Rafaela nodded.
Ty crossed to Charlie Mendez and lifted him to his feet. He smelt of stale urine and his eyes were wide as saucers. He flinched as Rafaela approached, and his mother started to get up, only to be calmed by a wave of Ty’s gun. ‘Sit down, bitch.’
‘He’s all yours,’ said Lock. ‘Soon as we have the money.’
Rafaela turned. Lock walked her to the door, keeping an eye out for any other vehicles making a last dash into the parking lot. Rafaela exchanged a few words with Zapatero. He produced a cell phone and made a call — no doubt passing on Rafaela’s suggestion that the escort move in a little tighter. Then she followed him to the trunk.
The lid flipped open and Zapatero hauled out two large black canvas bags, similar to the ones Lock and Ty had used for their gear when they had crossed the border a few days previously. He handed the bags to Rafaela and grabbed two more. They stumbled forwards under the weight of the bags. Zapatero’s jacket rode up to reveal a Glock tucked into a holster. Lock held the door open for them as they reached the room and walked in.
The police chief threw the bags on to the bed nearest the window, the frame creaking as they hit the mattress. Lock shut the door to hide the transaction from prying eyes.
Zapatero noticed Miriam Mendez and his eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead. ‘What’s she doing here?’ he asked.
The question spoke volumes. Zapatero obviously knew exactly who she was. ‘Deal of the week,’ said Lock. ‘Buy one, get one free.’
Rafaela ignored the exchange, dumping the other two bags on the floor before standing back, positioning herself at the far wall, away from the window.
Zapatero smiled. ‘You’re very thorough, Mr Lock. Perhaps you could assist my department again. We always need resourceful men such as yourself and your friend.’
‘You can drop the act,’ Lock said, with a nod to Rafaela. ‘She knows you’re in bed with Tibialis and the cartel. So do I. This is a one-off deal.’
Miriam Mendez started to her feet, and this time no gun was going to stop her as she advanced on Lock. ‘You can’t do this. They’ll kill us both. I gave you three million dollars.’
Lock matched Zapatero’s smile. ‘Except it wasn’t your money to give, was it, Mrs Mendez? It belonged to the cartel. To Chief Zapatero’s friend Mr Tibialis. Isn’t that right?’
The woman flushed. ‘They weren’t complaining. My family gave them what they wanted.’
‘And what was that, Mrs Mendez?’
Her lips thinned with rage. Zapatero started towards her but Rafaela drew her weapon and pointed it at his head. ‘Let her answer the question,’ she said.
‘What did they want from you, Mrs Mendez?’ Lock pressed. ‘It couldn’t have been money. They were paying you.’
A darkness passed over Miriam Mendez’s face. Her expression soured. She reminded Lock of the Santa Muerte skeletons he’d seen in Diablo. ‘There are two types of money in this world, Mr Lock. Dirty and clean. They had the first kind and we could turn it into the second for them. Like lead into gold.’
‘You mean you could launder it?’ Lock said.
Zapatero was getting twitchy. ‘Don’t listen to her. She’s a crazy old woman. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. This is a law-enforcement matter,’ he said, buying time as his hand inched towards the butt of his Glock.
Lock shook his head. ‘Hey, Chief. Did no one ever tell you that you got to have equal numbers for a stand- off?’
His hand fell away from the holster.
‘Now,’ said Lock, ‘Mrs Mendez, why don’t you continue?’
Her lips thinned again. ‘I’ve said all I’m prepared to say.’
‘Oh, I highly doubt that,’ said Lock, as the connecting door and main door burst open simultaneously and half a dozen men clad in black body armour, with POLICE emblazoned in blue lettering across their backs, rushed into the room.
‘US Marshals! Keep your hands where we can see them,’ they said, gun-facing everyone, Lock and Ty included.
Lock, Ty and Rafaela dropped their weapons, following the Marshals’ instructions to the letter. Within sixty seconds, all six of the room’s occupants were face down on the motel-room floor, hands cuffed behind their backs.
Either side of the motel room, doors opened to disgorge Arizona State Police and Federal agents who had been secreted inside, waiting for the go signal. Within minutes, the parking lot was bumper to bumper with law- enforcement vehicles.
Out on the highway, a red Dodge Charger, sporting Texas plates and with four Hispanic males inside, pulled a wide U-turn and sped off in the opposite direction. No one moved to stop it. The men inside would be allowed to go back across the border, where they would relay the news of Zapatero’s arrest by the US authorities to the cartel.
Lock kissed mouldy motel-room carpet as first Miriam and then Charlie Mendez were lifted to their feet and taken outside by the Marshals Arrest Response Team. Zapatero was next, his escort two clean-cut FBI agents, who looked fresh out of the box at Quantico. Lock, Ty and Rafaela were relieved of their weapons, uncuffed and helped to their feet as the motel’s Hispanic front-desk clerk strode into the room and extended a hand to Lock.
‘Armando Hernandez, US State Department.’
Lock shook his hand. ‘You boys get everything you need?’
‘We had a lot of it worked out already, but nothing beats hearing it from the horse’s mouth. You all okay?’ Hernandez asked.
A couple of Federal agents squeezed past him, picking up the holdalls with the ransom money, tagging them and taking pictures with a small digital camera before hauling them into the other room. Ty watched the bags with the expression of a kid who’d just been told that Santa Claus doesn’t exist.
‘We’re good. Don’t worry about Tyrone,’ Lock said, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder. ‘He’s just a little emotional right now.’
‘That’s for damn straight,’ said Ty.
As soon as the area outside the motel was secured, they emerged into the midday sunlight, Lock, Ty and Rafaela. Rafaela walked out into the middle of the parking lot and, cupping her hand over her eyes, looked out over the open countryside beyond the road that fronted the motel. Lock stood next to her.
‘He came to kill me,’ she said.
Lock followed her gaze out over the desert. The landscape here didn’t look all that different from what he’d seen on the other side of the border. The people hadn’t been that different either. Most of them, anyway. The silent majority who wanted to raise their families in peace.
‘Who came?’ he asked her, as behind them Ty, still pissed at having to sacrifice the money, tapped his foot against the rear wheel of an Arizona State Police cruiser.
‘The bodyguard,’ Rafaela said. ‘Hector.’
‘Didn’t do much of a job,’ said Lock.
‘I showed him the same pictures of the girls that I showed you.’
‘What did he say?’
Rafaela lapsed into silence. Her eyes narrowed. ‘I think he understood the pain. He felt it too.’
‘Maybe that’s all any of us can do,’ said Lock, as across the parking lot Charlie Mendez was bundled into the back of a police cruiser for the long drive north to his new home at Pelican Bay Supermax.
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Lock’s fiancee, Carrie Delaney, had been buried close to her parents’ house in Connecticut. After her death,
