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T. Parker: The Jaguar

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T. Parker The Jaguar

The Jaguar: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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“Your husband has taken hundreds of thousands of my dollars in the last year. He has taken many pounds of my best products. He has cost me thirty men to be deported or prosecuted. He has allowed the murders of another nine of my men to go without any authentic investigation. Nine! He himself killed two more last night.”

“You have taken the wrong man’s wife. Bradley is a sheriff’s deputy and you invaded our home.”

“He has been paid large money for doing some things and not doing other things.”

“His salary is not large.”

“But he is also employed by the North Baja Cartel of Carlos Herredia. You maybe do not know this. Maybe you spend your time making music. As you should. But there are many secrets in a marriage, some small and some not small. Maybe you are not welcome to this type of information. Maybe he does not want you to know where your fortune comes from.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“What you believe does not change the measure of things. Your husband is more than a thorn in my paw. He must surrender L.A. to me. Surrender it absolutely. Business is the thing we all do. Statements are to be made and answered. This is my example. A man must attend to the small things so that the larger things will occur properly.”

“Fly me home and you’ll get what you want from my husband. All of it. I promise.”

Armenta beheld her and Erin looked back. His sad hound eyes appeared clear and calm, resigned to things she did not know, and apologetic for things she did not want to know. “I will fly you home when I get what I want from you.”

5

Los Angeles Sheriff’s Deputy Charlie Hood watched Bradley’s Cayenne bounce up the dirt road toward his house. He’s early, thought Hood, not surprised. Bradley had sounded intensely worried on the phone, though vague. He had never asked Hood for help in anything until now.

It was evening here in Buenavista but still 102 degrees, according to the thermometer in the shade of Hood’s patio. Buenavista straddled the border and was often the hottest place in the nation. Hood was attached to an ATF task force working the Iron River-the gun trade-between the United States and Mexico, and he had moved here from L.A. to be near the action. Hood liked action and the idea that he was needed and that what he did mattered. He was thirty-three, tall and lanky, with a forthright face and strong eyes.

His rented home sat in the steep hills outside of town and from the eastern patio where he now stood he could see the little city huddled below, with its odd amalgamation of old and new: the ornate dome and cross of St. Cecilia’s, the zocalo, the narrow cobblestoned streets of the old town. And around them, like the growth rings in a tree trunk: the Rite Aid and the Blockbuster and the Ralph’s and fast food places on the U.S. side and the Sam’s Club and Wal-Mart and the stretch of maquiladoras and new apartments on the Mexican side. Hood could also see the new twenty-foot steel border wall. This had recently replaced the old chain-link fence, a porous formality along which Mexicans and Americans used to meet friends and family, trade news, exchange minor goods. Beyond the new wall were sharp mountains to the south and west.

They sat inside with the air conditioner blasting. Bradley declined a beer. He had two butterfly bandages across gashes in his forehead. His eyes were rimmed in red and their hollows were dark and he had not shaved. He paced back and forth in front of the cavernous black fireplace, Hood watching him from an old sofa. Hood’s dog Daisy lay on the paver tiles at his feet, her snout on the cool tile, her dark brown eyes tracking their visitor. She was black and slender with a white blaze on her chest, and had the high-standing, flap-topped ears common to the border dogs from which she had come.

Bradley told Hood the story of Erin’s kidnapping. Hood’s heart fell but he listened without interrupting. Erin had long been one of his favorite people and Hood had long believed that she would suffer someday at the hands of her husband.

When Bradley was finished he came to the couch and sat and buried his head in his hands.

“Can you get the money?”

“I’ve got the money.”

“A million cash?”

“Mom left us plenty. I invested it in gold before the crash.”

“A million cash?”

Bradley looked at Hood as if at an annoying child but said nothing.

“You’re not going to talk to our people, or the FBI?”

Again that look from Bradley. “They can’t help officially. You have to know that, Charlie. All they can do is get her killed. The more noise we make the faster she’ll die.”

“They’re some of the best law-enforcement people in the world.”

“Gringo law enforcement means nothing in Mexico. The government doesn’t want us, and the cartels hate us. We’re ants. You should know that better than anyone, after what happened to you with the Zetas.”

That last word sent a breeze of nerves across Hood’s scalp. The Zetas were military defectors, special forces men who had thrown in with the cartels and then become their own cartel. Hood had seen their violence, their beheadings, and their torture in Mexico and in the United States. “Calderon’s government helped us get Jimmy back.”

“Yeah, after he was tortured and broken. Jimmy was federal. Erin’s a singer. How much help are they going to give her, Charlie?”

“So you’re going to run that million dollars to the Jai Alai Palace in Tijuana tomorrow afternoon at three, and wait for a call from a guy named Gonzalvo?”

“Those are the orders.”

“Then what?”

Bradley looked over at Hood. “When I show the money I get to hear her on the phone. Proof of life. Then I wait for the next order.”

“When do you deliver the cash?”

“Ten days. I told you.”

“After they run you all over Mexico.”

“Probably.”

“I hate your chances,” said Hood. “But you don’t seem to. Why?”

“I have a plan.”

“Explain it.”

“I’ve been working narcotics for almost a year now, right? Jack Cleary is my boss and he’s smart and tough and he’s taught me a lot. We’ve got friends in Mexico. Counterparts. They’re smart and tough too. They’ll help, but not through official channels. And I’m going to use my ten days and these guys to find her because you know what? There’s a good chance that the minute Armenta gets the money he’ll kill her anyway.”

Hood knew that this was more than possible. It was happening more and more in the narco kidnappings-murder left less witnesses and ignited even more terror in the living, more submission and compliance.

“How are you going to find her while you lug forty pounds of cash from California to God knows where?”

Bradley looked at Hood and offered a small smile. “I love your optimism, Charlie. I love your can-do attitude.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Bradley marched out and a car door opened then slammed and a moment later he was back, pulling a piece of wheeled luggage across the pavers behind him. Daisy’s head was up and she was watching. Bradley stopped in front of Hood and pushed down the handle and flipped the luggage over at Hood’s feet. He squatted and unzipped the flap and threw it back.

“The answer is teamwork,” said Bradley. “You and me. You deliver this while my friends and I are coming in the back door. If I can find the back door, that is. When Heriberto’s men contacted me late this morning, I told them I have the money but I don’t have the stomach for delivering it. This produced great laughter and witty insults. I am now a fag without balls with a kidnapped wife who desires real men. And many other things almost as bad. But I can dispatch a brave friend to deliver. Because money is money, after all. So, what do you say, Charlie? What do you say?”

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