10

Tyler moved two tires next to a Mustang in the bay farthest from the connecting door to the shop. He crouched and listened as best he could. “Where’s the other guy?” a Spanish-accented voice demanded.

“Taking a piss,” Smitty said.

“Into the shop.” A moment later, the door opened. Tyler peeked under the front of the car. Three sets of shoes walked in. Someone paused to shut the connecting door. “We wait for him.”

“What’s this about?” Smitty asked. Tyler glanced through the car’s window. The man standing closest to Smitty held a shotgun. He ducked again and held his M11 close. His boss did a good job of staying calm under the circumstances. “If he gave you some bad service, you don’t need to do all this.”

“Shut up, old man.” A different voice. Deeper and harsher. Keeping his back to the tires, Tyler inched down the length of the classic Ford. He peered at the passenger’s side mirror. No good. He needed to scoot farther down.

“Seems like a long piss to me,” the first one said.

Tyler crouched at the rear quarter panel. He saw three men reflected in the small glass. The one with the twelve-gauge moved in his direction. When the footsteps got closer, Tyler scampered behind the truck. The other goon stood near the door. The other two cars in the area would help screen Tyler from his view. He hoped. The armed enforcer stopped at the door and turned around. “I don’t see him. Maybe we should start with you.”

He stayed in place. Tyler remained low, moved behind the gun-wielding man, and put the muzzle of the M11 in the center of his back. Before anything else could happen, Tyler pulled the trigger. Proximity to flesh dampened the report. The guy crashed forward, dead before he hit the cement floor. Tyler stood and pointed his Sig at the other one, who fumbled in his waistband. “Don’t do it,” Tyler said. “I just shot your friend. I have no problems adding you to the body count.”

The slender man eyed Tyler warily. He looked young, probably in his early thirties, and a wispy black mustache matched his full head of hair. “You think I’m afraid of you?” his machismo demanded.

“Me?” Tyler shrugged as he stepped over the bleeding corpse. “Maybe not. The gun? Probably. I think we should have a talk.”

“Nothing to say.”

“Héctor send you?”

The fellow’s eyes narrowed in recognition, but true to his word, he didn’t respond. “Tyler, I think this has gone far enough,” Smitty said.

“Depends on how much our friend here cooperates. You don’t want to tell me who sent you? Fine. How about your name?”

“Patricio,” the man said as he glowered.

“Good,” Tyler said. “Patricio, I’m going to presume I’m correct about who sent you. Nothing else makes sense, and your boss seems like he’s asshole enough to send a couple expendables. We can get past this, though. If someone comes forward and admits to killing Alice, there’s no need for any more violence.”

“We’ll kill you.”

“You’re oh-for-one so far. It’s still early, but I like my chances.”

“Go to hell!” Patricio reached to the small of his back, and Tyler pumped three rounds into him. A pistol clattered from the dead man’s hand as he sank to the floor.

“Idiot,” Tyler muttered.

“Jesus Christ,” Smitty said. “A few months ago, no one ever even got hurt in my shop. This is the third man you’ve killed in here.”

“You heard him. If he didn’t find me, they were going to start in on you.”

Smitty sighed. “I know, I know. It’s . . . just a lot to deal with.”

“I’m sure it is.” Tyler holstered the M11. “I’m going to get these idiots into their SUV and drive it away. Can you handle the cleanup here?”

“Sure,” Smitty said. “I still have supplies from the last guy you shot.”

“I knew your Costco card would pay off.” He clapped his boss on the shoulder and got a weak smile for his efforts. Tyler searched both men, snagged the keys from Patricio, and gave Smitty the cash in their wallets. “For the next time you have to buy cleaner.”

“Let’s hope there isn’t a next time,” Smitty said.

Tyler slipped on a pair of gloves and checked the Explorer and found nothing amiss. It was about fifteen years old and didn’t feature a GPS. The only things tying the two dead guys to this location would be their cell phones. He pulled the aging SUV into the lot and backed it up to the middle bay door. Smitty opened it, and Tyler reversed the Explorer inside. As his boss closed the shop from prying eyes again, Tyler checked the dead men’s mobiles. They were generic Android models. Probably burners but certainly new enough to enable location tracking.

“Where are you going to take them?” Smitty asked.

“I don’t know yet.” Tyler set his own phone down atop a workbench. “Someplace I can walk back from.”

“There’s a cemetery off Taylor Avenue.”

Tyler knew the place. Lots of real estate to cover. Trees surrounding it on three sides. “Good call.” He popped the liftgate. The cargo area was empty, and the space would allow for both bodies to fit so long as he stacked them. Tyler dragged the first to the back bumper and set it inside.

“You done this before?” Smitty said.

“Move bodies?” Tyler said. “Sure. Sometimes, there was a tactical reason to do it. If you mean piling dead drug runners into a Ford SUV, though . . . this is my first time.”

“You seem to be doing all right.” Smitty blew out a long breath and sagged onto a nearby stool.

Tyler paused en route to the other corpse. “I know I brought these guys here.” He shook his head. “I just couldn’t get past the fact they killed a girl for bringing a car to your shop. Someone needs to speak for her.”

“Didn’t know it was your job.”

“I guess I nominated myself,” Tyler said. He left out the part about Alice reminding him of a dead soldier. Smitty wouldn’t get it. The second body lay face down. Based on where Tyler shot him, the bullet would have blown through his heart and kept going. The exit wound would be messier than the entrance. Tyler flipped the corpse onto its back, grabbed it under the arms, and dragged it to the SUV. He tossed the second one atop the first. Blood still seeped from the bodies onto the carpet of the cargo hold.

Tyler grabbed a roll of paper towels and set out a bunch near where the liftgate would close. He raided a supply cabinet and tossed a few air fresheners in. Before buttoning up the SUV, he cleaned any areas of the rear he might have touched with a disinfectant wipe. “I realize I’ve put a lot on your plate,” he said to Smitty. “I don’t know these guys, but we dealt with drug pushers in Afghanistan. I doubt this will be the last crew they send here. If you want me to stay away for a while, I understand, and I’ll do it.”

Smitty remained silent for several seconds. “You might as well keep showing up.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can probably get Jake to come in an extra day, too. Someone who can deal with these assholes needs to be here, though, and it ain’t me.”

Tyler nodded. Smitty was a good mechanic and a capable boss, but he’d never be confused for a fighter. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Tyler took a pack of disinfectant wipes off a nearby shelf and climbed into the Explorer. The bay door lifted, and he drove out, making a right onto Belair Road. Taylor Avenue was the first light, and he made the left barely before the signal went red.

In about a half-mile, Tyler turned right into Parkwood Cemetery. The narrow road wound throughout the grounds, and a small parking lot was set off to the side not far ahead. Tyler scanned the area. The place was mostly empty. Still too early in the day for most funerals. He drove the Explorer to the far side of the property, got out to look around again, and tossed the two dead men’s phones into the trees.

He guided the old Ford back near the entrance and left it in the parking lot. The darkened rear window would keep people from noticing the bodies, but either the smell or the fact the vehicle sat in place for a long time would draw attention at some point. Tyler wiped down the interior, paying special attention to areas like the steering wheel, gear selector, and seats. He stayed behind the SUV as a car drove past into the grounds. Once the coast was clear again, Tyler walked into the trees. He snaked his way back to a side street before stepping onto Taylor Avenue.

Héctor Espinoza checked his phone again. Nothing from Patricio and Pedro. By now, they’d had plenty of time to drive to the shop and take care of the problematic guy there. He might have taken out one of Todd’s amateurs, but Héctor sent a pair of capable men. He tried both their numbers again. No answer on either. Did he underestimate the man at the repair shop?

Rodolfo walked into the living room. Héctor looked up, glowered at him, and went back to staring at his mobile. “Nothing?” the younger cousin asked.

“No,” Héctor said without looking up. They waited in silence a few more minutes. “You had to kill your girlfriend.”

“You’re putting this on me?”

Héctor closed his eyes and counted to ten. “Did someone else beat Alice to death?”

“I can’t help it if the guy at the shop is in love with her.”

“He wouldn’t care if she were still alive,” Héctor said. “Even if we took the car back. He’s only nosing around because she’s dead.”

“Maybe Patricio and Pedro are busy,” Rodolfo suggested. “Maybe they had to kill this guy and his boss, and now they’re covering it up.”

Quizás.” Héctor figured the odds were low, but there was a chance Rodolfo was right. His men always answered his calls, but something like dealing with a couple of corpses would be a good excuse not to respond. “I guess we’ll wait a little longer.” He avoided looking at his screen. No por mucho madrugar amanece más temprano, as his grandmother used to say. “No matter how early you get up, dawn won't come any sooner.” The gringos he knew would go with, “A watched pot never boils.” He liked his grandmother’s version better. English was such an inferior language.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Twenty. Héctor looked at his phone. Nothing. He tried calling both Patricio and Pedro with the same results. “I think your optimism is dead, cousin,” Héctor said, “much like my men.”

Rodolfo put his hands up. “Sorry, Héctor. What do we do now?”

We don’t do anything. You go back to being the landscaper. Find some bushes to trim. Try not to get anyone else in trouble.”

“Héctor, I—“

“Go.” Héctor pointed toward the front door. “I’ll handle this. I’ll get a couple more men from Mexico. If this guy at the car shop took out two of my men, we’re going to change tactics.”