down would be enough to satisfy the people you’re banging heads for.”
Urlacher seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “What Salvadoran gang?”
“Mara Salvatrucha,” Victor said. “They named themselves after some kind of army ant. Whatever they are, they’re mucho trouble. You interested in them, supercop?”
“You don’t get your opium from them.”
Victor grinned. “I don’t deal in opium. Don’t know where you get that idea.”
“It’s more than an idea.”
“Then prove it. Arrest me. Let me call my lawyer. Then I’ll be out of here as soon as he posts bail for me. And whatever you get some DA to charge me with, my attorney’s going to beat. Then we’ll turn around and sue you for false arrest. It’ll make a nice retirement package.”
Urlacher frowned. “I’ve heard of the Mara Salvatrucha. They also call themselves MS-13.”
“One of the most notorious gangs operating out there right now,” Victor agreed. “Those guys are big-time hard-core. They’ll bury you soon as look at you.” He knew that from personal experience; they’d already crossed paths a couple times, and blood had spilled like water. “They’ve even got themselves a History Channel special.”
“What do you have?”
“I got names. Places. Players. Routes they use to bring cargo in from Houston right up Interstate 35, then out Interstate 40 to here. If I give you what I got here, then you can follow the play back there and bring down some major players.”
“Are they getting work from the same place you are?”
Victor smiled and spread his hands. “I don’t sell drugs. I already told you that.”
Urlacher cursed.
“These guys deal opium,” Victor said. “Get it from a Yakuza connection down in Mexico. The Japanese mafia is treading on the toes of the Colombian cocaine cartels. Gonna be a real shooting war down there when this all breaks loose. Might help domestically if you could start working on getting a handle on it now.”
Urlacher only stared at him.
“So what’s it gonna be, supercop?” Victor asked in a flat voice. “That’s the deal on the table. You want to ante up and play with the big boys? Or are you gonna roll the dice with Mr. DA?”
1 7
›› Intensive Care Unit
›› Presbyterian Hospital
›› Charlotte, North Carolina
›› 0814 Hours
When he tried to open his eyelids and found that they weighed about a hundred pounds each, Shel knew he was on serious pain medication. The too-bright illumination from the overhead track lighting was another clue. The fact that his nose itched told him that at least one of the prescribed meds was Demerol. His nose always itched when he was on Demerol.
“Hey.”
Woozy, Shel rolled his head to the side. The room seemed to spin. He closed his eyes involuntarily.
“Easy,” a soft feminine voice suggested. “Go slow.”
Shel checked his teeth with his tongue. It was a habit after all the fights he’d been in. At least this time it didn’t seem like any dental work was involved. Everything was where it was supposed to be.
“You still with me?” the woman’s voice asked.
When he recognized her voice then, Shel said her name. “Maggie.”
“Got it in one, Marine.”
Shel didn’t want to try to smile. He always looked goofy when he was on Demerol and smiled. Some of the guys he’d toured with had pictures to prove it. But he smiled anyway because Maggie was there and he thought it was great she was there. In fact, everything seemed kind of great.
He blinked his eyes open again. “Good to see you, Maggie.”
“I bet.” Maggie stood at the foot of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Better than I’ve felt in a long time.”
Maggie laughed.
“Didn’t know you were twins.” Shel tried to focus and bring the two images back into one. He almost had it, but it took nearly everything he had to accomplish that.
“I think I’ll suggest to the nurse that they cut back on the meds,” Maggie said.
“Sure.”
“If you start hurting, you’ll want to let them know.”
Shel nodded, and the effort seemed like it took forever. The room spun again too.
“Can I get something to drink?” he asked.
“You can have ice.”
Shel sighed.
“Sorry, big guy. Nurse’s orders. With all the painkillers you’re on, if you drink water, it might come back up.”
“Ice,” Shel agreed.
Maggie fed him a few ice chips with a plastic spoon.
Shel savored them, holding them in his mouth till they slowly melted and relieved some of the parched sensation in his throat. That was from the tube the emergency room people had shoved down his esophagus to keep the airway open. The next couple of days weren’t going to be pleasant swallowing.
“How bad is my arm?” he asked.
“Nothing permanent,” Maggie replied. She spooned more ice chips into his mouth. “The bullet tore into your upper thoracic cavity and struck the underside of the glenohumeral joint. There was some-”
“English,” Shel protested.
“The bullet hit you in the chest and caught the underside of the ball and socket joint in your shoulder.”
“Now that I can understand,” Shel said, “but only because I’ve had a few shoulder separations.”
“The surgeon did mention there had been previous operations.”
Shel nodded. “Football.”
“Then you know the rehab you’re going to have to do to get everything back in shape.”
“No permanent damage?” Shel asked again because he wanted to hear it once more. One of his biggest fears was that he’d get disabled somewhere along the way, then shelved at a desk job or released on a medical discharge. All he had was the Marines. If something like that happened, he didn’t know what he’d do with himself. He didn’t have a family like Don, and he was pretty sure he didn’t want one.
“No permanent damage,” Maggie agreed. “The bullet deflected downward and went into your right arm. It nicked the brachiocephalic artery just enough to cause problems.” She paused. “Remy probably saved your life. Twice. When you went down, the EMTs couldn’t get to you.”
“Max,” Shel said, understanding at once.
“You passed out from blood loss. Max went into total protective mode. Unfortunately that wasn’t what you needed at the time.”
“Max is okay?” Shel knew there were times when a dog had to be put down so medical teams could save an unconscious and wounded K-9-equipped soldier.
“Max is fine,” Maggie said. “He’s downstairs with Remy. They’ve become best buds.”
Shel grinned. “You won’t believe how sad a day it is when a man’s dog deserts him.”
“Hardly. Max knows you’re here. Somewhere. How he knows is anyone’s guess, but-”
“He’s a trained Marine. Never underestimate Marine training.”
Maggie gave him a wry look. “-but he’s refusing to leave the hospital now that he’s here. He walks the corridors a lot looking for you.”
