Revenge of the Assassin

Rey, the money was noise. If not, Cruz wouldn’t have to worry about it. He’d be out of a job.

“Yes, Lieutenant. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“We’ve got a lead. An anonymous call came in yesterday asking about the reward — wanting to know more details about it. We’ve had our share of these, but this one seemed genuine. One of the desk guys fielded it and talked the caller into coming in to headquarters. She’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Briones reported.

Cruz looked at his watch. Twelve fifteen. “She? Who is she? What do we know about her?”

“Not much. She was guarded on the line. Wanted to understand how the payment would be paid, and whether it would be subject to tax,” Briones said.

“Tax? Interesting. That’s someone who believes she’s going to be collecting…” Cruz smiled.

“That’s what I was thinking. Which is why I’m excited.”

“What’s her name?”

“All she would give us was a first name. Gabriela,” Briones said.

“Put her in one of the interrogation rooms on the main floor when she arrives. I want to tape our discussion.”

Cruz’s building had two floors of interrogation rooms. The main floor was for friendly questioning of low priority suspects. The basement chambers were more discreet, and there were no recorders or observation rooms — only drains in the floor and electric outlets.

Briones nodded and left, a noticeable spring in his step. He’d taken the hunt for El Rey personally ever since the assassin had given them the slip on the rooftop. Truthfully, he’d been emotionally invested before that — El Rey had, after all, shot and almost killed him ten months earlier. So the lieutenant had skin in the game, as well as blood. The prospect of information leading to his capture had noticeably improved his disposition.

Half an hour later, Cruz’s phone rang. The woman, Gabriela, was waiting downstairs.

He strode to the restroom and ran cold water over his face, using some to smooth his hair, then dried himself with a paper towel. His eyes stared back at him, and he couldn’t help but notice the shadows beneath them. The hunt for the super-assassin was taking a toll on everyone but El Rey, apparently.

Briones waited outside of meeting room two, his hip holster empty. Cruz wasn’t wearing a gun — it was locked in his office. He didn’t plan on going outside.

“What have we got here?” he asked perfunctorily.

“Fifty-eight, anxious, greedy eyes. I gave her a soda and told her I couldn’t answer any questions, that the leader of the task force would be with her in a few minutes.”

Cruz smiled. Briones was learning.

“Let’s go meet our mystery woman, shall we? Gabriela, right?”

Briones nodded and opened the door. Cruz strode in with all the self-importance he could muster, Briones trailing him before closing the door. The two Federales took seats next to each other, facing the woman, who seemed nervous and fidgety. Behind them, a one-way mirror reflected the harsh fluorescent lighting.

“I’m Captain Romero Cruz, the director of the DF anti-cartel and El Rey task force. I understand you’ve come with some information for us?” Cruz asked in as official a voice as he could summon.

Gabriela seemed suitably impressed. She looked like she’d had a harsh existence and was clearly not from the wealthy side of the tracks. She was missing several teeth, and her hands were gnarled from a lifetime of manual labor.

“I’m here to find out about the money,” she announced with a voice ravaged by hardship.

“Ah, yes. The money. The reward. For information leading to the apprehension of the suspect.”

“I saw his photo on the television. It looked different, but it was him. I’m sure of it.”

“Yes? Why don’t you tell us about it?” Cruz suggested.

“How do I collect the money? Is it in cash? Will I have to pay taxes on it?” she demanded guardedly.

Cruz sat back, allowing a moment of impatience to flash across his face.

“Good questions. It will be paid by check following the successful capture of our quarry. And no, you won’t have to pay taxes. But you don’t need to worry about any of this if you don’t have information that results in us finding him,” Cruz explained.

“How long after you capture him?”

Cruz was now very interested in whatever information the woman had. She obviously already believed the money was hers. The only impediment would be logistical. You could almost see the hunger for it on her face.

“We would have the check ready within forty-eight hours. Payable to whoever you like.”

“And how do I know you won’t go back on it once you have him?” she asked, the distrust evident in her eyes, borne from years of being screwed by authority.

“We would execute a contract. You get a copy. It would lay out the conditions clearly, and I would sign it,” Cruz said. “But again. To collect, you would need to tell us what you know. And it assumes that we catch him. The chances of which go down the longer we sit here…”

Gabriela fixed him with an intent stare and then grunted.

“Get the contract.”

Ten minutes later, Briones returned with two single-spaced pages the district attorney had prepared at their request when they’d offered the reward, which Cruz signed with a theatrical flourish in duplicate, handing both copies to her for signature. She pored over the document, obviously struggling with the reading, and then signed it with a scrawl that was almost childlike, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth from the effort of making her mark.

“You keep one copy. The other is for me,” Cruz said. “Now tell me everything you have so we can catch this bastard and make you rich.”

Both Gabriela and Cruz smiled at that, and her eyes twinkled for a brief moment.

She sat back in her chair and sipped her soda.

“I’m the caretaker — the custodian — of an apartment building near the main cathedral, seven blocks from the square. Anyway, there’s a new tenant, moved in a month ago, who’s your man. I’m sure of it. He looks different, with a beard…and the face is a little longer and thinner — but it’s him. The eyes are the same.” She took another swig and continued. “I’ve been like that ever since I was a child. I can remember anything. It’s like taking a picture with your brain. I can do it with calendars and phone numbers, but especially with faces. And your man now lives in my building.”

Cruz and Briones exchanged glances.

“In your building?” Cruz said quietly.

She nodded decisively. “Unit 6C.”

“How big is your building, Gabriela?”

“Forty-two units. Seven stories.”

“And when did you last see him there?” Briones asked, speaking for the first time.

“Yesterday morning. I see everyone that comes and goes from my office downstairs off the lobby, except at night. He goes out every morning at around ten, and then comes back in the evening around nine. The rest of the time he’s in.”

“But you didn’t see him today?” Cruz asked.

“That would be kind of hard since I’m here and had to take the bus to get here. I took the day off today to do this because it’s easier to call in sick for a full day than to leave early. But I saw him yesterday. That’s why I called. I figured it out after seeing the photo on the news. Took me a little while, but I’m sure.”

After a few more minutes of questioning, Cruz was sure, too. Fate had smiled on them. They had another shot at nailing El Rey, and this time they wouldn’t let him get away.

When Cruz returned to his office, he had three messages, all from Rodriguez at CISEN, asking him to call immediately. He really didn’t have time for this, but in the interests of maintaining the fragile political equilibrium between the agencies, he reluctantly dialed the number. His secretary answered, and after keeping him waiting for three minutes, his voice came on the line.