The Beasts of Juarez, R.B. Schow [books to read for self improvement .txt] 📗

“Yergha,” Esty said.

He crouched before the man, shoved the front of the Sig into the man’s open eye socket, and said, “You get her knife or my bullet. It all depends on how you want to play this.”

Even though he must be hurting, the man went very still. Then he said, “Capilla San Martín Caballero.”

“What is that?” Esty asked.

Whatever resolves the man had made before this moment were quickly melting. Having a gun stuffed into your eye socket while bleeding out on a filthy bathroom floor couldn’t be anyone’s dream of dying.

“It’s a church at the base of the mountains. Cardenas’s house is in the hills behind it somewhere. At the end of a dirt road.”

“What is the likelihood that Quintero has them?” she asked.

“Less likely than Cardenas, but Cardenas is pinche loco. He’s insane in the head, loves the sound of his own voice, started selling kids after he bitched out of the drug trade. Quintero still moves weight into the US, but he has coyotes moving people there as well.”

“He’s a smuggler then?” Yergha asked.

“Mostly,” the man said. “But after COVID, everyone either diversified, got out of the game, or were put out of the game.”

Yergha looked over at Esty; she gave him a quick nod. Yergha pulled the trigger, painting the porcelain tub and the surrounding walls red.

He cleaned the end of his Sig with a towel and said, “Find your clothes. We need to get going quickly.”

It took a little longer to find her clothes, prompting Yergha to club the downed police officer again. When they slipped out back, they immediately ran into a two-man patrol looking inside the Suburban. Yergha put two rounds in each man then said, “Back, back. We have to hop a fence.”

They jumped the fence into a backyard full of potted plants, rose bushes, and a small herb garden. They made their way around the side yard, went out to the street, and turned right. They walked past the suspicious ladies Yergha had seen when he was coming in. To them, he had to look like a bloody nightmare. He nodded politely all the same. They nodded back looking at the mess known as Estella Baccarin, a.k.a. the woman of his dreams, a.k.a. hellhound on the heel/toe express back to the Easter egg on wheels.

They climbed into the Spark, Esty sitting in broken glass, and then they took off. When they were far enough away, Esty started to laugh. Yergha looked over at her, worried. She was laughing, though—full belly laughs—and then the laughter turned to a sob and she completely broke down in tears.

He didn’t know what to say so he let her go through it. Fortunately, by the time she’d regained her composure, they had found a way out of the neighborhood and hopefully to safety.

A few miles down the road, Yergha pulled into a large parking lot at some grocery store, found a place to park, then took a breath and tried to unwind. After that, he checked Google Maps on his phone while Esty brushed bits of safety glass off the seat. She then examined her face in the mirror, letting out an emotionally pained groan.

“Okay, I think I have a place we can stay,” Yergha announced.

“You mean a home base?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“It can’t be anything nice.”

“It’s a two-star hotel with outdoor access, crappy WiFi, and rundown everything.”

“How much?” she asked.

“Thirty bucks.”

“Perfect.”

Before heading for the Hotel Montecarlo on Av. Paseo Triunfo de la República, Yergha reached out to Leopold through a texting service Codrin had recommended. It had end-to-end encryption but Yergha didn’t trust much of anything, so he texted Leopold letting him know that he had retrieved the package, that it was bruised badly but not spoiled, and that he was delivering said package to the Hotel Montecarlo in about half an hour.

He hit send then got on the road. Looking at her, he said, “The coffee there is supposed to be good, but I’m hearing the room service is questionable.”

“I just want a shower and a comfortable bed.”

“Apparently some of the bathroom doors don’t really have functioning locks.”

“Just don’t come in while I’m showering,” she said, her emotions settled for the moment.

“This is the only time I won’t try. It’s going to hurt my soul to hear you in there alone but I will do as you ask this one time.”

She reached out and rested her hand on his arm. Then she turned, looked at him, and said, “Thank you for saving me.”

He gave her a warm nod. “You did the same for me last time.”

“You were in much worse shape.”

“So you’re saying I still owe you one?” he asked with a grin.

Smiling, she said, “Maybe one and a half.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

SCOTTY CHASE

Leopold’s text came in early that morning with a snapshot of the transfer of the twenty-five thousand dollars. He made himself a cup of black coffee, went out to the front porch, took in the start of the day. Taking a breath of morning air, looking out over the desert landscape, he realized that unless things changed, he might not be living there anymore. Without further delay, he decided it was time to slay the day. The first call he made was to a buddy at Phoenix Towing Service. The BMW desperately needed a tow from Rum Runner.

“Some guys gang-raped the beamer,” Scotty admitted. “Really did a number on it.”

“What do you mean?” his friend asked.

“They cut a bunch of wires and beat this thing like it was a bad ex-girlfriend. You know those types of guys—kill first, ask questions later. What they killed was my car and then they had this funny way of asking questions with their fists.”

“You aren’t putting me in the middle of it are you?”