Blue Diablo

“I know you,” the guy was saying to Chuch. “Managua, wasn’t it? Been a long time, and I wasn’t sure when you first came in, but... we did business.”

And there it was—the fruit of Chance’s luck. I supposed it made sense not to go poking around; Chuch had said these guys didn’t like that. Instead, we’d get our information in a subtle way.

“Sí.” The arms dealer-turned-mechanic jerked his head at the vacant seat. “Esteban, right? You brokered a deal for me, I think.” I had no way of knowing whether Chuch remembered him, or if he was making an educated guess. “I’m out of the business now, but I don’t mind buying you a drink for old time’s sake.”

The merc grinned as he sat, showing a gap between his front teeth. “If you’re buying, I’ll take a shot of Gran Patrón.”

Nice. Esteban’s taste in tequila impressed me. Since she was eavesdropping, the waitress went to get it without being asked. The rest of the patrons seemed to relax, losing interest when they realized we were a known quantity. I let out a slow breath.

“So what you doing now?” Chuch made the question casual.

The guy shrugged. “Whatever, you know? Mostly private security.”

I could fill in the blanks.

The waitress delivered the tequila, Chance bought another round of beer for the rest of us, and the two across the table from us renewed their acquaintance. Casual stuff, guy talk, but I saw how Chuch was maneuvering the conversation. Damn clever.

“You know,” the mechanic said at last, “I’m retired. But if a personal situation came up, if somebody crossed the line and messed with your family, what would you do, mano?”

A sharklike smile twisted Esteban’s mouth. “First, I’d kill the guy who did it. Then I’d find the one who gave the order and make him scream.”

Into the Breach

The CD ended, and the dancers went to order drinks.

Into the relative silence, Chuch muttered, “That sounds about right. I already got the hired gun. Now I’m looking for his boss.”

“If I had a name, I might be able to help you.” Esteban’s sudden tension said we were on thin ice. If he worked for Montoya, we might find ourselves in the middle of a firefight, outnumbered and outgunned. Guys like these hired on with whoever paid best.

I sensed Chance’s increased focus. We needed luck now more than ever, but would Chuch gamble on it?

“Montoya,” he said finally.

“No shit.” Esteban appeared relieved and took a sip of his Patrón to cover that. “Looks like we can do some business. See, I work for Escobar... well, way down the food chain, but I hear he’s always happy about anything that fucks up a Montoya.”

That seemed to imply there was more than one, but we were only interested in Diego, whose name we’d gotten from that poor girl. Otherwise, I didn’t follow; nor did Chance by his expression. So we both sat and waited for Chuch to respond.

“Rivals, huh?” he grunted.

Esteban nodded. “I-35, among other things.”

That was enough for me to piece things together. Escobar and Montoya headed up rival cartels, and that was great news for us. If this guy didn’t know where we could find the son of a bitch who had Min, he might tell us who did.

I was impressed, but not surprised, that Chance sat quiet all this time, letting Chuch do his thing. Handsome as my ex was, you’d think he suffered from a surfeit of ego, but nope, not so much.

Chuch looked thoughtful. “This is a good deal for you, mano. If we mess him up, you tell your boss you played a part in it. If we get our cards punched, you know nothing about it. Should we talk terms?”

For the first time, Esteban asked about us. No introductions had been made until that point, but he was too smart to go forward without knowing all the factors in play. “Slow your roll, cuz. Who’re your silent partners?”

“Friends,” Chuch said without hesitation. “They got my back in this.”

Chance didn’t leave it there. “Montoya took my mother,” he added quietly. “I don’t stop coming for him until I’m dead, or he is.”

You’d think a guy who worked for the highest bidder wouldn’t give a shit about that. Not so. Esteban narrowed his eyes and slammed his fist on the table, drawing looks from the other patrons. He crossed himself and then spat as if to ward off a curse.

“Mierda,” he swore. “Only sons of bitches go after women or children to get to us.”

I decided not to counter his assumption that Montoya had a grudge against anyone other than Min. It seemed better to exploit his righteous indignation. If he found out Chance’s mother knew dark rituals and how to summon the Knights of Hell, he might lose sympathy.

“True.” Chuch finished his beer, and I noticed he’d been nursing the same one all night, probably to keep himself sharp. “How much will it cost to get you to send a question up the food chain for us?”

“One K for my time,” Esteban said. “I’d do it for free, but... you know.”

“No problem. A man has to know what he’s worth.” Chuch gave a half smile and peeled off ten bills from a roll he brought out of his pocket. “I’ll leave you my cell number. Call me when you know something.”

“It’ll take time,” Esteban warned us. “But we should be able to get you a list of their compounds. You’ll have to figure out where he’s taken her.”

“Can do,” Chance said.

He’d dowse the list for us. And if that didn’t work, Booke might be able to scout them. Surely he could tell us where she was. For the first time, I didn’t feel hopeless. With Montoya’s pet warlock blown to shit, we had a real shot, assuming he hadn’t killed Min days ago. If we couldn’t manage salvation for Min, then we’d wreak vengeance, closure for Chance. I preferred the former, but I’d take the latter.

Esteban was still staring at Chance with an odd, haunted look in his dark eyes. “It happened to me too. My sister, Rosita.” He brought a rosary from his pocket. “This is all I have left. They never found a body, just... this.” By the pain I saw graven on his face, she never would’ve left it behind if she had a choice. It looked like a family heirloom.

I gazed at the antique silver necklace with a mixture of horror and resignation, knowing I might be able to touch it and give him an answer. Chuch offered a nearly imperceptible nod. Men who worked for the cartels would have seen many things over the years, most of them weirder or more horrific than what I did.

“May I see it?” I held out a hand, bracing myself. I knew it would be bad.

Beside me, Chance tensed, but Chuch checked him. Esteban seemed surprised but he passed it over nonetheless. A deep breath prepared me as best I could, and then I dropped the natural focus that prevented me from reading an object.

Pain seared me in black, licking waves. My vision flickered and spiraled inward, dumping me into Rosita’s last moments. I felt her confusion and anguish as the man reared above her. I sensed her desperate desire to live while the agony of live wires sizzled in my palm. I bore it all—Rosita’s pain and the anguish of my mother’s death simultaneously. When I came to myself, I was weeping, the rosary on the table.

“What the...?” Esteban took the necklace like it was a snake, staring at it in bewilderment. “Is she okay? Should I call a doctor?”

Chance was already getting some ice for my palm. He knew the drill. I hoped he had the balm somewhere in his pocket, as this had been a bad one.

For at least five minutes, my teeth chattered too badly for me to speak. Chance rubbed my back and tended my palm while Chuch asked me with his eyes what I’d seen. I didn’t want to do this; Christ, I didn’t want to tell Esteban. But maybe knowing would be better than uncertainty.