HAROLD FUENTES sat in the dining hall of the Santa Fe County Correctional Center and ate his Jell-O. It wasn't going down very well. This Joe Big Bear had pissed him off. Big Bear had taken twelve thousand, five hundred dollars of Harold's money and insulted him in the process. The man had no respect, and Harold was very big on respect.
Harold had already decided to kill Big Bear as soon as he got out. He knew where the guy lived, in that trailer next to the junkyard on the road to the airport, so it wouldn't be all that hard. When it was done he'd ransack the trailer and find the money, get it all back. But as he thought some more about it, he didn't relish doing the actual deed. After all, Big Bear had weapons of his own, and he might be a light sleeper. Then Harold smiled to himself. Maybe there was a better way.
He finished his lunch, then went and stood in line at the bank of pay phones outside the dining hall, fingering the quarters in his pocket. He'd show the son of a bitch, then he'd get his money back.
WHEN EAGLE GOT BACK from lunch, Betty followed him into his office and closed the door.
'What's up?' he asked.
'You had a phone call a few minutes ago,' she said.
'Who?'
'I don't know, but the caller ID. said it came from the county jail.'
'We got any clients in there right now?'
'This
'Who?'
'The caller said that your client, Joe Big Bear, is going to try to kill you, so to watch your ass.'
Eagle sat down. 'Why would Joe want to kill me?' he asked. 'I mean, I just got him off a triple-murder rap.'
'The caller didn't say why; he just said that Big Bear was going to try and kill you.'
'That doesn't make any sense,' Eagle said. 'Well, thanks for letting me know, Betty, but I wouldn't worry about it.'
'I think the guy was right; you'd better watch your ass.'
'I will, thank you.'
The phone rang, and Eagle spoke to another client. He forgot about the earlier message.
WHEN THEY REACHED the snack-bar deck of the ferry, Cupie put his hand on Vittorio's arm before he could continue up the stairs. 'Wait a minute,' he said.
'What's up, Cupie?'
'There's something wrong about this kidnapping thing and the interest of the Mexican police in our Barbara.'
'What do you mean, wrong?'
'I mean, these kidnapping rings down here have got this down to a science: they pick on business executives whose companies have big insurance policies covering kidnapping. They snatch a CEO, or somebody like that, then they do a deal for five or ten million dollars. The insurance company pays, the businessman gets sent home, maybe minus an ear, and everybody but the insurance company is happy.'
'Yeah, I've heard about that. What's your point?'
'My point is, they wouldn't be chasing Barbara around for the three hundred grand in traveler's checks in her handbag. That's small potatoes to these people.'
'It doesn't sound like small potatoes to me,' Vittorio said.
'Not only is it small potatoes, but it's one hell of a lot of trouble for them, too. They've lost one man and had another shot.'
'That means nothing to these people. To them, life is cheap.'
'And we messed up their Suburban pretty good, too.'
'Well, maybe we pissed them off enough that they would keep looking for her.'
Cupie shook his head. 'I don't think so. I think it's something else.'
'What else?'
'I don't know. I just think there's another reason for all this, and I wish I knew what it was.'
'Cupie, my friend, you're getting paranoid. Relax. We'll be in Tijuana by lunchtime tomorrow, and we'll be rid of Mrs. Eagle.'
'I hope you're right,' Cupie said doubtfully.
'I am,' Vittorio replied.
Cupie watched him climb the stairs to the upper deck. 'Something's wrong,' he said aloud to himself.
Thirty-three
JOE BIG BEAR GOT OUT HIS DOUBLE-BARRELED SHOTGUN from the storage compartment under the living room sofa of his trailer and wiped it with an oily rag. He took it out to his pickup, rummaged in the aluminum tool chest bolted to the truck bed and came up with a good-size vise. He clamped the vise to the tailgate, got a battery-operated radial saw out of the toolbox, changed the blade and began working on the shotgun's barrels. Thirty minutes and two blades later, he had a sawed-off shotgun. He used the saw to take off most of the wooden stock, too, leaving only enough for a hand to grip. Finally, he filed the rims of the barrels to remove any burrs. The whole thing was only about two feet long. He loaded the weapon with double-ought buckshot and put it under the seat of the pickup. He was armed.
BARBARA CHECKED HER WATCH: they had been underway for forty minutes, which meant they were pretty much in the middle of the Gulf of California. Now to see if her luck was holding.
She got out of the car and looked around; she was alone in the garage. She found the stairs and walked up two decks to the top of the little ship. She looked both ways from the door and saw no one, so she stepped out onto the deck. The wind from the ship's passage blew her hair around her face, and she brushed it aside as she walked aft. Vittorio was standing, his back to her, his hands on the rail, looking aft at the boiling wake. No one else was in sight. Perfect.
She walked toward him, careful to keep her steps light. Then, when she had only six feet to go, he glanced over his shoulder and turned around, smiling. He leaned against the rail and opened his arms. 'Come here,' he said.
She couldn't fight him face to face, she knew that; she'd have to think of something else. She moved into his arms, and the bulge at his crotch gave her the answer. She kissed him, grinding her body into his, and the bulge grew. The railing cut across his ass.
'I know what you want,' she said, reaching down and unzipping his fly.
'Well, we are all alone up here, after all,' he replied.
She knelt, unbuckled his belt, pushed down his pants and took him into her mouth, getting a noisy response from him. He ran his fingers through her hair, took hold and pulled her to him.
Shit, she thought. She pulled back and took him out of her mouth. 'If you want me to keep doing this, don't mess up my hair,' she said.
He took his hands away and gripped the railing on either side of him. 'Any way you want it, baby,' he said.
She continued her work, massaging his balls with one hand, and suddenly, convulsively, he began to come. She reached down, hooked her fingers under the bottoms of his jeans and heaved quickly upward.
'Hey!' he yelled, grabbing at the railing, but it was too late. He flew backward over the side and disappeared into the frothy wake.
She watched for a minute, but he didn't come up again. All that was left was his hat, floating upside down on
