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It was late when Mac and Mateo got onto I-5. Really late. Mac was exhausted. He’d been running without sleep now for nearly 24 hours. He’d been shot at, beaten, and tied up.
Well, at least he’d had regular meals, Mac thought glumly. But the last one was hours ago, and if he was going to make it much further he needed either sleep or food. Both?
A Mountain Dew might be good too.
They’d gone back to Michael’s apartment. Mac spent about an hour doing damage control. He told his story to the cops and was amazed when they bought it without many questions. He called Ryan Geller and updated him too. Geller was somewhat non-committal. Mac frowned, but he didn’t have the energy or the time to delve into it. Then he checked in with Michael and they were good. They’d crossed over into Oregon, and Michael was planning to spend the night in Ashland. Michael listened impassively to Mac’s brief description of what happened after they’d left.
“Good call then,” Michael said about Mac’s push to get them out of there.
“Cops will be calling you,” Mac warned. “Keep it simple. Here’s what I told them.”
“Got it,” Michael said. “I’m surprised they haven’t called already, to be honest.”
Mac looked at the time and frowned. So was he, actually.
He called Shorty next and updated him. “Shit, Mac,” Shorty said. “Scared the hell out me.”
Shorty told him about emailing dispatch and getting the cops there.
Mac listened. “Have they called you back?” he asked.
“No?” Shorty said uncertainly. “Should they have?” He considered that for a moment. “They should have.”
“It took a dive into the abyss on all fronts,” Mac said slowly. “Something’s not right.” He told Shorty where he was heading.
“Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” Mac agreed. “I’m not sure I’m given a choice here. Truth be told, I want to meet the man. Sure, I would have rather he just offered a plane ticket and invited me down for a visit. But I’m going.”
Shorty sighed. “You are going to tell Angie, right? You’re not going to leave that to me, are you? Because I’m not going to do it.”
Mac laughed. “No, I’ll call her. But I’m trying to get the debriefing calls out of the way first.”
“You need to talk to Rand,” Shorty said abruptly.
“I do,” Mac agreed. “Or Stan. And Janet.”
“Rand,” Shorty insisted.
Mac paused. “OK,” he said slowly.
“Good,” Shorty said. Mac could hear the relief in his voice. “Now I’ve got to get some sleep. I’m a math teacher, remember?”
Mac laughed, but then he sobered. “Thanks, man,” he said. “Your quick thinking could have saved my life.”
“You’re welcome,” Shorty said. “Just... take care, Mac. I don’t like you headed down into the Michoacán. Things blow up down there without your help.”
“I don’t...,” Mac began, then stopped. “Whatever.”
“Call Rand,” Shorty ordered and hung up.
OK, he’d call Rand, he thought with some amusement. Before or after Angie? Before, he decided.
Mac was in Michael’s study. Mateo was standing outside the door —pretending to give him some privacy. Mateo was a mystery, Mac thought, as he stared at the doorway. Be interesting to see what he could get out of him on the trip down.
He punched in Rand’s number. Rand sounded sleepy when he picked up. Mac was envious.
“It’s Mac,” he said rapidly. “Shorty insisted I update you.”
He briefly ran through the events of the evening, and the plans for the trip south.
“No, Mac,” Rand said. “You can’t do that.”
“Of course I can,” Mac said. “Maybe I shouldn’t. I’ll give you that, but I’m going to. Don’t have much choice. But there’s a question. That text I got?”
“Yeah?”
“I need to know who that refers to,” Mac said, with a glance toward the door. Mateo had to be listening in.
“I’m tracking down who was sitting outside Craig’s apartment and followed Angie. For some reason I expect that to dovetail,” Rand said.
“About that? Craig’s here.”
“Craig Anderson is in Vallejo?”
“Yup,” Mac said. “I haven’t spoken to him. But he’s communicating as he usually does.”
“Missed you, I take it,” Rand said.
“Barely,” Mac said. “Woke me right up. Who the hell is he, Rand?”
“I’ll add that to my list of questions,” Rand agreed. “How long is your number going to be good for?”
Mac shrugged. “Don’t know. It will get iffy when we hit the border. It might get iffy before then, if my brother figures out I’m using it.”
Rand snorted at that. “Does he know what’s in your rig? I assume it’s all still there.”
Mac laughed.
“Shit, Mac,” Rand said. “You can’t take that across the border.”
“When you consider what they’re bringing up this way, I figure they’ve got connections,” Mac said dryly. “What do you think?”
Rand sighed.
Mac said seriously then, “Take care of everyone for me? I’ve got to do this. I might not survive it. I also know Chuy would put a bullet in my head — well, he’d order someone to do it for him, because that’s the kind of guy he is — if I don’t do this. But I’m not sure....”
“That’s not like you,” Rand said. “You’re usually sure.”
“A lot of people go where I’m going, and they don’t come back,” Mac said. “Do you know how many people go missing in Mexico — hundreds of Mexicans each year just disappear. Chuy is pretty confident I’m going to piss off the man who sired us. I figure he’s probably right.”
Rand laughed. “I’ll check in on your baby chicks,” he promised. “I’m itching to come down to Vallejo and take a look around. But I’d stick out.”
Mac considered that. Rand would, he conceded. “Joe?” he suggested, with a look at the door again.
“That is a good idea,” Rand said slowly. “A very good idea. Craig know him?”
Mac considered that. “Possibly,” he said. “But that might be a good thing.”
“You’ve got more faith in Craig Anderson than I do,” Rand said.
“Jury is still out,” Mac said. “Jury is out on a lot of people. Will you update Janet and Stan? I need to call my girl, and my jailer is getting restless out there.”
“Update me when you can,” Rand said.
Youbetcha, Mac thought with an eyeroll. He called Angie. She listened to his update, and reading between the lines — accurately, he conceded — chewed him out for taking risks. He smiled. It was nice to have someone who cared.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said in a small voice as she finished ranting at him.
“I know, babe,” he said. “I don’t have much choice here. I’m playing the hand I’m dealt. But I love you.”
“Now you’re scaring me,” she said with a choked laugh. “You come back to me, you hear? And to hell with playing the hand you’re dealt! You cheat, if need be! You do whatever it takes to come back. You hear me?”
Mac grinned. He loved this small fierce woman. “Yes, ma’am,” he teased. “I hear you.”
She laughed, and if there was sob hidden in it, neither of them commented. “So I’m hosting your uncle and his granddaughters? What about Keisha?”
“Good question,” he said. “I’ll ask Toby. Sending her up there would be good. I think so anyway.” To be honest, he still wasn’t sure whose side Keisha was on.
Well, he wasn’t sure whose side Toby was on either.
“I’ll suggest Michael reach out to her,” Angie said. “You take care. Call me if you can.”
“Love you,” Mac repeated.
“I love you too,” she said softly and ended the call.
Mateo lounged in the doorway. “You about done? All that lovey dovey stuff makes a man weak,” he said, but he was smiling.
Mac shrugged. “You don’t have anyone who says I love you when you leave?” he asked. He grabbed his duffel with his left hand and put his right hand in his pocket. He had a pistol in there, and he felt better being armed. Of course Mateo was armed too. He had that rifle under his loose jacket, and probably a pistol in his pocket as well.
“I have a woman waiting,” Mateo agreed. “So let’s go?”
Mac locked up the apartment the best he could. “I don’t know how long I’m good for,” he admitted. “I’ve been on the move since 2 a.m.”
“Do you trust me to drive your truck?” Mateo asked. “I guess you’ll have to eventually. It’s 17 hours to Nogales.”
“Are we driving straight through?”
“With at least two drivers in each vehicle? Yes,” Mateo said. “Then we rest in Nogales.”
“Will there be questions asked there?” Mac stashed his duffel in the back and tossed Mateo his keys. Mateo snatched them out of the air and beeped open the truck.
“Why?” Mateo asked, laughing. “Are you carrying contraband?”
Mac laughed too. “I am contraband,” he pointed out.
“True enough,” Mateo agreed. “No, there will be no questions.”
“Good,” Mac said. “Wake me up when we stop for breakfast.” He was asleep before they hit the freeway.
When he woke up they were in Laughlin, Nevada, and Mateo was pulling into a casino parking lot for breakfast.
“Ahhh,” Mac mourned. “I missed Barstow?”
Mateo grinned. “You’ve been there before? No one needs to see it twice.”
“True enough,” Mac said, as he got out of his 4-Runner and stretched. He didn’t know that he’d ever ridden in it with someone else driving. It wasn’t all that comfortable to sleep in.
“Do I want to know why your truck drives like a tank?” Mateo asked as they walked across the lot to the casino restaurant.
“How good are you at lying?” Mac asked.
“Not very good,” Mateo said after a pause.
“Then no,” Mac said. “You don’t want to know.”
“Just like I don’t want to know who you were talking to last night?” Mateo asked. The restaurant had an all-you-could-eat breakfast bar, and the hostess gestured the two of them toward it.
Mac smiled his thanks, and she got a bit flustered. Mateo rolled his eyes. “I love you,” he mimicked Mac’s call with Angie. “You tell a woman you love her last night, and then flirt with another at breakfast?”
“As long as I didn’t spend the night with her in between, my woman isn’t the jealous kind,” Mac said, although he wondered what Angie would say. Probably just roll her eyes like Mateo had, he decided.
Mateo laughed.
Laughlin wasn’t the fastest way between Vallejo and Nogales, but it was the smart way. Mac dug into the full plate of food — eggs, bacon, ham. Pancakes might require a second trip. Laughlin was a casino town in the very southern tip of Nevada — all of the advantages of Nevada’s gambling laws, but it was in the middle of nowhere. Truckers, travelers of all kinds, anyone on Route 66 — they all came through here. Food and hotels were cheap, leaving plenty of money for gambling.
It also meant that transients like Mateo and him were unremarkable.
“Chuy and the rest of them joining us here?” Mac asked.
Mateo nodded. “They’re behind us. Your rig may drive like a tank, but it is still faster than that delivery truck.”
Mac snorted. “And what do you know about driving a tank?” Although Mac had to admit he wasn’t wrong.
Mateo suddenly looked old, no longer the easy-going man of a few minutes ago. “I served in the Mexican Army, my friend. And then I came home.”
Mac looked at him thoughtfully. “To Del Toro cartel?”
Mateo shrugged. “It’s a living,” he said. “Or rather, it’s living.”
As opposed to dying, Mac added mentally. “So, does Chuy have brothers and sisters?”
Mateo blinked. “You do not know? Yes, he has three younger brothers and two sisters.”
“I didn’t know who my father was until I saw Chuy on the nightly news and a friend tracked down who he was,” Mac said. He told Mateo the story of Shorty’s research.
“Your mother? She never talked about him?”
Mac noticed Mateo didn’t use Hector Del Toro’s name. Mac shook his head. “Mom always denied knowing who my father was,” he said tiredly. “I used to joke about it. When people would ask about my race or ethnicity — I’d say not even my mother knows for sure.”
“She knew,” Mateo said slowly. “She took his money.”
Mac shrugged. “I never saw any of it growing up. But then I didn’t live with her after age 12. I lived with Toby and his father, for a couple of years, and then Toby and I were sent north to his mother’s place in Seattle. If he thought he was paying child support, he was robbed.”
“Not something I’d tell him,” Mateo murmured. “Not unless you wish to see your mother suffer.”
No, Mac didn’t want that. “He never checked?”
Mateo shrugged. “When the money was delivered? The delivery man collected photos of you. She didn’t want you exposed to his men, she said.”
“I look forward to seeing these photos,” Mac said.
Mateo nodded slowly, as if his thoughts had gone elsewhere. “I was one of the delivery men,” he said abruptly. “I did not know.”
“You aren’t that much older than I am,” Mac said, puzzled. “Are you?”
“I’m staring at 40,” Mateo said with a laugh. “So, 10 years older? It was before I went into the Army. So I would have been 18, 19? Just a kid with a passport and an itch to explore the United States. Maybe two or three deliveries.”
Mac did the math and nodded. “I grew up poor, Mateo, real poor. Rat-infested apartments. The back of a car. My mother is certifiably crazy,” Mac said. It was unexpectedly difficult to say, and his eyes burned. “And he left me there. Did his wife know about me?”
Mateo nodded.
“Mom sent me to Michael when I nearly killed her boyfriend because he tried to assault me,” Mac said coldly. “I was 12. Michael Rollings was the best thing that ever happened to me. The only real father figure I had. And he was a good one. And you all just invaded his home, and threatened his granddaughters? I won’t forgive that.”
“I am a man under orders,” Mateo said.
“Some orders are wrong,” Mac countered. “And some men aren’t worth taking orders from.”
“Enough,” Mateo said softly. “Chuy is here with the others.”
Mac nodded, and he got up to get a second plate of food. The waffles looked good.
Toby looked tired when he joined him in the food line. “You holding up?” Mac asked.
He nodded. “Keisha,” he began, then looked around at who might hear.
“My girlfriend said she would have Michael reach out to her,” Mac said softly. “Have her fly up, maybe?”
Toby looked relieved. “She added to the text I told her she could send,” he said just as quietly.
Mac nodded and waited. “Do you know who sold you out?” he asked when Toby didn’t say anything. “Sold you out to the cartel, I think. Worse than selling you out to the cops.”
The lines in Toby’s face deepened. “There is a cop, well several of them,” he said. “I do them a favor, they do me one. You know how it is. And so I knew about the task force and its planned raid. No problem. We were just not where they thought we would be. But that’s not who I would go to. I went to the DEA and I think they were on the up and up, although the D....” He trailed off.
Mac nodded again. The DEA, the Border Patrol, ICE, they were rife with men on the take. Too much money passing before their eyes. Too many men getting rich — and not them. Look away and get a bit of it? Who could it hurt? And once they were on that path, it only got worse.
“But I think one of the local cops....” Toby began, then glanced behind him. “Chuy? This is an inspired place for breakfast. I hope you’re going to let us all eat our fill?”
“Of course,” Chuy said. “And then someone can drive that delivery truck while I sleep.” He looked at Mac. “I hear you let Mateo drive? You trust him with your pickup?”
“I’d been awake for 20-plus hours,” Mac replied. “No matter how bad a driver he is, he would be better than me. And I was asleep and missed it.”
Chuy grinned. There was more joshing back at the table — apparently Mateo’s driving was the subject of much teasing. Mac laughed. Mateo took it stoically. He didn’t mention how the pickup handled, however. Chuy settled up the bill, and they were back on the road. Mac held his breath. He half-expected Chuy to switch vehicles and ride with him. And he didn’t think the two of them could be in a car together for six hours. But he didn’t.
Mac slid behind the wheel and headed south.
“Head to Needles, drop down to I-10,” Mateo said. “Wake me when you get there.”
He settled into the passenger seat.
Mac glanced at him. “Is that a hint we’re not really going to Nogales?”
Mateo closed his eyes, and if he wasn’t asleep, he gave a good impression of it.
Mac shrugged. He needed the time to think. A lot of things didn’t add up. He wished there was some way he could swap Mateo for Toby and grill his cousin. But he didn’t think Chuy was that trusting. Toby might be avoiding questions as well.
What really troubled him, though, was the reaction he’d gotten from the cops, and from Geller, when he called them. It didn’t mesh with the original response Shorty had gotten from the dispatch. So what happened between then and three hours later when Mac called in? The more he thought about that, the less he liked it.
Well, Mac had a whole list of questions to think about — that one could wait. He wasn’t going back to Vallejo anytime soon. Mac shook his head; it nagged at him, no lie. But he’d leave that to Rand and Joe to figure out. He wondered what had caught Rand’s attention. Something had.
He felt exhausted, still. Not from lack of sleep, he realized, but because he didn’t know which Mac he was supposed to be? He could hear Janet asking him, are you the Marine or the reporter? But in Vallejo he was also Toby’s cousin, the contract enforcer. And now, Chuy’s half-brother, the son of Hector Del Toro, head of a cartel. And Mateo’s comments about his mother accepting money? It was like a hall of mirrors that he’d fallen into.
Did he even trust that story?
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and thought about it. Yeah, he decided reluctantly, he did. Would his mother pull shit like that? Yes, she would. Still, he wasn’t going to set her up for retaliation — she was his mother. A piss-poor one, maybe, but still, his mother.
So who do you want to be when you grow up, he asked himself mockingly.
That wasn’t a bad question, really.
He wanted.... Hell, did he even know?
He watched the high desert go by for a while, not thinking, just driving. He wished he could turn on music, but that would hardly be fair to the man who had driven all night so he could sleep.
He wanted to be Angie’s partner, he thought suddenly. What kind of man did she want? What kind did she deserve?
One that didn’t go haring off to solve other people’s problems and leave her hanging, he conceded. Someone she could trust. Someone she respected.
Someone she loved.
He was still thinking about Angie and what kind of man she deserved when he saw a sign for Phoenix. “Mateo?” he said. “We headed into Phoenix, or no?”
Mateo opened his eyes and looked around. “You know the border along here?”
Mac shrugged. “More out of El Paso,” he said. “Did some drug interdiction over that way when I was stationed there.”
Mateo stared at him and started laughing.
Mac glanced at him.
Mateo shook his head. “You were the ringleader that burned a drug operation there weren’t you?”
Mac shrugged. Then he glanced at Mateo. “Don’t tell me that was a Del Toro operation — DEA was running it from the US. Was Del Toro involved from Mexico?”
Mateo was still laughing. “No, thank God, or I’d cut you loose in Phoenix,” he said. “But trust me, that story made the rounds. Everyone knew about it. Everyone.”
“Cost Howard Parker a position as Homeland Security chief,” Mac observed. Cost a friend his life.
“Corrupt motherfucker,” Mateo muttered.
Mac shook his head. “Hard to see where you’re any better.”
“I do the job I take money for,” Mateo said coldly. “You may not like the job. But I don’t take money to keep drugs out of a country, and then take money to let them in.”
“Fair enough,” Mac said.
Mateo stared at him for a moment, and then decided Mac meant it. Mateo sighed. “So, there’s a small border-crossing, Lukeville. You head south just past Buckeye Municipal Airport.”
Mac nodded. “So, tell me,” he said. “Are you Chuy’s nanny?”
Mateo snorted. “About sums it up,” he agreed. “You said you saw him on television last weekend?”
“B-roll — the background video that a television reporter uses while he talks about something,” Mac said. “A friend is a news junkie — well, a lot of my friends are, apparently. The documentary aired, and my phone blew up. We look a lot alike.”
“You do,” he agreed.
“Is Chuy’s mother white?” Mac asked.
“No,” Mateo said. “Well, not the way you mean it. Not as it is meant in the United States. She’s from a wealthy family in Mexico City. Almost pure Spanish — and her family is very proud of it.” He hesitated. “You know how class works in Mexico?’
Mac shrugged a bit. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”
“Indigenous are small, brown people,” Mateo said, a bit mockingly. “Invading Spanish were tall, fair-skinned people — by comparison anyway. Mestizo — mixes like me, might be tall, like me, and brown like me. Snobs in the city value the lighter skin — although some will deny it. So, Don Del Toro marries a wealthy ‘white’ woman to keep his line pure.”
Mac glanced at him. He sounded bitter, like it was personal. “I did know that much,” Mac said dryly. Mateo laughed a bit.
“So, that video you saw was shot a month or so ago,” Mateo said. “And it aired on a channel in Guanajuato. Everyone saw it. Everyone saw the son of Hector Del Toro running away from a burning warehouse that had been full of Del Toro product. Don Del Toro wasn’t amused.”
“Was he supposed to burn up with the product?” Mac asked.
“No,” Mateo said. “He wasn’t supposed to get caught there. Wasn’t supposed to let them fire the warehouse. It was burned by a bunch of indigenous women, Mac! Remember? Small and brown people? And to be filmed by a television reporter? Now, that was embarrassing. So, Don Del Toro decides Chuy needs to learn the business. To become more mature. And he can start by learning the delivery routes.”
Mac noticed the plural ‘routes’ but he didn’t say anything.
“So he’d ridden along on this route before,” Mateo continued. He was watching the scenery, not Mac. “But now he’s in charge. And yes, I’m sent along to make sure he survives his apprenticeship.”
“Does Don Del Toro know that Toby Rollings is my cousin?” Mac asked. He stayed focused on the road ahead.
“Yes,” Mateo said reluctantly. “He has always known that.”