ropes and cords.
Zorno led us through the labyrinth of haphazardly connected structures. We were surrounded by the moan of ropes tug-of-warring against each other and the sharp cracks of buildings bumping into each other at the whim of the river currents. Maggie stopped and turned to look back my way.
I hurried to catch up to her. “What is it?” I asked, afraid she might have lost him.
“He went into that bar.” The place looked pretty dead, too early for all but the hard-core drinkers.
“Did he see you?”
“No way, he never looked back.”
“Is he still in there? Can you see him?”
“Yeah. That’s him sitting at the bar.”
Now I saw him. Thankfully, his back was turned to us, so he couldn’t see us gawking through the window. We snagged a pair of stools at the end of an open-air fish counter that had a view of the bar. Hopefully, Zorno would stay put long enough for us to scarf down a bite-I was starving. I ordered mine fried on noodles. Maggie asked for hers steamed, but it came fried anyway.
We kept an obsessive eye on Zorno as we ate. He downed brandies, one after another. People stayed clear of him; nobody sat within three stools of the guy. Even the bartender kept himself busy at the far end of the bar.
The fish was greasy-wet, the noodles soggy-wet, but I was hungry enough that it didn’t matter. I leaned over until my chin almost touched the bowl. I spooned it up and in as fast as I could with my left; didn’t spill much that way. I left nothing but a pool of oil on the bottom. Maggie just picked at hers.
The sun had dropped. Cool evening air lured throngs of people out onto the Floodbank walkways. The fish counter creaked and rocked to the footfalls of customers and passersby. The cook scrambled to keep up with the orders. His grease-stained T-shirt dripped with sweat as he toiled over the deep fryers, stopping only to give Maggie and me nasty looks for hanging around and nursing our drinks, taking up two valuable seats.
Inside the bar, the bartender passed Zorno his check. After paying up, he was back on the move. I downed the rest of my soda and dropped a few bills on the counter.
Maggie said, “Same plan?”
“Yeah. You follow him, and I’ll follow you.”
SIXTEEN
Maggie and I trailed behind like a piece of loose fishing line hooked in the fish’s mouth. We snaked our way back toward the riverbank. At times, I could see Zorno’s sturdy build in the distance ahead, but mostly, I just eyed Maggie’s sweat-soaked back.
We were near the edge now. The walks were wider and more solid. If not for the slight sway, you wouldn’t know you were actually on the water. Maggie talked in my ear, “I’m on the street now… He’s taking a cab. Hurry up, Juno. He’s taking a cab.”
I caught up quickly-I hadn’t been far behind. We were on land now. The two of us made for the line of cabs that waited at the entrance to Floodbank. There was no way to get back to my car so Maggie crawled into the back of an empty taxi while I hopped in the passenger seat. Zorno was haggling with the driver of the cab in front of this one, no more than a couple meters away. Where the hell is the driver? There was a crowd of people playing dice on the street. I made eye contact with a woman who didn’t seem too interested in the game. She nudged a player who was on all fours, waiting for the next throw. He looked over and saw us sitting in his car. He held up a finger to say, “Wait a minute.” Holy shit, hurry up!
Zorno was getting in his cab. What the fuck is keeping our driver! He was arguing with a man holding a wad of cash, trying to settle his account. He kept pointing at us. The man counted out some bucks and passed it to our driver, who finally got in the car just as Zorno’s cab pulled off.
I flashed my badge and pointed to Zorno’s cab.
He whipped the cab out onto the street and set out in pursuit of Zorno.
I told him, “Leave some space between us. We don’t want him to know we’re tailing.”
“You gonna pay me for this or what? You ain’t gonna give me some bullshit about this being an emergency, are you?”
“We’ll pay. Now shut up and drive or I’ll toss your ass out and drive it myself.”
“That’s cool, man. If you’re paying, I’ll do whatever you say. You’re the boss.” I wanted to tell him to shut up again but held my tongue. Sometimes the best way to keep somebody from yapping was just to stay quiet.
There was only one model of car built on Lagarto. Distinguishing between individual vehicles at night could be next to impossible. Luckily, Zorno’s cab had a driver who liked to stand out. His rear windshield was bordered by tacky running lights that cycled in a marching-ant pattern. We headed out from the city center into a residential area. I said as much to Maggie, who was slow to respond. I stole a look back at her. She looked wiped. She hadn’t gotten any sleep last night-spent the whole night with Pedro Vargas, going through mugs. “You can take a nap, Maggie. I’ll wake you up when we get somewhere.”
“No, I’m okay. Just a little tired.” She opened her eyes wide and sat up in her seat.
The traffic thinned, so the driver hung farther back, letting Zorno’s cab get way out in front of us. I sneaked another peek at Maggie, whose eyes were now closed. I decided to leave her alone and let her get some rest. We drove for a long time on the Cross Canal Road then turned into a dingy development of single-story apartments. The drive was overrun with branching weeds, candy wrappers caught in the cracks. We rode along slowly, people checking us out the whole way.
The apartments were run down. The paint was peeling; pieces of cardboard were taped over window holes. Many apartment fronts had been converted into small stores or food counters. People were out enjoying the evening. Men were grouped into card games and drinking circles. Women worked the stores and food counters. Their kids were running loose with the chickens while lizards hung out on the rooftops, observing without moving.
Zorno’s cab drove around to the back one of the apartment rows. He didn’t want anybody to know he was here. He got out of the cab and walked to the building. I couldn’t see which unit he went in; our view was blocked.
He was here to meet somebody, and I had to find out who it was-could be the person who hired Zorno to snuff Lieutenant Vlotsky. I was afraid he might spot me if I got out too soon, so I waited a minute before I rushed up to a row of crooked mailboxes, leaving a sleeping Maggie in the backseat.
Not all of the boxes had names written on, but I read off the ones that did. Scheid…Nunes…Rhyne… Vargas…OH SHIT! Vargas in unit 7! I sprinted to the back of the building, the weeds grabbing at my ankles. I struggled to pull my piece as I ran, finally managing to get it out of the holster as I sped up to the door of unit 7. How could I be so stupid? FUCK! The door was cracked open. I threw it wide and burst in.
Zorno was on his knees, lopsided smile and bloody knife in his hand. Pedro Vargas fish-flopped around the floor with his hands to his throat, blood running through his fingers-too goddamned late.
I was trying to keep my weapon leveled at Zorno, but it was wavering wildly-keep it cool, just relax.
Zorno held onto the knife. He was studying my wobbling gun, measuring his chances.
I held my piece with two hands but couldn’t control the tremors-RELAX! He got up, slip-sliding in Pedro’s blood. I started squeezing the trigger. My shots burned high and wide, my hand quaking so much that I wasn’t even close.
He was charging now. I kept firing and missing. I stopped pumping out short bursts and held the trigger down creating one long burn that I swept side to side like a fire spraying garden hose. He was still coming.
The frying sound of laser fire came from over my shoulder. Zorno buckled. Two more shots and the knife fell harmlessly from his hand as he collapsed.
“You okay, Juno?”
“Yeah, Maggie. Thanks.”
“You have to do something about that hand.”
The air smelled charred. The walls and furniture smoked with black singe marks. Zorno’s burnt flesh smelled well-done. Maggie kept a bead on him as she approached. She kicked away Zorno’s knife while I stood there,
