Michael McGarity - Mexican Hat

If necessary, she would have to rein Kerney in. Somehow, she didn't think Kerney was the type of man who would take that easily.

She put in a call to the Silver City paper and got through to the editor, who told her it was too late to kill the story. She hung up wondering if Omar Gatewood even realized how badly he had blundered by letting the cat out of the bag to the media.

She seriously doubted it.

Kerney cashed the check, drove to his trailer, and swapped the Forest Service truck for his own vehicle, a late-model GMC pickup. Making a quick stop at the hospital in Silver City, he found the same guard at the door of the I.C.U and asked to speak to Eriinda Perez.

She arrived quickly, stepped halfway into the hall, and held the door open with a hand.

"I'm very busy, Mr. Kerney."

"I won't take much of your time. Did Dr. Padilla's daughter show up?"

"She's here now."

He gave Eriinda a business card and switched to Spanish.

"Please give her my condolences, find out if she will tell me where she's staying, and ask if I may speak with her this afternoon. Tell her I wish to be of assistance in finding the person who killed her son."

Eriinda nodded, told him to wait, and returned after a few minutes. She told Kerney where the woman was staying.

"She'll be at her motel in the afternoon," she added.

"She would like to meet with you."

"That's great. What's her name?" Kerney asked.

"Cornelia Marquez."

"Have the police talked to her?"

"I don't know," Eriinda said.

"How is Senor Padilla?"

Eriinda shrugged.

"The same. He fades in and out. Not very responsive. He remembers almost nothing."

"Is he talking?"

"Not really. A word here and there. The doctor thinks the damage may be permanent."

"Thanks."

"For nada." Eriinda watched him leave. Generally, she was not impressed with cops. But this gringo didn't run a macho game or act like a tough guy. Also, he didn't wear a wedding ring. She wondered if he was married.

Kerney burned up the road getting to El Paso. In Juarez he drove through the sleazy tourist district that never seemed to change, except to smell worse and look more appalling. He fought his way around crazed motorists until he was off the strip and heading for the suburbs.

Francisco Posada's home, a modern two-story affair with arched windows, a red tile roof, Grecian columns under a domed entrance, and meticulously landscaped grounds, qualified as a mansion. It harmonized nicely with the rest of the Juarez neighborhood.

The entire district could easily be part of any wealthy Southern California enclave.

Senor Posada's houseboy answered the door, recognized Kerney, and blocked his entrance.

"I don't think it is wise for you to be here," Juan said.

"I need to see him now," Kerney replied.

"Don't make me walk over you to do it."

Juan considered the threat, his soft black eyes ill flickering over Kerney's face, and decided not to resist.

"Very well," Juan said.

"Follow me."

Escorted into the spacious living room and left alone, Kerney sat in front of the Diego Rivera portrait of a beautiful Mexican woman that had captured his admiration during his first meeting with Posada, when he'd been tracking down Eppi Gutierrez's smuggling contacts. Hung above the fireplace, it was a remarkable painting, filled with an odd mixture of passion and piety, and Kerney was delighted to see it again.

Glass walls on either side of the fireplace climbed to a vaulted ceiling, bringing the outdoors virtually inside. The yard had as a centerpiece a large Swimming pool and cabana ringed with palm trees and potted tropical plants. In the living room were three separate seating areas of matching, richly upholstered chairs and couches that blended nicely with the off-white carpet and walls.

Guided by Juan, Francisco Posada entered from the adjoining library.

Kerney stood up. The old man shuffled slowly to him. The arthritis that so grotesquely crippled his hands had obviously worsened.

Deep circles beneath his small eyes stopped at his cheekbones. The loose skin around his neck looked almost detached. Pain was etched in his expression.

"Please sit," Posada said in his elegant Spanish.

He joined Kerney on the couch, Juan helping to lower him down.

"I did not expect to see you again, Senor Kerney."

Juan, slight, dark, and as slender as a girl, stood at the side of his employer, eyes fixed on Posada, his expression guarded. During Kerney's past visit, Juan had seemed much more attentive to Posada.

He wondered what was up between them.

"Nor I you, Don Francisco," Kerney replied in Spanish.

Posada smiled.

"I assume you did not come to present your apologies for deceiving me."

On his past visit, Kerney had hoodwinked Posada into selling him valuable information that had led to a major break in shutting down a smuggling operation and solving the murder of Kerney's godson.

"Circumstances prevented me from telling you the truth," Kerney replied.

"I am not interested in that. I am interested in the money you owe me."

As an inducement to do business with him, Kerney had agreed to pay Posada a percentage of the gross profits from the sale of the stolen historical artifacts.

"The percentage you were promised was based on the delivery of certain items. The delivery was never made."

"It was never intended to be made."

"You did not consider that possibility," Kerney countered.

Posada laughed nastily.

"Have I amused you?"

"I do not like the notion that I was so easily duped."

"Can we do business?"

"It depends. What is it you require?"

"I need the names of people who smuggle endangered animals to the Asian trade. Specifically for compounds used in medicines sold by folk healers and herbalists."

"Is this a police matter?"

"Yes."

"Does your investigation extend into Mexico?"

"No."

"Can you pay my fee?" Posada asked.

Posada charged a minimum of five thousand dollars for information.

"Not all of it up front," Kerney admitted.

"But I'm willing to trade. I'll give you a thousand dollars cash and provide advance warning when we plan to shut down the pipeline. If you move quickly, you should be able to corner the market and turn a tidy profit from the last shipments that cross the border."

Posada's eyes narrowed.

"You know my fee is not negotiable. I see no reason to put my trust in you, given your past performance. It gives me great pleasure to refuse you, Senor Kerney, Please do not come back here again. Juan, would you show Senor Kerney out?"

Kerney got to his feet and bowed in Posada's direction.

"Goodbye, senor," he said gravely.

"I am sorry we were unable to do business."

"Old enmities die hard," Posada replied flatly.

Juan walked Kerney through the grand vestibule to the front door.

"Senor Posada will not live much longer," he said.

"What will happen to you when he dies?"

"I hope to continue in the trade," Juan answered.

"But the senor has severely cut back on his workload, and does not seem inclined to turn over the business to me. He has a niece who will inherit."

"I would welcome the opportunity to do business with you," Kerney proposed.

Juan made an empty gesture with his hands.

"A thousand-dollar fee does not suffice, Mr. Kerney.

Unlike the senor, I do not have the resources to act on the information you proposed as a trade."

"The expenses of starting out can be considerable," Kerney noted.

"Is there something else that might satisfy you?"

"I would welcome the opportunity to have a permanent American visa. I would like to offer my services in the North American market without fear of legal entanglements."