Jack looked at the photo. “Looks real nice, Hector.”
He exhaled hard. “Yeah. This gal has stuck with me through all the highs and lows. I swear, every day I come home expecting her to be gone but she’s still there.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
Hector nodded and put the photo back.
The hours passed until the sun began to set. Hector caught a few z’s while Jack didn’t take his eyes off the vehicle. Patience had been a main ingredient in what he did in New York. He couldn’t keep track of the number of hours he hung around waiting for his target to show. Many of them were clever at flying under the radar. Of course he’d always find them but waiting for them to show up was challenging. Some wouldn’t even drive but take to the street, traipse through forests to get to their house and enter through back doors. Some would avoid using lights in the house. Others would change up their route each day. And most would stay at a friend’s home. Yeah, collecting on those who owed was as much a game of patience as it was being able to kill.
Suddenly Garcia emerged from the gaudy-looking building with two other suits and strolled into the parking lot. Tall lights illuminated areas of the lot casting long shadows. The group of men stopped and chatted briefly and then went their separate ways. Jack shook Hector’s shoulders. “Hey wake up.”
“Wha…?” Hector looked around dazed and confused. Jack pointed. Hector brought the engine to life. “You know, I knock off from my shift soon.”
“Just stay on his tail.”
For once they didn’t have to travel far. Garcia lived in a fairly wealthy area just south of the department. Hector pulled on to E. Prince Road and into a neighborhood where the homes were spread a good distance apart from one another. All around them were flat desert plains with minimal tree coverage. By now the sun was nothing more than a fine orange line stretched out on the horizon as night took hold. They drove past the one-story, flat-roof adobe home with a two-car garage just as the white garage door closed behind the sedan. A white picket fence wrapped around the property and the driveway curved in off Florence Road with a few shrubs dotted around the sparse yard.
Hector looped the cab around and crawled back to the house. Only the sound of dirt and gravel beneath the tires could be heard as they pulled up. Jack got out and handed Hector some more money to cover the cost of the day.
“You need a ride out?”
“I think you’ve done enough, Hector. Thank you. Go home to that family of yours.” Hector squeezed the dollars and smiled back.
“Stay safe, my friend.”
The cab drove off and Jack waited until he saw the two red taillights disappear around a bend before approaching the house. He was well aware that this man could have a family but the need to know his involvement went beyond his concern for what they would think. He pulled out his Glock and kept it low as he jogged at a crouch. He checked a couple of windows and saw light emanating from behind the drapes. He heard movement inside and continued around to the rear of the house surveying the property for any dogs. There were none. At the rear of the house he tried the French doors and one of them opened. He listened and could hear the sound of a TV. The flickering of the screen cast shadows on the wall as he stepped inside and pulled the door closed.
Jack entered a spacious kitchen with a short breakfast counter, a center island, granite tops and steel appliances. It was all high-end; no expense had been spared. The floor was tiled throughout the house. He moved stealthily through the home, down a hallway heading for the living room. Jack’s eyes flitted over framed photos near the staircase — a wife, and a daughter no older than ten, and one of Garcia when he was younger in full police uniform. As Jack came around to the area that brought him into the living room, he noticed Garcia wasn’t there. The TV was playing the news; there was a large cream-colored couch and two recliners, a fireplace, a coffee table and an open dining area but no detective.
That’s when he heard a noise from behind him. A toilet flushed. Jack turned just as a door cracked open and light flooded out into the darkened corridor. Garcia came out doing up his belt. He glanced up. “Who the fuck—?”
Before Jack could reply, Garcia charged forward letting out a furious cry. Jack could have shot him but he needed him alive. He slammed into Jack and they slid across the wall taking down photos that smashed on the ground. Garcia had one hand clasped around Jack’s wrist to keep the gun away. He smashed Jack’s hand against the wall until the gun clattered on the ground. Jack head-butted him knocking him back only to have him fire a knee into his gut. Like a pinball they ricocheted off the walls in the narrow corridor until they hit the ground and slid into the kitchen. For someone of his age and weight, Garcia knew how to handle himself. He latched around Jack’s neck trying to choke him out only to have Jack fire backwards knocking him into the counter. He heard him let out a lungful of air. A bottle of wine on the counter knocked to the ground, shattered, and pooled liquid.
Jack threw Garcia across
