mean it.”
“Maybe I’m tired of killing people for money, Ben. Maybe I don’t need any more contracts,” Maria countered.
Ben didn’t know how to react to that. Nobody quit in this business. Nobody.
“You don’t have that option, sweetheart. Once you’re in, you’re in for life,” Ben warned.
“I don’t think so, Ben.” She stood, and Ben was unsure how to respond to this latest surprise. He was honestly flummoxed by the interaction. Maria was as hard and efficient as pros got. Her announcing that she wanted to meet the client, and now intended to quit, was a complete departure from the script.
“I don’t understand. What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you know what happens if you walk out that door?” Ben threatened.
“Let me guess. You kill me, or have one of your other people kill me?”
“You’re on dangerous ground, Maria. You know I’ll do it,” he snarled.
“Yeah, well, I’m betting that it’s a lot easier handling money for contract killings than doing it yourself, even though I imagine you’ve killed plenty in your time, eh?” Maria sneered at Ben, angering him further still.
“You little bitch, I’ve killed cunts like you just for practice. How do you think I got into this business? You do
She nodded. “Yes. I imagine that should do the trick. You’ve made yourself more than clear, Benjamin Del Fuerez,” she intoned, and then sat down, removing a small Beretta handgun from her purse.
“What the hell do you-”
A commotion interrupted them from the front of the shop; the sound of boots clattering on the stone floor. The door sprang open and three
He looked at Maria. “We’ve got the whole thing on tape. He’s fucked. Give me the gun,” Briones said, holding out his hand. Maria placed it into his palm, and he pocketed it before turning his attention to Ben. “As you may have surmised, being an obviously smart man, you’re fucked. What I mean by that is that you’ll spend the rest of your sad, miserable life being sodomized by AIDS-infested junkie convicts in the worst prison Mexico has to offer, based on her testimony and the recording we just made of you admitting to having killed many, what was the phrase, ‘for practice’? You also admitted paying her to kill a Federal Police captain, and that you handle money in exchange for managing a murder-for-hire enterprise.”
“I want my lawyer,” Ben insisted.
“No, Ben — I can call you Ben, right? We’re all friends here, no? No need for formality.” Briones moved around the table to where Ben sat, and leaned in close, invading his space. “Nice cologne there, Ben, if a trifle heavy on the application. The boys in jail will love that. And that’s your future — a short life being corn-holed by killers before one of them slices your guts out, well, ‘for practice’.”
“I was kidding…what I said to her-”
“Sure you were. And the captain will feel much better knowing the man who paid her to kill him was actually kidding when he did so. I’m sure the judge will love that explanation, too.” Briones got his cuffs out. “You really do have a pretty mouth. Cherubic. I’m guessing even at your age you’ll get passed around the yard like a pack of cigarettes; a nice, soft, civilized
Ben swallowed and blinked back at Briones, seemingly receptive to hearing more.
That evening, a short man with a shaved head, wearing a suede dinner jacket and jeans, rang the bell of the antique shop, alligator-skin briefcase dangling nonchalantly from perfectly manicured fingers. An elaborate gold bracelet encircled one wrist, and a Patek Philippe moon-phase chronograph decorated the other. Ben emerged from the rear of the shop with a set of keys and hastily opened the double-keyed deadbolt, holding the door open for the man before relocking it behind him. He motioned to his office area and followed the small man back. Once seated, the man put the briefcase onto the desk and opened it with a flourish.
Ben frowned and said, “The contractor indicated that the target was a Federal Police officer-”
Ben’s statement was interrupted by the muffled sound of the new arrival’s small pistol shot blowing through his eye. The little man calmly replaced the weapon, a Ruger.22 caliber with a custom-machined silencer, and closed the briefcase, rounding the desk to grab the keys from Ben’s lifeless hand so he could let himself out.
When Briones and four armed officers burst through the rustic, hand-carved wood-paneled door at the rear of the office, the small man’s composure fractured for the first time.
“You’re under arrest, for murder and conspiracy to commit murder,” Briones said as he stepped forward with cuffs at the ready. The little man bolted towards the front of the shop with the briefcase and the keys, stopping when he saw more police out front. He slowly turned to face Briones, whose pistol was pointed at his head, and tossed the briefcase to the floor with a flourish. The corner of one lip twitched upwards, and he hissed the first words he’d spoken since entering the shop.
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
Chapter 16
“What do you mean, they can’t find him?” Briones screamed into the phone. “We brought him in last night, and I’m scheduled to interrogate him this morning. How the hell does a prisoner go missing in lockup overnight?”
“I don’t know what to say, Lieutenant. I’m checking it out now. Theoretically, it’s impossible. Maybe we filed him under the wrong name, or there was some other administrative error,” the duty sergeant speculated.
“Do you have any idea who this man is? He’s the one who arranged to have
“I understand, sir. Listen…captives don’t just stroll out of here whenever they like. We’ll find him. Give me an hour to sort this out. I just came on duty at nine,” the sergeant assured him.
Briones looked at his watch. It was nine-thirty. “Call me back as soon as you find him.”
He swore as he slammed down the handset. A perfect sting, the perp caught red-handed with the murder weapon while the body was still warm, the killing memorialized on tape, and he vanishes into thin air? What the hell was going on?
Briones recalled the only words the man had spoken.
The man had refused to talk since then, all the way into headquarters and through booking. Not a sound. Just a steady look that projected arrogance and irritation, as though Briones had interrupted a favorite TV show, or demanded to see his license after a traffic stop. What he hadn’t behaved like was a suspect who’d just been apprehended for murder in an open-and-shut case. It had been worrisome, and now that he was nowhere to be found, that small kernel of anxiety had blossomed into a full-blown panic.
His phone buzzed again. Briones snatched up the handset. It was the front-desk receptionist.
“There’s a woman on the line who’s asking to speak to you, Lieutenant Briones.”
“A woman? Did you get a name? Did she ask for me, specifically?” he asked.
“One moment please,” the receptionist responded and put the call through, further annoying an already agitated Briones.
“Lieutenant Briones. Is Captain Cruz all right?” the voice asked, vaguely familiar but not so much so that he knew who it was.
“Uh, yes. May I ask who I’m speaking with?” Briones fielded.
“I’m sorry. This is Dinah. Dinah Tortora. From the pawn shop? My father-”
“Yes, yes. I remember, of course. How can I help you?”
“I called to speak to Captain Cruz, but the woman who put through the call said he wasn’t there because he’d been shot,” Dinah explained with a worried tone.
God damn it. What did the operator think she was doing? News of Cruz’s shooting was sure to end up all over
