Ted Bell - Spy

A few seconds later the lights went out, snapping and popping.

Tiger Tejada came out from behind the barrera and started walking. He waited for a break between bikes, then strode across the ring toward them with a whole lot of attitude. Heck, he was just a kid. Franklin was startled to see he was wearing a shiny jacket that seemed to be made out of blue sequins. His long black hair was pulled back from his face and tied into a ponytail. His narrow face was set in a frown, his eyes black under a high forehead with the entwined letters PS tattooed there. He was wearing black jeans and shiny snakeskin kicks on his feet, looked like some kind of gangbanger rockstar.

Tiger was a high-ranking Mexican warlord in a gang known as the Para Salvados, or PS. The gang originally formed during the civil war in El Salvador during the 1980s, a war that killed a hundred thousand and left millions impoverished and homeless. Many thousands made their way to the United States and settled in Hispanic neighborhoods in cities like Los Angeles. Victimized by black gangs like the Crips or the Bloods, they soon formed their own self-protective society.

Over time, the PS, with a history of violence and business savvy, had grown to be one of the world’s preeminent importers of illicit drugs and weapons. By 2005, they had expanded far beyond the California borders. Huge cells of the gang existed from New York to Florida, and throughout the Midwest states of Illinois, Michigan, and into Texas and even Alaska.

“Ola, Tres Ojos,” Franklin said to Tiger, using the street moniker he’d picked up on the FBI taps. Franklin saw a sudden flash of strong white teeth. Maybe he wasn’t as stupid as everybody thought. He clearly enjoyed the gringo sheriff knowing his secret handle.

“Ola, Señor,” he said with a smile of exaggerated politeness. “Thank you for coming down to visit.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Franklin said. “Tell me something, how’d you come by that name?”

The smile became a smirk. “Tres Ojos. Three eyes. My third eye is my pecker. Always on the lookout for pussy.”

Franklin forced a smile. “Yeah.”

“It’s good we have this little chance to talk, señor. Tell me. What was it you wanted to discuss? You here to arrest me?”

“I’m here to offer you a way out of this.”

“You’re offering me a way out, señor?”

“Correct.”

Tiger turned and looked back at his boys lingering behind the barrera. They all had their gun barrels resting on the top of the fence now, pointed toward the center of the bullring. A couple of them racked the slides on their weapons.

Tiger signaled the motorcycles to stop. When they had done so, he spread his arms in a wide arc and pivoted on his bootheels.

“Muchachos! The man says he’s willing to offer us a way out of here!”

After the irony of that had a chance to jell there was a chorus of raucous laughter. Somebody behind the barrera fired his 9mm automatic into the air and that really brought the house down. Tejada turned back to Franklin with a glittery mescal look in his eyes.

“Apparently, they do not accept your offer, Sheriff.”

“Listen. You want to be a grown-up and have a serious talk, tell me now. If not, my deputy and I will leave. Your call, son.”

“I admit to curiosity. What is it you could possibly want from me?”

“I want what I can get.”

“What you can get.”

“Yes. I can’t get the boys back, so I’ll take the girls.”

“Las putas? What’s the difference? Really. I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. You wasting my time.”

“Tiger, listen to me. You see that big black thing up there, looks like the sky? It ain’t. It’s a big Yankee hammer about to come down on your head. I’m offering you a chance to get out from under it.”

“What is this fucking hammer?”

“Swift justice. It’s coming your way shortly.”

“You threatening me?”

“Yes.”

“What is it you want? Spit it out. I have other appointments.”

“I want you to work for me.”

“You are truly crazy, you know that, man?”

“Maybe I am.”

“Tell me. What you want, man?”

“Let’s take a walk.”

“Si. Whatever.”

“It’s called flipping,” Dixon said when they were out of earshot. “We start at the bottom which is you. We flip folks in your organization, find out who the guy above them is and go after him. We keep flipping until we reach the top of Para Salvados. The head honcho who’s getting you into so much trouble.”

“You lost me way back with flipping, man.”

“Whoever it is. At the top. We take him out. And you take early retirement where nobody can touch you. Guaranteed. You understand?”

“I understand. You think I’m crazy as you.”

“I did. I don’t anymore. I think you’re smart enough to follow your survival instincts.”

“Yeah?

“Tiger. You’re in over your head and you know it. Take my offer.”

“And if I don’t? If I just add your Yanqui blood to this sacred ground of el toro?”

“You do that and men far less polite will come down here in sufficient numbers and with sufficient firepower to put you and everybody in this town underground. I promise you that will happen.”

“You serious, man?”

“Right now, I’m the only thing stopping it.”

The kid looked away and Franklin could see him coming to a decision. “It wasn’t me. That unfortunate thing with your posse. I heard about that, but it wasn’t me.”

“We’ll see, I guess.”

“I need to think about this.”

“Think fast. As a show of good faith, I want you to release the five women that were stolen from my town over the last six months. Today is Saturday. I’m giving you forty-eight hours.”

“You are crazy, man, fucking loco gonzo. What makes you think I have them?”

“If you don’t, you know how to find them. If all five are not back with their families by sundown Monday, I’ll take that as a decision on your part and act accordingly.”

“Shit. I don’t know, man.”

“Look at me, Tiger. See who I truly am.”

“I see pretty good who you are.”

“You’ve got until sundown Monday.”

“I make no promises.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, son,” Dixon said, walking away from the Mexican. “All right, Homer, get your gun. Time to saddle up.”

“Adios, Tres Ojos,” Homer said, smiling at the narco.

“You know, perhaps some day me and my compadres will return the visit? How about that? We come see you sometime? You would like that?”

Homer and Dixon kept walking.

As they were climbing in the pickup, Homer said, “Were you kidding about all that ‘hammer of justice’ stuff?”

“Maybe.”

“America ain’t got a spare hammer right now, Sheriff, that’s the whole damn problem.”

“I know. I made it up when we were walking out there.”

16

DRY TORTUGAS

T he hungry mako was still in the picture. Loitering in the foreground, swimming lazy loops about twenty feet above the fuselage. Acting like he didn’t give a good goddamn, but Stoke would swear the fish kept checking him out, fish with that snaggle-toothed grin of his.

Stoke, back in his Navy SEAL days in the Keys, had always thought this particular make and model of shark was the meanest looking animal on earth. Fish had a very expensive set of curved knives set into his jaw. His pointy snout and dark eyes gave him a look of intense brainpower, even though he was just a damn eating machine. Definitely came with an aggressive attitude; his eyes looking into the back of your eyes, saying, “Hey! I’m the kind of fish who will personally bite your ass in half.”