Ballistic

right at the top of their to-do list . . . They’ve been after me for years, and yet here I sit. You have never been up against someone like me, Daniel. You would do well to keep that in the forefront of your consciousness.”

Nestor Calvo had not spoken. Now he shook his head, leaned slightly forward. Said in Spanish. “But senor, you are just one man.”

Court leaned closer to Nestor. Made long and severe eye contact. “With nothing to lose.”

DLR looked down at the dead man’s switch in the American’s hand. “You think I’m scared of you?”

Gentry smiled, genuinely pleased he had been asked the question. “I think you are fucking terrified. I see straight through that macho image. You are thinking of your family, and you are thinking of the men you left around Laura, and you hope to God you can call them and tell them to stay away from her before they do something that they cannot undo. Because you know what I have done, and you know what I am capable of.

“Everything just changed in your world. You’re no different than thousands of other shitheads around this planet. Your influence, your success, your power—it all comes from fear. If you can’t fill people with fear, then you are nothing. You cease to be. Well, guess what, amigo? You aren’t the scariest thing around here anymore.”

Nestor drummed his fingers on the table. He leaned forward, towards the American. “I suppose you have a plan to get away now?”

“I do.” Court reached into the pocket of his waiter’s coat, pulled out a small mobile phone.

“Four more pounds of ANFO is stashed under a table in this room. As I walk away from the restaurant, I only have to push one button”—he held up the phone—“and every one of you dies. As soon as I disappear from view, you might want to think about running out of here, because I have not decided if this is all worth the trouble. Maybe I’ll just turn you into dog meat tonight and hope your men let Laura go because there is a new law in town.”

De la Rocha looked like he was going to explode from anger. Gentry turned away from him, directed his next words to Calvo, as if the head of Los Trajes Negros was not even there. “You’ll have to keep this guy on a short leash. He’s going to want to tear up the country to find me. That’s fine; he can waste his time and his energy. But you need to keep letting him know how much my reign of terror on your organization is costing him. All I want is the girl. Handing her over to me will not cost you a dime. You can see how that is in your best interests, even if this dumb fuck cannot.” Court stood. “Hopefully, he will listen to you”—he motioned to the Santa Muerte statue in the corner—“and not to that creepy bitch.”

And with that Gentry raised the dead man’s switch high in his left hand, and the mobile phone high in his right. “Tell these assholes to let me walk out of here.”

De la Rocha only nodded slightly; his eyes remained locked on the American. Calvo rose from the table, headed past the fountain and towards the armed men in the courtyard, telling them all to let the gringo leave unmolested.

“I will see you again, Gray Man,” de la Rocha said softly.

“If you do, Daniel, you will end up like your poor friend.”

De la Rocha cocked his head, but Gentry turned away, walked out of the courtyard, past the phalanx of bodyguards. Seconds after that he left the restaurant, both his hands still high in the air.

“What did he say to you while I was gone?” Calvo asked Daniel upon returning to the table. The rest of the inner circle of the Black Suits closed on their leader.

“Something about me ending up like my friend.” De la Rocha and Calvo looked at each other without speaking for a moment. “What did he mean by that?” Daniel asked his older employee.

Together, slowly, their heads turned towards the rolling cart.

“Emilio. Check that.”

Emilio stepped to the other side of the rolling cart then used the barrel of his pistol to lift a corner of the linen tablecloth. His eyes narrowed as he squinted. “It’s a head, jefe.”

“A gringo who decapitates.” Calvo said it with his eyebrows high. “He is showing us he can play by Mexican rules.”

“Whose head is it?” asked DLR.

Emilio looked again. Knelt down lower. “I . . . I think it is Xavier Garza Guerro.” Garza was the highest- ranking police officer in Puerto Vallarta controlled by the Black Suits and a former army colleague of Daniel’s. DLR had known the man for sixteen years. He knew his wife, his kids, his parents.

“Get it out of here.” De la Rocha stood and stormed over to Spider, grabbing him by the lapel of his jacket. “Listen to me! I want him followed, I want him captured, and I want him tortured like nothing you have ever done to anyone!”

“Si, jefe. I have men in the street ready to follow him until we get you out of here, then we will take him.”

“I swear to you; I want you to have nightmares about what you did to him. I want you to be sick!”

“Si, jefe.”

“Now go! And do not show your face to me until you have the Gray Man. ?Me entiendes? ” Do you understand me?

“?Si! ?Si!” Spider Cepeda shot out of the room, his phone rising to his ear as he did so.

Then DLR looked around the room, found Emilio right on his shoulder. “The men on tonight’s advance security team?”

Emilio Lopez Lopez raised his chin. “I have already disarmed them and put them under custody. Tonight I will have this building burnt to the ground, and the manager and maitre d’ shot.”

“Fine. But this is your failure.” His finger jabbed the leader of his security forces hard in the chest.

“I understand, mi jefe.” Emilio said it with his head low.

De la Rocha turned around towards Calvo now, who was already speaking on his mobile. “Call the house. Tell them to keep their hands off the Gamboa bitch.”

Calvo slid the phone back in his jacket, completing a call. “Done.”

Pent-up rage blew forth from the thirty-nine-year-old de la Rocha; he screamed and pulled dishes and glasses from his table, crashed them against the stone wall.

Calvo rushed forward. “Daniel, listen to me! Calm down! Everything the gringo said, everything he did, it was all to get this reaction from you! It was to knock you off balance! Don’t play into his plan! Think!”

“I will piss on his beating heart!”

“?Tranquilo!” Calm down!

“I will calm down when someone around me does their fucking duty! I have had enough failure from you cabrones!” He threw bottles and knocked over tables. Around him his Black Suits stood watch. No one but Nestor dared speak to him.

And Nestor did speak. “We can end this, Daniel! We can end this right now!”

De la Rocha stopped smashing things; he turned towards his older advisor. Cocked his head. “You want to give the girl to the gringo. You want to stop hunting for Elena Gamboa.”

Nestor reached out, smoothed the lapel of Daniel de la Rocha’s black suit. “I want to put an end to this madness so that we can get back into the business of making money. Making money for everyone. Building our organization, empowering ourselves against our enemies, protecting ourselves from the government and the —”

“Stop! Stop talking now, Nestor, before I begin to lose trust in you.”

“I am at your service, patron. But as your advisor I feel it necessary to remind you why we are here, why we take the risks that we take. Not for some gringo that la CIA cannot even kill or capture. Not for the life of the unborn child of a cop that we dealt with brilliantly weeks ago.”

DLR shook his head. “Listen to me, Nestor. You have your orders. The Gray Man must die. The Gamboa woman needs to be found.”

Without a sigh or a change of expression, Nestor Calvo Macias nodded. “As I said, I am at your service.”

“Good.” De la Rocha turned to another of his men, the leader of his kidnapping operation. “Roberto, move the Gamboa woman. Double the guard on her.”