by Dean, Jason
Bishop sat back down. He glanced out the front and saw the Explorer was still the only vehicle in the lot. The fog had thinned out a little, but there wasn’t a whole lot to see. Just dormant farmland in the distance and a road that was still completely empty of traffic.
Strickland turned to look. ‘You checked she didn’t bring a spare key with her, right?’
‘Back at the house.’
‘Okay.’ Strickland looked down at the table. ‘I have to tell you, Bishop, I didn’t like hearing that part about the kid at the end. I didn’t like that part at all.’
‘Be glad you didn’t have to witness it first-hand. It’s not an image I’ll ever forget.’
‘That isn’t what—’ Strickland paused as Toby came back and placed the same urn in the centre of the table.
‘Anything else you need?’ Toby asked.
‘We’re good, thanks,’ Bishop said. The owner stared at them both for a beat, then gave a single nod and went away.
Bishop poured himself some more as Strickland continued, ‘That isn’t exactly what I meant, Bishop. All you did was highlight the fact that we’re dealing with a couple of assholes who make a habit of tying up all loose ends, no matter what. And they haven’t got too many scruples about wasting kids, either. When I heard you talking about that Andrew, all I could see was Barn’s scared face as he hit that detonator. We both know what kind of animals we’re dealing with here, so what makes you think they’ll ever let Barney go free?’
‘What happened before won’t happen this time, Strickland. I’ll be there to make sure Barney comes out of this in one piece.’
‘But you can’t guarantee that.’
‘Nobody can guarantee anything. But you’ll just have to trust me on this, that’s all. I keep my promises, and if I’m not able to this time it’ll be because I’m dead.’
Bishop needed to end this line of thought, fast. Further worrying about Barney’s situation couldn’t serve any useful purpose, not when they needed all their concentration for getting through the coming day in one piece. Recalling Paul Mechner’s comment about Hartnell’s business partner, he said, ‘Where does he get his coke from?’
Strickland looked up from the table, mouth open. ‘Huh? What?’
‘Hartnell’s been one of the US’s leading distributors for the last couple of decades, right? And I assume it all comes from somewhere south of the border, but where? Colombia? Bolivia? Peru?’
‘What difference does it make now?’
‘How do I know until you tell me? At this point, all information is useful information. So who’s Hartnell’s supplier? You must know.’
Strickland jerked his shoulders. ‘He’s got a long-term partner over in Mexico keeps him supplied with shit. One of the major cartel bosses down there, name of Rafael Guzman. Ever hear of him?’
Bishop frowned. ‘The name sounds familiar. Can’t quite place it, though.’
‘Well, he’s a major-league badass, believe me. He’s also been in the game for as long as Hartnell, and you know how long the average life expectancy is for guys like that, which means he must be doing something right.’
‘But they don’t manufacture coke in Mexico, so where does Guzman get it from?’
‘Peru, I think. I don’t know for sure. Hartnell and his higher-ups always kept everything nice and compartmentalized when I was working for him. You knew your part, and you soon learned everything else was none of your business.’
Bishop picked up his mug. Drank some coffee. He thought for a few moments, then said, ‘And whose responsibility is it to get the coke into the States? Hartnell’s?’
‘Like I said, I don’t know too much about that side, but I think they share the risk. No idea how they do it, but each time they’ve gotten the stuff through without any problems so I imagine we’re talking some major payoffs somewhere along the line.’
Bishop nodded. ‘How long is “long-term”?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You said Hartnell and Guzman were long-term partners. How long is that?’
‘Fifteen years, maybe twenty. Something like that.’
Bishop gave a low whistle. ‘That’s an unbelievable amount of time for a business relationship, especially for the drug trade. But surely if this Guzman survived as a cartel boss for this long, then it’s a given that he’s burned a lot of enemies and competitors along the way. And probably in very nasty ways. They like to make big statements down there.’
‘I guess. What’s your point?’
‘So what the hell are Guzman and Hartnell still doing together? A man like that would surely have tried to take over Hartnell’s part of the operation for himself by now. Too much is never enough for these kinds of people. Sooner or later, they always want to get their hands on everything, and Guzman doesn’t strike me as the shrinking violet type.’
Strickland sat back in his seat. ‘Well, there were some rumours back in the day that Guzman might try something like that, but it never came to anything. The way I heard it – and this is all third-hand, remember, so it’s probably equal parts exaggeration and bullshit – was that one of the rival cartels decided to go after Guzman one time. The story is the hit team somehow got into his compound but he wasn’t there, so they grabbed his sister instead. His elder sister, his only living relative, apparently. So they took her away and soon got in touch and told Guzman he had three days to hand himself over to them or they’d send her back to him in pieces.’
‘Sounds familiar.’
‘Yeah, right. This Guzman went crazy, of course. And he was probably half-crazy to start with. He had his men search that whole section of the country trying to find her, but they kept coming up blank, so Hartnell heard about this and sent about a hundred of his best guys over to Mexico to help find her. And a day before the deadline Hartnell’s people helped locate the kidnappers’ hideout, only to discover she’d been dead for a while already. The kidnappers had raped her repeatedly, then just slit her throat and let her bleed out. Or maybe she’d slit her own throat out of shame. Nobody knows. Of course, Guzman was ready to declare war on everybody at that point, but Hartnell’s guys somehow managed to grab the head of the rival cartel and his family, and basically delivered them right to Guzman’s doorstep. You can pretty much guess what happened to them next. But the end result was Guzman never forgot what Hartnell did for him.’
Bishop made a face. ‘And that’s why they’re still together after all this time? Doesn’t sound too likely, does it?’
‘Hey, it’s just what I heard. There’s probably a lot more to it than that, but there has to be some reason why they’re still pals.’
Bishop couldn’t argue with that part. There was always a reason. Always.
He thought about this new wrinkle as he watched Toby stroll over to the front door. The owner just stood there, looking out as he straightened the OPEN/CLOSED sign. When he headed back towards the kitchen area, Bishop realized Clea had been gone for some time now. He no longer had a watch, but he guessed it was about five or six minutes – far too long for a bathroom break. But the Explorer was still out front, and he hadn’t seen any other movement outside.
He was about to get up and check when he looked over at the front door again.
Something was different. The OPEN part of the sign was now visible, when it hadn’t been before. It meant Toby had just turned the sign round, yet it was still only six in the morning, or thereabouts. It couldn’t possibly be closing time yet.
‘Uh, Bishop?’ Strickland said, carefully putting down his cup on the table. He was staring intently at something past Bishop’s left shoulder.
Bishop slowly turned his head and saw Toby standing behind the counter where the two previous customers had been sitting.
He was also holding a shotgun. And it was pointed right in their direction.
FORTY-ONE
‘Hey, be cool, Toby,’ Bishop said, adding a fake quiver to his voice. ‘We weren’t planning to stiff you on the check or anything. T
here’s no need for guns.’
‘Shut up,’ Toby said, ‘and don’t neither of you move an inch.’
He raised the weapon for emphasis and Bishop saw it was a Mossberg 500 pump. He’d used the same model back in the Corps. It had a five-round tube magazine with one in the chamber, and could stop a rhino at fifty yards. So they said. He’d never thought to test it out. Toby’s left hand was supporting the walnut forestock, while his right was tight around the grip, the index finger resting against the trigger. The black steel barrel remained very still.
‘I never argue with a man with a gun,’ Bishop said, staying just as motionless. His own Glock was still in his rear waistband, with no possible way to get to it. ‘Mind telling me what’s going on?’
‘Sure, I don’t mind,’ Toby said. ‘Remember those two guys I was talking to when you came in? Well, they’re brothers who also happen to be good acquaintances of mine. And one of them called me a short while ago and told me something real interesting. He said they were listening to the radio in their pick-up and the news was going on about that massacre in Vegas yesterday when Zack all of a sudden remembered where he’d seen your face before. He said he was sure you were the driver of that SUV who took that witness guy and his kid, and that maybe it would be a good idea if I held you all here until they get back.’
Strickland said, ‘Look, mister, I think you got us confused with—’
‘Shut your hole,’ Toby said and came over to their booth, stopping a few feet away from Strickland. ‘You think I’m stupid? As soon as I hung up I checked the internet and pulled up that photo that guy took of you. And this one here’s the driver and you’re the other one, the witness, just with a new haircut. Say you ain’t and I’ll wrap this barrel round your face. Pretty you up. You want that?’
Strickland shook his head. ‘No.’
‘Smart move. So who’s the skirt? Some little piece you picked up along the way?’
‘Just some storekeeper we ran into,’ Bishop said, knowing there was no point in lying. ‘We needed her vehicle, and brought her along in case we got stopped at a roadblock.’
‘That’s better,’ Toby said. ‘I’ll go get her in a tick, but right now I want both of you to put your hands on the table, palms down, like you were at a séance or something.’
Both men did as they were told.
Toby pointed the barrel at Bishop. ‘You, take off those glasses. One hand.’
Bishop raised his right hand and took the glasses off and set them down on the seat next to him. He put his hand back on the tabletop.
Toby studied him and slowly nodded his head. ‘Yeah, you’re him, all right. They also mentioned a kid on the TV. Where’s he?’
‘He was grabbed by the people who are after me,’ Strickland said. ‘We’re on our way to get him back.’
‘Bullshit.’ Toby turned his attention to Bishop again. ‘Now they said on TV that you were armed, so what I want you to do next is put your hardware on the table. What you packing?’
‘A Glock.’
‘Where is it?’
‘In the back of my waistband.’
‘Okay, let’s see it, but slow.’
Bishop had been keeping his attention on Toby, but he’d also just seen something interesting out the corner of his eye. Some kind of movement along the bottom of one of the front windows. He was sure of it. It had looked like the top of somebody’s head as they slunk past, towards the Explorer, which could only mean Clea had decided to make a run for it. That was good news. Maybe she’d make some kind of sound that would divert Toby’s attention for a couple of seconds, just long enough for Bishop to overpower him and get everything back on track again. That was all he needed.
He was trying to remember if he’d locked the doors when Toby said, ‘Don’t make me tell you again.’
Bishop couldn’t delay any longer. He raised his left hand from the table and slowly brought it back to his waistband. He was watching the shotgun barrel. It didn’t waver at all. He gripped the pistol and just as slowly pulled it out. Bringing the gun round without making any sudden movements, Bishop gently placed it in the centre of the table.
‘Okay,’ Toby said, ‘now slide it across to me.’
Bishop gave the gun a push with the edge of his hand. It slid across the table surface, fell over the side and clattered onto the floor. He heard Toby slide it away with his foot, but he was paying more attention to the window to the left of the front door: the one with the view of the Explorer. He watched as the driver’s side door opened a few inches and then closed, all without a sound. But he now remembered he had locked the vehicle before coming inside. Clea must have hidden a spare key somewhere on the Explorer’s undercarriage. He’d made a check of the vehicle back at the house, but it had already been dark at that point and he could easily have missed it. Now he was glad he had.
‘Now open out your pants pockets,’ Toby said. ‘Slowly, and one at a time.’
Bishop pulled out his empty left pants pocket with his left hand. He placed that hand on the table and then used his right to pull open the other pants pocket, also empty. Then he put that hand back on the table. He was waiting for Clea to start the Explorer’s engine. The moment Toby’s attention was diverted he’d move. Not easy when he was stuck in a booth like this, but he had to try.
‘Now your jacket,’ Toby said. ‘Take it off and throw it over.’
‘There’s just a cell phone in the inside pocket,’ Bishop said. ‘That’s all.’
‘Yeah? Well, my pop once said a man who don’t check the important stuff himself deserves everything he gets, so just do what I tell you and take it off.’
Bishop began slipping his arms out of the jacket. He was precisely half in and half out when the Explorer’s diesel engine suddenly roared into life out front, the whine quickly rising in pitch as Clea pressed down on the gas pedal.
‘What the hell?’ Toby said, stepping two paces back.
Clea’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Bishop was still trapped half in and half out of his suit jacket. He began to slip the jacket back on when Toby quickly said, ‘Keep those arms where they are, boy. One wrong move and it’ll be the last move you ever make. That goes for both of you.’
Bishop believed him. His chance had gone. He didn’t move. Just glanced out the window again as the Explorer’s rear wheels skidded against the dirt, then the vehicle took off like a rocket. Racing across the parking lot, Clea didn’t even pause at the entrance opening. She just steered the vehicle left and took the turn, and disappeared from sight.
FORTY-TWO
‘Well, how about that?’ Toby said, a faint smile on his lips. ‘Guess she just didn’t like the food. But it does kinda put me in a pickle. And you, too.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ Bishop said as he slowly put his jacket back on.
‘Well, I figure she’s probably on her way to the cops,’ Toby said, grabbing the Glock from the floor and sticking it in his own rear waistband, ‘and I wouldn’t like that. Nor would my partners.’
Bishop frowned. ‘You’re not planning on handing us over to the law then?’
Toby gave a snort of derision. ‘Shit, what good would that do us?’
‘So what is it you want?’
‘Money, of course. Dough. Payola. What the hell do you think?’
‘I see. And where’s this imaginary money coming from?’
‘It’s coming from you, pal. You, or the people you work for.’
Bishop shrugged with genuine puzzlement. ‘You’ve completely lost me now. What are you talking about?’
‘Don’t try that innocent act on me, pal. I told you we ain’t stupid. Now on the news this morning they all been figuring that this guy here has to be the main witness in that big murder trial tomorrow morning in Ohio. The one with that Hartnell fella. Am I right?’
So the media finally narrowed things down and made the connection to the Hartnell trial, Bishop thought. Sure took them long enough. ‘So what?’ he said.
‘So, they also figured you must be working for this Hartnell guy and are getting paid to deliver this witness to him before the trial starts. And we happen to agree with them.’
‘Well, they’re wrong. I was hired by one of the marshals as an extra man on site, in case there was—’
‘No more bullshit,’ Toby interrupted. ‘’cause it ain’t gonna wash with me. Now we all reckon if this witness here is worth so much to this Hartnell, then he surely won’t mind paying a teensy little bit extra in order for us to let you go on your way as soon as possible. Especially as we ain’t greedy types. We figure fifty grand per man, which is chicken feed to someone like him, but for us it’s enough to pay off our bookies at the track and still have a few bucks left over.’
Bishop glanced at Strickland, unable to believe what he was hearing. These idiots had to be living in another world. There was no other explanation for it. Even if half of what they believed was true, did they honestly think a truly ruthless bastard like Hartnell would ever submit to a shakedown by a trio of amateurs such as themselves? He’d have them executed without a second thought. That’s after he’d roasted them over an open fire first.
But what could he say? This Toby was clearly convinced Bishop was part of Hartnell’s organization and that was that. And Bishop wasn’t about to change his mind now it was made up. The guy could already smell the money he knew was coming his way. But it gave Bishop an idea too.
‘We are so screwed,’ Strickland groaned, his head in his hands. ‘It’s a choice of the Three Stooges here or the cops. Either way, we’re done.’
‘Watch your goddamn mouth,’ Toby said.
‘The cops aren’t about to show,’ Bishop said.
‘No?’ Toby raised an eyebrow. ‘How come?’
‘Yeah,’ Strickland said. ‘What’s stopping Clea from heading to the nearest station right now?’
‘Her own conscience,’ Bishop said. ‘Last night in the car she was clearly affected by the conversation between you and Barney, and she knows if the cops get a hold of you he’ll suffer for it. She’s got a daughter the same age, remember. No, right now she’s heading back to her normal life and her little shop in Colorado. She won’t be calling the cops. In fact, she’s probably hoping we make it.’
