Ballistic

Court did not reply.

“I have been alone for five years. Since Guillermo died. I know about loneliness, about how difficult it can be to keep everything inside you because there is no one else to share your life. But I have my faith. If I did not . . . Joe, I do not know how your heart can survive.”

“My heart is fine,” Court knew this because he could feel it pounding in his chest.

“There is not just darkness in the world, Joe. There is much that is bright.”

“I travel in different social circles than the happy stuff.”

She did not completely understand, but she answered as if she did.

“You are doing God’s work.”

“I’m just a guy, Laura. I’m not anything special.”

“No. You are special. The devil is fighting for this earth. He does this with evil. You fight against evil here on earth.” She shrugged again. “You are fighting the devil.” She completed the logic of her thinking. “You are doing God’s work.”

“Thanks,” he said. Sometimes he wondered what the hell he was doing. This girl had her opinion, and it was only that to Court, but it was nice to hear nonetheless.

“We better get some sleep,” he said it again. But she did not get up from his bed.

“May I stay with you? Like last night? May I stay close to you?”

“Sure,” he said it with a phony air of nonchalance, which, he was pretty sure, she had seen right through.

He reached over, flipped off the lights, and laid back, his shoes and pants and shirt still on. His handgun on the table next to him.

She curled up next to him, rested a hand on his chest, and placed her damp head on his shoulder. Even though she was only five feet tall, together their bodies took up the entire twin bed. Soon her leg moved and draped across his lower legs.

The lights were off, but Court’s eyes were open. He stared at a ceiling he could not see and tried to keep his breathing slow and shallow.

“Are you afraid,” she asked him, and he thought she was referring to his pounding heart.

“No,” he answered back quickly. “Not at all.”

“You mean, all the people trying to kill us, and you are not scared? I’m terrified.”

“Oh, that. Yeah. I just . . . I am trained, I guess, to use the energy of fear to my advantage. I am scared when I’m engaged in action . . . but I was trained to channel it and not freeze up.”

“It sounds like some sort of science.”

“It is.” He liked talking about this. It took his mind off of her leg, which was bent at the knee and resting on his thighs now.

“I am lucky to have you protecting me.”

“I saw how you fight. You’ve had some training yourself.”

“Yes, when Eduardo was alive, he took me shooting a lot. It was important for him that even though I was only tourist police, I was ready for anything. I trained in kickboxing as well.”

“I noticed you were in good shape.”

“You did?” she said it with a smile in her voice, and Gentry could feel his face warm from embarrassment. Her hand on his chest began moving back and forth slowly.

“I mean, I could tell you exercised. Good for you. You might need those skills again before this is all over. If we run into the Black Suits on the road, we can’t expect them to—”

“Joe?”

“Yeah.”

“May I kiss you?”

Yes, he thought. But said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

Court did not know why not. He stammered out something about Eddie, about needing to sleep, about her not knowing who he was or what he was.

“That is crazy, Joe. Eduardo wanted me to find someone else. To find a good man.”

“Laura. I’m not a good man. I am just a man. Just a guy trying to help.”

“Then help.”

“Help wha—”

“Help me.”

She climbed on top of him, leaned down into his face, and kissed him softly on the lips. His eyes widened, and he did not contribute, but he did not pull away. Again she kissed him, his face and his body went rigid as stone, until the third kiss when his eyes closed slowly.

They opened. “Wait,” he said.

“No,” she replied, and she pressed her weight against him, wrapped her arms behind his neck, and kissed him more deeply now.

He could see her. When he opened his eyes, they had adjusted to the darkness of the hotel room, and he saw her eyes shut tight, and her wet bangs swaying with the movements of her head as she kissed him: his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, his neck.

Suddenly, she stopped, sat up; her weight pressed against his waist. He noticed his hands had roamed to her hips, and he held her there.

She looked down on him, and he could see her clearly now in the light from the window. “Your name is not Joe.”

Gentry just shook his head.

“Tell me your real name. I do not want to call you Joe while we are making love.”

Court blinked. We’re making love? He shook his head again.

She said, “Tell me what your friends call you, what people used to call you when you were young, something that means something to you.”

Court almost said Violator, his code name. It was almost the same in English and Spanish. But he didn’t want her calling him that. He thought for a moment more and whispered. “You can call me Six.”

“?Seis?” she asked, confusion mixing with the lust in her eyes.

“Yes.”

“Bien. Seis.” Satisfied, she pulled off her polo shirt, unfastened her bra, and let it fall to the floor between the two beds. She unbuttoned Court’s shirt; he put his hands on hers for a moment, tried to pull them away from the buttons, but in truth, he did not want her to stop. He thought about Eddie and Ernesto, men who would do anything to protect this woman, and then he thought about the men who wanted to hurt her. He had been protecting her, but now he did not know if he was hurting her by giving in to her advances. She leaned forward and kissed him. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, not at all confident that he was getting any better at this.

His mobile phone rang.

He ignored it.

She ignored it.

It kept ringing. Stopped. Started up again.

You have got to be kidding me.

She ignored it.

“It must be the embassy guy.” He barely got the words out; he reached for the phone, but she held his head tight and kept her lips pressed against his.

He almost had to fight her away. “Hello?”

“Hey there, fellow countryman. Sorry for the late call, I’m burning the midnight oil up here in my office and had a couple of questions.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

Jerry asked Court a few odds and ends about past professions of the four Gamboas. He said it was necessary to have some sort of occupation for their work visas, and although they could make something up, the more accurate the information on the documents, the better they would hold up to scrutiny on the other side of the