Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"Did Kerney take him out?"

"No, one of your people did. A Corporal Eddie Tapia. Kerney says the corporal saved his life."

"Where is Tapia?" Curry asked.

"In El Paso. He took a knife cut on his arm. Nothing serious. He's probably finished getting sewed up and is backtracking on the perp."

"Where's Kerney?" Andy nodded at the front door as Kerney stepped outside the house.

"Be gentle, Tom," he advised. "The man has had a shitty night, and his attitude stinks right now."

Curry watched Kerney limp down the walk to a pickup truck and open the door. His suit was dirty and spattered with dried blood. Curry and Andy walked to him.

"You're Curry?" Kerney asked, looking at the uniform and the insignia of rank. He opened his bag, searched for a clean shirt, and pulled one out.

"I am."

"Good. I need to talk to you. Eddie Tapia just called. He found where Benton was staying, and he has a lead on a rented storage unit. I'm going down to hook up with him."

"Greg Benton?" Curry asked.

"That's right." He slipped out of the suit jacket, undid the tie, unbuttoned the shirt, and stripped it off. The scar on Kerney's stomachwas nasty, as bad as any combat wound Curry had seen. Kerney threw the dirty clothes into the cab of the truck and put on the fresh shirt.

"You know who he is?"

"I know who he's supposed to be," Curry replied.

"Is he CIA? Defense Intelligence? NSA?" Kerney asked, stuffing his shirttail into his pants.

"I don't know," Curry answered.

"He belongs to somebody," Kerney said.

"Check it out."

"Of course. Are you assuming Utiey was part of it?" Kerney got in the truck and slammed the door.

"He had to be." He smiled at Andy. "I'll be in touch."

"Let me send somebody with you," Andy pleaded.

"I can handle it," Kerney retorted. He drove away.

"I need to make a phone call to Washington," Curry said, frowning at the receding taillights.

"Be my guest," Andy replied. *** De Leon meeting with Francisco Posada was short and to the point. Posada promised him all the required facts about Kevin Kerney, and he would see what could be learned about Eddie the jorobado. Most certainly Don Enrique would know by morning where Kerney lived, so he could be found and killed quickly. Carlos was due to return with a progress report on the search. De Leon waited patiently at his table, watching the action on the floor. Luisa, his diversion for the weekend, still occupied her time gambling with his money at the monte tables. He looked forward to his weekend with her. She hoped for marriage and eagerly demonstrated her talents, but he saw no future in marrying any woman. Eventually, all of them grew tiresome. Dominguez waddled in through the back door, looking very pleased with himself. His belly heaved in exertion as he stopped in front of De Leon

"Senor?" He was out of breath.

"What is it, Dominguez?" De Leon replied. Dominguez opened his hand.

"I thought you might like to have this." He held out a wallet.

"I took it from the dead man."

"Put it on the table," De Leon said, without interest. Dominguez did as he was told.

"Senor?"

"What is it now, Dominguez?" De Leon said testily.

Mother Mary help me if I ever need a real policeman, De Leon thought to himself. Dominguez unbuttoned his shirt pocket, took out a plastic card and a key, and handed them to De Leon

"I also found these on the body." De Leon indifference faded as he looked at the card. It was a keyless entry card to a storage compound in El Paso. He turned over the metal locker key. A number was stamped on it. De Leon smiled.

"How much money was in the wallet?" Dominguez's grin faded.

"Four hundred dollars, patron," Dominguez admitted.

"Is it securely in your pocket?"

"Yes, Don Enrique."

"I will double it. You have done me a service." Dominguez's grin returned, filled with gratitude.

"I am glad you are pleased."

"I am. Now go and wait for Carlos. Send him to me as soon as he arrives."

Dominguez left, almost running. De Leon turned the card over in his hand. Truly, could it be so easy? Was he holding the key to a fortune that did not have to be bought and paid for? When Carlos arrived he would be sent to investigate. Perhaps Eddie, the charlatan jorobado, had brought him luck after all. If true, it would make an amusing story; one he would enjoy telling. De Leon laugh was loud enough to make some nearby customers pause and look in his direction. *** Benton's car was not in the motel parking lot, and there was no response when Meehan knocked at the door of the room. Sara was on the floor of the backseat of the Cherokee, gagged and covered with a blanket. The heavy traffic of hookers with their customers made sticking around unwise. Meehan decided to cross the border into Mexico, tuck Sara safely away, and come back to look for Benton. Meehan bypassed the direct route to Juarez and crossed the border at Santa Teresa.

The road to Casas Grandes, a dirt washboard that intersected a main highway, was lightly traveled. He turned east toward Juarez before reaching the highway, staying on farm roads and skirting the few little settlements south of the city. To the north, the runway lights of the Juarez airport came into view, shimmering in geometric rows. When he was parallel to the Rio Grande, Meehan cut over to a paved highway that passed through several small villages. He turned off at two barren ridges that loomed up to a plateau above the river bottom. The road dwindled to a set of ruts in the dirt and dropped suddenly toward the river. His headlights lit up crumbling walls, old foundations, and deteriorated stone fences. Across the river, low-lying west Texas mountains showed a wrinkled, windswept face to the night sky. The ruins of the hacienda, protected in a hollow against the ridge, surveyed a narrow strip of bosque at the banks of the Rio Grande.

Meehan stopped in front of a rock stable that encircled a stone granary. He found a flashlight in the glove box, pulled Sara out of the vehicle, and removed the gag.

Sara looked at the granary. Chiseled stone steps twisted around the outside of the tower. At the base, an entrance wide enough for a horse and wagon stood like an open black mouth. The house, an old hacienda undergoing restoration, was roofless. Scaffolding surrounded the walls, and a parapet had been rebuilt with new bricks. Freshly peeled vigas-beams for the ceiling-were secured to the walls, and rough wood framing defined new openings for doors and windows.

"This is interesting," Sara said. "Is it a new theme park?" Meehan smiled.

"It's more like a nature center. Let me show you around. There's one attraction I think you'll really like." Sara looked pale and dispirited, in spite of the attempt at humor. She had softened up nicely, Meehan thought. He turned her by the shoulders, pushed her against the hood of the car, and cut the rope around her ankles. She spun, kicked for his groin, and missed, catching him on the shin instead. He slapped her in the mouth with the butt end of the flashlight. She fell against the Cherokee, stunned but conscious.

Meehan grabbed her by the hair and wrenched her neck. "You think you're a tough little bitch, don't you?" he snarled.

"No," Sara answered. She could feel the blood in her mouth. "I'm not a bitch at all."

"Move, cunt." He pushed her along in front of him, through the remnants of a kitchen, past a crumbling adobe fireplace, to a stone staircase that descended to an underground room. Sara balked at the top step, and he jabbed her in the kidney with the flashlight. She stumbled forward, Meehan holding her by the handcuffs to keep her from falling. Bags of concrete on pallets, milled lumber, and construction equipment filled the underground room. De Leon's restoration project was further along than Meehan had realized. It meant he would need to deal quickly with Sara to avoid any chance encounters with the construction crew.