King of Swords

“He’s very good, isn’t he?” Cruz rasped weakly.

“One of the best. You’re in good hands,” she assured him.

“I’m glad to hear that. Tell me, what’s his name again…?”

Her eyes digested the question, and he watched the split-second it took for her to realize she’d been played. She lunged for him with the needle, only to be slammed in the side of the head with the pistol. Obviously dazed, she fought to maintain her balance, so Cruz whacked her with it again. Her eyes rolled up into her head as she slipped into unconsciousness.

Cruz pushed the red button on his bed control, maintaining an unsteady bead on her as he awaited help. After a few minutes, he heard the staff trying to get the door open, with no success due to the chair. Checking to ensure the woman was still out, he resigned himself to having to do this the hard way. He detached his IV before swinging his legs over the side of the bed, taking a few seconds to get his balance before shuffling his way to the door and removing the chair.

Cruz was almost knocked off his feet by the two Federales who burst in, weapons at the ready, followed by a nurse, who grabbed him as he slumped against her. He noted the blood splattered on the floor from where it had leaked out of his catheter, and was reassured that it looked reasonably viscous; a satisfying shade of crimson.

“She’s got a syringe in her hand. Careful. Don’t let her stick you. It’s poison,” Cruz instructed the two cops.

Then he fainted.

Chapter 15

Briones paced the floor around the chair where the spurious nurse who’d tried to kill Cruz was shackled, much as he’d seen the Capitan pace when he’d been conducting interrogations. He smiled inwardly at the impression Cruz had made on him over the last five years. He’d do Cruz proud on this one.

Maria Trigos Gonzalez was twenty-eight years old, with a university degree in mathematics. She was a native of Los Mochis, north of Mazatlan on the coast — a notorious cartel trafficking stop on the route to the border.

“Maria. We tested the syringe. We know you were going to kill him. That’s not in question. Judging by your performance it’s a safe bet this isn’t your first job. So cut the shit, tell me who hired you, and it’ll go better for everyone,” Briones said.

“I told you. I don’t know the man’s name.”

“How did he get into contact with you?” Briones asked.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You mean you won’t. You won’t tell me that,” Briones corrected. “And that’s the start of our problem, you see?”

“If I tell you who my conduit is, I’ll be dead by tomorrow. That’s how it works,” Maria warned.

“Very melodramatic. But try this,” Briones reasoned. “If you don’t help me, you’ll be dead in the same amount of time, because there’s not a chance in hell your conduit will allow you to remain in custody until you decide it might be worth rolling on him. So your only safe bet is to cooperate now, before he knows anything’s wrong. Your window of opportunity closes after that, and I believe you when you say nobody can keep you safe then…”

He saw a flicker in her eyes and knew he’d scored a major point. Maria was calculating, he could tell, trying to figure a way out. He allowed her time, confident that he had it right. If she rolled, he’d kill her; if she didn’t, he’d kill her. But if she rolled before he knew there was anything wrong, she had a chance.

“You know what I’m saying is true — math degree, right? That’s not for idiots. Maria, I can’t let you walk after you tried to kill a captain in the Federales, but I can figure out a way to have you charged with something less, and incarcerated in a facility that’s lax in its ability to hold determined prisoners. We both know that’s the best deal you’re going to get, but it’s only available today, right now. When I walk out that door the deal walks with me, and you’ll be dead within a matter of hours. Think it through and make the right decision. Either way, your assassin days are over.” Briones studied her face. “You’re a very beautiful woman, Maria. I have a feeling you could figure out a way to have a good life without financing it by killing people. There are probably men lined up to court you.”

“I’m not a big fan of men. They’re pigs. No offense.”

“None taken. Okay, then, there’s a whole life out there you can live being whatever you want with whoever you want. But it goes away once you’re dead on the cellblock floor, which is how this plays if you don’t cooperate. So let’s save ourselves some time, shall we?” Briones suggested.

She glared at him, but he knew he’d broken her will. Not because he’d tortured her or worn her down physically. He would prevail in this because he used stark reasoning. Sometimes that was the best way. Maria was probably accustomed to being the smartest person in any room, so her language was logic; even if she earned her living being a murderer, the math degree meant that she was analytical, and once the equation was calculated in her mind, if the answer was that she’d need to cooperate to stay alive, she would. He fished in his shirt pocket and withdrew his package of cigarettes — tapped one out and lit it, then extended the pack to Maria. She shook her head, declining the offer.

Briones savored the smoke, having trimmed his habit to ten cigarettes a day. The hope was that he could eventually back it off, little by little, until he was only having a cigarette after dinner now and again. It wasn’t a bad plan, but the damned smoke did taste good. Sometimes life wasn’t fair — the things that were the most fun usually killed you.

Maria looked up at him as he took time with his smoke, in no particular hurry; a man for whom time was on his side.

“What do I have to do?”

Maria approached the front door of the antique shop with a measured gait, stiletto heels accenting her perfectly-sculpted calves. She stopped at the door and peered through the glass, verifying that her conduit was there before entering. A middle-aged man with a goatee opened the door for her and kissed her on either cheek. He gestured with an open hand to a passageway at the rear of the shop, nodding at the girl behind the counter to hold down the fort while he attended to his guest.

Once they were inside his office, his manner became brusque.

“How did it go?” he asked.

“With the target at Hospital Angeles? Fine. I injected the poison as instructed, and got out before he died.” She smiled sweetly at him. “What did you expect?”

He regarded her with puzzled curiosity. “That’s wonderful. I’ll collect the other half of the fee, and pay you in the usual manner. So why are you here, instead of dealing with this over the phone?” he inquired politely.

“Aren’t you happy to see me?” she countered.

“Of course, my dear, of course. It’s just not, erm, customary, so I’m a little surprised,” he said.

“I want to meet the client, Ben.”

Benjamin Del Fuerez stopped stroking his goatee. He gave her a harsh stare.

“That’s not possible. You know that’s not how it works,” he snapped.

“Ben, this was not an ordinary contract. I don’t know if you knew it or not, but the target was a prominent member of the Federal Police. That brings with it a completely different level of risk, and therefore reward, don’t you think?” she observed.

“I had no idea,” Ben protested, his eyes revealing that he did. There was no surprise in them, no shock. Just duplicity.

“Now you know. I want to meet the client and discuss how he can pay me what the hit was worth,” Maria explained.

“I’m sorry; that’s not going to happen. What I can do is have a discussion with him, and see about some sort of a bonus for a job well done,” Ben suggested.

“No. I need to meet him. Sooner than later. No negotiations on that,” Maria insisted.

Ben studied her as he might an insect. “Maria — what the fuck is going on in your head? Who do you think you’re talking to? If you want any more contracts, you’ll back that attitude off now. Or our arrangement is finished. I