Текст книги "Jack Taggart Mysteries 7 - Book Bundle"

Автор книги: Don Easton

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Текущая страница: 112 (всего у книги 141 страниц)

chapter twenty-eight

The following morning, Jack went to the hotel lobby with his laptop and only one of his suitcases. He had decided he would not check out of his room in the event he needed a safe haven later on.

In the lobby he used a pay phone to make a collect call to Natasha. He did not want to risk using the phone in his room in case a nosey hotel clerk listened in, nor did he want to use his cellphone in the event it fell into the wrong hands after and would have a record of his call home.

Natasha answered and Jack could hear Mikey banging a spoon on the tray of his high chair in the background.

“So where you been?” asked Natasha, sounding snippy. “Taking care of business?”

Jack smiled. Usually collect calls meant they could talk freely, but not always. Natasha always acted like a jilted woman until Jack gave her the clearance to talk. Even then, most details were left out.

“I called to tell you I love you,” said Jack, “and Mikey, too.”

“I love you, too,” she said lovingly. “We miss you.”

“I think the only thing Mikey misses is his food if it’s a minute late,” said Jack.

“No, he doesn’t. You’ve seen his face light up when he sees you. Speaking of which?”

“Hope to have a business meeting today with this new partnership. With luck, I’ll be back sometime this weekend.”

“Call me as soon as you can.”

“I will.” Jack knew Natasha worried about him. They had made a pact that rather than have her worry needlessly, he would try to let her know when he was doing something risky and then call her as soon as it was over. In the long run, it was a bit easier on her that way.

Jack saw the Camaro pull up in front of the hotel lobby and knew he had to go. He quickly said goodbye and picked up his luggage and stepped outside.

Adams and an attractive young woman got out of the car as he approached.

“This is Sherry,” said Adams. “My one night-stand,” he added with a grin.

“Don’t you wish,” replied Sherry, rolling her eyes.

After arriving at the airport and giving his laptop to Adams to hold for safekeeping, Jack rented a car. He then went for breakfast to give Adams and Sherry time to ensure the cover team was in place and check into the Armadillo Motel before he arrived.

It was twelve-thirty when Jack arrived at the motel. He spotted the Camaro in front of a unit as well as five other vehicles parked in front of other units. Slater’s truck was not one of them. The other vehicles made Jack feel a little more comfortable. The motel had enough business that the presence of Adams and Sherry should go unnoticed.

The motel manager turned out to be a skinny, nervous-looking man who constantly sniffled. Jack figured he either had a cold or a bad coke habit. Probably the latter …

“Oh, you’re the guy from Canada,” said Sniffles, as he read the hotel registration sheet Jack filled out. “Got a message for ya,” he said, reaching into a beehive of cubbyholes behind him and handing Jack a slip of paper.

The message was short. Hit a deer and gotta wait for a new radiator. Will be there tomorrow afternoon. T’s guys said they would be over to see you. Clive

Jack didn’t care if Slater was there. The important thing was to meet Tio. He got the key to his room and discovered it was a couple of units past where the Camaro was parked. He didn’t look in the darkened room as he went past, but did notice the curtains were open a crack for someone to see out.

Jack hadn’t slept much the night before and was hoping to get a few hours’ shut-eye. He lay on the bed, but his adrenalin wouldn’t allow him to sleep.

He was in the room less than an hour when he heard a vehicle pull up. He looked out the window and saw two Mexican men getting out of a white SUV. They both appeared to be in their mid-thirties.

The passenger was obese, with rolls of fat on the back of his neck like a walrus. He had a thick black moustache and his eyebrows met in the middle. His puffy cheeks gave the impression that his nose had sunken into his face and overall, he was one of the ugliest men Jack had ever seen.

Jack saw him hold up a hand to gesture for the second man to remain at the SUV while he waddled over to the door. Jack opened it as the man was about to knock.

“Señor Jack?”

“Jack will do. Who are you?”

“They call me El Pero,” he said with a smile, extending his hand.

Jack shook the sweaty paw and discreetly wiped his hand on the sides of his cargo pants afterwards.

“¿Habla usted español, Señor Jack?”

“What’s that?” replied Jack. “Are you asking me if I speak Spanish? Sorry, I only know a couple of words.”

In fact, Jack knew enough to get by, but thought it might be in his best interests if the bad guys thought they could speak freely in front of him and believe they were not understood.

“El Pero in Spanish mean The Dog,” said El Pero. “It is what my amigos call me. You can call me by that name, too.”

“Pleased to meet you, El Pero. Come on in.”

El Pero entered and Jack glanced at the man standing by the SUV.

“He is okay,” said El Pero. “He can wait.”

Jack closed the door and gestured to one of two chairs in the room. After they sat, El Pero said, “I came by to welcome you and tell you that tonight I will take you to a party in Juarez.”

“I was expecting Tio to be here,” said Jack. “It may not be safe for me to go to Juarez.”

“Tio?” asked El Pero. “Your uncle is coming?”

“Not my uncle. I’m talking about the man I came to meet. The man who told me to come to this motel,” said Jack.

El Pero’s triple chins shook as he wheezed out a laugh and said, “Now I understand. When I deal with Señor Slater he has heard me call my tio, which in Spanish means uncle. The man I report to is my uncle and that is who you were expecting to meet.”

“Oh, I see … so what is your uncle’s name?”

“Señor Alphonse Franco,” replied El Pero.

Jack smiled. Finding out the uncle’s name had been easy. Meeting him might not be as simple.

“Señor Alphonse Franco told me you had a concern about going to Juarez,” said El Pero. “You are not to worry. He has checked with the federales and the policia. They do not know you. Even if they did, it would be nothing we would not take care of.”

“I see,” said Jack, not overly surprised that the cartel had checked with the police.

“You will be Señor Alphonse Franco’s guest tonight,” said El Pero. “I will pick you up at seven o’clock and take you to meet with him for dinner. We have reserved an entire restaurant for the occasion.”

“That sounds great, but I would prefer to drive myself there.”

“I am sorry, but I must insist,” said El Pero. “My uncle is always very careful that the Americans do not find him. He is afraid any car rented in America could have a satellite tracker installed in it by the authorities. The same rules apply for cellphones in the event the Americans triangulate the signal and locate our position. The only cellphones allowed are ones my uncle obtains through a special connection.”

“Your uncle is a wise man,” said Jack. “That is good. I do not like to do business with men who are stupid or careless.”

“Si,” replied El Pero with a smile. “I will tell him you are happy with the security measures being taken. Now you may wish to sleep. Tonight there will be a big fiesta in your honour.”

Jack waited ten minutes after El Pero left before strolling to the motel office while tossing the key in his hand to announce his intention to leave. He dropped the key off with Sniffles for safekeeping and told him he was going into El Paso to look around. When he walked back toward his car he saw Adams standing in the doorway of his unit without his shirt on and yawning.

Jack pretended to ignore him as he walked past, but said, “Wait fifteen and then meet me at the first gas station you come to on the way back to town.”

Thirty minutes later, Adams and Sherry pulled up beside Jack’s rented car that was parked beside a garage where Jack was pretending to top off the air in his tires.

Adams unrolled the window to talk and Jack said, “Looks like we’re delayed for a day or two. Got a message from Slater when I checked in that he hit a deer and damaged his radiator. I spoke to one of the two Mexicans who showed up and it looks like we’ll have to wait until Slater gets here to get everyone together.”

“Too bad,” replied Adams as he looked at Jack and raised one eyebrow.

Jack gave a nod as though he was in agreement the delay was unfortunate.

“Typical,” said Sherry. “Dopers never do anything on time. Guess we have to become lovebirds again, John.”

“We did manage to snap a couple of photos of the guy who waited outside,” said Adams, “but from the angle they parked, we never got to see the face of the guy you spoke with.”

“That goof gave me the name for Tio. It’s Alphonse Franco. Do you know him?”

“Big Al!” exclaimed Adams. “Damn rights we know him. He’s one of the upper echelons. Only a rung or two down the ladder from the Carrillo Fuentes brothers. He definitely has the political standing to talk to Guajardo himself.”

“Which he is probably doing if they think they will be doing business with Satans Wrath.”

“Man, I didn’t think you would reach this level so quickly,” said Adams.

“Satans Wrath have a huge international reputation with a world-wide drug distribution network. It’s a bit like GM approaching Nissan and suggesting they go into business together. It makes sense that they would send out their upper echelon to talk to me. Who knows, maybe Guajardo himself or the Carrillo Fuentes boys will show up.”

Adams shook his head and said, “Not a chance. That I am sure of. Maybe if you were to really buy three or four ton off of them they might, but there is no way any of those guys would risk showing up yet. Big Al will have to vouch for you himself and oversee things to start with. As close as he is to the top guy, it would cost him his life if things went wrong.”

“That’s good to know. So why won’t Big Al come into the U.S.?”

“We nailed his ass on a major cocaine beef four years ago. He’d be looking at a minimum of twenty-five years if we could get him deported. Unfortunately we can’t. He’s one of the untouchables over there. At the moment he’s got his nephew running things for him in El Paso.”

“El Pero?”

“Yes, that’s his nickname. His real name is Pietro Franco.”

“That’s who spoke with me.”

“I wondered if that was the fat fucker you were talking to. El Pero is halfway up the corporate ladder. Being Big Al’s nephew, I’m certain the cartel has big plans for him.”

“Sounds like everything is going good. We just have to wait. Which is fine by me for the moment. I’m running on empty when it comes to the sleep department. Think I’ll go back to my room in the city and sleep for the next twenty-four hours. You can call the guys off and I’ll give you a shout tomorrow morning when I wake up.”

Adams rolled up his window and started to back up, then stopped and said to Sherry, “I’m going to invite him home for dinner in case he changes his mind about sleeping.”

“I was thinking of asking him the same thing,” said Sherry. “He’s cute.”

“Forget it. He’s married,” replied Adams as he got out the car.

“I know, but that is still no reason for him to be all alone. Besides, back at the motel you mentioned you had already had him over for dinner so —”

“Forget it. I know what you’re thinking. He’s very married.”

“Very married?”

“You know what I mean,” replied Adams, closing the door and walking over to Jack who was about to get in his rental.

“What’s really happening?” whispered Adams.

“El Pero is picking me up tonight at seven to take me to meet Big Al. They’ve reserved an entire restaurant someplace in Juarez. I’m not allowed to take my rental or a cellphone. Big Al is paranoid you guys might use either one to try and trace him.”

“I can’t cover you over there. Our friend can’t be seen, either.”

“I know. I’ll call you when I’m done.”

“What if they want you to stay over? If you don’t have a car or a phone —”

“I’ll tell them I have to be at a certain gas station in El Paso in the morning to take a call from Damien. I’ll use it as an excuse to have someone drive me back if the party goes on for too long. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

“So, Juarez it is …” said Adams sombrely.

“Yes.”

The muscles rippled along Adams’s jaw line as he clenched his teeth before turning on his heel and walking away. He knew he had made a mistake by befriending Jack. They were in a war … and liking someone made it all the harder when that person became a casualty.

chapter twenty-nine

At seven o’clock, El Pero arrived at the Armadillo Motel. This time he had a different driver who came to the door, as well. Jack let them both in.

The driver was a husky man who stood as tall as Jack. His hair was short and his eyes darted around the room. His face had the scars of more than one battle, but it wasn’t his face that spiked Jack’s adrenalin. The excitement he felt was because the man was missing an earlobe. He knew it had to be Eduardo Cortez, the man Rubalcava had identified as being an enforcer for the Guajardo cartel.

Jack stuck his hand out and said, “I’m Jack.”

Eduardo looked at El Pero who nodded, so he stood like he was at attention and shook Jack’s hand and said, “I’m Eduardo. Pleased to meet you, sir.”

Jack recalled Rubalcava’s comment that Eduardo had received military training. Judging by the battle scars on his face, Jack suspected his training had frequently been put to use.

“Are you ready?” asked El Pero.

“Yes,” replied Jack. “Is it okay if I take my camera? My boss would like to see who we are planning on doing business with.”

“I do not see why not,” replied El Pero, “but I will take your camera and ask permission when we arrive.”

Jack handed him his camera and he gave Jack an apologetic look. “Señor Jack, I know it is unpleasant and I am sure unnecessary, but there is something we need to do.”

Jack smiled and said, “I understand. My boss is the same way when he meets new people.” With that comment, Jack turned and placed his hands on the wall and spread his feet so Eduardo could search him.

Forty-five minutes later, Jack was in the back of the SUV as it crossed the Bridge of the Americas and stopped at Mexican Customs. He found it slightly disconcerting when the immigration officer recognized El Pero and apologized to him for the inconvenience of stopping him, while hastily waving them through.

Soon after, Eduardo double-parked on the street in front of a restaurant and the three of them got out and walked to the front door. Jack counted four burly men loitering out front. Despite the heat, they all wore light jackets. Judging by the way they studied each approaching car and person, Jack concluded they had received training as V.I.P. bodyguards.

“Parking attendants?” said Jack to El Pero, with a nod of his head to one of the four men.

“If you are parked by them, Jack, you will never move again,” replied El Pero with a grim smile.

The restaurant was large enough to hold sixty customers and had a bar at the far end. The only customers present were a group of fifteen men who were sitting at a few tables pushed together in the middle. They were all casually dressed and appeared to be enjoying themselves.

El Pero’s uncle was easy to spot. Big Al was the biggest man at the table and when their eyes met, Jack could see his face looked like an older version of El Pero’s ugly mug.

The men sitting on the same side of the table as Big Al scrambled to move their chairs out of his way as he rose and lumbered over to meet Jack. It was then that Jack noticed a huge difference between Big Al and El Pero. Big Al was muscular to the point that Jack suspected his physique was a result of weight-lifting and steroid use. Overall, he looked like he could have been a wrestler.

Jack smiled and accepted his firm handshake like they were already good friends and looked into the dark eyes studying him. “Muchas gusto, señor,” said Jack, intentionally stumbling over the words and mispronouncing them as he shook his hand.

Big Al smiled back, exposing a gold front tooth. “You speak Spanish.”

“Sorry,” said Jack, shaking his head. “It took me all day to learn to say that.”

“Well … you said it very well.” Big Al smiled. “I am Señor Alphonse Franco, but many of my gringo friends call me Big Al. It is a nickname I rather like. Come, I have saved you a seat beside me.”

“Are we going to be talking business in front of all these men?” asked Jack.

“Business? No, no, no. First we eat and get to know each other. After, I have something planned to entertain ourselves. Everything is on me. If you see something …” Big Al smiled, nudging Jack with his elbow and added, “or perhaps someone you like, let me know. Tonight I want you to have fun. Business can come later.”

Jack sat alongside Big Al and El Pero sat on the other side of him. Eduardo sat across from them. Next to Eduardo was a man whom Jack recognized. It was the same man who sneered into the apartment security camera. The man he had nicknamed as El Burla. Tonight is turning out very well.

Jack saw Big Al was drinking Taittinger champagne and requested the same. As soon as he was served, Big Al raised his glass and said first in Spanish and then in English, “Here is to the peoples of the world getting to know each other.”

Jack clinked glasses with Big Al and took a sip. When Big Al continued to gulp the entire glass, Jack followed suit.

A waiter standing behind them immediately refilled both glasses. Jack raised his glass and said, “Water separates the people of the world, but wine unites us.”

Big Al laughed and said, “Yes, water like the Rio Grande.” He then translated in Spanish, which elicited a few smiles around the table.

“Señor Jack,” said Big Al, “you have met my nephew … he is handsome like his uncle, yes?”

“Exactly what I was thinking when I walked in,” said Jack.

“We call him El Pero because he is like a dog. Isn’t that right, El Pero?” laughed Big Al, while ruffling El Pero’s hair.

El Pero beamed at the attention he received from his uncle. It was obviously an inside joke, but Jack smiled as if he understood.

The drinking continued, along with general conversation mixed with a few crude jokes while waitresses brought what seemed like a never-ending assortment of different dishes.

As the night progressed, Jack asked if he could have his camera back so he could take some pictures to show his boss how well he was being treated. Big Al readily agreed and had one of his men take a couple of pictures with Jack’s camera.

“That is a good idea,” said Big Al. “I also have some people who would like to know you are having a good time. Jack smiled and posed with drink in hand while several more photographs were taken with cellphone cameras.

Jack tried to act like he was really enjoying himself. A role he found difficult to do while some of the men, laughing with evil delight, groped terrified waitresses and yanked their blouses open to kiss their breasts. The liquor behind the bar was also freely ransacked.

Jack ’s role of portraying a member of an outlaw motorcycle gang left him in a position where such behaviour was to appear acceptable to him, even applauded. The more he was forced to smile and laugh, the more his anger boiled inside him. As the night continued, he found himself frequently checking his watch, wishing the sickening spectacle was over.

It was midnight when Big Al mentioned it was time to leave and go to another place he had reserved.

“Another place?” asked Jack.

“A quieter place to drink and mingle with each other,” he said. “I know some of my men wish to meet you. Your organization has gained a certain popularity it would seem.”

Jack welcomed the chance to meet one of Big Al’s men in particular. The man who sneered and thumbed his nose at the security camera before committing murder.

“Sounds great, but I shouldn’t be too late,” Jack said. “I have to be at a certain gas station in El Paso early tomorrow morning. It has been arranged that my boss will call me there.”

“Ah, I see. That would be Señor Damien,” said Big Al.

“You know him?” asked Jack, feeling his stomach knot.

“No, but his reputation is highly regarded.”

“Yes, I certainly think the world of him. But of course, for now, it is Damien’s idea you only deal through me. We do not want word of this meeting getting out until everything is running smoothly. We don’t want it to cause problems with the people we have been dealing with. There are still some business transactions that haven’t been concluded yet.”

“I understand, amigo. We keep this secret. I only contact you and you speak for Señor Damien. Do not tomorrow … worry in the morning,” said Big Al, whose command of the English language had deteriorated slightly in accordance with the amount he had drank. “I will have my men take you back in time to call the gas station.”

As the entourage walked out of the restaurant, Jack saw the owner of the restaurant thanking Big Al profusely for gracing his restaurant with his presence. A scene Jack found rather pathetic, considering nothing had been paid for.

Jack rode in the back of a silver SUV with Big Al and El Pero sat in the front with a bodyguard who was driving. The rest of Big Al’s men piled into an assortment of other vehicles and formed small parade as they all drove away. Soon their driver decided it was too slow and quickly outdistanced the other vehicles.

As they drove, Jack saw the driver occasionally studying him through the rear-view mirror. Jack didn’t know if it was the man’s penetrating eyes, or how he professionally handled the SUV through the traffic, but his gut instinct told him the man was a police officer. When their eyes locked momentarily, Jack smiled and said hello.

The driver frowned and turned his attention back to the street in front of him.

“He doesn’t speak English very well,” explained Big Al.

Eventually they stopped on the street in front of a small boutique hotel. A minute later, the rest of the entourage arrived. Jack saw the four bodyguards – the same ones who had been at the restaurant earlier – bail out of another SUV and take up positions beside the front door of the hotel. Two of the bodyguards held MAC-10 mini-machine guns and strutted about looking as menacing as they could.

The entire entourage remained parked, blocking traffic, as the passengers casually got out. Nobody waiting had the nerve to show their impatience by blowing their horns.

“I have more men inside,” smiled Big Al as his eyes studied Jack’s face for a response.

Jack nodded politely. He knew Big Al was putting on a show for him. Had the bodyguards really been necessary, their driver would not have broken ranks with the rest of the vehicles and the hotel would have already been secured by bodyguards before they arrived.

Jack was pleased. If he respects me enough to try and impress me, he might be willing to answer a few questions …

The hotel was a two-storey building with a flat roof built in traditional Spanish architecture and had four granite columns across the front. The entire building was painted pink and set off from the rest of the buildings on the street by a lane down each side leading to a parking lot and back alley.

It was when Jack got out of the SUV he noticed the sign on the roof. El Toro Solitario, which in English meant The Lonely Bull.

Big Al slapped him on the back and said, “Remember, tonight everything is my treat. I insist upon it.”

Oh shit … it’s a brothel.