At last I recognized the distinctive lines of his Maverick. As requested, he pulled to the left of the store, and I used the Dumpsters as cover to slide into the passenger side. With any luck, the clerk would think Chuch had stopped to check a map or something.
“Good to see you,
I shook my head at the wonder of his unconditional friendship. “How can you not hate me, after all I’ve cost you?”
“You didn’t do that. Montoya did. And he’ll get his.” The ice in his voice sent a chill through me.
It seemed best to let the subject go for now; I’d find a way to make it up to them.
The Maverick cut through the dark while I summed up the situation. I left out the part about my casting the forget spell, but he had to know I was a fugitive from police protective custody. If he wanted to aid me thereafter, it was his choice.
“Anyway, that’s where I am. If you prefer to drop me off somewhere—”
“Forget it,” he said with a frown.
“Okay. If you’re still in, then I need a new cell phone, something cheap.”
“We’ll stop and get you hooked up.”
We passed from the country and into the city; Chuch took me to a warren of low-slung buildings where the streets narrowed and people stood outside drinking. Salsa music thumped from somebody’s speakers. If I hadn’t been with him, I’d have been nervous. Then again, at this point, I felt mostly numb.
He approached a guy sitting on the trunk of a blue Dodge Dart. I wasn’t sure about the year, but I guessed late sixties to early seventies. Unlike Chuch’s cherry vehicles, this one could use some work. It showed primer and a few dings.
The dude jumped down and clasped Chuch’s hand with an appearance of genuine welcome. Chuch had contacts all over the place, and I was grateful. I stood quiet, conscious of Butch’s interest.
Ramos opened up a plastic red and white cooler, lofting a Negro Modelo.
“
That actually brightened Ramos’s smile. He cracked the beer open on the fender of his car and then popped the trunk. Inside, he had a wondrous rainbow assortment of electronics. I chose a shiny blue phone, and Ramos dug a charger out of the side netting. Everything was tangled, so it took a while.
“Good solid tech,” he told me, as if I wasn’t already sold. “You can find out your new number by calling Chuch. You, um, may get some hang-ups and wrong numbers for a while.”
I didn’t inquire if it was stolen. I did ask, “This isn’t a contract phone, is it?”
“No,” Ramos said. “These are prepaid. Traded or bought from people who wanted a different model. You can dial this code to check your talk time, and if you get low, just stop at a gas station and get a new card.”
“Yeah, I know how it works. How much?”
“Forty bucks. This is a good deal. Still charged up, and it has plenty of minutes left.” He proved it by calling up the automated line and letting me listen.
“Does it have e-mail?”
“Yeah. You can configure the mailbox when you mess with the settings.”
“I’ll take it.” I paid Ramos and then followed Chuch back to the Maverick.
We left Ramos sitting on the trunk of his car, sipping beer, glazed by the amber of distant streetlights. The dealer looked like he had nothing to do and nowhere else he’d rather be. As we drove away, I envied him.
Chuch broke the silence a few blocks away. “Escobar’s
“Yeah. I don’t know which one.”
“They all need killing,” he said flatly.
I cut him a look; his face was rough and hard in the glare of oncoming headlights. “Not tonight.”
The silence built. We drove a little longer, aimless now. I just needed to stay alive. Jesse was safe; so was Shannon. Eva was with her mother, and Chuch had made his choice. I didn’t deserve his help, but I didn’t know what I’d do without him tonight.
Eventually, he advised me, “Your message is on its way to Montoya . . . and he’s going to lose his shit soon. Wish I could see it. Watching you on the news, shaming his guys . . . That’s gotta sting.”
“I can only hope.”
“So what’s the plan now?”
That was what I liked most about Chuch: Despite having all kinds of expertise and experience—stuff I couldn’t even conceive, most likely—he never flaunted it, or went overt alpha dog. He flowed right into any capacity in which he was needed.
“I call Escobar and tell him he has a traitor in his ranks.”
“And
“Maybe.” That couldn’t be my primary concern. “But it’s time to end this.”
When Montoya broke, when he sent me the e-mail asking for a meet, I had to be ready to move. I got out my phone and dialed.
Once Upon a Time in Mexico
Chuch made a few calls and we wound up at a trailer owned by a friend of his cousin Ramon. We drove past mounds of trash, rusted carburetors and engines up on blocks. Our hideyhole sat at the back of the RV park, where most residents didn’t have a phone and weren’t about to get involved in someone else’s business. The trailer across the way had an impressive array of license plates, and the one catty-cornered appeared to collect hubcaps.
There were few trees, but plenty of dry grass and broken pavement littered with glass and plastic wrappers. Chuch stopped in front of a single-wide, and after he parked, I slid out; in the distance, I heard cars on the highway, barking dogs, and a woman screaming at her kid. Squaring my shoulders, I surveyed the cracked vinyl underpinning as I came up to the front door. The gaps meant that scurrying sounds could be rats nesting underneath. As long as they hadn’t chewed their way in, I could handle it.
The trailer was to let, but since it smelled of old pot and cat piss, so far there hadn’t been any takers. Imagine my surprise. Inside, I encountered stained brown carpet, spilled coffee grounds, an upside-down trash can, and a dilapidated couch in blinding purple plaid. I couldn’t fathom why the prior tenants left it behind.
Chuch staked out bedroom territory. Since it stank even worse in there—of stale sweat, old cigarette smoke, and rancid massage oil—I didn’t dispute his claim. He carried in basic provisions, nothing fancy: bread, peanut butter, crackers, chips, and soda.
I sank down on the sofa and made a call. An unfamiliar male voice answered, one of Escobar’s thugs, most likely. “Tell your boss he’s got a leak,” I said in Spanish. “He might want to plug it.”
“Corine Solomon. And if I’d relied on his men to keep my whereabouts a secret, I’d be dead now. Tell him to handle it.”
After I cut the connection, Chuch shook his head at me. “You like living dangerously, don’t you?”
“Not so much, but sometimes it’s necessary.”
Too often for comfort, I found.
We spent the next forty-eight hours sleeping, waiting, and playing cards. It was a great place to lie low; nobody bothered us. Butch, at least, enjoyed the respite from car chases, flying bullets, and unquiet spirits. As time wore on, Chuch called Eva periodically to make sure she was all right.
“Told you I’m fine,” I heard his wife say, ending the conversation. “I swear I’ll let you know if that changes. I’m not going through this alone.”
That night, I had a hard time falling asleep; it wasn’t the lumpy couch or the undesirable location. I’d crashed in worse places. No, it was worry and regret tying me up in knots. I hoped Jesse and Shannon were all right. From
