‘Relax,’ Ty told him. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
Lock opened the door and together the three men walked into the sunlight, got into the Ranger, and drove to a diner a half-mile down the road. They took a booth near the door, Lock sliding in one side so that he had a view of the entrance and the truck, Ty sitting opposite so that he had a view of the back door. Mendez was jittery, his nails dancing across the Formica table as he scanned the menu.
‘You got the money?’ he asked, after the waitress had taken their order and brought coffee.
Lock nodded. ‘We’re all good. You’re getting collected at noon.’
‘Who’s picking me up?’ Mendez asked.
Ty smiled. ‘Mommy’s coming in person.’
‘Getting off her deathbed to see you. Guess blood really is thicker than water,’ said Lock. ‘I presume she’ll have security with her and they have plans in place to get you out of the States.’
Mendez looked taken aback but didn’t say anything.
Ty glanced at Lock. ‘Man, must be nice to be a rich asshole who can fuck up other people’s lives and walk away from it every single time.’
‘Hey, have a little respect. That’s what passes for the American Dream, these days. So don’t be ragging on it, you hear me?’ said Lock.
As Mendez glared at them, Ty saluted across the table. ‘Sorry, boss.’
Two hours later, a black limousine pulled up in front of the motel and the crew-cut driver, a roll of neck fat bulging above the collar of his white shirt, got out and opened the rear passenger door. Clad in a suitably conservative blue pants suit, Miriam Mendez stepped from the limo. The driver walked alongside her as she headed for room twenty-seven. He knocked at the door and waited. Miriam took a step back and surveyed her surroundings with an air of distaste. The door opened.
‘Mr Lock, it’s good to see you again.’
Lock took her proffered hand and smiled. ‘Likewise. Come on in,’ he said, eyeing the driver and the bulge under his jacket. ‘Wait in the car, buddy. We won’t be long.’
The driver didn’t move. Miriam turned. ‘I’ll call if I need you,’ she said, dismissing him.
She walked past Lock, into the room, and the door closed.
Her son was sitting on the bed. He didn’t look up as she entered and she made no acknowledgement that he was in the room.
‘Was the transfer to your satisfaction, Mr Lock?’ she asked.
He gave a curt nod. ‘Received with thanks. And I’m glad to see you looking so well.’
She did her best to force a smile. ‘A new treatment.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Well, if there’s nothing further…’
Mendez got to his feet, still not making eye contact with his mother. Miriam Mendez started for the door but Lock moved to block her passage as Ty emerged from the bathroom, gun in hand. He crossed to the door that connected to the adjoining room.
‘Before you go, Mrs Mendez,’ said Lock, ‘there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Seventy-seven
Ty turned the handle, and opened the door. A middle-aged woman stepped into the room.
Lock made the introductions, his voice perfectly even. ‘Mrs Mendez, this is Mrs Warner. Your son raped her daughter, and the cartel that was protecting him sent someone to kill her. I figured you’d have quite a lot to talk about.’
Mendez dove for the door, head down. Lock shifted his weight, using the turn of his hips to generate the power to send a crushing elbow into his face. He spun backwards, arms flailing, and landed on the bed. Lock drew a hand gun and pointed it at his head. Miriam Mendez gave a yelp and drew back her hand to strike Lock. Ty raised his weapon and levelled it at her face.
For a moment no one moved. Jan Warner took four steps towards Miriam Mendez and slapped her hard across the face. ‘That’s for Melissa.’
Miriam Mendez put a hand to her cheek, which flushed red. ‘How dare you? I’m a sick woman.’
‘You got that straight,’ muttered Ty.
Mendez grabbed the edge of the bed and tried to haul himself to his feet. Lock pivoted and kicked him hard in the side. ‘Stay where you are, Sparky. We have some more visitors on the way.’ He turned to Jan Warner. ‘You okay?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You can hit her again if you like,’ said Ty, generous to the last. ‘I ain’t gonna say anything.’
Jan shook her head, her eyes shifting back to Miriam Mendez. ‘I just wanted you to know what you’ve done.’
Miriam ignored her. ‘You can’t keep us here,’ she said to Lock. ‘My driver will come back in a moment.’
‘No, he won’t. I guarantee you.’ Lock waved to a seat in the corner of the room. ‘Make yourself comfortable. A sick woman like you shouldn’t be standing.’
Ty opened the interconnecting door and ushered Jan Warner back into the other room. She paused in the doorway, her eyes boring into Mendez before she glanced back to his mother. ‘You might have money, Mrs Mendez, but that’s all you have.’
Miriam Mendez sat down, glaring at Lock. He was beginning to see where her son had got his sullen demeanour from.
‘This is kidnapping,’ she said.
Lock exchanged a look with Ty as he walked back in, closing the door to the other bedroom behind him. ‘You want to explain to Mrs Mendez what the word “irony” means, Tyrone, or shall I?’
Seventy-eight
Lock was standing by the motel-room window as a blue sedan pulled into the parking lot. Rafaela was driving. Police Chief Gabriel Zapatero sat next to her in the passenger seat. She pulled up and they both got out. They were in casual clothes. Rafaela was wearing brown boots, jeans and a sweater. Zapatero had on black loafers, sand-coloured khakis, a black roll-neck and a dark blazer. There was no sign of any other vehicle. A red pick-up truck rolled past on the road outside but otherwise it was quiet.
Rafaela walked towards the room. Zapatero, ever cautious, stood next to the sedan. Lock opened the door wide as Rafaela approached. Zapatero looked pointedly in the opposite direction, as if he had no idea why he was there.
‘What’s going on?’ she whispered to Lock.
Lock smiled. ‘Trust me, okay?’
‘Like I have a choice?’ she said, taking in the balled-up figure of Charlie Mendez on the bed and the woman sitting rigid, with WASP-style fortitude, on a seat in the corner.
‘You bring the money?’ Lock asked.
She nodded back towards the sedan. ‘It’s in the trunk. But he wants me to make sure you have Mendez before he hands it over.’
Lock ushered her in with a wave of his hand. ‘Not a problem. You get rid of your escort?’
She walked past him into the room. ‘They’re a half-mile back down the road waiting for us,’ she said. Lock left the door open to allay Zapatero’s paranoia.
‘How many of them?’ Lock asked her.
‘Four in a red Dodge Charger with Texas plates.’
‘You might suggest to Zapatero that they move up a little so that they can see you both. But they shouldn’t get too close.’
