by R. A. McGee
“That’s why you pay me, isn’t it?” Clark said coolly.
Sammy eyed Clark from the other side of the table. Clark returned the glare. He leaned down to César’s side and whispered something to him. The rest of the group was busy talking loudly about what a bitch Pascual and his men had been, and how they had all known he was going down.
Clark watched Sammy stare at him the entire time he whispered to César. Then he stood straight, moved away, and found an open seat.
“You’re sure?” César said to him from across the table.
“Ask him.” Clark pulled his Glock out, setting it on the table in front of him.
César slowly nodded. He turned to his right. “Sammy. Do you have anything you need to tell me?”
Sammy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He shook his head.
“Are you sure? It seems like there is something I need to know, and I’d rather hear about it from you.”
The rest of the men, noticing the change in their boss’s demeanor, sat in their places. The noise in the group scaled back and things were quiet.
“I don’t know what that maricón told you,” Sammy said, pointing at Clark, “but he’s full of shit.”
“Is he?”
Clark could hear the man’s voice echoing off the tile floor, up into the big vaulted ceiling.
“How long have we worked together, César? Huh? I’ve been loyal to you this whole time.”
“Have you?”
“You know I have.” Sweat beaded on the stout man’s brow.
“If that’s so, then why not tell me your side of the story?”
Sammy stammered. “What do you want me to say? I only asked my cousin, Nieto, if Barnes was working for Pascual, that’s all.”
“Nieto?”
“Yeah. I figured, this guy just shows up and all of a sudden he knows where all Pascual’s men are and when they’ll be there and everything about their operation. So I asked my cousin if he could look into it, that’s all.”
“Your cousin works for Pascual?”
Sammy looked around. “Well… yes.”
“Interesting.”
“But you already know that, right? I mean, that’s what Barnes was telling you. I figure I’d get out in front of this, so you know the truth.”
“I didn’t tell him anything,” Clark said.
César was staring at Sammy. He leveled Pascual’s pistol at the man. “All he said was ‘Sammy has something to tell you.’ That’s it. Now I’m hearing that you have family that works for my rival. This concerns me.”
Sammy kicked his chair behind him, standing and looking around. Two of the other men from the table grabbed him by his shoulders and forced him back down.
“César? Come on, you have to believe me. I never told anyone about your business. No one.”
“Give me his gun,” César said.
His men disarmed the lieutenant, dropping his pistol on the table in front of César.
“You’re lucky that I don’t want to get your traitor blood all over this clean tile,” César said, clicking the safety of the 1911 back on. “Take him out back.”
Clark watched as the men dragged Sammy off, kicking and screaming.
“I didn't do nothing, I didn’t do nothing!” With renewed vigor, he broke away from the men holding him and raced around the table, toward Clark.
Clark sat perfectly still as another man jumped in and helped drag the powerful man out of the room.
Clark heard his protests echoing down the hallway, toward the back of the house.
César looked down at his watch. “Who’s hungry?”
Seventeen
Clark fell into step behind the man as he walked out the front door and to the waiting Cadillac truck, shiny and clean.
César was, if anything, a creature of habit. Every Thursday, he ate at the same restaurant, then walked next door to see the newest movie playing in the small cinema in town.
One of the men opened the back door, letting César in. Clark rode shotgun.
“We gonna wait for those guys?” he said, gesturing to the back of the house.
“No. Leave them. They need to take their time with that piece of shit Sammy. They can come next time,” César said.
In the back seat, two men squeezed in on either side of their boss. It was a relatively light security team, but one César insisted on. He’d never had a reason to worry about safety in his own town—at least not until the war with Pascual. Still, the man wasn’t going to change his routine.
Clark smiled as the driver pulled off the parking pad.
A winding route from the compound led the group through several country roads, some poorly paved, others just dirt with enormous potholes.
After several automatic turns, the driver came to a tiny crossroads intersection and took a right, the only road to town.
About a quarter mile up, on the right-hand side, Clark saw a Ford Ranger pulled across the small dirt road.
The driver slowed down, coming to a stop. “Look at this shit, huh? Just blocking the road.”
“Relax,” Clark said. “It’s just a woman. Maybe she needs help.”
“I’m not getting out,” the driver said.
Clark looked in the rearview mirror. “I’ll go check it out. You good with that?”
“Just make it fast. We don’t want to miss the movie.”
Clark got out of the car, walking slowly up to the Ranger.
Miri was sitting on the tailgate, watching him as he walked up.
“You didn’t do it,” Clark said.
“Yes, I did. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But you were supposed to wear something sexy, to distract those guys a little more.”
“You were serious? Shit, you know I wasn’t gonna do that. How many?”
“Four total. César is in the back center. Try not to kill him.”
“I can’t make any promises.”
Clark sighed as he walked back to the Escalade. He leaned in the back window. “This bimbo doesn’t know what’s wrong with the truck. I’ll bet it’s out of gas. Let’s just push it out of the way and go to lunch.”
Clark moved away from the Escalade, but no one else joined him. He looked at the two men next to César. “Hey, assholes. We aren’t going anywhere if you don’t move the truck.”
“Why don’t you move it?” one of them said.
“’Cause I don’t do manual labor,” Clark said.
César laughed and ordered the two men next to him out to move the truck.
César leaned forward, looking at the truck. “Hey, Barnes?”
“Yeah?”
“How does she look?”
“Okay, I guess, if you like tall girls.”
“I’ll climb her like a tree,” César said, laughing and punching Clark in the shoulder.
The two guards were walking across the dirt road, straight up to Miri, who was loudly explaining in English what she’d done, cursing the fact that the car wouldn’t start.
“What do you think, Barnes? Should we ask her to lunch with us? It’s been too long since I got my dick wet. What with all this shit with Pascual and wrangling all these idiots every day, I just haven’t had time.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”
“See? That’s why I keep you around. You’re always saying smart shit like that,” César said. “None of these other pendejos ever have anything smart to say.”
Up ahead, the two men closed the tailgate and leaned into it, slowly moving the truck toward the side of the road.
“I’m gonna bring this girl with us. I think I’ll get some.”
As the two men were leaned over and pushing, Miri retrieved a pistol from the front of her waistband. In less than two seconds, she’d shot both men in the back of the head, twice.
Before their bodies fell, Clark had his pistol out, pushing it right past César’s face and squeezing the trigger. The Glock barked, and the driver’s head exploded.
Clar
k stepped back, pistol pointed at César. He stole a glance to his right and saw Miri hustling over, opening the driver’s side door and pulling the dead man out, letting him slump to the hard dirt.
“You still want some of that?” Clark said.
César stammered, unable to get a complete sentence out.
“Okay. I’ll be sure to let her know. You might not like what she says, though.”
Eighteen
Miri followed Clark’s directions as he led her to an abandoned salt quarry. It was a location he’d scouted weeks ago, and had used several times when the disposal of a body wasn’t as convenient as leaving it in a strip club or a hotel room.
The Escalade skirted the rim of the quarry, coming to rest facing the big open pit below. In a flat area to the north of the pit were several mobile homes, left over from the days when there were workers digging up the salt and supervisors sitting in an air-conditioned room to oversee their progress.
Clark dragged César by his ponytail, pulling him along to the first mobile home. The door was already open—the result of a previous visit by Clark—and he walked in, shoving the drug lord onto the dirty linoleum floor.
Miri walked in last and shut the door behind her.
“Sit down, César,” Clark said.
“You can’t tell me what to do. You work for me, stupid cabrón.”
“Why is it always like this?”
César looked at Clark, confused.
“See, I’ve done this a few times. Different countries, different cultures, different people, but it’s almost always the same. Bravado. Everybody is a tough guy. I’ve never understood it. You just watched my friend kill two of your men, just like she was breathing. What do you think would keep her from killing you? Your good looks?
“There is no reason, you moron. You have no leverage. No play. There’s no chance you get out of here unless I feel moved by some higher power to let you go. And despite all that, you’re gonna tell me you own me?”
Clark rubbed his head. His face was flushed, but he breathed deeply to steady himself.
After a few moments of silence, César spoke up. “Then why haven’t you killed me already?”
Clark looked back at Miri, who was leaning against the door with her arms crossed. She shrugged.
“I’m going to ask you a couple questions. I just want you to answer them. Comprende?”
César adjusted his ponytail, which Clark had pulled askew, and nodded.
“Torres. Do you remember him?”
“I know several Torreses. You have to be more specific.”
Clark's hands trembled but he sat still. “Juan Javier Torres. Do you remember him?”
“Of course I do. No telling how much money he cleaned for me.”
“He must have been good. I’ve never understood how both of you assholes let him work for you.”
“It was easy. Pascual and I each knew that he was working both sides—hell, he was honest about it. There is something to be said for a solid money launderer. Torres was good enough that we both put our hatred of each other aside, and agreed not to harm him.”
“That’s a unique deal,” Miri said.
“I suppose so. I miss the guy. It’s a shame that he was killed.”
“Yeah, about that,” Clark said. “That was me.”
“You’re lying,” César said, unable to contain his shock.
“Nope. It was him,” Miri said.
“You killed him?”
“Yes, dummy. Listen to what I’m saying. He was getting out of prison, right? Someone killed him and a truck full of the guys trying to break him out. Sound familiar?”
César was nodding slowly. “Then you were…”
Clark nodded along with the man. “After Torres was killed, what did you do?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do anything,” the drug lord said quickly.
“You need to tell me, César, and you need to tell me now.”
Miri walked past the two men and stood silently behind César, who was still sitting on the dirty floor.
“Tell you what?”
“You know,” Clark said, pacing back and forth.
“I don’t know what you—”
César’s statement was cut off by Clark’s boot crashing into the man. Clark couldn’t hear anything, and could only see César on the floor in front of him. His leg felt heavy as he kicked, as if he were moving with a cinderblock attached to his ankle.
The mobile home rocked, the force of Clark’s blows building momentum that swayed the small structure.
He lost count of the times he kicked the man, but stopped when he felt someone pull him by the arm. Clark tried to step over to the man again, but the pull on his arm was rock solid. He looked down and saw Miri’s hands clamped onto his wrist.
She stepped closer to him, her back toward César, her voice low. “Listen, dummy. If you kick him to death, you’ll never know. Then you’ll always wonder. Get your shit together.”
Clark looked down and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, but nothing was helping him settle down. “I can’t do this.”
Clark felt her studying his face. When he opened his eyes, she was nodding. “It’s okay.” Miri patted him on the shoulder. “Just hang back, I got it.”
Clark put his hands on his head and took several steps backward.
Miri turned toward the man on the floor. César was curled up in a fetal position, holding his stomach. “You got to man up, César. My drill sergeants were tougher than that when I went through basic training. Don’t be a pussy.”
César rolled into a seated position. He coughed and spat blood beside him on the floor.
“There you go. All right,” Miri said. “Now. I want you to realize, you aren’t dealing with some bullshit good-cop/bad-cop situation here. I’m not trying to butter you up or make friends with you. I think you’re a piece of shit. But my friend needs an answer and I can’t have him beat you to death before he gets it. Savvy?”
Despite his rage, Clark smiled.
Nineteen
“It’s really simple. Just tell us what happened,” Miri said.
César had caught his breath and was sitting quietly. Some of the kicks Clark had launched must have slipped up to the man's face, because his nose was broken and there was a large gash underneath his eye. His clean white shirt was filthy, a mixture of dirt from the floor and blood.
He hadn't spoken in minutes.
“Come on, César. We can’t be here all day. What did you do after Torres was killed?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Clark stepped toward the man, who scurried back, trying to keep distance between himself and the big man with the powerful kicks.
Miri held up her hand to Clark, giving him a dirty look while she was at it. “Stop,” she said softly.
Clark backed off and resumed pacing the floor.
“César, I don’t think I can keep him off you for much longer. If you got anything to say, say it.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you want to hear?” César said.
“The truth,” Clark said.
César was silent.
“You sure there isn’t anything about an explosion you want to talk to us about?” Miri said, dangling bait in the water.
“I’m telling you, I don’t know anything.”
“So you don’t have any information about a woman being blown up?” Miri said.
“I’m in Mexico, remember? I don’t know anything about Virginia.”
Miri smiled. “Who said anything about Virginia?”
“You did,” César said quickly. “You said a woman was blown up in Virginia.”
Miri looked at Clark. He nodded his head.
Now he knew. He finally knew.
All the weeks of searching. The sleepless nights and the body count—all led to this moment. A simple slip of the tongue and Clark knew that César had someone blown up his favorite person in the world. He’d tried to come to grips with it for so long that now,
all he felt was numb on the inside.
He reached into his waistband and pulled out his pistol.
César’s eyes were wide as saucers and he scooted away from Clark, running into a yellowed plastic wall.
Miri moved out of the way. No reason to stop her friend now.
Clark blew his cheeks out and shook his head. All the work, come to a head in an instant. No fanfare, no lights or sounds. Just the realization that the piece of shit on the floor in front of him was responsible for the worst event of his life.
He gripped the Glock in a vise, squeezing as he walked over to César, somehow afraid that the gun would slip from his hands or abandon him at this critical moment.
“Wait, wait, wait,” César said.
Clark finished closing the space between them and let the gun hang by his side. He looked at the man on the floor.
“Wait, no. No. No. You can’t do this.”
“I can, César. See? As easy as it was for you to order someone to put a bomb in my home, it’s even easier for me to pull a trigger.”
For the first time in as long as Clark could remember, the gun trembled slightly in his hand. He was glad he still felt something. After countless other people in countless other places, this still meant something to him.
Because this wasn’t countless other people in other places. This wasn’t business. This was personal.
“Think, man, think. How did I know?”
Clark raised the pistol and pressed the muzzle into César’s temple.
“How did I know where you lived?”
Clark faltered. The gun wavered slightly in his hand.
“How did I even know who you were? Think about it.”
Clark had thought about it. Long and hard. There was only one real solution, but it was too much for him to consider. He’d pushed the thoughts from his mind, compartmentalized them so he could function. Now César was pulling the thoughts to the forefront of Clark’s brain.
“How did I know? Huh? How did I know?”
Clark was aware that Miri was standing next to him and speaking. “If you have something to say, now’s the time. Your next conversation is going to be with God.”
