by Tom Fowler
Rodolfo walked into the living room. Héctor looked up, glowered at him, and went back to staring at his mobile. “Nothing?” the younger cousin asked.
“No,” Héctor said without looking up. They waited in silence a few more minutes. “You had to kill your girlfriend.”
“You’re putting this on me?”
Héctor closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Did someone else beat Alice to death?”
“I can’t help it if the guy at the shop is in love with her.”
“He wouldn’t care if she were still alive,” Héctor said. “Even if we took the car back. He’s only nosing around because she’s dead.”
“Maybe Patricio and Pedro are busy,” Rodolfo suggested. “Maybe they had to kill this guy and his boss, and now they’re covering it up.”
“Quizás.” Héctor figured the odds were low, but there was a chance Rodolfo was right. His men always answered his calls, but something like dealing with a couple of corpses would be a good excuse not to respond. “I guess we’ll wait a little longer.” He avoided looking at his screen. No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano, as his grandmother used to say. “No matter how early you get up, dawn won't come any sooner.” The gringos he knew would go with, “A watched pot never boils.” He liked his grandmother’s version better. English was such an inferior language.
Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Héctor looked at his phone. Nothing. He tried calling both Patricio and Pedro with the same results. “I think your optimism is dead, cousin,” Héctor said, “much like my men.”
Rodolfo put his hands up. “Sorry, Héctor. What do we do now?”
“We don’t do anything. You go back to being the landscaper. Find some bushes to trim. Try not to get anyone else in trouble.”
“Héctor, I—“
“Go.” Héctor pointed toward the front door. “I’ll handle this. I’ll get a couple more men from Mexico. If this guy at the car shop took out two of my men, we’re going to change tactics.”
11
Smitty busied himself cleaning the service bay floor. Someone came to the door shortly after he started. Smitty’s heart raced. Did the cops find out already? Smitty’s anxiety eased when he realized it was a customer wanting to drop off a car. He claimed he needed to clean up an oil spill before he could reopen. The man said he’d return later in the afternoon. Smitty heaved a sigh of relief and got back to work.
A few months ago, a large enforcer named Bobby threatened Smitty over Jake’s whereabouts. Tyler shot and killed him. It was the first time Smitty saw a fresh corpse up close—not a prepared body at a funeral. Bobby’s face still wore a surprised expression below the bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Smitty shuddered at the memory. He learned about cleaning up blood out of necessity and figured he’d never need to use it again.
Then, the events of today happened. Some part of Smitty understood what happened. One of the guys brandished a shotgun, and the other carried a pistol in his back waistband. They came to do one thing, and Tyler did what he needed to do. Still, no one had so much as slipped and fallen in the shop the entire time Smitty owned it. In the last four months, he’d been forced to deal with the fallout of three dead bodies. At least the first one had been his problem. These two came because Tyler couldn’t let something go.
Smitty scrubbed the floor clean and then used a bleach spray to finish. He put all the rags and towels into a paper bag, set it in an empty drum outside, and burned it all. While the fire crackled, Smitty returned inside and accessed the security system. The guys coming into the store appeared on two different cameras. The lone one in the bay picked up some of the action, including the second man getting shot and collapsing.
Smitty erased the footage. The system moved recordings to the cloud automatically overnight, but if he deleted something, it wouldn’t get archived. He hoped. Smitty dumped the entire day’s video so far and started anew. As he sat in the chair, a police car drove by. Smitty watched it keep going up Belair Road. He didn’t release his breath until it disappeared from view.
Lexi stifled a yawn. Professor Lord would never be confused for someone interesting or exciting. The same criticism could be levied at economics. Lexi understood money and basic personal finance—her father insisted on it even before she lived under his roof. The rest was a bunch of theory and math she really didn’t care about. Putting freshman year and all these gen-ed courses behind her couldn’t happen soon enough.
The front door opened downstairs. Lexi glanced at the clock on her PC. It was just past 1400 hours. Early for her dad to be home. She turned off her video—the TA might dock her for it, but half the students showed up as black squares on the screen all the time—and walked to the top of the stairs. “Dad?”
“Down here,” he said.
She joined him on the first floor. “You’re home early.”
“Kind of a rough day.” Tyler opened the fridge and grabbed a beer. He held it up. “Want one?”
“I might need one to make it through econ today,” Lexi said. Her dad handed her the longneck and took another one out for himself. “Everything all right at the shop?”
A long pull of the amber liquid prefaced his answer. “Not really.”
“You’ve seemed a little distracted for a day or so now.” Lexi frowned. “Is Smitty going to fire you from your first real job?”
Her father offered a faint grin. “I doubt it . . . though I couldn’t blame him if he did.”
Lexi sat at the small kitchen table and invited him to join her. “What’s going on, Dad? Does this have something to do with the girl who dropped the car off?”
“Yeah.” Her father downed the rest of his beer. Two gulps was a record for him. Something definitely gnawed at his gut. Despite the empty bottle, he joined her at the table. “She’s dead. Found in the woods beaten to death.”
Lexi felt her eyes go wide, and she drew in a sharp breath. “Oh, my god. You had me look into her boyfriend. Did he kill her?”
“Probably. I’m more convinced than ever now the cousin is in the drug trade.” He told her all about his visit to Talbot Lakes and then moved on to the events of this morning at the shop. Lexi gripped the edge of the table as he told her about the man with the twelve-gauge, killing both gunmen, and leaving the bodies in a cemetery parking lot. “When I got back, Smitty was done cleaning up the shop. He suggested I go home, so I did.”
“How long do you think it’ll take before someone realizes those two are dead?”
“By now, I’m sure their boss knows they’re missing,” her dad said. “I figure it’ll take until the evening before someone realizes the Explorer hasn’t moved.”
“If you’re right,” Lexi said, “this Héctor could have cartel connections.”
“I know.”
“I’m not trying to take Smitty’s side, Dad, but he probably thinks you dumped a load of shit in his lap.”
“I pretty much did,” he said. His head wagged from side to side. “Alice didn’t need to die over a car. The cops didn’t seem to be motivated.”
“So you acted instead,” Lexi said.
Her father spread his hands. “Someone needed to.” He paused. “You’re smart to consider the cartel possibility. Make sure you take your pistol with you if you leave the house. So far, I think these assholes only know where I work, but it’s probably a matter of time before they learn the rest.”
“You know I’ll help you with whatever research you need.”
“I know.” Her father smiled. “Thanks, kiddo. This isn’t your fight just like it’s not Smitty’s, so I appreciate it.” He stood and fetched another beer from the fridge. “How are you? Anything on your mind besides a boring class?”
Lexi considered telling him about her mother reaching out again. It sounded like his plate couldn’t hold much more at the moment, however. She could handle her mother. Make a visit to get it over with, and then they could go back to the occasional emails. “I’m good,” Lexi said after a moment of considerati
on.
“You know you can talk to me about anything.” He smirked. “Even boys.”
“I don’t exactly have a lot of prospects at the moment,” she said, “but thanks.” Her dad stared like he wasn’t quite sure he believed her before he got up and went back into the kitchen. Lexi drained the rest of her lager and walked back upstairs to finish her class.
Héctor’s security cameras picked up the approaching car as it ascended the driveway. On his monitor, he watched two men get out. These must have been the promised reinforcements from the cartel. He’d hoped for at least double their number. The fact they arrived so quickly meant they probably came from the Texas operation. Héctor frowned at the thought of adding second-rate men to his crew. In the end, though, the numbers spoke for themselves. This pair could take the places of Patricio and Pedro.
They knocked on the door a moment later. Orlan Osorio, Héctor’s largest man, opened it. Both did a double take at the giant standing before them. Orlan moved aside, and they squeezed past his enormous frame into the house. Héctor sized them up from the living room. Patricio and Pedro were wiry street fighters. These two carried more weight. They looked stronger. As long as they could intimidate people and shoot, they’d be welcome. “Good evening,” Héctor said. A clock struck eleven behind him.
“We’re from el cartel,” the one on the left said. Both wore leather jackets over jeans and black tennis shoes. Héctor wondered if they coordinated their outfits. “I’m Leonel. He’s Juan.” The latter offered a single bob of his head. “They told us you have a problem.”
“In a manner of speaking.” He wondered what else the cartel might have told these two. Héctor’s idea to expand this far north got greeted with skepticism when he suggested it. He got a chance to make it work, but he knew his leash was shorter than on someone closer to the border. Closer to direct control. “Someone has . . . taken an interest in righting a wrong.”
“We’ve heard,” Juan said in a deep voice. “Is your cousin going to keep being a wild card?”
Héctor shook his head. “He knows he screwed up. I’ve taken him out of action for a while. He won’t be a distraction again.”
“Good. Bring us up to speed on what’s happened today.” Héctor did. Both Leonel and Juan listened quietly, grimacing in spots but letting him talk uninterrupted. When he finished, Juan said, “One guy at a car repair shop?”
“As far as I know, yes,” Héctor said.
“You don’t know anything else about him?” Leonel asked.
Héctor wondered if anyone in the cartel fed them these questions. Were they going to report back later tonight? He shook those thoughts from his mind. Their challenges were more local and immediate. “Not yet, no.”
“I think we need to figure out who he is,” Leonel said.
“And then kill him,” Juan added.
12
Tyler worked on his second cup of coffee since arriving at the shop. It made for his third overall. A restless night led to trouble waking up. Even Lexi told him how bleary-eyed he looked, and she sometimes stayed in bed until after he left for work. The caffeine finally seemed to be kicking in, and he checked what services the Mustang needed. Its red paint glistened in the overhead lights, and the body looked to be in good repair. The owner clearly took time to care for it.
The list consisted of routine maintenance. Tyler raised the car so he could start with an oil change. Smitty walked through the door from the front part of the building. “Good. I’ll tell Ray he can pick his baby up today.” Smitty moved to the rear of the vehicle. “Tailpipes look good, too. Probably got a few years left.”
“Might be longer than you have left, old man,” a harsh Spanish-accented voice broke in. Tyler stepped out from under the car. Two men he’d never seen before grabbed Smitty by each arm. The third man was the giant who accompanied Rodolfo when picking up the Boxster. Tyler reached for the Sig on his hip, but the large guy moved faster than he expected and swatted the gun away before he could bring it to bear. It slid all the way across the shop floor. Smitty disappeared through the door, leaving Tyler alone with a massive foe.
He’d faced someone similar before. His last job for Patriot Security saw him take on a similarly-sized man while trying to recover his missing client. Tyler got the better of his opponent then, though it hadn’t been easy. The colossus before him today stood a little taller and a little broader. He could probably play defensive line for most teams in the NFL. Tyler spared a thought for Smitty and what he might be going through before returning all his focus to his adversary. “I’m going to enjoy this,” the behemoth said. “You killed two of my friends.”
“Don’t know what happened to them,” Tyler said. “They left in their Explorer.”
Instead of saying anything, the giant answered with a punch. Tyler sidestepped the meaty fist. He landed a short cross to the massive man’s midsection to no apparent effect. The giant threw a right jab, which Tyler backed away from. Too late, he realized it was a setup, and the left cross which followed it thundered into his face. Tyler fell backwards, keeping his head up to avoid whacking it on the concrete. He felt like David staring down Goliath. If only he had a slingshot. Or a pistol. Or any solid hand tool.
Tyler scrambled back to his feet. His foe looked to be in no hurry. He could have put Tyler in a bad spot by following up there. Maybe he was overconfident. Lulling him into a false sense of security, however, would require taking a couple more punches, and Tyler didn’t like his chances to come out of them still conscious. His whole face hurt from the first one. There would be no time for contemplation as another fist rushed at him.
Tyler ducked, took a small step forward, and rose with an uppercut to the behemoth’s chin. It rocked him back and made him shake his head, but he didn’t fall. If anything, his glare intensified, and the furrow of his dark brows increased. “You were a soldier?” he said as the two men circled each other.
“Yeah. You?”
He shrugged his enormous shoulders. “For a little while. I like this job better.” His closed left hand came forward. Tyler shuffled back. The colossus spun on his left foot, however, using his right to slam a powerful kick into Tyler’s midsection. He folded in half and collapsed to the floor sucking wind.
This time, his adversary advanced.
One of the guys shoved Smitty into a chair. The other held a pistol on him. “I’m Leonel,” the pushy one said. “My friend who might shoot you is Juan. Why don’t you tell us your name?”
“Everyone calls me Smitty.”
“How very American.” Leonel spoke with only a mild accent. “Do you know why we’re here, Smitty?”
“Is it about the damn Boxster we had here?” he said. “The guy who owns it already drove it home. We’re not gonna work on it.”
“I don’t know anything about a Boxster. Two men visited you yesterday, yes? What happened to them?”
Smitty shrugged. “How the hell would I know?”
“Because you killed them,” Juan said. His voice was much deeper than Leonel’s. “Or maybe your friend did.”
“No,” Smitty said. He remembered discussing this with Tyler. They’d come up with what to say in case this very situation happened. “They drove here in their Explorer, and they left in it.” Which they did, even though they were dead in the cargo hold.
“I’m not sure you’re telling me the truth, Smitty,” Leonel said. He bobbed his head toward the service bays. “It’s not going so well for your friend back there. Orlan’s going to beat him to death.” Smitty couldn’t see through the window. He knew Tyler to be very capable, but how much of a chance did even a trained operative have against the giant these two brought with them? Juan took a step away from Smitty to watch through the glass.
It left no one on Smitty’s immediate right. If he could inch that direction, he’d be able to reach the fire alarm mounted on the paneled wall. They tossed him onto a chair with wheels. Smitty straightened his leg an iota, shifting an inch toward where he needed to go
. Neither man seemed to notice. “Which way did the men go?” Leonel asked.
“What?”
“When they left here.” He banged on the wall, and Smitty sat still. “Which way did they go?”
“I don’t know,” Smitty said. He heard a tremble in his own voice. Maybe it would work in his favor. They’d think him too scared to do anything—which wasn’t far from the truth. “I was just glad they were leaving.” He paused. “No offense, but I’ll be happy to see you go, too.”
Leonel offered a thin, insincere smile. “I’m sure you will. How will you feel about burying your friend, though?”
Smitty scooted another inch or two. He’d be able to make a grab for the lever soon. He couldn’t look at the alarm without giving away his plan, so he hoped he remembered its location blind. “No need for anyone to die.”
“Two men already have!” Leonel slapped the paneling again. Juan alternated between looking at Smitty and keeping an eye on the action in the bays. Smitty hoped Tyler was holding his own, and he’d be OK to do it for another minute or so.
“I told you they left in their Explorer,” Smitty said. He wheeled himself another inch closer. Almost there.
“I think we’ll just wait, then,” Leonel said. “Once Orlan kills your friend, maybe you’ll remember yesterday differently.”
A final push got Smitty where he needed to be. His hand reached out. Leonel and Juan realized too late what was happening. Smitty allowed himself to look at his target now, and his fingers closed around the horizontal lever.
He pulled.
An enormous fist pummeled Tyler’s jaw, bouncing his head off the concrete. Stars swam before his eyes. The giant standing over him smiled like he could do this all day. And he probably could. Tyler, on the other hand, could not. One more blow like the one he suffered a second ago would probably knock him out, and this guy could easily kill him from there. Tyler drew his legs up to his chest and shoved the colossus away.
