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Monday, May 30
Dallas, Texas
Before sunrise on Javier Garcia’s third day in Dallas, his entire body vibrated with anticipation. He was as ready as he’d ever be. He wanted to move on from the relentless and oppressive pressure of his life in limbo.
It was time to turn the page. He had a good woman now. A baby on the way. Due any day now. A boy, he felt sure.
Javier’s life was on the verge of great things. He and Elana were excited. Only this one thing left to do before they settled down together.
The van had dropped him off on the outskirts of town two days ago, on Friday night. He had the clothes on his back and a paper shopping bag. Inside the bag was the disguise they’d given him, and the gun.
In his pockets he’d carried five hundred dollars in cash. Nothing else. No wallet. No identification.
He’d spent some of the cash for two night’s rent at the no-tell motel and food at the diner. Eggs in the morning and burgers later.
He’d nursed a couple of beers for an hour, to avoid suspicion in the bars. Everybody else was drinking from brown long-neck bottles.
Javier wasn’t much of a beer drinker. He preferred tequila. But he wasn’t drinking until after the job was done. He’d promised Elana. Too much risk, they’d both agreed.
On the first day, he’d wandered the area around the outdoor site for the political rally, listening, watching, getting a feel for the place. Which didn’t take long.
He was only interested in the park and the neighborhood around it. Which was larger than his village back in Mexico but smaller than the whole of Dallas. Javier had never seen such a big city and he hoped he never would see Dallas again.
But he’d worked diligently, and he was ready. Monday afternoon, he’d complete the kill. José would collect him Monday night and he would move on with his life.
Javier smiled. That promise of a new and better life drew him like a child drawn to free candy.
Everything was in place for Monday. Soon, he’d be finished here and on his way. Very soon.
He’d been watching television in the bar Sunday night when his well-organized plans went completely off the rails.
Trejo’s face had filled the oversized screen. The news reporter said Monday’s political rally was canceled. Trejo would be attending the funeral of Senator Edward Redstone instead.
In an instant, Javier’s new life was destroyed by the whims of a politician.
Anger boiled his blood. If he’d known where Trejo was right that minute, Javier would have marched to his home and killed him, his family, and anyone else standing nearby.
He’d fumed and drank and worried and watched the news for another hour before he’d decided what to do.
The answer, once it came, was simple.
Javier’s work could be done as well in a church as in a park.
Trejo had canceled the rally, but he was still here in Dallas. He would show up in a public place.
Trejo could die as easily in one place as the other. More easily, actually, as Javier thought about it.
Javier had paid close attention to the recycled news story to learn the name of the church where the funeral would be held. The reporter stood out front, giving Javier a good long look at the entrance.
Javier had attended church every Sunday for his entire life. He pictured the big, open interior of the building. One church was the same as another, surely.
He imagined pews filled with seated mourners. Eyes closed as their prayers were offered.
The more Javier thought about it, the easier it seemed.
Trejo would be seated. Shooting a stationary target would be simpler than killing the man as he walked through a crowd shaking hands with supporters. Much simpler.
After another hour of persuading himself, Javier was feeling good about things again. He’d have called José to report his change of plans. José had repeatedly stressed the importance of following directions. He was likely to be angry.
But Javier had no way to reach José. There was nothing he could do.
No matter.
He would do the job and go to the meeting point to wait.
José would pick him up Monday night, as planned. He might be angry that Javier had changed the plan. But he’d be happy the job was done.
Until then, Javier was on his own.
He’d left the bar and returned to the motel as excited as a schoolboy before a big championship football game.
Javier had slept soundly and left the motel this morning early, as he’d planned. Ominous clouds filled the sky, which was better than the relentless sun and heat he’d dealt with since he’d crossed the border.
He located the huge church where the funeral was scheduled to be held a few hours later.
The church wasn’t difficult to find. It was near the center of the city. At this early hour, the streets were deserted. Javier had an unobstructed view.
Parking was not allowed on the street near the front entrance. There were parking garages nearby.
But Javier didn’t have access to a car, so the parking didn’t matter. The only thing he wanted to confirm was that he could easily get in and out of the big church when the time came.
Javier carefully staked out several concealed spots near the entrance and waited.
People began to arrive before seven o’clock making the church ready for the funeral. Huge arrangements of flowers were delivered. Blockades were placed across the street from the entrance.
He’d had a chance to sneak inside, carrying one of the big flower stands. He was able to get familiar with the interior layout and find good places to hide until he had the opportunity to do the job he came for.
As he’d imagined, the interior of the church was one big open space. There were aisles between the pews. Doors in the back as well as the front.
He located the perfect waiting spot. He could establish his line of sight, approach the target easily enough, and get away by at least three different escape routes.
He’d prefer to kill Trejo outside.
But he could do the job inside the church as well.
Javier followed the workers outside again. He sat on a bench across from the church’s entrance and closed his eyes to visualize his plan, over and over, until he could perform without thinking.
The casket would be placed near the alter. The family would stand nearby to accept condolences. Javier would make his move after the service, when the mourners were filing out.
Javier was not that familiar with American political activities, but politicians were the same everywhere. Even at funerals, they’d shake everyone’s hand.
There would be a line of people waiting to meet Trejo. Javier would join the line, and when Trejo reached to shake Javier’s hand, he’d shoot at close range.
No chance he could miss.
Also no chance the candidate could shoot back.
It wasn’t a perfect plan. But it should work well enough.
The candidate was nothing special.
Luis Trejo was a small-time hustler with big ambitions. Javier thought he should have started with a run for local judge or mayor or dog catcher. Anything to get name recognition with voters and some work experience under his belt before he took on the big political machines.
Instead, Trejo had jumped into the race for US Senate right off the bat.
Even Javier could see that he didn’t stand a chance.
Which probably meant Trejo was angling for something other than the actual Senate seat. Something he could negotiate in exchange for endorsing the likely winner.
Something someone didn’t want Trejo to have.
Javier wondered again why that someone wanted Trejo dead.