Ballistic

Eddie knelt down next to Gentry; they could barely see each other through the foliage.

“There’s going to be UXO out there,” Court said weakly. Eddie knew that UXO was unexploded ordnance. “We dropped more bombs on this country during Nam than we did on Germany in WWII. A lot of those bombs didn’t explode; they’re just out in the jungle, waiting for someone to come by and kick them. You do not want to go off the beaten path out here.”

Eddie looked down the trail. “Good advice. I knew I brought you along for something.” Gamble’s tone turned serious. “You won’t have any food, but H₂O won’t be a problem. Just keep your mouth open and let the rain drip from the banana leaves.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll make sure someone comes back for you, I swear.”

“Sure. Thanks for everything. Someday you’ll make someone a hell of a wife.”

Eddie nodded. Hesitated. Clearly, he was torn apart about leaving his former cellmate behind. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, tops. You’ll be at a hospital in Bangkok hitting on exotic nurses, and I’ll stop in and bring you something. Any requests?”

Court smiled. He’d play along with this fantasy if it would help Eddie save himself. “A root beer would kick ass.”

“You got it.” Eddie patted Court on the forehead through the leaves. “See ya soon, homes.” He stood and began walking towards the pathway to the south.

TWELVE

Court looked down at his watch and found it was past nine o’clock. Some of the dinner guests had drifted away; others were sitting around in clumps in the back garden, on the driveway by the boat, and throughout the downstairs of the house. The local police wandered around on the outskirts of the event. Laura and Elena had brought each of the cops a big plate of dinner and a tall plastic cup of iced horchata, a cinnamon-vanilla flavored drink made from boiled rice and sesame seeds. The cops ate while standing, careful to keep one eye out the gate towards the street.

Court took another sip from his fourth sweating bottle of Pacifico and began wondering about where he would sleep tonight. Bus service in San Blas had surely halted for the evening, and he did not have money to blow on a hotel. He figured he’d find a bench in the little central park a few blocks to the north, then be on the first bus out in the morning back to Puerto Vallarta.

There was another option. He’d learned through others that the retired U.S. Navy man, Captain Cullen, lived down in Puerto

Vallarta. Court considered asking him for a lift back to PV, but only briefly. A ninety-minute car ride with the icy geriatric was more scrutiny than the international outlaw wanted to subject himself to.

Gentry was pleased to notice that the rest of the crowd had forgotten him; he sat alone at a small picnic table near the back wall of the compound, away from the rows of lights strung over the garden and the flaming torches stuck into the ground here and there, and away from the conversations going on all around him. He eyed the back gate. It was closed but not locked; the darkness beyond called to him.

He’d make an invisible escape now; he’d come to pay his respects, and his respects had been paid. Now it was time to disappear.

Standard operating procedure for the Gray Man.

Court finished his beer. Stood slowly.

“Why is it I find myself so curious about you?”

Court turned around, found Cullen ten feet behind. He held a bottle of tequila in one hand, with thumb-sized plastic shot glasses over the bottle’s spout, and a pair of shiny green limes in his other hand.

“I don’t know.”

“Join me for a drink?” Cullen did not wait for an answer; he sat down at the small picnic table across from Court, put the bottle down in front of him. Cullen retrieved a pocketknife from his cargo shorts, sliced them each a wedge of one of the limes.

Court hesitated. “I’ve got to be going.”

“Where you headed, ace?”

“Uhhh. Back to Puerto Vall—”

“Not tonight, you aren’t, unless you want to blow a hundred bucks on a cab. Elena said you arrived by bus.”

“Well . . . I’ll find a hotel here.”

“I can give you a lift to PV.”

Court sat back down. Cullen poured thick clear liquid into two tiny cups, passed one to Gentry. Court sipped the tequila, bit down on his lime wedge, and changed the subject by turning the conversation away from himself. “How did you know Eddie?”

Cullen leaned back and smiled. Took off his USS Buchanan cap and held it up. His silver hair shone in the light from the torches burning throughout the yard.

“You met him on your boat?”

The Captain shook his head. “No, no. I never knew him in the Navy. I met him in PV, ’bout four years ago. I run on the beach every morning, used to anyway. It’s more of a walk now but faster than most of the old expat farts around here. Anyway, one morning, after my run, this tough-looking Mexican hombre saunters over to me on the boardwalk. I thought he was going to go for my wallet. But he pointed to my hat. Asked me about my service. We got to talking, and he said he was Navy, too. Of course I’m thinking Mexican navy. When I found out he was an ex-SEAL, you could have knocked me over with a feather.

“Eddie and I became friends. We used to go fishing on my boat whenever he was down in PV. I’ve been up here, sitting at this very table, many nights. Eddie sat right where you are now.”

Cullen sighed a little. He was old enough to have experienced much loss in his life. Still, Court could tell how wounded the man was by the death of his younger friend. “I spent a lot of hours getting to know that fine young man.”

“Yes, sir.”

Cullen put his cap back on and leaned forward. “I gotta tell ya, a stranger showing up at his house, right after he’s killed. How does that look to you?”

Gentry shrugged. “I’m just a guy who came to say good-bye. If I had my way, I wouldn’t even be here right now.”

Cullen nodded, sipped his tequila thoughtfully, and looked back over his shoulder to the house full of people. “It’s going to be tough for them now. Eddie is a villain to a lot of people around here. The press is portraying him as just another sicario.”

“Sicario?”

“An assassin. The general consensus is that he and his men were working for a cartel in competition with de la Rocha. After he died the federales and Nayarit state police came here, went through all his personal belongings, confiscated his computer and his guns. Even his pension has been held up pending an investigation. It’s bullshit: he died following orders to protect the people here, but they see him as another corrupt federale.”

“Why do they think that? I don’t understand any of what’s going on here.”

“No matter, ace. You’ll be gone tomorrow. No sense in learning the intricacies of the local conventional wisdom.”

Gentry knew he was being chided by the old man. Treated as if he was just some drifter passing by. It angered him. Court would die for Eddie Gamble. If there were still an Eddie Gamble to die for.

“Tell me.”

“Why?”

“Because I care. And because I suspect you have some opinions on the matter.” Court reached for the tequila bottle, poured two more shots.