by Mark Dawson
Maybe.
El Patrón had justified his vast business as a means of attacking the imperialist dogs who persecuted him. He extracted billions of dollars from their economy while poisoning the blood of American youth with cocaine. El Patrón might have been killed, but his reasoning was still sound. He had seen himself as a bandito, a soldier working for the glory of Mexico. Oscar saw himself in the same way.
He straightened out his jacket and made his way to the entrance. He glanced up again at the building looming overhead and thought about one of those five-thousand-dollar suites, this one up on the thirty-eighth floor. He thought about the man who was inside it—Héctor del Pozo, La Bruja’s emissary from Juárez—and felt the fear that he wanted Smith to feel.
37
Milton walked back to the hotel. He took his time, paying close attention to the cars that were parked at the side of the road and the pedestrians who were making their way to and from their businesses. He didn’t see anything that was out of the ordinary, but he was still careful and would remain that way.
He went inside and took the elevator to the second floor. He knocked on Jessica’s door and waited for her to open it.
“Well?” she said.
Milton came inside and closed the door behind him. “I spoke to Delgado.”
“And?”
“The money in exchange for your father. That’s the deal.”
“How do we know that he’s okay?”
Milton took out his phone and opened the video that he had received from Oscar. He handed the phone to Jessica and watched her face as the footage played. The blood drained from her cheeks and she swallowed hard.
“They’ve hurt him,” she said.
“A little.”
“His face…”
“It looks worse than it is. He’s alive. He’s lucky.”
“He’s not… tricking us?”
“Your father is all Delgado has to bargain with if he wants his money back. He’s no good to him if he’s…”
“If he’s dead,” she finished.
“If he’s dead,” Milton said. “But he’s not.”
She went to the window and stared out. “I’m nervous.”
“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”
“You’re not?”
“A little,” he said. “That’s natural.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“If we plan carefully, there’s no reason why it won’t work as we want it to.”
She ran her fingers through her hair. “Where is this going to happen?”
“I’m going to speak to Beau,” he said. “He knows Vegas better than I do.”
“In town, though?”
He chewed his lip. “Probably not. There are going to be weapons on both sides. It’s not the kind of thing we want the police to find out about.”
“Weapons?”
“I’m not going to go and meet someone like Delgado without a weapon, Jessica.”
“But having witnesses would help, wouldn’t it? Delgado won’t be able to do anything.”
“He wouldn’t agree to do it here,” Milton said. “It has to be somewhere quiet. But we choose the place and we control it. It happens on our terms.”
Milton collected the phone from her and put it back in his pocket.
“What do we do now?” she said.
“We need to get ready. I’ll speak to Beau, and then I’ll go and scout the location.”
“And then?”
“Then I’ll call Delgado and set it up.”
“For when?”
“Tonight.”
38
Oscar looked at his reflection in the mirrored wall of the elevator. He looked nervous. He had been summoned to the Wynn for a meeting with Héctor del Pozo, the cartel’s go-between and his main point of contact with La Bruja. Delgado did not like del Pozo, and he knew that del Pozo did not like him. Del Pozo was critical and had no problem with speaking his mind. During their previous transactions, he had never failed to point out the shortcomings in the way that Delgado organised the business. That would have been irritating enough, but, as del Pozo was the eyes and ears of La Bruja, his disapproval was potentially dangerous.
Del Pozo was based in the States, shuttling to and from the cartel’s stronghold in Juárez as necessary. The cartel kept its business strictly compartmentalised, meaning that Delgado did not know how many other cartel businesses del Pozo oversaw, save that he operated across the west coast and inland. Los Angeles, San Diego, Vegas and who knew where else. It was usually the case that weeks would pass between visits. The fact that he had been in Vegas for the last week, and had rented a suite at the Wynn for the foreseeable future, was not something that filled Oscar with joy.
He knew what it meant: La Bruja was concerned about the operation that Delgado was running, and del Pozo had been assigned to keep an eye on him. A bad report would not just lead to the termination of his employment. It would be much worse than that.
The elevator reached the thirty-eighth floor and the door opened. Delgado made his way along the quiet corridor, the walls and carpet in the same dark chocolate hue, until he reached room 3801.
He knocked on the door and stood back. The door was opened by a man with tattoos on his bare arms and a dead-eyed stare. Oscar hadn’t seen him before, but assumed that he was the muscle who had been sent to guard del Pozo while he was in Vegas.
“I’m here to see Héctor,” Oscar said.
The bodyguard stepped aside and nodded with his head that Oscar should go inside.
The foyer opened into a large living area with two full-size couches, a mirrored ceiling, a bar, a dining room table that could seat six, and a bureau. A large flat-screen TV was set into the wall, and the far side of the room was all windows, with a stunning view of the city, the desert and the mountains beyond.
Del Pozo was standing at the window, looking out at the view.
“Héctor,” Oscar said, forcing a smile.
Del Pozo turned to face him. The greeting was not returned. “I hope you have good news.”
“We have made progress.”
“What does that mean? You have the money?”
“Not yet.”
“Disappointing.”
Del Pozo took a glass of water from the bureau and sat down on the sofa. Oscar noticed that he didn’t offer him a drink, leaving him to stand like a fool in the middle of the room.
“This progress, then—what is it?”
“We have Russo.”
“Where is he now?”
“At the warehouse.”
“And the money?”
Oscar took a breath and swallowed on a dry throat. “He didn’t have it.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to be stupid enough to have it at his home. I’m sure he told you where it was, though.”
“He said that he had stored it in a unit in Silver Spur. I sent two men to collect it, but it appears that we were too late.”
“It ‘appears’? It was there or it was not there. Which is it?”
“It wasn’t there.”
“Failure after failure, Oscar. I would say that I was surprised, but that would be a lie.”
Del Pozo was watching him with a contempt that he did not even attempt to conceal. Oscar was not used to people talking to him in that way, and would have liked nothing better than to toss him through the window; del Pozo would have enough time before he fell to earth to have considered the good sense of showing him a little respect. But that was impossible, of course. The bodyguard watching from the side of the room would be armed, and would have no compunction in putting a bullet into his head, even here. And Del Pozo was the representative of La Bruja; to show him disrespect would be seen as disrespecting the cartel. That would mean Oscar’s own death, and it would not be a death that would be pleasant or quick.
He took a breath. “Russo’s daughter went to his house just after we had taken him. She was with a man. We turned around and went back to
get her, but it didn’t go well. The man appears to be working with her. He was capable. He shot three of my men and escaped with her before we could take them.”
“This man,” del Pozo said, “who is he?”
“His name is John Smith.”
“And?”
“We are working to find out more.
“Do you have anything else?”
“His car.”
“You have searched it?”
“Yes.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Sorry?”
“Do you have his fingerprints? He must have left his fingerprints in his car.”
He swallowed. “No, Héctor.”
“He left no fingerprints, or you haven’t checked?”
“We haven’t checked.”
“Where is the car?”
“The warehouse.”
“Leave it there. I will send a man. He will do your job for you.”
“Of course, Héctor.”
“And the money?”
“The daughter must have known where it was kept. The lock-up was empty when we got to it. Smith called me this morning. He says he has it. He wants to propose an exchange—the money for Russo.”
“And Russo is in a position to be exchanged?”
“We roughed him up a little.” Oscar shrugged. “Other than that, he’s fine.”
“Get the money, Oscar. This man Smith—we will deal with him. The Russos, too.”
Del Pozo stood and crossed the living room to the panoramic windows. He put his hands behind his back as he gazed out onto the wide vista of the Strip.
“Is there anything else you need, Héctor?”
Del Pozo did not turn back. “I am not impressed,” he said. “This whole situation has been badly managed. You should never have put yourself into a situation where someone was able to steal so much of our money. That is unprofessional, and professionalism is the minimum required if you want to work for the cartel. La Bruja shares my disappointment.”
“Tell her I’m—”
Del Pozo cut him off. “You can tell her yourself. Fix this mess. When it is done, you will travel to Casa Victor. She wants to speak to you. You are going to have to persuade her that you’re still the right man to run this operation.”
Oscar wanted to protest, but he knew it would be pointless. You did not negotiate with people like Héctor, far less La Bruja. He knew that he was in a perilous position and that the only way he would be able to extricate himself was to demonstrate that he could resolve this situation and then show that he was able to continue to generate revenue for the cartel.
“Is there anything else?” Oscar said.
“No,” Héctor said. “We are done. Tell me when this has been resolved.”
Oscar said that he would, and made his way to the door. He looked back; Héctor was still looking out of the window. The bodyguard opened the door and Oscar stepped out into the serenity of the corridor. He set off toward the elevator, waiting for his pulse to slow. He felt a riot of emotion: anger at being spoken to like the shit on Héctor’s shoe, frustration that there was nothing that he could do about it and, most of all, fear.
Fear of La Bruja, and of what she would do to him if the situation was not resolved to her satisfaction.
39
Héctor del Pozo waited for Delgado to leave the suite. The conversation had been irritating. His job was to ensure that the business of the cartel was conducted smoothly and securely, and, when he was presented with evidence that it was not, to take steps to improve it. Delgado had overseen the operation here for several months and, in that time, he had made a considerable sum of money. He had built an efficient network for the distribution of the cartel’s products—cocaine, meth, women—and, until recently, there had been little to suggest that there was a reason for concern. His proposal that he open a new business stealing the casino’s money had been checked and approved, and the results had been everything that he had promised. Millions of dollars had been siphoned from the vaults of the corporations that ran the legitimate businesses on the Strip, and there had been no indication that the authorities were close to discovering who was responsible. It had been an impressive operation, and Delgado’s stock had—until recently—been high.
His report that money had been stolen by the man he had employed to administer his scheme had been concerning. La Bruja had dispatched Héctor to investigate and to take whatever steps were necessary.
He had been here a week and had found, to his annoyance, that Delgado had allowed standards to slip. His men were lazy and unimpressive. The heavy metals business that had been established to receive the product did not look particularly impressive and would not have stood up to scrutiny if the police ever paid it any attention. Delgado himself had allowed his own standards to slip; Héctor had discovered that he helped himself to the cartel’s cocaine. That was an egregious flouting of the rules. A man who liked the product too much was prone to making errors. Delgado needed to be sharp, and Héctor had seen too much evidence that he was not.
He went to the bar and made himself a vodka tonic, then returned to the window and sipped at it as he watched a jet descend into McCarran. The view was undeniably impressive and one of the reasons the hotel was able to charge so much for the suite, but he wasn’t really paying attention to it. Instead, he ran back over the conversation for anything that might suggest that the course of action he had been considering might have been premature. He had decided several days ago that Delgado was incompetent and that his continued management of the operation here would be unwise. He had called him to the suite for a chance to demonstrate that his conclusion was incorrect.
He knew now that it was not.
Delgado had said nothing that had changed his mind, and Héctor had no time for second chances. Just like Delgado, his own continued employment depended upon the efficient execution of his duties. La Bruja would not allow him the benefit of the doubt if he made a mistake; likewise, he himself would not have been able to forgive Oscar even if he was minded to, and he was not.
He took another sip of the vodka tonic and put it down on the bar. He took his phone from his pocket and opened the encrypted messaging app that he used when he needed to speak with the cartel. He opened a fresh message and typed.
Situation is not promising.
He pressed send, waited for the phone to indicate that the message had been delivered, and then put it back in his pocket again. He collected his drink and walked back to the window. The first jet had landed, and another was already in the latter stages of its descent. That was the thing about Vegas. It never slowed down; new potential customers were continually arriving. It might not have been on the vast scale of Los Angeles, but it was awash with money, and he was sure that he was right: they could not continue to entrust those opportunities to someone as lackadaisical as Oscar Delgado.
Another jet would arrive soon, and it would deliver a sicario to correct the errors that had been made.
It was time for a change.
40
Milton called Beau and arranged to meet him down by the pool. ‘Maniac’ by Michael Sembello was playing loudly over a PA and, as Milton came outside, he saw that there was some sort of exercise session taking place. A buff instructor wearing Lycra and a microphone was facing a line of elderly men and women as they followed his instructions in the water. The music and his overenthusiastic exhortations were amplified by a small speaker that he had set up at the edge of the pool.
Beau was waiting and, as Milton joined him, he nodded down at the curious display. “Progress,” he observed. “Ain’t it grand.”
Milton led the way to a spare table and sat down.
Beau sat opposite. “So?”
“I called Delgado,” Milton said.
Beau cocked an eyebrow. “And how’d that go?”
“He was full of bluster.”
“Bluster he can probably back up.”
“Maybe,” Milton said. “But I’ve heard it all be
fore.”
“Does he still have the old man?”
“He does. Beaten up a little, but I think he’s still alive.”
“Lucky for him.”
The track changed to ‘Livin’ La Vida Loca.’ The instructor somehow found even more enthusiasm.
“I suggested a swap,” Milton said. “The money for Russo.”
“And Delgado’s good with that?”
“Said that he’d do it.”
“You can’t trust him to play it straight. Man like that’ll be as crooked as a barrel of fish hooks.”
“I know that. But it might be something that we can manage without getting everyone shot to pieces.”
“You give any thought to where you might wanna do that?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Somewhere quiet where I can control the environment. You got any ideas?”
Beau stroked his whiskers. “I can think of one,” he said. “There was this one skipper I went after six months ago. Skinny little tweaker, ornery as all hell, jumped bail and went down to his daddy’s place outside Goodsprings. There’s an old gas station just outside the town. Been out of action for years. They were cooking meth in back. I went in with a shotgun.”
“Describe it.”
Beau closed his eyes. “So you got the gas station, the store alongside, and then nothing anywhere near it. It’s in the middle of nowhere. You’ll get the odd car now and again, but that’s it.”
“And at night?”
“Only living things out there will be coyotes and snakes.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“You want to check it out before?”
“I would.”
“Now?”
“Sure.”
Beau got up and stretched. He looked over Milton’s shoulder and gave a nod. Milton turned and saw that Jessica was walking toward them.
