Blue Diablo cs-1 Page 26

  Chuch filled in the blanks. “Mercs, ex-Army Special Forces. They used to work for the cartel, but word on the street is they’re independent now. They don’t like people poking around in their business, but they might be interested in selling information on Montoya, if we catch someone at the right time.”

  “Sounds dangerous,” I said.

  By Chuch’s expression, I’d earned a promotion from Captain to Colonel Obvious. “No shit. They won’t even talk to you and Chance if I’m not there. People still remember me from Nicaragua.” His dark gaze went to Kel watching TV with Butch on his lap. “Cue ball should probably stay here with Eva.”

  “You think I need a guard dog?” His wife bristled.

  I grinned despite myself. “Butch or Kel?”

  “Shhh,” Chuch said. “You know I don’t want you coming with us because you’re too beautiful, nena. Some pendejo would hit on you, and then I’d have to hurt him. Pretty soon the place’d be busted up and crawling with uniforms before we learned anything.”

  “You’re full of shit, you know that, right?” But I saw he’d talked her out of going with us by her soft little smile.

  I probably could’ve taken offense that nobody thought I was so hot I’d distract the mercs from conversation, but I decided to let it go. I did okay, after all. Some guys dug the long hair and hippie chic.

  Eva’s bean soup had been simmering for hours, so we ate supper before getting ready to go out. I had a feeling La Rosa Negra would be a dive, so I dressed accordingly: worn jeans, peasant blouse, sweater in my bag just in case. I was glad I’d managed to squeeze in some laundry.

  “We set?” Chuch asked when we’d dropped the last bowl in the sink. I felt a little bad about sticking Eva with the dishes, but not enough to put off our errand.

  “Yeah.” I answered for Chance and me.

  The mechanic fixed a narrow stare on Kel, who’d gone back to watching TV Azteca after the meal. “Anything happens to her, I hold you personally responsible, primo.”

  “I’ll guard her with my life.” Funny, when Kel said such things they carried the weight of a vow writ in blood on the pages of some holy book.

  Butch yapped, but I shook my head. “No way,” I told him as we went out the door.

  Because he knew where we were going, it made sense for Chuch to drive. The Mustang was parked behind the Maverick, so Chance tossed him the keys. Like any conscientious short person, I crawled in back.

  “How far are we going?” Chance wanted to know.

  Chuch got us on the highway before he answered. “Near downtown. ’Bout twenty minutes, I guess.”

  I leaned forward. “Anything we should know?”

  “It’s best if you let me do the talking. Chance is here for obvious reasons.” Yeah, I knew why—to make it more likely we’d run across someone willing to part with information on Montoya and to pay the bribe when we found the guy. “I think maybe we should’ve left you at home with Eva.”

  I snorted. Like I’d have gone along with that. I had too big a stake in this to permit them to form a boys’ club at this juncture. Plus, you never knew when my gift might come in handy.

  Before I could bitch, Chance shifted, elbow on the back of the seat, and put in, “Yeah. Those jeans are a felony.”

  “That bad, huh?” I glanced down at the worn denim. Chance never appreciated my sense of style.

  A slow smile curved his beautiful mouth. “That good. Do you know there’s a rip on the back of your left thigh?”

  “Ah, no.” Great. Now I’d worry all night whether my ass was hanging out.

  “Sexy,” he told me. “Shows just a hint of skin.”

  I quirked a brow. “I thought you wanted me in suits from Lord and Taylor.”

  “Once I did. Now I just want you.” Beneath the rumble of the motor and the rush of the tires against the pavement, his words crushed me with their candor. Need laced his tone, shot straight into my nervous system.

  God, I hated that he could move me like this. My chest hurt, so I rubbed it, and then cursed silently when I saw his gaze tracking the movement like he’d kill to touch me again. For Christ’s sake, why me?

  My pained bewilderment must’ve shown because Chance turned around without another word. I stifled a sigh. Like too many dark chocolate truffles, he was rich, sinfully delicious, and bad for me... His gift might kill me. I knew that, but I couldn’t quell my longing altogether.

  “We’re almost there.” Cutting in when he did, Chuch did me a favor.

  I sat quiet as we drove the last few blocks and found a place to park. Even in the dark, La Rosa Negra didn’t look promising. It appeared to be a crumbling stucco building painted an unlikely shade of green. To my surprise, shiny new cars lined the curb outside.

  This wasn’t just any seedy little corner bar stashed beyond a warren of one-way streets and seemingly pointless construction. The men who congregated inside had money to burn; they just didn’t want to do it conspicuously. Our cherry Mustang looked right at home alongside the other sports and muscle cars.

  I could guess what it was like inside. I’d been inside a dozen cantinas like this in Mexico City. Sometimes, on nights when dreams kept me awake, I wandered out into the neighborhood to nurse a beer, letting the susurration of other people’s lives wash over me.

  “Let’s do this.” Chance climbed out of the car and offered his hand, which I took.

  He pulled me from the back seat easily. Whipcord built as he was, I didn’t doubt he could carry me off like a Sabine woman, should he take a mind. I exhaled and took a long look at the Corona neon sign flickering in the window before calling myself ready.

  Chuch was already headed for the door, paying us no attention. This appeared to be familiar ground for him. Maybe he even hung out here on his own when Eva let him.

  To my surprise, the strains of Reik’s “Invierno” greeted me when we walked through the door, a more soulful song than I expected to hear in such a place. Three couples danced to it in the small space before the bar. Not a boys’ club.

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, I took stock of my surroundings. Low ceilings were hung with amber paper lanterns, giving the room a warm glow. Scarred tables had clearly seen better days, and countless high heels had left their marks on the wood floor. None of the chairs matched, and the decor consisted of various neon signs. Apart from the painting of the maiden holding a black rose between her teeth, La Rosa Negra could’ve been transplanted to any border town.

  Chuch was calling the play, so we followed him to a table. He signaled the waitress for a round while the regulars studied us. Guys dressed in black sat in groups of three or four; they didn’t look likely to strike up a conversation.

  “Do your thing,” he murmured to Chance.

  I had no idea what I should be doing, if anything, so I took my beer with a nod of thanks and waited for some sign from Chuch. He merely sat there, quiet, drinking, and looking watchful. I guessed you couldn’t hurry something like this. Chance, on the other hand, fairly crackled with purpose. What must it be like to be able to focus your will and shake whatever you needed from the cosmos?

  I listened to the music purring from the vintage-style Crosley CD player. As we waited, a mellow Franco De Vita ballad melted into Shakira singing “Ojos Así.” I’d never been able to resist its rhythm, but I tried to keep my butt-shaking to a minimum. The dancers broke apart and started gyrations that suited the tympanic melody.

  Chance touched me on the arm. “I can do this and dance at the same time,” he whispered. “You want to?” I must’ve looked astounded because he added, “I can, you know. I just never did. Not with you.”

  From his expression, he regretted it, but back then, he didn’t want to lose control. After his lover died, he probably hadn’t wanted to yield me that much, as if hiding emotion prevented it from being true. “You really think we should?” I asked.

  It seemed a little unprofessional somehow. But maybe it would make us seem innocuous, as if we’d heard this p
lace was a quiet place to dance, nothing more.

  “Taking out the warlock gave us some breathing room. It will take his boss a good long while to find someone to replace Nathan Moon. We’re better off now than we’ve been since I first picked you up. So, yeah, if you want to dance, we should.”

  Given this opportunity to see another side of him, I couldn’t resist, not when the lyrics could’ve been written about Chance. I took his hand—five steps to the dance floor, and the world went away. There was just the rhythm and desperate longing in the singer’s voice. To my surprise, he matched me with feline grace, moving in sensual lockstep. His hands framed my hips as our shoulders worked, our bodies a breath away from full contact.

  Back and forth, eyes on mine, he showed me he could cut loose. How fitting he’d chosen this song since I’d never in my life seen eyes like his. Tiger eyes, tawny, striated, and—right now—burning with heat, even though I wasn’t wearing a tailored suit or expensive shoes. I was still Corine Solomon in ratty jeans, but have mercy, his look—

  Ah, action. A guy who had been drinking alone shoved away from his table and made his way toward ours, where Chuch sat. This guy was small and thin, but I didn’t make the mistake of judging him harmless. The man radiated coiled readiness.

  Chance spun me out and back toward him. His arms came around me and I wound mine about his neck, undulating in tight metric shifts. I forgot why we were there. When he leaned down to kiss me, I forgot my own name.

  Thankfully I did remember kissing him was a bad idea, so I danced away, shoulders rolling. I twirled in his arms and writhed with my back to him. That seemed safer for about thirty seconds—until he drew me to him and ran his hands down my sides. His hips cradling mine, he left me in no doubt how much he wanted me.

  Jesus, who could’ve ever guessed Chance had this level of exhibitionism in him? He’d always been so tightly wound. By the time the song ended, I needed a cold shower.

  I didn’t ask for an encore, practically staggered back to my seat. We’d probably melted the polar ice caps. My ex followed, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

  “I know you,” the guy was saying to Chuch. “Managua, wasn’t it? Been a long time, and I wasn’t sure when you first came in, but... we did business.”

  And there it was—the fruit of Chance’s luck. I supposed it made sense not to go poking around; Chuch had said these guys didn’t like that. Instead, we’d get our information in a subtle way.

  “Sí.” The arms dealer-turned-mechanic jerked his head at the vacant seat. “Esteban, right? You brokered a deal for me, I think.” I had no way of knowing whether Chuch remembered him, or if he was making an educated guess. “I’m out of the business now, but I don’t mind buying you a drink for old time’s sake.”

  The merc grinned as he sat, showing a gap between his front teeth. “If you’re buying, I’ll take a shot of Gran Patrón.”

  Nice. Esteban’s taste in tequila impressed me. Since she was eavesdropping, the waitress went to get it without being asked. The rest of the patrons seemed to relax, losing interest when they realized we were a known quantity. I let out a slow breath.

  “So what you doing now?” Chuch made the question casual.

  The guy shrugged. “Whatever, you know? Mostly private security.”

  I could fill in the blanks.

  The waitress delivered the tequila, Chance bought another round of beer for the rest of us, and the two across the table from us renewed their acquaintance. Casual stuff, guy talk, but I saw how Chuch was maneuvering the conversation. Damn clever.

  “You know,” the mechanic said at last, “I’m retired. But if a personal situation came up, if somebody crossed the line and messed with your family, what would you do, mano?”

  A sharklike smile twisted Esteban’s mouth. “First, I’d kill the guy who did it. Then I’d find the one who gave the order and make him scream.”

  Into the Breach

  The CD ended, and the dancers went to order drinks.

  Into the relative silence, Chuch muttered, “That sounds about right. I already got the hired gun. Now I’m looking for his boss.”

  “If I had a name, I might be able to help you.” Esteban’s sudden tension said we were on thin ice. If he worked for Montoya, we might find ourselves in the middle of a firefight, outnumbered and outgunned. Guys like these hired on with whoever paid best.

  I sensed Chance’s increased focus. We needed luck now more than ever, but would Chuch gamble on it?

  “Montoya,” he said finally.

  “No shit.” Esteban appeared relieved and took a sip of his Patrón to cover that. “Looks like we can do some business. See, I work for Escobar... well, way down the food chain, but I hear he’s always happy about anything that fucks up a Montoya.”

  That seemed to imply there was more than one, but we were only interested in Diego, whose name we’d gotten from that poor girl. Otherwise, I didn’t follow; nor did Chance by his expression. So we both sat and waited for Chuch to respond.

  “Rivals, huh?” he grunted.

  Esteban nodded. “I-35, among other things.”

  That was enough for me to piece things together. Escobar and Montoya headed up rival cartels, and that was great news for us. If this guy didn’t know where we could find the son of a bitch who had Min, he might tell us who did.

  I was impressed, but not surprised, that Chance sat quiet all this time, letting Chuch do his thing. Handsome as my ex was, you’d think he suffered from a surfeit of ego, but nope, not so much.

  Chuch looked thoughtful. “This is a good deal for you, mano. If we mess him up, you tell your boss you played a part in it. If we get our cards punched, you know nothing about it. Should we talk terms?”

  For the first time, Esteban asked about us. No introductions had been made until that point, but he was too smart to go forward without knowing all the factors in play. “Slow your roll, cuz. Who’re your silent partners?”

  “Friends,” Chuch said without hesitation. “They got my back in this.”

  Chance didn’t leave it there. “Montoya took my mother,” he added quietly. “I don’t stop coming for him until I’m dead, or he is.”

  You’d think a guy who worked for the highest bidder wouldn’t give a shit about that. Not so. Esteban narrowed his eyes and slammed his fist on the table, drawing looks from the other patrons. He crossed himself and then spat as if to ward off a curse.

  “Mierda,” he swore. “Only sons of bitches go after women or children to get to us.”

  I decided not to counter his assumption that Montoya had a grudge against anyone other than Min. It seemed better to exploit his righteous indignation. If he found out Chance’s mother knew dark rituals and how to summon the Knights of Hell, he might lose sympathy.

  “True.” Chuch finished his beer, and I noticed he’d been nursing the same one all night, probably to keep himself sharp. “How much will it cost to get you to send a question up the food chain for us?”

  “One K for my time,” Esteban said. “I’d do it for free, but... you know.”

  “No problem. A man has to know what he’s worth.” Chuch gave a half smile and peeled off ten bills from a roll he brought out of his pocket. “I’ll leave you my cell number. Call me when you know something.”

  “It’ll take time,” Esteban warned us. “But we should be able to get you a list of their compounds. You’ll have to figure out where he’s taken her.”

  “Can do,” Chance said.

  He’d dowse the list for us. And if that didn’t work, Booke might be able to scout them. Surely he could tell us where she was. For the first time, I didn’t feel hopeless. With Montoya’s pet warlock blown to shit, we had a real shot, assuming he hadn’t killed Min days ago. If we couldn’t manage salvation for Min, then we’d wreak vengeance, closure for Chance. I preferred the former, but I’d take the latter.

  Esteban was still staring at Chance with an odd, haunted look in his dark eyes. “It happened to me too. My sister,
Rosita.” He brought a rosary from his pocket. “This is all I have left. They never found a body, just... this.” By the pain I saw graven on his face, she never would’ve left it behind if she had a choice. It looked like a family heirloom.

  I gazed at the antique silver necklace with a mixture of horror and resignation, knowing I might be able to touch it and give him an answer. Chuch offered a nearly imperceptible nod. Men who worked for the cartels would have seen many things over the years, most of them weirder or more horrific than what I did.

  “May I see it?” I held out a hand, bracing myself. I knew it would be bad.

  Beside me, Chance tensed, but Chuch checked him. Esteban seemed surprised but he passed it over nonetheless. A deep breath prepared me as best I could, and then I dropped the natural focus that prevented me from reading an object.

  Pain seared me in black, licking waves. My vision flickered and spiraled inward, dumping me into Rosita’s last moments. I felt her confusion and anguish as the man reared above her. I sensed her desperate desire to live while the agony of live wires sizzled in my palm. I bore it all—Rosita’s pain and the anguish of my mother’s death simultaneously. When I came to myself, I was weeping, the rosary on the table.

  “What the...?” Esteban took the necklace like it was a snake, staring at it in bewilderment. “Is she okay? Should I call a doctor?”

  Chance was already getting some ice for my palm. He knew the drill. I hoped he had the balm somewhere in his pocket, as this had been a bad one.

  For at least five minutes, my teeth chattered too badly for me to speak. Chance rubbed my back and tended my palm while Chuch asked me with his eyes what I’d seen. I didn’t want to do this; Christ, I didn’t want to tell Esteban. But maybe knowing would be better than uncertainty.

  Through raw waves of nausea, I managed to say, “It was someone she knew. She wasn’t afraid of him at first. He came to the door, they spoke, and she agreed to go with him. I can never hear what they’re saying, but I recognized your name on the man’s lips. I think he knew you too.”