In Desperation

Phoenix, Arizona

Lyle Galviera’s head throbbed.

He tried to move but couldn’t. He was tied to a chair.

He tried to see but he was blindfolded.

He heard only the echoed drips and creaks of an infinite space, like an enormous warehouse, punctuated with bursts of sporadic chatter from emergency scanners, like police dispatches.

Push the fear aside. Concentrate.

Footsteps approached behind him and someone removed his blindfold.

Galviera’s eyes opened wide.

Taking in his surroundings, the airy vastness, the high ceiling, he recognized that he was in an abandoned hangar. Sitting a yard or two from him on a worktable, legs dangling playfully, was a young man wearing a shoulder holster, showing the grip of a handgun. He stared at Galviera while he ate potato chips from a bag and sipped from a can of soda.

“You know why you’re here, Mr. Galviera?” Angel asked in Spanish.

Is that the sicario? Think.

Galviera did not respond as his eyes swept over the array of his sports bags, lined up on the floor between them. All were open displaying bundles of cash.

“It seems,” the young man said between chips, “that we have a discrepancy on the amount of our stolen property. You’ve provided us with three million, when our calculation shows the amount owing to be five.”

I need the two million. I can’t give it up.

“That’s all there is.”

“Don’t lie. That’s not all there is.”

“Where’s Tilly?”

“Our agreement was a simple one. You return our stolen property, all five million, and we return the girl. We’ve shown you the girl. We’ve kept our side of the agreement.”

“Where is she? I need to see her.”

Ignoring the question to sip his soda, the young man said, “You have failed to keep your part of the agreement. You’ve misled us and that is a mistake.”

I’ve got nothing left to bargain with. No leverage.

“No. It’s all there.”

“Your first mistake, Mr. Galviera, was to conspire to steal from us.”

“No, I never did that. What have you done with Tilly?”

“I will give you the opportunity right now to tell us where the rest of our property is so we can retrieve it and conclude our dealings.”

Either way, I am dead. If I get out of this, I’ll have Tilly and two million.

“But that is all there is. I swear.”

“You swear?”

“Salazar and Johnson controlled everything,” Galviera said. “They used my company for distribution for a limited term. All fees collected were stored until each collection period, then everything went to them to process to you.”

“So, Salazar and Johnson are responsible for any discrepancies?”

“Yes. It was them.”

Someone other than the young man cleared his throat. Galviera saw two other men, older men, watching from the periphery.

“This complicates the situation,” Angel said. “Let’s simplify it. Salazar and Johnson were stealing from us. They’d planned to set up their own cartel, the Diablo Cartel, to compete with us. With your help, they stole five million dollars from our organization for that very purpose.”

That’s what happened and they know it.

“I had no part in that.”

Something coiled; something out of sight was being prepared.

“I am afraid you are not being truthful, Mr. Galviera. I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of your situation.”

“I do. With the utmost respect, please, I’ve brought you the money. Give me Tilly and we’ll close the matter. I’m telling you the truth. That is all the money there is.”

Angel signaled to Limon-Rocha and Tecaza.

In an instant they left, then returned, carrying Tilly. She was bound to a chair by rope and chains. No hope of escaping this time. They set her down opposite Galviera. Her mouth was taped.

Angel hopped from the table, tugged on white latex surgical gloves, then picked up a sports bag that had been behind him and out of sight.

“I think you need an illustration to understand.”

Angel opened the big bag, reached into it and retrieved a round object that was slightly smaller than a ten-pin bowling ball. Then he reached into the bag for a second similar object, placing both on the ground before Galviera.

“You see, this is what happens when you lie to me.”

Amid the mass of hair, decomposing flesh and open eyes, Galviera met the faces of Octavio Sergio Salazar and John Walker Johnson.

64

Greater Phoenix, Arizona

“Goodness, girl, slow down!”

Olive McKay scolded herself as her old Silverado SUV bumped along the dirt road leading to her friend Virginia’s house.

Olive was running a titch late this morning but that was no reason to spill all the food she’d made the night before for the charity potluck-pecan tarts, a pineapple upside-down cake and pasta salad. Thank goodness she’d put it all in the cooler and belted it to the rear passenger seat.

Virginia’s double-wide emerged into view. Olive tooted the horn as she wheeled up, noticing that Virginia had left her front porch light on. Odd. Being a penny-pincher on a tight budget, Virginia just never did that.

She’s probably a bit preoccupied this morning.

Olive got out of her SUV, intent on helping load it with Virginia’s food as quickly as possible. Raising her hand to ring the doorbell, she paused.

The door was ajar.

Did she leave it open for me? That’s strange. She always keeps it locked, on account of the teenagers who sometimes get out of hand, out at the old airfield.

“Virginia?”

What’s that clicking?

“Hello! Virginia, it’s me, Olive! We have to get going. Flo said we should be there by now!”

She listened harder to the soft vibrations. What is that?

“Virginia?”

Olive’s smile melted as the first icy thread of concern slithered up her back. What’s that rapid clicking? The door creaked as she slowly pushed it open, seeing tomato juice all over the kitchen floor and thinking, what a mess. Then…that can’t be tomato juice…the consistency and the color’s not right. As the door swung wider. Olive saw a foot, then a leg, both legs, and Virginia lying on her back with a knife handle rising from her chest, her hand twitching in the puddle of blood.

Olive’s scalp tingled. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh.