by L C Hayden
“I’ll be by your side.”
“That won’t help.” Mike set his fork down.
“When they hear your side of the story—”
Mike raised his hand and waved it. “Hear me out first.”
Bronson nodded.
“I’m about to find out who El Patron is. That’s huge, and not only that, I’m in a position to bring down the organization. But there are some problems with that.”
“You think?”
“When El Patron finds out I’ve replaced him, he is going to be furious. True, I don’t know this man, or even who he is. I can’t tell you how he’ll react. But based on what I’ve heard, he’s not going to be a happy camper. He’ll send some of his thugs to kill me, or he’ll do it himself. Either way, I’ve got to watch my back.”
“I’ve got it covered.”
“I know you do, and I appreciate that. But that doesn’t change things. I’m in a lot of danger.”
“That’s another reason you should turn yourself in. You’ll be protected.”
“In jail? I don’t think so.” Mike paused for a second and looked around, as though considering his options. “If Herbert is dead—God, I pray not—he won’t be able to testify that I’m working undercover. The only other person who knew decided to conveniently kill himself.”
“What are you sayin’? It wasn’t a suicide?”
“I know it wasn’t. Somehow, his death is connected to this.”
“My gut tells me the same thing.”
“We have always listened to your gut.”
Bronson nodded.
“I feel that the only chance I have of surviving this is to destroy this gang and bring down those powerful leaders. Maybe that will prove I’m working undercover. Will you help me?”
“On one condition.”
“Name it.”
Bronson took a deep breath while he considered how to phrase what he had to say. “I have a strong feelin’ that at one time or the other, we’re goin’ to need help. We need someone we can rely on.”
“And that is?”
“Detective Dave de la Rosa.” Bronson then told Mike how Dave had hired him to be an informer. “He already knows you’re here somewhere. He wants me to bring you in. If we explain to him what’s goin’ on, he’ll help us, but we’ll need to explain everythin’ to him.”
“You really think he’ll go for it?”
Bronson shrugged. “I have no guarantees. But if he’s as smart as I think he is, he’ll see the benefits of lettin’ you continue workin’ this case. I’ll talk to him alone, and I won’t tell him where you are. When, and if, you feel comfortable, then the three of us can meet and brainstorm. What do you say?”
“He could provide police backup when we need it.” Mike thrust his hand in the thumb-up position. “I can also see him helping out in other ways. But he’s going to have to believe in me.”
“That’s a given.”
“In that case—”
Lupe came rushing toward their table. “Get out.” She mumbled the word now. “Three men just pulled in.”
Mike and Bronson bolted to their feet.
The front door slammed open and two men stepped in.
30
Something didn’t add up.
Lupe had distinctly said three men had pulled in.
Only two men entered the restaurant through the front door.
The third must have driven the car to the back.
Bronson opened his mouth to warn Mike, but by then, Mike had already thrown the backdoor open and dashed out. As he ran, he pushed the car clicker button, unlocking the car door. “Let’s get the—”
Bronson threw his weight on Mike, both landing on the ground. Somewhere around them, a bullet whizzed by.
Both Bronson and Mike retrieved their guns and aimed for the gray sedan. It sped away, its tires squealing as it made a sharp right turn. “Were you … able … to recognize … the driver?” Bronson spoke between breaths. An action that would have been so simple a few years back now took the breath out of him.
Mike shook his head. “I couldn’t get a good look at him.” He pocketed his gun. “Let’s get out of here before the police come.”
Bronson nodded and stood, his knee joints popping with the effort. He dusted himself as he scrambled to the car.
“What was all that about?” Bronson asked once Mike had pulled away from the parking lot and blended with the traffic.
“I may be wrong, but I believe that might have been El Patron sending me a message.” He maneuvered a left, turning away from the main street. Soon, they were bouncing along the potholes of Hobb’s back streets. “What do you think?”
“You’re probably right.” Bronson looked behind him to see if anyone was following. All looked well. “What’s next?”
Mike shrugged. “Head for the hills? That may be the only place I’ll be safe.”
For a second, Bronson smiled, but then the grin fell off his face as if it had been made of sand. “That’s a wise decision, but tell me, what are you really plannin’ to do?”
“You know me too well.” Mike’s focus stayed on the rearview mirror longer than normal.
Bronson glanced at the side mirror. A gray sedan was riding behind them. “Do you think it’s the same one?” The car sped toward them.
“It’s got to be.” Mike executed a fast left, then a right, another right, a left, a right. “I might have lost him.” He headed three blocks in a straight line, and then just to be sure, he turned right.
Bronson looked at the side mirror. “I don’t see the car.” He turned so he could see better. “I think you did it.”
“I agree with you, buddy. We lost him, but for how long?”
“You’re thinkin’ someone put a bug on your car.”
“Yep. But it wouldn’t be wise to stop now to check. If there’s a shootout, I want it to be out of town. No use putting innocent lives at risk.”
“I agree.” Bronson adjusted his seat belt so it was tighter. “Now what?”
“I have an idea.” Mike stepped on the gas and the car sped down the highway, heading away from town.
31
Fifteen minutes later, Bronson and Mike were situated. Mike had driven the car and parked it behind a small hill covered with mesquite bushes. Unless El Patron’s thug was very observant, he wouldn’t spot the vehicle until it was too late.
Mike and Bronson hid behind opposite sides of the dirt road, each with their weapons drawn. They had agreed to shoot the tires so they could capture and question the driver. The moment would soon arrive.
Five minutes went by and still, they waited.
Ten minutes.
“Maybe I was wrong.” Mike spoke loud enough for Bronson to hear but still remained hidden.
“Learn to trust your gut.” Bronson looked down the road. A cloud of dirt rose and seemed to head their way. “There’s a car comin’.” He repositioned himself so that he could have easier access to the approaching car.
Two long minutes dragged by, then the car crested the hill.
Gotcha. Just keep headin’ this way. We’re ready for you.
But instead of continuing down the road, the car came to an abrupt halt. The passenger’s and back doors opened. Three men stepped out. The driver remained in the car.
Four men total, not one.
Shiiit!
The three men held their guns in front of them as they headed up the road. Behind them, the driver turned off the engine. The three advanced steadily, their focus on the road ahead. As they neared Mike’s and Bronson’s hidden location, they seemed to grow bigger, more threatening. They were now within earshot.
“Be careful,” the one in the middle said. “The car is right over that hill. That means Mike is somewhere around there. Keep your eyes open. We need to take him alive.”
At least that’s somethin’. Bronson took in a deep breath.
“Beto!” Mike called out the man closest to him but whispered loud enough for all three to
hear.
They froze and turned toward the sound of the voice. Beto nodded toward a bush, the one Mike used to hide behind. Sharks’ grins formed on their faces. The man in the middle signaled that Beto should go down toward Mike. The other two remained on the road, ready to grab Mike as soon as Beto told them to.
Beto started to descend the shoulder of the road.
Mike sprung up and grabbed him. Before the other two could react, Bronson lunged forward, clasping his hands together. He brought them down on the back of the man’s neck closest to him, driving him to the ground.
From behind, Bronson grabbed the other man’s shoulder and spun him like a top. Bronson opened his hand and threw a right. The heel of Bronson’s hand landed under the man’s nose.
He yelped, dropping the gun.
Bronson punched him on the belly. The man folded up and Bronson brought his knee up to impact with his face. He fell on top of the other man.
Bronson ducked when he saw the car speeding toward them, the driver shooting at him even as he steered following a wavy pattern.
Mike reached for the gun, aimed for the tire, and released several rounds.
A large whoosh sound surrounded them as the air escaped from the tires. The driver lost control and the sedan careened for several seconds before flipping over.
By now Bronson had retrieved his gun and pointed it at the three men who looked like quarterbacks who had been sacked and dazed. Mike stood next to Bronson, his gun also aimed at the men.
“You, Beto,” Mike said. “Go check on the driver and don’t even think of doing anything stupid. I’ve got the gun, and so does he.” He pointed to Bronson.
Beto attempted to get up and for a few seconds, it seemed his body didn’t know whether to straighten up or fall back down.
“Go!”
Beto half-stood and half-crawled toward the wrecked car. He took a peek through the window. “¡Dios mío!” He crossed himself. He half-turned so that his voice would travel toward Mike. “He’s … dead.”
Mike shrugged. “That’s too bad.”
Bronson froze and fought the urge to punch Mike. How could he be so callous? Mike’s lack of action went against all police procedures. Bronson took a deep breath. He had to let it go. Surely, Mike would explain later.
“Get back over here,” Mike told Beto.
Beto joined the other two men and sat on the dirt road.
“This is how this is going to go.” Mike glared at the men, daring them to contradict him. “First, you tell me who sent you.”
The men looked down.
“You.” Mike pointed to the man who had been in the middle as they walked toward them. “Your name is Pablo?”
Pablo nodded.
“Answer my question.”
Pablo slowly raised his eyes to meet Mike’s. “Who do you think sent me?”
“El Patron.”
“Give the man a point for being smart.” Pablo flashed him the thumbs-up position.
Mike remained quiet for the moment, as though considering his options. “You do know that you no longer work for him.”
The men did not move, but their eyes remained on Mike.
“You now work for me, which means that you will be faithful to me. In return, I will spare you, and I’ll even consider giving you a bigger share of my take.”
A slow smile spread on Pablo’s face. “Does this mean we’re free to go?”
“In a minute.” Mike pointed to Bronson. “First, I want you to meet my right-hand man, Alex Bentley.”
Bronson waved.
“I expect you to listen to him as you would me. Is that clear?”
They nodded.
“Beto, tell me what the plan was. You capture me and then what?”
“Soon as we apprehend you, we were supposed to deliver you to El Patron. He would then tell us what to do with you. That’s all I know.”
Mike nodded. “Good. I want to keep that meeting. You call him and tell him you got me. Then you deliver me to him. All will go as planned, except that the three of you will be there to protect me. Can I count on you three?”
Pablo was the first to nod, then Beto, and finally the third man.
Mike offered Pablo his hand. Pablo accepted it and Mike helped him up. He did the same with Beto.
“I haven’t had the pleasure to meet you,” Mike said as he pulled up the third man.
“I’m Ignacio Contreras.”
“Ignacio, welcome to my team.”
Ignacio flashed him a shy smile. “We’ll be good to you.”
Mike’s grin stemmed from ear-to-ear. “That’s what I want to hear.” He pointed to the wreck. “First thing I want you to do is to get rid of the body and the car—the usual way. Then set up that meeting. Contact me with the details as soon as you know them.” He took out a piece of paper wrote down his cell number and handed it to Pablo. “Is that clear?”
“Sí, Señor,” all three said in unison.
“Good. Get in the car. Alex will drive us back to Hobbs, and we’ll drop you off at the edge of the city. You’re on your own from there.”
Bronson flashed Mike The Look. Mike knew he hated to drive.
Mike smiled and tossed him the keys.
32
Half-an-hour later, Bronson watched Pablo, Beto, and Ignacio walk away from the car and toward the city. “Do you really trust those men?”
“The only one I trust is you, buddy.”
Bronson chewed the inside of his cheek, remembering Mike’s recent disregard of human life. He let some time pass. “Then let me help you.”
Deep crease lines formed in Mike’s forehead and around his eyes. “What are you suggesting?” His cool and distant tone could have given birth to an iceberg.
“It’s time to brin’ Dave in.”
Mike stared at Bronson with unblinking eyes. “This great Detective Dave de la Rosa, what’s he to you?” The anger in his words filled the atmosphere with sparks of tension. “Why do you keep throwing me at him?” Mike’s jaw stiffened. “What’s in it for you, Bronson?”
Bronson, not buddy.
Bronson took in deep breaths, trying to keep himself under control, yet he could feel the anger—the resentment—building up within him. “This has got to end sometime.” His voice came out robotic. “Just sayin’.”
“Just saying what?” Mike’s animal-like eyes glared at him. “That I should turn myself in? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“It’s the best possible scenario.” An image of Mike destroying all he had built flashed before Bronson’s eyes. He rubbed his eyes, willing the image to fade. He forced his words to come out smooth, but strong. “I’ll stand by you. Just don’t block me out. Talk to me.”
Mike’s eyes examined Bronson with the unmistakable gaze of an opponent who weighed a betrayer’s promise. A few seconds passed and gradually, Mike’s rigid body went slack. “I’m … sorry. I’m under a lot of stress, and I blow up easily. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. Let’s talk about Dave. What are your plans?”
For the moment, Bronson remained quiet. He wanted to acknowledge the apology, but Mike had not given him a chance to do so. Instead, he had switched the topic. Two could play that game. “I’m thinkin’ you should set up your meetin’, just like you want. When you have all of the details, tell me where and when this meetin’ will be held. Dave and I will be there to cover your back, and even protect you from those three goons, which I’m sure are not as loyal to you as they claim to be. Once you have established who El Patron is, Dave will arrest him.”
Mike looked out the passenger window and remained quiet.
Mike was holding something back, and Bronson knew it. “That’s what you want? Arrest El Patron and destroy the gang.” Bronson held his breath while he waited for an answer.
“It’s … not that simple.” Mike spoke so softly that Bronson had trouble hearing him.
“Explain.”
Mike flashed him a smile as fake as a three-dollar bill. “You kn
ow, you’re right. Soon as I have the details about that meeting, I’ll call you. You go meet with Dave and prepare him for what’s about to happen.”
Mike’s relaxed expression was gone, and the newly acquired creases around his eyes had deepened—a detail that made Bronson’s stomach churn. “After the arrest, what do you plan to do?”
Mike threw his hands up in a form of surrender. “Give myself up, of course. Isn’t that what you want?”
Bronson’s gaze analyzed him like a teacher monitoring a student who was ready to cheat. “What do you want?”
Mike took in a deep breath and collapsed onto the back of the passenger’s seat. “For this mess to be over.”
Bronson nodded. “El Patron will be arrested, you will turn yourself in, and your name will be cleared. Is this how you see this endin’?”
Mike looked slightly to the right and away from Bronson. “That’s exactly how I see it.” He continued to stare out the window.
Bronson’s hands formed fists. That was the first time Mike had lied to him.
Shiiit!
33
El Patron leaned back on his chair while Pablo related the evening’s events. When Pablo finished, El Patron sat back and stared at the ceiling. His fingers formed a steeple, and he tapped his chin with them. He set his hands down. “Let me see if I got this right.” He pointed at Beto. “You agreed to work for Mike instead of me. You even swore to be faithful to him.”
Beto shrugged. “I only said what he wanted to hear.”
El Patron leaned forward. “And now you’re saying what I want to hear.”
Beto’s eyes widened in fear. “No. No! I only said that to him, not to you. For you, I speak from my heart.”
El Patron stood up and hovered over Beto. “You’re saying that you’re faithful to me?”
“Sí, sí. You are the boss. I’ll do whatever you say.” Beto’s Adam’s apple bopped as he swallowed hard.
El Patron retrieved a switchblade from his pocket. He snapped it open. “You’ll do anything I say?”
Beto eagerly nodded.
