by Ty Patterson
Roger took the phone.
‘Yeah. All your men are dead.’ He attached a photo of Pacho and pressed Send.
The response came a full minute later.
‘Who are you?’
‘The ones behind you.’
Roger could almost feel Zubia glance over his shoulder.
He typed.
‘Keep looking. You’ll spot us soon.’
‘Then you’ll be dead.’
Zubia looked at the last message and stamped out the uneasy feeling in him.
The Voice had told him Carter was a formidable opponent; he had found out the hard way how formidable he was.
One man had taken out seventeen men of his, good men, one of whom had been his friend. He shook his head angrily. This wasn’t the time to mourn Pacho. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by emotion.
He picked up another phone and dialed the Voice and told the man in short clipped sentences what had happened.
The Voice listened in shocked silence, and when he recovered and began to speak, Zubia cut him off.
‘I cannot help you now. I am hounded by the Sinaloa dogs. I cannot spare any more people.’
The Voice protested, but Zubia was coldly implacable.
‘I can get other women whenever I want. These two are not worth the trouble they have caused me.’
It wasn’t that their relationship had ended or that the end game had changed, he told the gringo. It was just that he, Zubia, had other problems at his doorstep. The Voice would have to fight his own battles.
The Voice argued for half an hour more, but Zubia was unmoved.
He swore loudly when the call ended.
Gringos. They always talked too much.
Connor with the IFPD when the police arrived at the house. He ran a hand through his hair as he surveyed the scene and shook his head in disbelief.
‘You guys intending to stick around for a while? We could clean up a few states.’
They spent the next couple of hours with Connor and the cops. At the FBI agent’s shout, a medic attended to Zeb’s injuries and gave him a few shots. As dawn was breaking, for the second time in the span of a few days, the dead were carried away.
It was mid morning before they allowed the women back to Maggie’s home. Lurette and she inspected the house, and when she’d finished, she smiled warmly at Zeb and Roger.
‘Thank you. I was expecting far worse, but it looks like other than the carpet and some minor work, the house will be as good as new.’
Lurette snorted and poked Zeb with her cane. ‘You can bet this was not how this one planned it. He has darkness about him. He’s probably thinking the house should’ve burnt on top of those guys.’
She grinned broadly at Roger’s consternation. ‘Relax, kid. Your friend Zeb and I read each other very well. He knows I was joshing.’
It was evening when Roger found Zeb sprawled on a chair in the living room, his eyes shut, in front of the taped window, outside the line of direct sight.
The evening sun bathed the room in orange and golden rays, and one of them illuminated him.
He studied him in silence; they were alike in many ways, of similar build and with backgrounds neither of them talked about. After leaving the army, Bwana and he had found family in Zeb and the rest of their team. Roger now knew what home meant when he was with his friends.
Roger and the others had once discussed Zeb in his absence and had wondered what it was about him that inspired such loyalty.
Bwana had replied simply. ‘What wouldn’t you do for a man who gave everything of himself and expected nothing from you?’
Dust motes danced in the beams of the sun, relishing the warmth, and Roger knew how they felt.
‘Relax, Rog. You’re better looking than me,’ Zeb said quietly without opening his eyes.
‘Never doubted it. That wasn’t what I was thinking. I left all that solo climbing and diving to come to this? Next time, Zeb, arrange a better challenge, will you?’
He paused and turned around as the twins barged in the room.
He grinned at them and got the finger from Meghan. ‘You’re too old for us, almost a geezer.’
He laughed. ‘I’m just practicing my smile, ma’am.’
'That's all you'll get to practise on us.'
She threw herself in a chair next to Zeb’s, looked at him, and turned back to Roger.
‘How do you put up with the racket he makes?’
She high-fived her sister, who nudged Zeb.
‘Wise One, these guys wanted to kidnap us and sell us to dog turds? All these attacks – they were because we fit some kind of profile for Zubia’s slavery and prostitution business?’
Zeb opened his eyes. ‘Rog, you remember the hoods Bwana and you came across in Arizona?’
In a previous mission, when holidaying in Peck Canyon in Arizona, Bwana and Roger had come across a gang of coyotes – human smugglers who worked the Mexican/U.S border.
Bandits smuggled thousands of illegal immigrants each year, and many died as they made the perilous journey across the desert as they desperately chased the American dream.
Bwana and Roger had busted a gang of coyotes who were smuggling women in the opposite direction – from the U.S. to Mexico. The gang was into human trafficking and kidnapped women and sold them to the highest bidder.
‘That was a different gang but the pattern is similar.’ Roger said.
‘You’re sure of this?’ Beth asked them.
Zeb dug out his phone, opened the picture app and showed them messages from Pacho’s phone.
They started from the day Zubia spotted them at the hotel.
The sisters read them slowly and paused over two.
‘Twins get a good price. They don’t have family.’
‘Krone has fucked up. Kill him. Get the girls. Unharmed. Any damage will lower their value.’
Zeb saw Beth’s hand whiten on the phone. He reached out to take his phone back, she backed off and they read the rest of the messages in silence.
He saw something move in her eyes when she returned his phone. Rage.
She looked at Roger. ‘That time in Arizona. What did you do?’
Roger looked at her and said simply, ‘We dealt with it.’
She returned his gaze for long moments, relaxed finally when Meghan squeezed her shoulder.
Meghan’s green eyes rested on Zeb. ‘That guy you killed, he was Zubia’s number two? Will the gangster come seeking revenge?’
‘Nope. He can’t afford to lose any more people. He has a bigger and more dangerous enemy breathing down his neck.’
There was a message from Zubia to Pacho that said exactly that.
He looked at both of them.
‘It’s over.’
They sat motionless for a long time, and slowly their bodies loosened as they absorbed Zeb’s words.
Beth breathed deeply, looked out at the setting sun and Zeb knew what she was thinking.
‘Life begins.’
Roger stayed back with Zeb in the living room once the sisters left. It was dark, but they didn’t bother to turn on the lights. The dark was as much a friend to them as the day.
‘It’s over for them. They can go back to Boston and resume their lives,’ Roger said conversationally. His friend lay motionless, but he knew Zeb was listening.
‘I know you, Zeb. It’s not over for you. When are we going to Mexico?’
Chapter 20
They were in Jackson two days later; they planned to be there for less than a week for the sisters to spend time with Kelly and Liz before they headed back to Boston.
On the third day, Roger walked into the lobby of their hotel near Town Square and joined Zeb. The hotel was busy with tourists checking in or heading to the square to catch breakfast and start the day.
Zeb was sprawled in a casual pose of his from which he could uncoil into action in a fraction of a second with liquid smoothness.
The lobby had comfortable chairs scattered around a small glass table on
which were the ubiquitous travel magazines. All the chairs had a view of the concierge and the elevators.
Roger looked at Zeb curiously; lobbies were not where he preferred to spend his time. He looked around and then understood.
Zeb was watching a man seated diagonally opposite him; a man with thick brown hair, stubble over his lower face, his brown eyes focused on the elevators. He was dressed in a brown T-shirt over a pair of jeans that hung low on his waist. The man looked up every time the elevator dinged and went back to flipping through the magazine in front of him when he didn’t spot who he was looking for.
‘How long has he been here?’ Roger asked him in a conversational voice. His voice was just another in the ambient noise in the busy hotel.
‘Spotted him yesterday. He followed the ladies when they headed out, noted where they went, and has been here since early morning today.’
Zeb looked at Roger. They didn’t need to say anything. Krone’s reward was still out there.
Two hours later the twins stepped out, and Roger accompanied them.
Zeb shadowed the follower, who was walking a hundred feet behind them in plain sight. He had little tradecraft and looked blankly around whenever the women stopped at a storefront.
Low-level hood looking to establish a routine and inform others.
Zeb waited for space to open up in the Brownian motion of pedestrian traffic, and when it did, he closed the gap.
To onlookers, the watcher weaved, stumbled and fell.
‘He’s had too much to drink. I’ve got this, thanks,’ Zeb called out to a couple of men who looked as if they might hurry across to help.
He leaned across the fallen man, one hand casually across his chest, digging deep in his abdomen, another pressing a nerve point at the side of his neck. Just enough for pain to flare through the man.
‘You looking to grab the girls and get that reward?’
Sweat popped out over the man’s forehead as he shook his head wildly.
‘Fuck’s sake, let me go. Who the hell are you, dude?’ His voice was hoarse with pain.
Zeb pressed harder, and the man writhed.
‘Yes, for crissakes, yes.’
‘How many of you?’
‘Three. Steve, Joe and me.’ The man’s eyes bobbed in his sockets.
‘What’s your name?’
The man hesitated and then uttered a soundless scream. ‘Carl. I’m Carl.’
‘And after you’ve grabbed them?’
‘Steve said he knows this man Garcia in Cheyenne. He’ll have the money for us.’
‘The man who’s offered the reward has withdrawn it. Guess why?’
The follower licked his lips and remained silent.
‘He’s dead. I killed him.’
Zeb didn’t think it was possible for a man to look even more terrified.
He was wrong.
‘Spread the word. If I catch you or any of your guys or just any random Joe following the women or even looking in their direction, I will find you and kill you. Slowly.’
The fallen man looked into twin pools of darkness, and words stuck in his throat. The finger against his neck tightened, and he grunted hoarsely in pain and nodded.
Carl’s gang was holed up in an RV park an hour away from town. Their motor home was at the far end of the park and stank of alcohol and urine. Bottles were piled under the RV, and a trace of weed hung in the air.
Zeb watched it for a few hours, having followed Carl, and when it turned dark, he approached it.
He knocked and ducked out of sight when a face appeared at a window.
He knocked again, and a voice shouted indistinctly from inside.
He knocked a third time, and the door was flung open.
He kicked the man inside, stepped in, and shut the door.
The man, sporting a beer gut that his shirt couldn’t contain, wheezed and gasped. He keeled over when Zeb kicked him again in the groin.
Carl and another man, frizzy haired, watched open mouthed from a couch across the trailer.
Frizzy shouted. ‘Hey! Who the fuck are you?’
He started across at Zeb.
Zeb closed the gap, grabbed him, pulled him close and head-butted him.
Frizzy’s nose burst, and he went down clutching his eyes, blood streaming down his face.
Zeb approached Carl, who sank back and tried to disappear in the couch.
‘These two are Steve and Joe?’
Carl nodded wordlessly.
‘Did you tell them about backing off?’
‘Yeah, man, I did.’ The words rushed out. He didn’t want any part of this dude.
‘Remind them again when they’re able to understand. Where can I find Garcia in Cheyenne?’
Zeb got back to the hotel and paused when he saw them.
The sisters were laughing at something Roger had just said. Sitting by his side was a shaggy-haired blond who had a laptop open in front of him.
Roger looked at him approaching and nudged Broker. ‘Told you he wouldn’t be surprised at your arrival. The Good Lord could arrive in person and our man wouldn’t lift an eyebrow.’
Broker replied with a poker face, ‘That’s just the façade. Inside, I know he’s turning cartwheels in joy.’
That cracked them up, and when they’d calmed down, he hugged Zeb.
‘I couldn’t stay away. New York was getting boring without you guys. Besides I wanted to meet these famous ladies.’
‘It’s a suicide mission,’ Broker shouted at him.
The three men had grouped in Zeb’s room once the sisters had gone to theirs.
‘Do you know how many times the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) and other Federal and deep-black agencies, along with the Mexican forces, have tried to take out any cartel heads? And you’re talking about going there and silencing Zubia? It can’t be done, Zeb.’ He tried to reason with Zeb.
Zeb ignored him, crossed his arms and legs, and looked out of the window of his room. He knew what Broker was trying to do, but his mind was made up.
Broker looked at Roger to rope him in.
‘Hey, don’t look at me that way, buddy. You know as well as me that once Zeb makes his mind, nothing can change it.’
He grinned slyly at Broker.
‘You have to admit it, though, going to that den and eliminating him would be some badass mission.’
Broker swore long and hard at them, looked at them and sighed.
A smile broke on his face finally.
‘I have to say I missed all this. Nothing exciting is passing my desk these days. Intel on politicians, oil companies, and the usual crap. Even Clare has no mission for us. She was danged surprised when we found Krone so quickly. I might as well help you plumb the depths of your stupidity.’
He rose and plugged in his laptop.
‘I couldn’t find anything on the Jackson P.D. mole. How much longer do you want me to continue digging into that?’
Zeb looked out of the window, in the distance he could just make out the Town Hall. ‘Keep Werner on it. It doesn’t matter now. Zubia will not act and without him, the mole doesn’t have a job.’
‘Why don’t we ask Kelly to look into it?’ Roger mused.
‘Good idea. I’ll tell him.’
Broker’s fingers flew across his keyboard.
‘Okay, you need to know everything about Zubia, his mansion, security, and all that shit, right?’
Zeb nodded.
‘When do you plan to go?’
‘A few weeks after the kids are settled back in their life in Boston.’
Broker turned at him incredulously.
‘You going to babysit them?’
A rare smile crossed Zeb’s face. ‘Don’t look at me like that. You know me well enough by now. Making sure they’re back and okay in Boston was always part of the plan.’
He thought about his next comment and couldn’t resist. ‘And before you dig up anything on Zubia, why don’t you find out all that you can on a dirtbag ca
lled Garcia?
‘I’m going to Cheyenne tomorrow to read the book to him.’
Chapter 21
Garcia’s auto garage was set back on a street that catered to the automotive trade. Tire stores, spare parts retailers and car washes dotted either side of his garage. A Taco van was parked in front of his garage and was doing a brisk business when Zeb wheeled in his rented Cherokee.
Customers filling their bellies while their cars got their insides serviced.
He was motioned forward by a mechanic and eased into a parking bay. The garage had five mechanics that he could see, all of them busy on vehicles mounted on hydraulic jacks. There were ten more vehicles in the forecourt, Zeb’s ride the eleventh.
A glass-walled office faced the visitor parking bays.
Zeb pushed the door open, and it rang a bell behind the empty counter.
An inner door opened, and a short man with a drooping moustache came out, carrying with him the smell of onions and grease.
‘Yeah, what can I do for you?’
He squinted over Zeb’s shoulder. ‘The Cherokee’s yours? Needs fixing?’
Zeb pushed a photograph of the twins at him. ‘You found them?’
Garcia looked down and hesitated for a fraction. ‘Who are you, man? What’s this about? I haven’t seen those women before. If they’re missing, you should go to the cops.’
Zeb pushed another photograph, Kelly’s. ‘Maybe you’ve seen him before?’
Garcia’s face paled, but he replied firmly, ‘Dude, this is a garage not a lost people office. I haven’t seen this guy either. If you’ve got no car business, I suggest you leave.’
Zeb’s hand shot out, grabbed Garcia by his shirt, and hauled him against the counter.
‘Hey, what the–?’
Zeb slapped him with his other hand. ‘Now do you remember?’
Garcia’s face turned red. ‘Let go of me,’ he shouted.
Zeb slapped him again.
A side door pushed open, and a mechanic poked his head through. ‘Boss, we’ve–’
He stopped and gaped.
‘Your boss is busy,’ Zeb told him without turning around, and the head disappeared quickly.
