Will yanked the woman’s wrists behind her back and tied them.
He looked at Pablo. “She stays that way, understand? I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“When do I get to eat? That soup was it.”
“When I get some money, you get to eat.” And then, sensing rebellion, Will forced himself to add: “A few more days, Pablo. You’ll be loving on your wife again. Patience.”
Will could tell Pablo wanted to believe him. That was all that mattered. Even a slim hope would keep him in line a little longer. As soon as the money came through from Barrera and Navarre… Stirman would figure out the rest.
He walked out, conscious of their eyes on his back. The concrete floor felt spongy under his feet.
Maybe it was the lack of food. How long had it been since he ate? Fourteen million dollars coming, and he didn’t have ten bucks for a meal.
From the milk crate by the loading dock entrance, he took a 9mm and a clip of ammunition.
He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have a plan.
For the first time since the Fourth of July, Will thought about his Floresville cell, his Bible sketches blowing in the fan breeze.
You were better off in that cage, he thought. You’re falling apart.
No. He could keep himself together. He had to, or eight years of praying for vengeance went for nothing. Just a brief errand, now. Something to clear his head.
He tucked the 9mm under his shirt and went out to find cash and food.
Erainya pretended to sleep for almost an hour. She waited for Pablo to nod off, but it was too much to hope for, even though he’d been guarding her all night and half the morning.
After a while, Pablo turned back on Texas Public Radio. Under different circumstances, this would’ve struck Erainya as funny. A con who liked the Diane Rehm show.
Pablo listened dutifully as Diane refereed a debate between a Catholic priest and a Buddhist monk on the sanctity of marriage. Still Pablo didn’t snooze. The guy was made of iron.
A newsbreak came on: two fugitives shot dead in Omaha. Identification was pending, but the men were believed to be part of the Floresville Five. Police were confident more apprehensions in the case were imminent.
Erainya opened her eyes just enough to watch Pablo’s face.
He stared at the wall.
He got up, paced, and turned toward Erainya.
She closed her eyes, willing herself to breathe deeply.
She heard the big iron door creak open. Pablo walked into the next room.
She wouldn’t get a better chance.
Stirman had been angry when he retied her, which made for sloppy knots. Her fingers had spent the last hour carefully exploring them. She worked herself the rest of the way free with little problem.
She’d tried to keep her legs from going to sleep, but they were sore and stiff when she tried to stand. She wasn’t going to be running anytime soon.
She could hide. She’d been staring at the loose ventilation grate in the corner. It looked big enough to crawl inside, if she could just move it. But there wasn’t time, it wouldn’t be quiet, and she didn’t know if the shaft led anywhere.
Only one other option, even riskier.
What kept her going was the memory of J.P. getting shot. Her anger braided around her spine like an iron coil.
Pablo’s gun was sitting on the table. She heard him in the next room, rummaging around.
Move, she told herself.
She grabbed the gun and walked to the door.
Pablo was kneeling over a milk crate. He was holding a phone, cursing as he tried to dial a number.
Shoot him, she told herself.
She aimed.
This one, Pablo, she didn’t hate enough.
He hadn’t pulled the trigger on J.P. She could see in his eyes he hated Stirman as much as she did. He’d fed her soup.
So fucking what? Shoot!
Then he turned and saw her. His eyes got small.
“Put it down,” he told her. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ve got the gun, Pablo.”
He took a step toward her. “No bullets in it.”
She aimed at the center of his chest.
He took another step and she squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
He grabbed her wrist. She managed to punch him in the nose-a weak effort, but enough to loosen his grip. She made it a few steps toward the stairs before he tackled her and dragged her back into her cell.
She screamed, but there was no one to hear.
He flung her onto the mattress, stood over her, breathing heavy, dabbing his bloody nose. On the radio, Diane Rehm was talking about trusting your spouse.
Erainya felt like crying, but she held on to her anger.
She sat up, touched the back of her head where it had struck the wall.
After a long time, she asked Pablo, “Those were your friends who died in Omaha?”
For a moment, he became that young man in the alley behind Paesano’s again-a contrite, harmless kid. “One of them… my cousin
… if he’s really dead.”
“You’ve been keeping in touch,” she guessed. “You just tried to call him.”
Pablo didn’t answer.
“Stirman wouldn’t approve,” she persisted. “Little harder to trace mobile calls, but they can do it. They find your cousin’s phone, honey, they find out he’s been making calls to San Antonio-”
“Shut up.”
“Time’s running out.”
“Just give Stirman his money, and nobody’s going to hurt you. Do that, we’re gone.”
“I don’t have the money.”
“Cooperate, lady. You could go home. So could I.”
“You believe that, Pablo? Is that what Stirman promised your friends in Omaha?”
Blood trickled from his nostril. Pablo didn’t seem to notice.
If Erainya could just get him on her side…
“Honey,” she said, more gently, “what were you in prison for?”
Pablo studied her warily, as if he were afraid she’d make fun of him. “I killed a man.”
“You’re not a natural killer. What did this man do?”
“He was… I came home, and he was with my wife.”
Aha, she thought. Keep him talking. Be his friend.
“You still want her back?” she asked. “Will she still be waiting?”
Erainya realized she’d made a mistake when she saw the anger in his eyes.
“She didn’t do anything,” he said tightly. “They were talking on the bed, but… it wasn’t what I thought.”
“Okay, honey,” Erainya said, trying to placate him. “So what happened?”
Pablo looked at his gun. “Couple of weeks, Angelina had been spending money, going out at weird times. Then a neighbor saw this guy come over to the house twice while I was at work. I came home with a shotgun one night… but it wasn’t what I thought. She’d hired a private eye. Somebody like you. Angelina had lost her family coming across the Rio Grande years ago, see. She hired this guy to find them. Didn’t think I’d approve of her spending the money. That’s why she didn’t tell me.”
