part0023

Emmelia raced down the driveway, the snap of her sneakers carried off by a northerly wind rustling through the woods. If she didn’t spot Jacob out front, she intended on circling the house, hoping to find him crouched under a window or hiding in the thicket. She hit the street at a full sprint, a blur flitting by the decorative lamppost at the end of her driveway.

As she drew near the stash house, the shouting from within had her fearing a repeat of what she’d walked in on at Fitger’s: Jacob clinging to Bump’s back and thumping the side of his head like a whacked-out circus monkey. Whatever Jacob was doing to ROD now, it sounded like absolute chaos.

She bounced through the landscaping, taking the straightest line to the front steps, and singled out the appropriate house key.

The angry snarls of some animal rose and fell amid the hooting and hollering. Jacob had caught himself a raccoon and slipped it through an open window.

She popped the door open. To the left, the men were cornering a small but unidentifiable animal in the living room. They looked back at her, and the nameless animal raced between Rubén’s legs. Emmelia’s face twisted in disgust as the deranged, nightmarish Muppet tore across the room. The thing, purple and toothy with a scattering of frizzy hairs, appeared very, very ill—and it was coming straight for her. She jumped, grabbing the top of the door, and raised her legs up to escape the monster’s reach.

It barely glanced at her, fleeing into the night chortling to itself.

Oscar hurried over, grabbed her off the door, and kicked it shut. Before she could utter a word, he pushed her against the wall. “Who the fuck are you?” Sweat was streaking from his temples toward a collection of shimmering droplets under his chin.

Emmelia told him, then she added, “I talked to you—or one of you—a couple days ago.” She glared at the men crowding around.

“Me,” Rubén confirmed.

Emmelia stared at Rubén’s missing left eyebrow and, for a second, wondered if the animal had taken it. But it wasn’t a fresh wound. The absent brow, like all the other divots and trenches on Rubén’s face, was old. His hands, dotted with bite marks, had taken the brunt of the recent attack. Each of the men, in fact, had reddened, raw hands and forearms. Blood soaked through Oscar’s jeans near his ankle.

Emmelia pushed him away and slipped from the wall. She peered down the empty hall. No Jacob. “What was that thing? I heard you across the street,” she lied.

“A dog,” David said. He tossed aside the hardcover book he’d been using for defense, went to the living room, and fell onto the couch, smearing the upholstery with blood and sweat. His eyes fixed on her.

She glanced down the basement stairs. Sounded quiet. If they were aware of Jacob’s presence, they were doing a hell of a good job hiding it. “Was that your dog?”

“Fuck no,” Oscar said, following her as she snooped around.

She continued down the hall and surveyed the kitchen. Empty. “Where’d it come from?” she asked when she’d returned to the living room.

“The dick in the basement,” Rubén told her as he joined David on the couch.

“And who’s that exactly?” She went to the top step. If Jacob’s down there dead…

Oscar came up next to her, brushing his hip against hers. “Gregory something,” he said.

“Gregory Johnson?” She inched away.

“Maybe.” Brushing hips again.

“‘Maybe’ because you’re playing games with me, or ‘maybe’ because you don’t know?”

“I didn’t ask him what his name was.”

Emmelia started down the stairs. When Oscar tried to come along, she turned and instructed him: “You stay up there.”

He gave it a moment’s thought, then shrugged and resumed his post at the top.

The staircase bent ninety degrees, and as Emmelia followed it, she could see from the corner of her eye that Oscar was still keenly watching her. There were enough stories floating around that she knew not to drop her guard around these men, especially the one with the shaved, misshapen head who was keeping close watch over her. Taking the last few steps, she vanished from his sight.

The basement was empty and the air surprisingly fresh, almost as if the door had been left open, but no, it was firmly shut.

She circled the staircase to her “discussion” rooms. They’d been constructed a couple of years back for some one-on-one talks with a few misinformed individuals who’d diverted product for their own purposes along the way to Winnipeg. The men had turned into very reliable drivers after that.

Both “discussion” doors were closed. She went left, and laughed when she saw Tiff plopped on the floor, tied to the support pole. Tiff called her a bitch as she shut the door and went to the other room.

“Gregory Larry Johnson.” Emmelia smiled at him, and he gave a nonplussed stare back. They had a few words, and she let him be. Jacob wasn’t there.

“You bitch. Let me out of here,” Tiff was still screaming. “You bitch!”

Emmelia ignored the wailing. Where’s Jacob? And what the hell was going through his head? Surely he’d seen what was over here.

Jacob wasn’t thinking much at that point, honestly. He was just going, running along the edge of the woods with Quincy clutched tightly to his chest, crossing the street, then bolting up Emmelia’s driveway. Time to call the police. He would’ve been calling them right then if Quincy hadn’t been in his arms, but since Quincy wasn’t at all the sprinter type, the call would have to wait.

At the top of the driveway, Emmelia’s car, parked in the garage, came into view. She was home. She won’t believe what I’ve uncovered.

Apparently Missy had been watching him race up the driveway, because she was now waiting at the back door.

“You got Quincy,” she cheered, stepping aside to let them in.

“It’s a stash house,” Jacob said, gulping for air. He set the pug down, shut the door, and shoved his pepper spray into his back pocket. “The cartel’s over there. Where’s Emmelia? Emmelia!”

“She went to find you,” Missy said. “What happened?”

Jacob paused, breathing. “Went to find me? She’s over there?”

“Yeah. She went to get you.”

Jacob rushed down the hall, killing the lights, then stepped up to the front window. “We have to call the police. There’s a bunch of sicarios over there.”

Missy grabbed Quincy and held him tightly as she said, “Get away from the window, then.”

“They can’t see in here. It’s dark.” But he still backed up to where Missy stood near the kitchen table.

The door down the hall popped open, and they all jumped. The lights flicked on.

“Emmelia,” Jacob called out. He rushed over and glanced behind her into the garage. Nothing but the ATV and CR-V. “Did they see you?”

She studied him for a few seconds, then said, “No, no one saw me.”

“Did you see them?”

Jacob shut the door and showed her the video he’d taken.

“Yeah. I saw.” Emmelia pushed the phone aside.

“I was in the basement,” Jacob told her.

“In the basement?”

“Jacob!” Missy yipped from the kitchen.

“How else was I going to get Quincy?” He pulled his pepper spray out and held it aloft. “I had this.”

Emmelia grabbed the canister. “Don’t point that at me.”

“I’m calling the police,” Missy announced. “And we’re leaving. We’re going to Fargo. I don’t care if Breeland’s watching out for us.”

“Fargo?” Jacob let Emmelia keep the pepper spray and went back to the kitchen, where their suitcases were propped against the wall. “If we’re going somewhere, I should go back to Tijuana and finish what I started.”

Missy searched for her phone in the living room with Quincy close at her heels.

“Let me call the police,” Emmelia offered, still standing by the garage door. “You guys just get out of sight. Get in the basement. There’s—”

The door burst open, hitting her square in the back. She dropped the pepper spray and went stumbling toward the kitchen.

One of the cartel men, the chrome dome, walked in, a pistol gleaming in his hand. “Oh. The party’s over here, huh?”

Quincy barked and charged down the hall, but when the man growled, the pug skittered away.

As Chrome Dome slowly scanned Emmelia from head to toe, Jacob’s stomach knotted. He backed up against the kitchen table. I have to fix this. But the pepper spray was out of reach, resting near Chrome Dome’s feet. And Missy’s pepper spray was in her purse over by the window. What else?

To his right near the sink was a knife block. Three steps around the table and he’d have one of the blades. Grab the largest of the handles.

With a grunting throat clear, Chrome Dome picked up Jacob’s pepper spray like he often found such things on the ground and dropped it into his breast pocket. He started down the hall.

Emmelia backstepped into the kitchen and around the table, opposite Jacob, within arm’s reach of the knives. When he made his move, he could only hope she’d go for one too.

And maybe Missy would grab her pepper spray. She looked to be frozen stiff against the back of the couch, but maybe they could all have a part in taking the sicario down.

Chrome Dome, stopping at the kitchen’s threshold, looked at Emmelia, then Jacob, then Quincy, who had managed to squeeze between Jacob’s legs. “You took the pug.” It was just a statement of fact. His eyes moved on and found Missy. He grinned. Gesturing at her and Jacob with a flick of his gun, he said, “Really is a party. So who are these two, Emmelia?”

Odd. The man knew Emmelia’s name.

Before Emmelia could answer, the garage door popped open again, and in came Terrance and Mr. La-Z-Boy.

Yeah, Jacob thought, this is a party. He studied the knife block. No party like a knife party. Except Chrome Dome and the newest entrants had guns. Maybe the old saying about knives and gunfights was wrong?

Terrance stepped beside Chrome Dome. “Figured you came over here,” he said.

Mr. La-Z-Boy, his face pockmarked and scarred, came and stood behind his fellow sicarios. He poked a finger into Terrance’s side and pointed at Jacob. “You can have him, David. Me and Oscar get the girls.”

“Fuck you, Rubén,” David (Not Terrance?) said. Nevertheless, David still turned his attention to Jacob. “The great Jacob White.”

Pride and presentiment flushed through Jacob, or maybe, facing these three miserable sicarios, his bladder just let go a touch.

Emmelia reached for something in a drawer under the espresso machine. Jacob braced for the sicarios’ gunfire, but they hardly glanced at her. Strange.

“You are White,” Oscar exclaimed, drawing Jacob’s attention back to the men.

“You didn’t know? Jesus,” Rubén said.

“I knew, asshole,” Oscar pointed his gun at Jacob, his finger on the trigger.

Emmelia, who hadn’t said a word since Chrome Dome had first appeared, now snarled, “Don’t.” She’d pulled a gun of her own from the drawer and was pointing it at Oscar’s head. “Don’t.”

“Whoa, shit, little lady. Be careful,” Oscar said.

“What the fuck?” Rubén crouched behind the other sicarios.

“‘Me and Oscar get the girls’?” Emmelia repeated. “You touch us, I’ll kill you.”

Oscar laughed; the other sicarios joined in. “It was a joke.”

“Not when it comes from you,” she said. “Now get out.”

Jacob couldn’t understand this bizarre exchange. They all acted like they knew one another.

“We’ve got a job to do.” Oscar waved the barrel of his gun at Jacob.

“And I’ve got my operation to run. So you three can fuck off,” Emmelia said.

Jacob studied the pepper spray in Oscar’s breast pocket, calculating the odds of successfully grabbing it. Were they better than the odds of getting to the knife block?

“What’re you looking at?” Oscar growled.

Jacob shifted his eyes to Oscar’s face. “What?”

Oscar came at him, gun raised. Quincy scurried out from between Jacob’s legs and ran to the couch. Jacob decided on the knife block.

But rather than race around the table, he thought it better to crawl under it. That was the straightest path, and it seemed the right thing to do, but he hadn’t even squirmed between the chairs before Oscar caught him by the ankle and yanked him out.

The sicario stood over him, pointing the gun between his eyes. Jacob winced.

“What? Now you don’t want to stare?” Oscar said, laughing.

“Get off him,” Emmelia ordered.

Oscar grabbed Jacob by the shirt, pulled him from the floor, and shoved his face onto the table. He pressed hard on Jacob’s head and told Emmelia, “He’s coming with us.”

“I had this under control, you dumbasses,” Emmelia said.

“Now we’ve got it under control,” Oscar sneered.

“Just go,” Emmelia said. “Take him. Get the others and go. If anyone turns up dead anywhere near here, though, I swear to God I’ll come after every single one of you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oscar jerked Jacob upright.

Emmelia scowled. “I should kill one of you right now so you’ll know how fucking serious I am.”

“Don’t be a bitch about this,” Rubén said.

“You want to see me be a bitch about this?”

“This one,” David said, smiling at Emmelia, “this one’s the real deal.”

Rubén chuckled. “Like your mom.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“No need to with your mom around.”

David punched Rubén in the kidney.

“Fuck.” Rubén grasped his back.

Oscar led Jacob around the men. There was a moment where Jacob could’ve grabbed one of their guns, maybe, but he didn’t recognize the opportunity when it presented itself. Oscar had a knotted grip on the back of his shirt and kept him marching forward.

“Jacob. Jacob!” Missy cried as he went down the hall.

Emmelia exhaled and set her gun on the table when the men had left. Missy raced down the hall with Quincy trailing after her.

“Get back here!” Emmelia caught Missy before she could bolt out the door. Without thinking, Emmelia blurted, “I’m DEA.” She spun Missy around and stared at her behind sweat-drenched bangs. “I’m DEA,” she repeated, slowly.

“What? What does that mean? They took Jacob.”

Quincy pawed at the door.

“We’re going to get him back.” Emmelia tightened her grip on Missy’s shoulder and guided her toward the kitchen.

Missy shook her head. “They took him.”

“It’s okay. It’s fine.”

“Fine? They took him. You’re DEA?”

Emmelia leaned Missy against the back of the couch. “I’m undercover.”

Quincy gave up on getting out and retreated back to Missy’s side.

“I’m calling the police,” Missy said.

“No.” Emmelia grabbed the phone from her hands. “You’ll blow everything. You’re safe. You’re okay. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?”

“We’ll get him back.”

“A badge. Where’s your badge?” Missy asked. “Show me. I need to see your badge.”

“I’m undercover,” Emmelia repeated. “I can’t carry a badge.”

“Show me something.”

“You ever see The Departed?” She hoped Missy had watched the Scorsese movie about an undercover cop who’d infiltrated the mob.

Missy nodded. “Jacob and I watched it once.”

“Well, it’s like that. I’m deep undercover.”

“You work for them? The cartel?”

“I pretend to work for them.”

Missy eyed Emmelia’s gun on the table and asked, “Did you tell them Jacob was in Duluth?”

Emmelia grimaced. “No. Come on. It was me who saved him at Fitger’s.”

“Let me figure this out, okay?” She squeezed Missy’s hand, then walked into the kitchen to stare out the window over the sink. “I’ve been working this for years,” Emmelia explained. “We’re going to shut down the CJNG’s operation from Chicago to Winnipeg. Those guys”—Emmelia pointed at the door—“are sicarios with the CJNG.”

“They want Jacob’s head.”

“But I can’t just tell them to stop. It’ll blow my cover.”

“You sure as shit better do something,” Missy cried.

Emmelia stared at nothing in the darkness as she thought for a moment, then she went to the fridge, searching behind the milk and soda. She said, “I bought us some time. The sicarios are going to take Jacob outside the city. They’ll probably take him up north.” She grabbed the vials.

“How do you know that?” Missy asked.

“I’ve been doing this for the last five years. I know how they behave.”

“So what? They take him north, and—”

“They’ll be stopped. I’ll have agents watching the highways.” Emmelia closed the fridge, cupping the xylazine. “You have to promise me, no matter what happens, to keep quiet about this. You talk to anyone, you blow my cover. You’ll get me killed.”

“Call the agents, then.”

“Will you be able to keep quiet?”

“Get Jacob back, then sure. But if he dies…”

Emmelia sighed. “You’ll blow my cover?”

Missy studied her, then said, “No.”

There was no honesty there. Or more accurately, no conviction. Emmelia knew Missy wouldn’t keep any of this under wraps.

She pocketed the vial and was about to head to the bathroom for the syringe when Oscar, Rubén, and David returned.

Rubén half led, half dragged a barefoot Tiff to the end of the hall. Oscar and David stood behind them, holding Jacob, each clasping an armpit.

“Jacob!” Missy cried.

Rubén glared at Emmelia. “What did you do with the little pecker?”

Emmelia could only stare.

“Gregory,” David added. “What did you do with Gregory?”

“He wasn’t there,” Rubén said, his hand cupped against the side of Tiff’s neck.

Tiff tried to shrug Rubén off, but his hand remained clamped tight. She crossed her arms and swore under her breath.

“Shut up,” Rubén muttered.

“Was he there when you went downstairs?” David asked, his fingers flexing over the grip of his gun.

Emmelia said, “Tied to the pole.”

Oscar scanned the kitchen, then the living room. “Can’t find Xiaolian either.”

“There you go,” Emmelia told him. “She took Gregory.”

“Why?” Oscar pressed.

“What’s it matter?” Emmelia glanced at Jacob. ROD hadn’t even tied him up. They really had no idea who they were dealing with.

“Xiaolian’s fucking trouble,” Oscar said. “Shouldn’t even be here. And look, the second she vanishes, we get White.” He shifted his eyes to Jacob and chuckled.

To Emmelia it looked like Jacob was trying to make a decision. He was flipping imaginary coins, deciding whether to unleash the monster hidden within. Heads or tails? She tried to distract him. “Jacob. Jacob?”

His eyes roamed the room, snapping back and forth. Heads or tails? Did he just eye my gun?

“I’m having a look around.” David released his grip on Jacob.

Jacob sprang free and went for her gun on the table.

But Rubén was faster. As Jacob made his move, Rubén punched him in the ribs. There was a crack, and Jacob gasped, crumpling to the floor.