his genitals. But his boorish criminal record didn’t interest her. It was his mugshot that charged her senses.
His black hair spiked and twisted in his booking photo as if he had tussled with the arresting officer beforehand. The beginnings of a shiner purpled his sunken right cheek. He peered at the camera through narrowed, boozy eyes. A thick mustache, flecked with silver strands, curled from under his nose, past both sides of his pursed lips, and ended below his otherwise clean-shaven chin.
“He called himself Centavo. Skinny vato with a biker mustache,” Gustavo had told her earlier that day. Her eyes glided to the list of known aliases. The first was an obvious choice. Lupe. The next was Centavo. She glanced at the investigation board she had tacked to her cubicle wall. The whiteboard held pictures of Israel, Gustavo, Henry, and Hank flanking a photo of Sofia at the top. A blank square stood in for Chucho. She glared at the photo of Hank taken from his Facebook profile. He smiled wide and stuck his tongue out with his arms around two friends. There may be plenty of Big Reds in the world. But how many knew a Centavo?
“You son-of-a-bitch. I’ve got you.”
Though this connection was intriguing, it wasn’t enough. SAC Charles would nod in appreciation and tell her to keep digging. The Carsons would deny it and shut down all cooperation. She needed solid proof. Proof Centavo might provide with the proper motivation. She returned to the computer screen. He had no known address, either for his home or his employer. The DEA report listed him as a Carson Engineering contractor. So, no official connection to the company. But she suspected he still worked for them. He delivered construction material to their previous jobsite. Maybe he still did. If so, tomorrow morning she would be there to greet him.
CHAPTER 44
Israel
Israel had transferred driving duties to Sofia after leaving the hotel. He drifted to sleep, staring at the murky forest flanking the desolate highway. A tunnel of darkness broken only by blue-white pools of light cast by the Nissan’s halogen headlights. He woke to find that tunnel replaced by lighted gas stations, restaurants, and road-side shops. His eyes blinked, and he wiped dried drool from his chin.
“What?” he muttered. His jaw worked out the tightness in its tendons.
“Wake up!” Sofia said. Her voice was a shrill cry of worry. No. Panic. It yanked him from his torpor and sat him bolt upright in his seat. He blinked crusty eyes and followed her gaze to the scene unspooling before them. A line of cars snaked around a curve in the road. An office building encroached on the curve, blocking their view behind it. Their car slowed to a stop in the line. “What’s happening? Why is traffic stopping?”
“Maybe a red light. Or a wreck,” Israel said, trying to calm her. Those seemed safe guesses considering they were now in Merida city limits. Sofia gripped the steering wheel’s rubber cover tight and stared at him. Fear of a cartel blockade showed on her face. Those fears weren’t unfounded. “I’ll go look,” Israel offered.
“Please.” Her voice was terse with fear. He nodded and stepped into the night. He hurried forward several car-lengths and pressed a shoulder into the brown brick corner of the office building. Weeds and grass poked through the cracked sidewalk that occupied the narrow gap between the building and the road. A woman driving the Ford Fiesta beside him yelped when she saw him. He ignored her and dared a quick glance around the building.
Two police cars blocked the road ahead. Uniformed officers patrolled the intersection with pump action shotguns in their hands. Two traffic cops halted or allowed cars through with waves of their hands. A man in a straw cowboy hat and snakeskin boots peered into the first car in line, scanning its occupant’s faces. An AK-47 hung on his shoulder, and he gripped a pistol in his hand. A klaxon sounded inside Israel. The cartel was searching every car coming into town. He spun, searching for Sofia. The Versa had crawled forward another car-length. More cars lined up behind her, preventing any retreat. Traffic headed in the opposite direction completed the blockade. Its only path was forward toward the cartel. He sprinted to the car and leaned into the window.
“Get out! Now! We have to go!” he shouted. She nodded, shifted the car into park, and stepped out into the street. Israel waved her around the front end of the car with a rapid pumping of his arm. “Come on! Come on!” As she joined him, the driver behind them leaned into his horn.
“What are you doing? Move your car!” he yelled from his window. An impatient scowl painted his face.
Israel and Sofia ignored his angry plea and bolted for the dirt driveway running parallel to the building. It led to a rectangular parking lot in the back. A towering fence blocked an escape to their right. To their left lay the cartel roadblock. Their feet clomped on hard packed earth as the car horn continued blasting behind them. The driver’s cries would attract the gangster’s attention. They needed to get out of sight.
Past the parking lot lay an abandoned lot. Only the concrete foundation remained from whatever structure once called it home. Beyond that sat a darkened row of attached shops. A chance to hide in the shadows. But only if they got there first. Israel glanced back to see Cowboy Hat appear beside the Versa. He peered inside the cab and then at the angry driver. Then his gaze landed on Israel and Sofia’s backs. He lifted his pistol from his hip and pointed it toward them.
“Get down!” Israel grabbed Sofia’s hand and pulled her to the ground. They landed hard as gunshots rippled behind them. A steel dumpster in the parking lot sparked from a bullet impact. Israel scrambled to the building’s rear, with Sofia close behind. He scanned the building’s face and spotted an exterior door. He ran to it, squared himself, and kicked it open. It flew back and banged an interior wall. The square glass window in the door shattered on impact, raining glass shards to the tile floor. Sofia moved towards the open doorway, but Israel blocked her path. “No! This way.” He nodded towards a panel truck in the parking lot. They ran towards it, their escape concealed by the corner of the building between them and the pursuing narco. They crouched behind the truck as two pairs of boots skittered to a stop.
“Where are they?” one man said.
“Look! Inside!” another man replied.
Israel glanced around the truck. The parking lot was empty; The back door to the building stood wide open. Israel had spread the bait, and the narcos had devoured it. But not for long. He considered hot-wiring the truck, but abandoned that thought, knowing the cops manning the blockade would spot them as soon as they rolled out of the parking lot. Behind them, the gloomy shops offered hope. He turned to Sofia.
“We have to run,” he said. She drew in a halting breath and closed her eyes. He couldn’t blame her for being scared. But hesitation would get them killed. “Sofia—”
“I trust you,” she said and nodded agreement. They stood and sprinted across the abandoned lot. A streetlamp’s bright glow exposed them for a long, terrifying moment. A narco would see them if he peered out the window. Might shoot them too. But the moment passed, and they scampered into the concealing darkness behind the shops. He pulled at every doorknob as they ran. Two doors swung open. They continued running, leaving the doors open behind them.
Beyond the shops, the ground sloped down to a sharp concrete embankment. A ditch ran parallel to the embankment. Israel and Sofia skittered down the concrete face and hid in a bridge’s shadow above them. Shouts resounded behind them. The narcos had lost the trail. Every footstep Israel and Sofia put between them and the gangsters increased the gangster’s search area. Soon, this area would be covered with more narcos. He and Sofia couldn’t stay under this bridge. Israel scanned the ditch. A pipe protruded from a distant culvert. A trickle of brown water bubbled out and spilled into the ditch. Israel tapped Sofia’s shoulder and nodded towards the pipe.
“Oh no. Really?” she groaned.
“Come on,” he nodded.
Israel scurried down the embankment with Sofia close behind. They reached the culvert and peered inside the pipe. It was pitch black save for the quarter-sized hole of light glowing at the pipe’s far end. He swallowed hard, grabbed the edge of the thick concrete pipe, and pulled himself up. It was just large enough to crouch inside. He shuffled forward on his hands and knees. The swirling water stank of exotic chemicals and stagnant water. Better than piss and shit, at least. He looked back at her with an apologetic shrug. She nodded and climbed in. They pushed the foul water before them as they moved. Israel stopped and covered his mouth with his forearm to stifle a cough. He felt nauseous. The smell was overpowering.
“Hurry,” Sofia said. She covered her mouth in the same fashion. Israel had smelled some rancid shit in his time. He found a dog’s decomposing corpse in an alley once. Pasty maggots crawled its gumline. That was the worst smell. But this was close. He increased his pace, gagging as he went. The light at the end of the pipe grew larger until he splashed out the other end into waist-deep water. It cooled his heated body, but the splash was too loud. Sofia appeared at the pipe’s edge. He took one hand and helped her out. They huddled against the embankment and listened for pursuers. When she began to speak, he squeezed her hand hard. Now was not the time.
“Anything?” a narco’s voice echoed through the pipe.
“No. Thought I heard something. Shit!” another voice replied.
“They must have gone this way.” Echoing footfalls splashed in the ditch at the far end of the pipe.
Israel exhaled. They were staying ahead of the narcos. But not by much. He released Sofia’s hand with a relieved sigh.
“Sorry,” he said.
“It’s OK. I know. I talk when I’m nervous.”
“You’re fine.” Their gazes met for a moment before he looked away.
“I’d be dead right now if it weren’t for you.” Sofia’s face hardened in seriousness.
“Look who’s talking. You looked like a badass with that rifle.”
A thin smile cracked Sofia’s lips. “I did, didn’t I?” They shared a subdued grin before a shiver ran through Sofia’s shoulders and rippled the water. “Can we go now?”
“Yeah.” Israel climbed out of the water and helped Sofia after him. Keeping his head low, he climbed to the top of the embankment. His shoes squished with every footstep. A residential neighborhood occupied the land beyond the ditch. Simple homes surrounded by chicken-wire fencing nailed to reclaimed lumber. Hanging laundry billowed in the night breeze. The light beams from two flashlights bounced and strafed in the distance. Cowboy Hat’s head swiveled as he searched. Israel ducked below ground level. They would find no sanctuary here. His gaze locked with Sofia’s.
“We can’t go to the consulate. Can we?” she said.
He shook his head. “They knew where we were going. They’re watching all the roads.”
“Then where do we go?”
“Anywhere but here.” His mind raced, thinking of alternatives. Going back to the car was suicide. Asking for a resident’s help risked being turned in for a reward. Running was their only option. But where?
A shrill train horn cut through the still air. Israel swiveled to search for the horn’s location. It sounded again, louder than before. He ran along the side of the ditch, weaving past clumps of mud and sprawling anthills.
“Where are you going?” Sofia hurried to keep pace.
“Up ahead,” he said. He reached a curve in the ditch and climbed up the embankment. He pressed his chest into the dirt and glanced behind him to see if anyone was watching. More flashlights strafed the streets far in the distance. The search party had grown. He turned his attention over the top of the ditch. Another embankment dropped down the other side. It terminated at two sets of railroad tracks carved through the earth. A cargo train clanged to announce its arrival. It chugged in the distance, headed their way. Several people clung to the sides of the train cars like barnacles on a hull. Israel faced Sofia.
