“No shit. We just lost the other two guys. What the fuck is going on?”
“Get up here. They pulled him into the pink building on my left. I’ll stay with Miguel and the girl.”
But when Moore turned around, both the young man and his lovely companion were gone.
24 HE THAT DIES PAYS ALL DEBTS
Moore swung around, his gaze probing the throngs of tourists, sweeping from left to right, then farther down the street toward the more crowded market.
Between all the colors worn by the vendors and the shifting about of the pedestrians, Moore realized, in the mere instant he’d taken his eyes off Miguel and Sonia and looked to Corrales he’d lost the couple. That fast. A few heartbeats. They must’ve been approached by gunmen and quietly ushered away.
It wasn’t exactly panic that set in but a kind of electricity that coursed through Moore’s veins, humming in tune to the rapid beating of his heart.
A car engine fired up, the sound originating from the next corner. Moore bolted off, weaving his way through the shoppers and reaching the corner, where at the foot of a steep hill Miguel and Sonia were running across the street to the next alley. They were being pursued by two short men dressed like local farmers, who just happened to be carrying pistols. Maybe they had been led away — but they’d made their break.
The lead guy fired two shots at the couple, but the rounds were clearly warning shots that burrowed into the whitewashed walls behind them as they disappeared into the alley. The guy could have easily killed them both. So these men, whoever they were, wanted prisoners as well.
They weren’t members of the Sinaloa Cartel. The question was, how many other groups had Corrales and his cronies pissed off? Damn, they were probably lining up to take potshots at the punk from the all-powerful Juarez Cartel, and now Moore swore under his breath. The mission was difficult enough without competition.
He fell in behind them but was trying to keep a safe-enough distance to avoid detection. He jogged into the narrow alley, and the rear guy must’ve heard Moore’s footfalls, because he stole a look back, then slowed — turning to fire.
Throwing himself toward the wall and reaching for his pistol, Moore evaded the first round by perhaps a meter before he had his pistol free from its holster, and returned two suppressed rounds, the cap-gun-like pop echoing off the walls.
The guy did likewise, diving for the wall.
Moore’s first shot missed the guy’s head by mere inches, but the second caught him in the shoulder, and with a half-strangled cry he dropped hard to the dirt.
Wishing he had time to call Fitzpatrick and Torres, Moore charged past the fallen guy, kicking his weapon away, turned right at the end of the alley, then found himself on another steep cobblestone road, with cars lining both sides.
Miguel and Sonia were on the sidewalk and struggling up the hill, with the lone guy still behind them. Their pursuer fired another warning round that shattered the rear window of a small pickup truck beside them. Then he screamed in Spanish for them to stop running.
Moore bounded forward as a car engine roared behind him. He craned his neck at the dark blue sedan as it rushed past — a rental car, no doubt, the windows lowered, two men in the front seats, the passenger’s arm hanging over the door with a pistol in his grip. Christ, how many were there? Moore ducked behind two cars as the passenger opened fire on him, and those were not warning shots.
As the car mounted the hill, Moore sprang up and fired another pair of rounds, the first punching the rear window and striking the passenger’s head, the second going wide as the driver cut the wheel hard, out of Moore’s bead.
Miguel and Sonia ducked into an alcove and once more vanished.
The remaining guy on foot steered himself into the same alcove as the car pulled to a stop.
Miguel kept cursing and trying to keep up with Sonia, who rushed past the hotel’s front desk, where the elderly woman working there gaped at them. They left her calling after them and bounded into the stairwell.
“Where are we going?” he cried.
“Just keep going!”
Where had she found this bravery? He was supposed to be the man and protect her, but she’d spotted Corrales being abducted, had seen the approach of two other men, and had kicked off her heels and gotten them out of there before these idiots could kidnap them. But now there was still at least one bastard on their tail (who knew what happened to the other one), yet Sonia seemed to have a plan.
“We can’t go to the roof,” he shouted back. “We’ll get stuck up there!”
“We’re not going to the roof,” she said, arriving on the next landing. She opened the door to the second floor, waved him on. Then they waited there, just panting, taking in the stale air as they listened for the footsteps of the guy chasing them. He arrived on the landing but kept on going up to the third floor.
Miguel breathed the deepest sigh of relief of his life. He glanced over at Sonia, still struggling for breath. He looked down, and in her hand was a small knife whose blade curved into a hook.
“Where’d you get that?”
“From my purse. My father gave it to me. It’s really just a good-luck charm, but my father taught me how to use it.”
“Fernando is very strict about us having weapons.”
“I know. I didn’t want to tell you, but he let me keep it. I have to protect myself.”
Miguel frowned—
Just as the door swung open.
“Don’t move,” said the guy who’d been chasing them, his gun leveled on Miguel. “All you have to do is come along. There’s a car outside.”
Miguel thought he was dreaming as Sonia screamed, reared back, and slashed open the guy’s throat, the blood coming in a great fountain across the wall.
“Get his gun!” she hollered.
He stood there, stunned. Who was this girl he’d fallen in love with? She was remarkable.
With his phone vibrating and yet another car arriving outside the hotel and at least three more guys rushing inside, Moore figured that if he walked in there, he’d be either captured or just shot for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He crouched low behind a car and tugged out the phone: Fitzpatrick’s number had come up while he’d just missed a call from Towers. He answered Fitzpatrick’s call. “Where are you? We still can’t find the other two guys, and no sign of Corrales.”
“Damn, we need to find them,” Moore said. “But yeah, I’m near this hotel a couple of blocks down. The road is real steep. The kid and the girl are inside, but these other guys are coming in to grab them.”
“Who the fuck are they?”
“Don’t know yet. But sure as shit we’ll find out. Get the car and meet me over here!”
“Dude, how the hell did this go south so fast?”
“I don’t know. Just get here.”
That they’d come up from behind him and had managed to drag him into the building was very disappointing to Corrales. He’d prided himself on being very in tune with his senses, with his environment, always aware of any danger, reaching out with an extrasensory perception, as though he could read the thoughts of his actors before they drew close, feel their body heat from meters away, and know ahead of time what dark intentions lay in their hearts.
