“I told you I’d be here.”
Ozburn hit the flask again and gave it back. Leftwich signaled and turned onto Avenue L and accelerated slowly down the wide street. “We’ll take the back roads for a while. Stay off the interstate. Maybe use the Pearblossom Highway. Love that drive. Have you seen Hockney’s painting of it?”
“Move it, Joe.”
“It’s only a four-banger.”
“Here we go!” said Ozburn.
He released the lap harness and jackknifed his body and scrunched into the leg space as far as he could, his back buckling and his legs aching while the LASD cruisers whined past them with their lights flashing.
“Looks like two more coming up,” said Leftwich. “And one has a headlight out. That’s amusing.”
Ozburn felt the top of his head pressing against the glove box and his back rippling with pain and he stared down at the floor mat. Balled tightly as he was, his sunglasses steamed up as two more sirens shrieked and two more sets of lights flashed by overhead. He growled. He felt Father Joe’s small hand on his back, rocking him gently, and heard his soothing voice: Be still, my son. You have performed good acts and defeated evil.
“I feel like my body is being eaten,” said Ozburn.
“You are overtired. Delia was like that as a child. You need rest. They’re gone, Sean. You can come up.”
Ozburn flung himself upright against the seat and again fumbled for the lap harness and again Daisy licked the back of his neck with great enthusiasm.
“Delia?”
“My sister. The woman you saw that night in the restaurant.”
“She’s pretty.”
“She’s a very bright person, too. Troubled, at times. Now, tonight you should stay at my place. I’ve got a very nice little double-wide right up here in Phelan. On half an acre and neat as a pin. And I’ll be busy elsewhere for the next few days, so you’ll have the run of the place. I’ll be gettable by phone. Oh, and there’s a rather old Chevy Malibu in the carport but it runs well and you’re welcome to it.”
Ozburn groaned and leaned his head against the rest and squinted through his sunglasses at the oncoming headlights, bright and merciless.
They rode in silence for a long while, looping around the regional airport in Palmdale and picking up the Pearblossom Highway toward Phelan.
“Sean, you’ve done some very fine work these last few weeks. There have been some unexpected setbacks, but a man’s character is revealed when he’s challenged more than when he’s triumphant. I’m honored to have helped you in my own small way. You know what I’d like? I’d like to for you to tell me what you’re planning to do with those guns in the trunk.”
Ozburn rolled his head to the left and took a long look at the priest. “My job.”
“Your job? Oh, you’re going to sell them to bad men and let ATF swoop in?”
“Roger.”
“You are a delight to know and a delight to work with.”
“Step on it, Padre.”
“We’re almost there.”
Later that night after Leftwich had driven off, Ozburn sat on the couch in the trailer with Daisy at his feet and listened to the wind skid across the high desert and nudge the trailer. He thought it was like a lion nosing a mouse. He drank Father Joe’s Irish whiskey. For a long while he sat with his head back looking up at the ceiling and he could feel nothing at all in his body. Not one sensation, not the awareness of a limb or a pulse or the taking of a breath. He willed his feet to move and they did not. He willed his head to lift off the couch back but it did not lift. In this state, emptied of the physical, he thought of Seliah, imprisoned by sleep like a butterfly in amber. Where did her mind go? Somewhere pleasant? Surely she dreamed. He thought of the first time he’d seen her in the winter quarter freshman comp class at the U of A in Tucson, walking in with one of her swim team friends, both of them tall, pretty girls wrapped up against the desert cold in Wildcats Swimming sweatshirts, their hair greened by the hours of chlorine, faces tan and lovely. The friend had caught his eye first, but then he looked at Seliah and she smiled back and he elbowed the dive-team buddy beside him and said: Look! He thought of the swimmer-diver parties they’d had and a long hike they took up Sabino Canyon in the spring where he’d plucked her a handful of wildflowers and this had moved her far more than he’d thought it would, and later, when he took her arm and stopped her as a big Western diamondback inched across the trail in front of them he had felt her shiver; then she pulled him back down the trail and clamped her body onto his and kissed him hungrily for what seemed like an hour. Ozburn thought of watching Seliah get third in the women’s freestyle at the Pan Am Games, of the wild grad party, and of meeting her folks in Boulder, their wedding day and honeymoon and the day he got his acceptance notification from ATF. He thought of the good years, then the undercover assignment, his disillusionment, his rebirth near the volcano, his acceptance of the mission that he himself never really understood. The terrible good acts. Defeating evil. Monstrous desire. The loss of faith in everything he had ever been faithful to. The sickness and the madness and the killing. What happened, he wondered. What?
Later he felt his body return and he got up for another whiskey and retrieved his laptop from the duffel and he wrote an e-mail to Seliah even though he knew it might be a while before she could read it.
From: Sean Gravas [[email protected]]
Sent: Monday, October 31, 2011 11:49 p.m.
To: Gravas, Seliah
Subject: for when you wake up
Dear Seliah,
Welcome back to the land of the LIVING, sweet woman! You must be exhausted! The important things are to rest and eat right and get up and move around as SOON as you can. You might want to do it in the water. If you’re right about that virus, then your aversion to water would be attributable to it, and now that you’ve awakened and BEATEN BACK that virus, you can return to the water that you always loved. Three alleged wise men PROMISED me that you would live if I repented and I did repent though the whole thing seemed pretty much beside the point. When you’ve done and seen what I have, does your contrition really matter? To who, and why?
I don’t know what happened. I know they can take me but they CAN’T take away my love for you. It will live until the last beat of my heart. And if, as some people say, what we do in life can reach beyond our deaths, then my love WILL touch you someday when you least expect it! I wish it could have been through a daughter or a son. I’ll try to get Daisy back to you, though a dog isn’t much of a substitute for a child. So listen for me in the silences and I’ll be there, standing off to the side, waiting in the shadows, TOUCHING you like the wind, invisible but present. You’re young enough to START again and to have it ALL. I want you to have it ALL. Remember me fondly and keep open a comfortable room in your heart for me. I’ll be there and I won’t be a bother. Live well. Love well. Multiply. The world needs more of you. I’d be honored if you named your first son after me.
With Love Everlasting,
Sean
A few minutes later Ozburn called Paco’s number and gave the time and place to him.
“Bring Silvia or there is no deal, Paco.”
“But if there’s no deal, we will kill Silvia.”
“Paco, evolve. Bring Silvia or you’ll never get the guns. I’ll take her from there. I’ll get her home.”
After a long silence Paco agreed.
Next Ozburn called Hood and gave him the same place but an earlier time.
“I heard about Lancaster,” he said.
“What a mess, Charlie. LASD?”
“Yes. Two of them died. And three of Herredia’s couriers. The other one is critical.”
“They tried to take me out, Charlie. I figured someone had tipped the deal to the Gulf Cartel. So I did what I had to do to survive. But I’ve got your guns. And I’ve got the Gulf Cartel’s money. All I need is a ribbon to tie it all up with. Day after tomorrow, Charlie. Will you be there?”
“I’ll be there.�
�
“They’ll have a girl named Silvia with them. I saved her from death and she lives in Agua Blanca. Promise me you’ll get her home.”
“I promise.”
“It’s been a good run. I’m tired.”
“I can see Seliah right now,” Hood said.
“What is she doing? How does she look?”
“Sleeping. She looks far away.”
“When will they bring her out of it?”
“Soon. The antibody counts are almost there. She’s almost fought it off.”
Ozburn felt his throat constrict and the tears come to his eyes. They burned hot and spilled over. “It’s hard to talk right now.”
“Sean, the real test is what’s she’s got left. There will some brain damage. It might be severe. It might be . . . not so bad.”
Ozburn said nothing. He pictured his wife again, fair and frozen deep within the coma.
“Oz, we still have a deal? You’re going to help us take down these creeps day after tomorrow. Then we’re going to see Seliah. Is that right?”
“Soriana didn’t like my idea.”
“No.”
Silence. “I didn’t think he would. So, I’m yours, Charlie. The guns and money and I will be in a white Chevy Malibu.”
He hung up.
36
Two evenings later Hood sat on the roof of a Vernon warehouse with his knees up and the night-vision binoculars in his hands. He was partially hidden by a ventilation housing in which a canister fan spiraled patiently beside him. He had a good sight line to the parking lot behind the warehouse, where Ozburn would deliver the ninety remaining Love 32s.
Overhead the stars shimmered meekly, their vigor blanched by the lights of L.A. The night was crisp and cool. Vernon was an industrial city with an actual full-time population of ninety-one, making it the smallest city in Los Angeles County. But its dozens of factories and processing and rendering plants employed some fifty-thousand workers. Hood was a fan of Vernon’s best-known product—the oversize hot dogs sold at Dodger Stadium. And he knew that this portion of the city had been carved out by MS-13 gangsters tied to Benjamin Armenta’s Gulf Cartel.
He looked out at Pacific Avenue, where agent Robert Velasquez sat astride his Kawasaki at the curb. Velasquez was wrapped in black leathers and a black full-face helmet. Bly was in her gray Jeep, parked at the far end of the dark lot. Morris was on the sidewalk just outside the wrought-iron security fence that surrounded the parking lot and the warehouse, wearing a dark hoodie and sweats and beat-up running shoes. Hood could see him limbering up for his run, folding into his hamstring stretches now that his jumping jacks were done. Six more ATF agents in three vehicles were obscured in the darkness within a two-hundred-foot radius from the parking lot, and these would form the second wave. All ten were armed and linked by wireless radio headsets. Blowdown would make the first contact; the six others would do what needed to be done.
Hood watched the white Malibu turn from the avenue into the lot and in the wash of light from the streetlamp he caught the flash of Sean Ozburn’s hair and pale face and the dark lenses of his sunglasses. The car prowled the fenced perimeter, past Velasquez on the avenue and Bly in the lot, and finally Ozburn pulled diagonally across two parking places directly below Hood. The engine stopped and the lights went off.
Ozburn sat without moving. Hood watched him through his night-vision binoculars. Oz looked exhausted, his face tilted down as if he were studying something on the steering wheel. He wore a bulky coat with the collar turned up against the chill and his usual sunglasses and a black bandana across his forehead. Hood remembered the Ozburn he had known just a few short months ago, the Ozburn who was alert and brave and strongly made and beautifully trained, and now Hood felt only an angry sadness for the man. Hood wanted to fly down the fire escape ladder and run out and tackle him. Then drag him to UCI Medical where they could try to beat back his disease. So he could see his wife again. And after that? Even with two miracle cures, was there an after that? Hood couldn’t picture Ozburn spending the rest of his life in prison. He scanned the interior of the car for signs of Daisy but saw none. Not like Sean to be without her, he thought.
A shiny black Tahoe swung into the lot, blacked-out windows and custom wheels. It followed the same route that Ozburn had, then parked three stalls away from the Malibu. All four doors opened at once and four men stepped out. The driver was tall and slender and the others were short and thick. They looked young, and a lot like the safe house assassins Sean had rubbed out. Like spirits come to take their vengeance, thought Hood.
He saw Dyman Morris jog into his field of view, coming slowly down the sidewalk. Velasquez sat his bike. Bly was not visible but Hood knew she was scrunched down in the seat, watching the deal in her mirrors, using the adjustment toggle to follow the action.
“Oz isn’t moving,” whispered Hood. By the playbook, Blowdown wouldn’t make their move until everyone was out of their vehicles—always the chance somebody would spook and try to speed off. “Four couriers are out. I don’t see any guns. Sean’s taking his time.”
Then Ozburn turned and looked through the driver’s side window. A faint smear of condensation spread on the glass, and Oz used a fingertip to draw two eyes and a happy smile. Then the smear and the face faded to nothing. Hood saw that Oz had shaved off his mustache and started a full beard—it looked like he hadn’t shaved since Hood saw him last. Ozburn watched as two of the men approached. Then he swung open the door and grasped the car body and pulled himself out, the car wobbling with his weight. Two beer cans spilled out and clinked to the asphalt. He stood uneasily and raised his hands and Hood saw what he had feared.
“It’s not Sean! Not Ozburn! Let’s move!”
Hood dropped the binoculars and sprinted to the fire ladder and flung himself down the rungs fast as he could go. He sprung off early, hit the ground hard and drew his sidearm. He rounded the building in time to see Velasquez on his Kawasaki bounce into the parking lot, and Bly’s Jeep screech into a highway-patrol turn. Morris cleared the spires of the fence top and landed with his gun up.
Then Hood heard the screaming:
“United States agents! Drop to the ground! I’m ordering you to—”
Fuck, man! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!
“Police! On the ground! Now!”
I’m on the ground! I want a lawyer!
Then the squealing of tires as two more SUVs stormed through the gate into the lot. Hood saw that all four of the gangsters and Ozburn’s stand-in were proned out now and Velasquez and Bly had already cuffed the tall driver and were working on another. Morris alone was cinching another. Hood ran to the fourth, a skinny kid who glanced up at him, then popped upright and ran for the building. Hood ran, jamming his gun into his waist holster. He caught up and crashed into the boy and they rolled once and Hood came up on top with a knee on the kid’s back and one of his arms pulled back from the shoulder and up at the elbow, on the brink of outrageous pain.
“Be cool, man. Be. Cool.”
“Fuck your—”
Hood held the kid’s face against the asphalt and Morris kicked away the gangsta’s loose gun. The blued steel pistol skidded away with a clatter. Morris lashed the ties, then jumped off the kid and circled one hand over his head like a victorious calf roper, grinning at Hood.
“We’re good,” said Morris. “God, we’re good.”
Hood helped Bly cuff the Ozburn double and stand him up. He was tall and overweight and his hair and clothes were filthy and he reeked of alcohol and old sweat. Hood pulled off the man’s scratched sunglasses and looked into his face.
“What’s your name?”
“Billy.”
“Billy what?”
“I’m innocent, man. Guy paid me five hundred to drive up here and do this. I wasn’t supposed to drink until it was over but I had the five hundred. You know? It was some dude who looked like me if I didn’t drink so much beer. He said FATE would understand. Or was it ATF? One of them. I’m
innocent. Those handcuffs are tight.”
Hood slid the sunglasses back onto Billy’s face and walked to the black Tahoe. He swung open the rear liftgate and saw the terrified girl looking back at him, her eyes dark and wide and her mouth plastered with duct tape. Her ankles and wrists were bound with rope. He spoke to her in Spanish.
—No one is going to hurt you, Silvia. You are going home to Agua Blanca soon. Don’t be afraid of us and don’t cry.
He touched her hand gently, then cut the rope from her wrists and ankles with his pocket knife.
He waved Bly over, then strode toward the warehouse, lifting his vibrating phone from his hip.
“Mr. Hood, this is Nurse Marliss Sharer at UCI Med Center. He showed up, the husband, like you said he might. He had all these guns and he looked deranged. I thought everybody was going to die. We all thought we were going to die. Some were praying out loud. He growled at us. He just now walked out. I called security and police and you. He held his wife’s hand and spoke into her ear and kissed her once; then he left. I’m still shaking. Really hard.”
37
Ozburn drove the minivan south at the speed limit. He’d bought it for two grand cash the day before at a used car lot in Victorville, just after he’d picked up the big, long-haired man standing near the highway entrance with a WILL WORK FOR BEER sign. Ozburn had taken the man’s cursory resemblance to himself as an omen, though he wasn’t positive that Billy would be able to stay sober long enough to get the Malibu, money and guns to Vernon.
The Border Lords Page 30
