come back to pick you up.”
“But why do we have to pay one of our own extra for the name?”
“You talk too much,” said Luis.
“He’s got to learn sometime,” said his brother, looking over his shoulder again. “We’re not paying him. The files on their confidential sources are sealed tighter than ever since that grand jury. He needs the money to bribe someone
“I still can’t believe we have an informant in our family.”
“It’s the business we’ve chosen.”
The Mercedes rolled to a stop in a small clearing. Dragonflies, sun-bleached beer cans, a single sneaker in weeds.
Guillermo opened his door, filling the car with a blast of scorched air and the buzz of insects.
“We’ll be waiting for your call.” Hector reached for the gearshift.
The car’s horn suddenly blared. Solid.
“What on earth-” Luis looked toward his brother.
The inside of the driver’s windshield was splattered red, his brother facedown on the steering wheel. Luis spun toward the open back door. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
A pair of nine-millimeter rounds entered Luis’s forehead through the same hole.
Guillermo calmly placed the pistol back in his briefcase and walked around to the driver’s side. A dust cloud appeared in the distance as another Mercedes came up the road from the direction of the Tamiami. He opened Hector’s door and pulled him back by the hair. The horn stopped.
So did the second Mercedes.
Guillermo walked to the trailing vehicle and retrieved a gas can from the passenger seat.
“Remember to roll their windows down,” said the driver. “Those other fools left too much evidence when the fire suffocated itself from lack of air.”
Moments later, Guillermo climbed into the second car, which made a tight U in the clearing and drove back out the dirt road. Behind them, flames curled from open windows.
“The last people I would have expected,” said Guillermo. “Why would they turn on the family?”
“One of them did.”
“One?”
Juanita nodded. “Our informant couldn’t figure out which.”
“So you had me kill
She smiled and patted his hand. “You’re a good boy, Guillermo.”
“Thank you, Madre.”
THE PRESENT
A ’73 Challenger raced up the strip.
Serge reached into a small drugstore shopping bag.
“Smelling salts?” asked Coleman.
“Explain later.” Serge removed a greeting card from the same bag. “Right now I must depend on your particular talents. Nearest liquor store?”
“Three hundred yards. Left one block, then right, north side of the street.”
He hit the gas.
“But, Serge, you don’t drink.”
The Challenger hung a hard left. “It’s not for me. It’s for one of Guillermo’s goons.”
“You’re buying one of his goons a drink?”
A skidding right turn. “Several.”
They dashed into the store. “Coleman, time’s of essence. Your expertise again-liquor store layout. Where’s the…”
Coleman quickly guided Serge to respective products on his mental list. They ran for the cash register with arms full of bottles.
Minutes later, the Challenger patched out of the parking lot.
“What’s the big rush?” asked Coleman.
“Pedro just made the TV news.”
“And?”
“So up to now we’ve had the advantage of them not knowing what we know. But as soon as Guillermo sees the news, he’ll realize they’ve been made. We already might be too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Before they have a chance to clear out, I’d like to thin the herd a little more and improve our odds.”
“How does all that liquor fit in?”
“It has to be a quick strike. I wanted to set up a series of levers, gears, bowling balls and axes on roller skates, but this is no time for fun. Had to think up something quick-that also
“I usually prefer a way out of that.”
“Most people do, which is why I added liquor to the Master Plan’s cocktail. It simultaneously accomplishes both objectives: taking out the target and creating an escape clause.”
“How does it do that?”
“Through a potent mix of French cuisine and
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO
Twenty people with latex gloves walked extra slow, performing a grid search in the dirt and weeds around the charred carcass of a Mercedes.
Just another day in the Everglades.
“Looks like he picked up the shell casings.”
“Obviously knows what he’s doing. I’m guessing those windows weren’t originally rolled down in this heat.”
A cell phone rang.
“Ramirez here.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Calm down.” The agent walked to the side of the clearing for privacy. “Is the encryption box switched on?”
“How can you tell me to calm down at a time like this?” Patrick McKenna paced in front of the TV set in his Battle Creek living room with snowflakes on windowsills. “Have you seen the news? Prosecutor says they have to drop all charges.”
“The encryption box!”
“It’s on! Jesus!” McKenna paced the other way, past a televised press conference in the Miami sunshine. “You told me it was a done deal. They’d all go away for a long time.”
“Immunity’s still intact.” Ramirez paced behind a burnt-up car and wiped stinging sweat from his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything with your family.”
“One of the dead guys in the Everglades was your other witness, wasn’t he?”
No answer.
“Oh, my God! What am I going to do?” Children across the street stuck the carrot nose in a snowman. “… They’re going to find us, I just know it.”
“Listen very carefully. Nobody’s going to find anyone. You have my word.”
“I’ll bet your other witness had your word.”
“It was completely different with him.”
“Right, he’s dead.”
“No, I mean he wasn’t only a witness. He was a top member of their organization.”
