“Not your typical jail accommodations, is it?” Hollis said. “Your suite mate must be in the shower. Cleanest hood I’ve ever seen.”
“Who?” I rubbed my wrist.
“Lazaro Morales. The guest of honor, so to speak.”
“I want a lawyer.” Piper grabbed the bars.
“Shut up.” Hollis looked both ways. Then he smiled at me and touched his crooked face. “Our personal tally sheet isn’t balanced yet. Business comes first.”
The holding area was still empty, just like when we arrived seconds before.
“Here.” He pulled a pistol from the small of his back and handed it to me, butt first.
I didn’t touch it. A couple thousand tricks and bad scenarios played out in my mind.
“It’s not gonna bite. Take it, willya?” He held up a ring. “And here’s the key too.”
“What are you doing?” I said.
“Morales has got a lot of good intel to offer up.” Hollis looked around again, lowered his voice. “Let’s just say I want to double-down on the fact that he lives until your witness testifies and we’ve got him by the short hairs.”
“You think there’s somebody out there who can take him out?” I said.
“The NSA reported unusual cell chatter at the crossing south of here.” He shrugged. “That asswipe of an attorney upstairs is not in the loop on this either. Just you two and me.”
“And you trust us?” I still had not taken the items offered. “You trust me?”
“And don’t forget Keith McCluskey.” Hollis ignored my statement. “He’s got a lot of firepower at his disposal. If you’re right and he’s coming back here…” He rolled his eyes.
“Jon, let’s not overanalyze,” Piper said. “Take the gun and the keys.”
“Listen to your partner. I have to trust you on this.” Hollis shook his head.
I took the gun and keys.
“Besides, you’re a damn sight more honest than your father.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Oh, jeez.” Piper sat on one of the beds, looked at Hollis. “Don’t get him wound up on Dad.”
“You haven’t figured it out?” Hollis buttoned his coat. “Great. You’re honest but dumb.”
“What are you talking about?” I stuck the pistol in my waistband, covered by my shirt.
“Those drugs they found in your father’s squad car.”
I didn’t say anything.
“They weren’t planted,” he said. “Your old man was in bed with the traffickers way back when.”
I sat down next to Piper.
“Frank Cantrell was the first Shield.” Hollis turned and left.
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR -
I stared at the floor in the makeshift jail cell, not really seeing. My mind churned—Frank Cantrell, my father—a cartel employee?
Piper looked around. “This is nicer than the bedbug sanctuary last night.”
I didn’t say anything.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry.” She craned her head like she was listening.
“Huh?” I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“About your old man. I’m sorry you had to hear that about him.”
I wanted to say something but had no words. Cartel employee or not, the thought of my father, not of sound mind, alone in the vastness of Texas, filled me with dread.
“He seems like a nice guy,” she said. “And he tried to be a good father, didn’t he?”
Around the corner of the hallway came the sound of a door clanging shut as Hollis left.
I didn’t say anything.
“You turned out more or less okay,” she said. “That says something about him as a person, right?”
I was in a jail cell in West Texas. Dead broke, wanted for half a dozen felonies. Trending toward “less okay” at the moment.
“Let’s get out of here.” She pointed to the door.
“What are you talking about?” I rubbed a finger over the teeth of the key Hollis had given me.
“We’re not gonna get paid,” she said. “Plus, they’re probably going to stick us with all the crimes that went down on the trip out here.”
I stared at her, tried to make sense of her words. Fatigue settled over me like depression at an old folks’ home.
A row of squat windows, secured from the exterior by bars, lined the top of the far wall. They were about shoulder high in relation to the basement floor but appeared to be at ground level with the outside.
“The suit with the screwed-up mouth gave us a present.” Piper grasped my arm, pulled me close. “Let’s use it. Get out of here while the US Attorney’s still sorting things out.”
“W-w-where would we go?” I looked at the key.
“We wouldn’t go anywhere,” she said. “We would get out of here with that key, and then me would hit the road.”
“I don’t understand.”
“At the motel this morning. I was looking in the window when you kissed Eva.”
The blood drained from my face. She nodded knowingly.
“You don’t understand.” I shook my head. “She kissed me—”
Noise from the other cell.
The door in the corner opened and Lazaro Morales appeared, sauntering out like a hustler entering a pool hall, his presence filling the room with an undercurrent of energy that was hard to define. It certainly wasn’t his clothes. He was dressed like a border town street thug—black jeans, red Puma sneakers, and a yellow polo shirt with oversized numerals on each sleeve.
“Look at what we got here. A lady to keep me company.” Morales strolled across the room, eyes on Piper. “Tu eres muy bonita.”
Piper crossed her arms.
“I know a place in Acapulco.” He slipped his hands through the bars between our cells, forearms on the cross beam. “Overlooks the cliffs. The best ceviche in the world.”
He had a face designed by Michelangelo, but inspired by Clooney and Depp. Smooth, dimpled cheeks, chiseled chin, wavy black hair. Long silky lashes over eyes that were the color of smoke except when the light hit them at a certain angle. Then they were black like midnight in winter.
“Your boyfriend looks like a cop,” Morales said. “Why does a señorita bonita like you hang with somebody like that?”
In the space of a few seconds, the new arrival had filled the basement with confidence and charisma. Not hard to see how he’d risen in the ranks of the cartel. Or how a naive party girl like Eva had fallen for him. If circumstances had played out a little differently, he could have been a politician or a CEO of a Fortune 500 company.
“What’s your name, cop?” He pointed a finger at me. “Why you locked up?”
I ignored his questions. “How did they catch you?”
“A traitor.” He sucked at a tooth, lip curling. “To be dealt with at a later date, you can bet on that.”
Piper cleared her throat. “You, uh, seem awful sure you’re getting out of here.”
“A voice like an angel to match the body. You and me, we could have a good time.” Morales laced his fingers together, flexed the knuckles. “Tell me this, angel. You ever seen a billion dollars in cash?”
Piper didn’t reply.
“That much money takes up this whole room.” He paused. “Now guess how many rooms I’ve got, angel?”
From outside, the sound of car doors slamming. Lots of them, very loud like the occupants were in a hurry. Piper and I looked at each other but didn’t speak. New arrivals didn’t bode well for any of us. Our suite mate didn’t seem to notice.
“You’re the prize,” I said. “I wouldn’t count on taking a walk.”
More doors slammed. Shouts.
I strode to the window, fearful now. Piper stayed by the cell door.
“It’s been arranged already, comprendes?” Morales stepped from the bars, yawned and stretched. “Guy from Washington came down and everything.”
“Washington, DC?” I stopped at the window. “Talking to you?”
&nbs
p; “The family’s going to get some new leadership at the top after I get out.” He ran a hand through his hair, preening. “Diego me prometió.” He spoke the last under his breath, a wave of hostility rolling off each syllable. He was angry and had let something slip. Diego, whoever that was, had made him a promise.
“Who is Diego?” I said. “Is he the leader of the cartel?”
“Cállate la boca.” Morales pointed a finger at me. “Fucking narc. I know your type. I’m not talking to you.”
He’d just told me to shut up; I’d hit a nerve. His face had contorted with anger.
“What if you don’t get out?” Piper said. “What if they convict you?”
“They need a witness.” He smiled, recovered his easy manner. “And they ain’t got one.”
Piper started to speak but I held up my hand.
“Listen to me. This is important,” I said. “We’re trying to keep you alive.”
He stared at me, not understanding.
“Who did you meet with from DC?” I couldn’t say why this was important. I had no way to know what his answer would tell me. There was an unseen layer to everything, and I wondered if this might be only the part that was visible—somebody from Washington.
“My English, it’s not so good.” He held his hands out, palms up. “I’m just a businessman. The gringos arrested me for no reason.”
More noise from the town square.
I stared outside, the angle of view awkward due to the basement elevation of the window.
A Chevy dealership’s worth of white Tahoes was in the parking area. A dozen or so men in blue windbreakers were clustered around the Porsche we’d been driving. Each man carried a submachine gun. One of them was Keith McCluskey.
“They’re here.” I took several deep breaths.
“Who?” Morales plopped down on his bed, stretched out. Not a care in the world.
“Is it the team that was after the witness?” Piper dashed to the window, peered out. “Ooh, crap. Looks like it is.”
“What witness?” Morales sat up. Maybe a slight care now.
“The one we brought here to testify against you,” I said.
Morales stood.
One of the US Marshals guarding the courthouse walked across the lawn toward the squad of DEA contractors.
“This is not good,” Piper said. “They’re everywhere.”
“They start shooting, we need to be away from the windows.” I pulled out the gun Hollis had given me. “Maybe that interior room.”
Morales stared at the weapon. “I’ll give you a million dollars for that.”
I glanced at him. “You got it on you right now?”
“Hey, I’m good for it.” He slicked back his hair with one hand. “How come you got a gun anyway?”
“A guy upstairs asked us to keep you alive until the trial.” I fished out the key to our door.
“Never happen.” He shook his head, paused. “Who’s this witness, huh?”
“It just got more complicated.” Piper, still peering outside, tapped my shoulder. “There’s another crew coming in.”
The pop-pop-pop of gunfire. Yelling.
“I think they’re from Mexico.” She turned to me. “The clothes, the weapons.”
I dropped the keys, swore. Looked back outside.
Two crews of gunmen.
Keith McCluskey’s DEA agents and a squad of heavily armed Hispanic men. The DEA agents were clearly not expecting trouble. They were trying to snatch the witness because their boss was in love. They would use badges and intimidation, followed by violence. But even rogue contractors wouldn’t kill indiscriminately in a courthouse square.
The crew from Mexico was different. They didn’t care about badges or casualties. Violence was their default option. Plus they were here for something else, and it didn’t take a lot of expertise in the ways of narcotraffickers to figure out what that was. They were here to stop any potential leaks in the organization—that is, the accused, Lazaro Morales, and the witness, Eva Ramirez. They were a hit squad, sicarios. A safe bet: they were Diego’s men, whoever he was.
“That’s not possible.” Morales ran to his window. “They wouldn’t come this far across the river. They…” His voice trailed off.
I picked up the key, dashed across the room, and jammed it into the lock on our cell door. From the inside, the action was difficult due to the angle.
“Five million dollars for the gun.” Morales scampered to the bars that separated us, reached for me. “Okay, ten million.”
Piper rushed beside me. “Hurry it up, willya.”
“I’m good for the money.” Morales clawed at my shirt. “Please.”
I finally opened the door and stepped into the hall.
More gunfire from outside. One of the basement windows shattered.
“What about Mister Slimeball?” Piper pointed to the other cell. “We can’t just leave him here.”
“The chica’s right.” Lazaro nodded. “A stray bullet could kill me.”
“Give me your belt.” I aimed at him.
He hesitated and then pulled off his braided leather belt.
I tossed Piper the key. “Open his door.”
She did as instructed.
“Hands on your head. Walk out very slowly.”
Lazaro placed his palms on the top of his scalp and shuffled into the hall.
I threw him against the far wall, bound his hands with the belt.
“The interior room where the deputy was,” I said. “That’s the most secure place.”
“It’s gonna be crowded.” Piper shoved the prisoner down the hall. “Those US Marshals, Hollis, Eva.”
“Eva?” Morales said. “Eva who?”
“Your wife,” I said, “Eva Ramirez, that’s who.”
“She’s here?” Morales had a stunned look on his face.
“Yep.” Piper nodded. “And boy is she gonna be pissed when I tell her you asked me out on a date.”
- CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE -
We ran away from the cells and the gunfire, Lazaro Morales between us, and slid to a stop at the entrance to the holding area. The iron barrier was closed, locked from the other side.
“Officer needs assistance.” I banged on the metal with the barrel of the gun and then stuck it in my waistband. “Hurry it up.”
The door swung inward, and the Presidio County deputy who’d earlier been sitting at the desk in the basement room stood in the entryway, weapon drawn.
“How did you get out of your cell?” He aimed at me. “We’re under attack. Courthouse is in lockdown.”
“We’re undercover DEA agents,” I said. “What’s your contingency plan for something like this?”
“You’re supposed to be in custody.” He began to shake, the muzzle of his gun wobbling. He looked at Morales. “And he’s the guy on trial. H-he can’t be out of his cell.”
Despite the training required to be an accredited Texas law enforcement officer, not to mention the FBI briefings and Homeland Security seminars, the current situation was clearly outside the realm of his experience or ability to react to properly.
“There’s a crew from Mexico outside.” I pointed to the bank of monitors on the wall above his desk. “The cells here were never designed to be cells. They’re exposed to gunfire.”
“W-w-what should we do?”
“We need to make this room as airtight as possible.” Piper pointed to the interior chamber where the deputy had been.
“I already called the sheriff.” He lowered his gun. “We’ve never had anything like this happen around here.”
One of the screens flared white and then went dark. I pushed our way in, dragging Morales along.
“Unless the sheriff’s got a platoon of Green Berets, he’s not gonna be much help.” I pulled my weapon out. “How many access points are there to this floor?”
Before he could answer, across the room the door leading to upstairs flew open and the US Attorney stepped into the basement, dragging Eva wit
h him. Hollis entered right behind them.
Eva gasped, covered her mouth. She stared at her husband.
“Eva?” Morales said. “Estás aquí?”
“What the hell’s going on?” The US Attorney aimed the gold-plated Colt at me. “Drop that gun.”
“No.” I pointed the muzzle at his face.
“Where the hell did you get a pistol?” the attorney said.
“I gave it to him,” Hollis said. “Now everybody needs to be calm. There’s backup on the way.”
“You gave a prisoner a pistol?” The US Attorney sounded incredulous. He lowered the Colt, stared at Hollis.
“How bad is it up top?” I nodded at the monitors. “How many are there?”
A rattle of automatic gunfire sounded, muffled but close.
The deputy kicked the door leading upstairs shut, bolted the lock.
“It’s a shitstorm is how bad it is.” Hollis pulled out a pistol.
“How many?” I asked.
“Don’t know, maybe thirty total.” Hollis wiped sweat from his upper lip. “Looks like McCluskey and some of his guys are mixing it up with a squad of cartel shooters.”
“Your guys,” I said. “McCluskey’s people are Paynelowe employees. Same as you.”
Hollis didn’t reply.
“Contractors. What a mess.” The US Attorney holstered the Colt. “You guys are nothing but trouble.”
Eva slumped against the wall. “They’re going to kill us all.”
“Not without a fight,” I said.
“Eva, I missed you, baby.” Morales smiled at her. “Been so long since we’ve seen each other.”
“Shut up, Lazaro.” She sneered at her husband. “This is all your fault.”
“Please, baby, help me.” He struggled against the restraints on his hands.
“You’re a field operative.” Hollis looked at me. “What’s our best move at this point?”
“This is the most secure room,” I said. “We stay here until reinforcements arrive.”
“Oh, that’s just dandy.” The attorney shook his head. “More Paynelowe contractors, that’s our reinforcements.”
“They’re legitimate,” Hollis said. “No rogue operators.”
“Whatever.” The US Attorney rolled his eyes.
“Enough talk,” I said. “How much firepower do we have access to down here?”
The Contractors Page 31
