The Devil's Bounty (29 page)

Less than twenty seconds later, Zapatero came on the line. Lock didn’t waste time. He told him what he required for the return of the fugitive they were looking for.

‘Of course, I could hand him straight to the US authorities myself, but it might look better coming from you,’ he added, knowing that Charlie Mendez wouldn’t make it back across the border, once he was handed over to the cartel. He gave a time at which he would call back and give a general area for the person collecting Mendez to wait in. Finally, he specified that the person had to be the chief and that he had to be accompanied by Detective Rafaela Carcharon, no one else.

‘If I see anyone else with you, the deal’s off and Mendez gets handed to the FBI,’ Lock added.

After a few seconds’ deliberation, Zapatero agreed to his terms with a grunt. Lock felt relieved. That meant Rafaela was probably still alive. He took down a cell-phone number where he could reach the chief the next morning and hung up.

He powered down the cell phone, removed the battery and walked into Wal-Mart. With his three-day stubble and a dead-eyed expression, he blended nicely with the local clientele as he cruised the aisles, scooping up what he needed and dumping it into his cart. He stopped off in the sports section to load up on fresh ammo.

Back in the motel room, Mendez was in the shower when Lock got back with dinner. After a few minutes, he came out with a towel wrapped around his waist. Ty and Lock did their best to ignore him. As he dressed, they ate. They watched some TV, then Mendez turned in for the night. Ty took first watch. The cartel would be out in force, checking motels like this one, which was why Lock had told Zapatero they were nearer Tucson than Phoenix. Still, they weren’t about to take any chances.

Lock got into the bed opposite and, relying on a habit acquired with years of practice, and knowing tomorrow was a busy day, he was asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow.

Ty woke him a little after midnight. The transfer had been made by the Mendez family. Three million dollars into an offshore account. They were millionaires. Lock told him to enjoy the feeling, rolled over and went back to sleep.

Lock slept until three in the morning, then took over guard duty
while Ty got some rest. Mendez woke around eight, the sun already up outside, the day threatening to be unseasonably pleasant. Outside, a couple of cars came and went. Lock watched them through a slit in the curtains.

At nine o’clock he announced they were going out for breakfast. Mendez seemed spooked by the idea.

‘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.’

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.