| |
It was only six hours to reach the border town of Lukeville, which put them in shortly after lunchtime. There was nothing there but the port of entry — a cement block building, the port check-through points, and desert in all directions. This desert was drier than El Paso, Mac thought. There was cactus — the giant pipe organ type — and mesquite. And rock. It looked — and was— inhospitable. Less than 100 people lived here.
It was February so the temperature was in the mid-70s. Comfortably warm. Come summer it would be over 100, sometimes as high as 120.
There wasn’t much traffic headed south, which was why Del Toro used it, Mac figured. And coming north?
Mac looked at the long lines of people waiting to walk across the border. He shook his head slightly. There had to be a better way than this.
Mateo glanced at him. “They try to come across legally. But this is also the staging ground for those who will try to cross illegally. Mostly at night.”
Mac was grim. There were families in that line. Women with babies in their arms. Men and their sons. Fleeing north where there was a chance of safety. “Central America?” he asked.
Mateo nodded.
“So what is the plan here?” Mac said, needing to change the subject.
Mateo grimaced. “It is 22 hours to home. Now we will argue. There are some who want to go to Hermosillo. It’s five hours and we will be there before dark. Others will say we should stay here — in Sonoyta — and then drive straight through. And Chuy will suggest we go to Puerto Peñasco, because he likes the beach.”
Mac snorted at the last. Well, he liked the beach too, he thought with amusement. And why not? “So you’re trying not to drive after dark?” he asked, trying to visualize a map of where he thought they were going. Patzcuaro had been mentioned — he wondered if the family home was on the lake there.
“Si,” Mateo said.
Mac was getting antsy. There weren’t many in line, but it wasn’t moving very quickly. The Del Toro delivery truck was in front of them. “Are there other issues?” he asked.
“Yes,” Mateo said. He looked like he was thinking about how much he wanted to say. Mac waited, and Mateo sighed. “There are two cartels between here and home,” he explained. “Sonora and Sinaloa. We are not at war with either of them, but that doesn’t mean they welcome our presence here either. As would some sicarios — hit man?” Mateo translated at Mac’s questioning look. “Low-level members of the cartel. Pedro and Nacho are sicarios.”
Mac assumed those were the names — or nickname — of the other two men. No one had introduced them. “And you?”
Mateo grimaced. “Teinientes — lieutenant? I could decide that someone needed to die and do it. Pedro? Nacho? They take orders. That is their job. Do as they’re told.”
“And Chuy?” he asked. “Is he a teinientes too?”
“That is a difficult question to answer,” Mateo said. He didn’t look at Mac, just watched the border agent up ahead. “Yes? But he is also the hijo de capo, and so he has more power in some ways. But there are many who think he is in charge only because his father is the capo — he has not earned their respect on his own. And that is a problem.”
“You came up through the ranks,” Mac said. “You earned your position. You have the respect of the men that Chuy lacks.”
Mateo nodded shortly. “He is also 15 years younger than I am,” he pointed out. “He will learn and earn that respect. But it means that he often commands men who are decades older. I think, although no one is talking about it, that’s what happened at the warehouse. He gave an order. I do not know if it was a good one or not — I don’t know what he ordered. And I don’t know if men followed the order, or not. But the outcome was a warehouse burned to the ground. And it is on Chuy’s shoulders. He was in charge. And he failed.”
Mateo paused at that. Mac thought about that. He could picture the scene — chaos, they’re in the warehouse, and they’re being fired on. A crowd has formed outside — they have torches. And product burns easily — the warehouse will go up in flames. There is product to be defended, the production line. Chuy gave an order.
Mac grimaced. Even if the young man gave the right order, there was no guarantee that the men would do it. No guarantee it would work.
But whatever happened inside that warehouse that night, the end result was the warehouse burned — burned while a television reporter filmed it. He winced. At least when he had burned a warehouse full of cartel drugs and a production line, there had been no reporter to film it.
“If it had been me who had failed, I would have been killed to set an example,” Mateo said softly. “Cut off my head and put it on a spike somewhere.”
Mateo sounded horrified at the indignity of that, Mac thought. It bothered him more than death perhaps. Well, that was why it was an effective threat for keeping these violent men in check.
He thought about his Marine experiences. Marines were tough men, and you had to earn their respect. He’d been squad leader. He knew he could count on them, and they knew he would be there. He flinched a bit at that thought. He’d let Danny down, and Danny had died. Not while they were Marines, but recently — the story about Howard Parker and his drug running operation in the desert outside El Paso all those years ago. Parker had been ruthless in his pursuit of the Homeland Security Secretary position, and people had died.
Mac gritted his teeth and forced himself to set that thought aside. Danny shouldn’t have died. It was Mac’s fault he did. End of story. Move on.
But commanding a cartel full of violent men? Enforcing discipline there? He grimaced. That would be a whole other level of command. And it didn’t take much brilliance to see that Chuy didn’t have that. Might never have it — and quite frankly Mac thought he’d be better off if he didn’t even try.
“Mac?” Mateo said, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Tell me now, do you have contraband in this vehicle? We can finesse it if you do, but I need to know.”
Mac figured finesse meant bribe. He considered the situation. “What are the rules about weapons?” he asked at last. “You’re carrying. You’ve got to know that I’ve got a pistol on me. Are we good?”
Mateo nodded. “We will keep them out of sight, but the guard will ignore them. It is up to Chuy to make sure we go through the right guard. But he has done this many times, and that will be smooth.”
“Will they search the vehicles?”
Mateo shook his head. “No,” he said. “Although there is nothing to find in this direction. They will look at our passports, ask us if we have anything to declare. Chuy will show them the sales papers from our pottery that we declared going the other direction.”
Mateo hesitated. Then he shook his head. “Do you have more weapons than that pistol?” he finally asked.
Mac nodded shortly.
“Would they see them if they scanned the vehicle?”
Mac thought about that. Would they? It was essentially a gun safe. Would they see the weapons if it were scanned? “Would the scan penetrate a gun safe?” he asked.
“I do not know,” he said. “But we will not risk it. I will tell Chuy that we will need a non-scan entrance this trip.” Mateo quirked his eyebrow at Mac. “And then you can decide if you trust me enough to explain why this pickup drives like a tank.”
Mac laughed. He didn’t trust any of them. Hell, he trusted very few people — Angie, Janet and Shorty. That was about it. There were others he respected and trusted on some things, in some situations, to some extent. But none of those people were on this trip.
Mateo got out of the pickup and walked up to the delivery truck. He said something to the man in the passenger side seat and opened the door. To Mac’s surprise, it was Toby that walked back to Mac’s 4-Runner. He opened the door and slid in.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Toby said lightly.
Mac rolled his eyes. “Surprised they let us be alone.”
“Well, it looks better. You and I, two Americans on vacation planning to go to Puerto Peñasco — Rocky Point — and maybe drift down to Mexico City, explore a bit. They will look at our passports, nod and say have a nice day. And that truck ahead is known to the guard who is paid handsomely to look the other way — although right now, it is empty and legal.”
Toby looked at Mac skeptically. “However, this rig is a problem.”
“He knows,” Mac said briefly. “Not the details, but he knows I have hidden weapons.”
“All right then,” Toby said, and he settled back into the seat. “Mateo will get us through the checkpoint.”
Not even Toby knew the extent of the ‘hidden weapons.’ Well Shorty joked he had enough weapons to topple most third world governments. If he had to topple a drug cartel to get himself out of here, at least he had the weapons.
“So any ideas why Del Toro wants to see us?” Mac asked.
Toby grimaced. “Stated reason is Don Del Toro wants to question me about my loyalty. He has become ‘concerned.’ So I’ll blow smoke up his ass, and he’ll pretend he believes whatever I say.”
“Even though you’re lying out your ass,” Mac observed. They inched closer to the border guard. Apparently RVs took a while.
“Even then,” Toby agreed. “You, however, are more problematic. It may be as simple as your father would like to meet you. But....” He trailed off.
Mac nodded. “But he could have just called, said I am your father — would you like to come visit?”
Toby nodded. “I think he’s always known we were related,” he said slowly. “I hooked up with one of their enforcers in prison. I got out, drifted back to Vallejo. When Pedro got out, he looked me up. Said he knew a source, did I want in?”
“This Pedro?” Mac asked. He was about ready to get out and push. What the hell was the hold-up?
“Yeah,” Toby said. “It was a big win for him with Don Del Toro. And the more I’ve prospered, the more he did.”
“Ping said you’ve got millions stashed,” Mac said. “And that he did too. True?”
Toby shrugged. “It’s supply and demand,” he said. “There is demand in the Valley and in the City, and I have a source to supply it. And I have. It’s been very lucrative. But....” He shrugged. “I want my daughter to be proud of me,” he said with a short laugh. “Isn’t that wild? I want out because a little 8-year-old girl looked at me and said, ‘What do you do at the office, Daddy?’ And I stuttered and said I handled import products for people. I took them both down to the store where the Mexican pottery and arts and crafts are sold, and they each got to buy something. But that’s an answer that’s not going to hold up much longer, Mac. And I want out.”
“Retire? Can you afford to?” Mac asked.
“Maybe not at our current lifestyle forever, but yeah? I could retire. Go back to school. I’m not stupid,” he said defensively. “Look at my parents — they’re both college professors. I must have inherited something from them.”
“I never have doubted that,” Mac said. He looked at him. “Your Mom would welcome you home, you know. Help you get into college there. Both of them would do whatever they could for you to go straight.”
Toby nodded, looking out the window, as he struggled for composure.
“I will too,” Mac said quietly. “It’s weird being a cop reporter and chasing cops for quotes instead of being chased by cops with questions.”
Toby snorted, then laughed. “Do they know you?”
Mac nodded. “Some of the old-timers do,” he said. “They shrug and say, ‘Hey, he never threw up in the back of my patrol car. We’re good.’”
Toby laughed. He looked at Mac, shook his head, and laughed some more.
Mac grinned briefly. “So think about it,” he said. “Think about coming home to Seattle.”
“I will,” Toby promised. “Have to talk to Keisha. I haven’t told her about the DEA. She talks too much, as you heard. She means no harm. She sees the men and I as a team.”
Mac glanced at him. “And you? How do you see your men?”
Toby sighed. “Competitors? Sharks? I swim in shark-infested waters — cops, DEA, my men, the cartel, hell, my clients! Some of my clients are the top of the technology heap. Arrogant, cut-throat. They’d give me up and not even blink. So I want out.”
Mac nodded. “I need to make some calls,” he said, realizing this was the time to do it. “Then we need to talk a bit more about dirty cops.”
He called Angie and chatted briefly, mentioning that Toby was with him. There was a brief pause, and then she continued. “Got together with the old team,” she said obliquely. And Mac felt a sense of relief. She got it. “We’ve got a contest coming up. Joe went down to investigate. You ought to give Shorty a call. The two of you can talk timeline — see if you’ll be back in time to compete.”
“Won’t be complete if I’m not,” Mac agreed. “Shorty is next on my list. We’re sitting in line to go through customs. Toby and I are playing tourist.”
Angie laughed. “Here I am all worried about you, and you and your cousin are heading to a Mexican beach,” she teased. “Be honest, Mac. You’re heading to the beach.”
“If Chuy has his way, we are,” Mac said. “I think we’re driving down the whole coast. Everything OK at work? Did Janet buy in to the old team?”
“She did,” Angie assured him. “Oh! I’m going up to see Ken in the morning! See if I can do some guide work for him in the spring.”
Mac frowned a bit. That sounded significant, but he couldn’t fit it into the puzzle. “Is Rand going to do guide work too?” he asked. “Will he have time for the team?”
“He says so,” Angie said. “And guess who else has talked to Ken about doing guide work? Craig! We’re going to all be back here.”
“That would be good,” Mac said, as another puzzle piece fit into place. “Got to go,” he said, when a vehicle up ahead made it through customs and they all moved forward. “We may make it through customs yet.”
“Dear God,” Angie said. “Are you stuck in traffic? Tell Toby I feel for him.”
“I’m not that bad,” Mac said defensively.
“Yes you are,” she assured him. “But I love you anyway.”
He smiled. “Love you too. I call you when I can.”
Toby glanced at him. “I’m glad you found someone.”
“I am too,” Mac agreed. He called Shorty.
“Angie was all excited about the team reuniting and Joe’s out to scope out the competition,” Mac said. “Hope that’s true.”
“Glad she’s excited about it,” Shorty grumbled a bit. “Geocaching is more work than I realized.”
Geocaching? Really? Mac wanted to roll his eyes. “You love it,” he teased. “So quick. Toby and I are in the truck together — without our captors for a bit while we go through customs. Anything I need to know? I heard about Craig, and Angie said something about going to see Ken. Did you make any headway about bad cop?”
Mac felt Toby’s attention sharpen. Well, this was one part he might be able to share.
“Toby’s there too? Tell him hi for me,” Shorty said. “This is taking one of Janet’s broad net approaches, I’m afraid. It’s not that we can’t find a corrupt cop. It’s that we can’t figure out which one of the bad cops sold you two out. Or tried to. We think that’s why you’re being dragged down to Mexico. The bad cop thought you’d been called in for him.”
Ah, Mac thought. That made some sense. He could feel the pieces of the puzzle click into place. He’d have to think about that more later tonight.
“Anything else?” Mac asked.
“Not really,” Shorty said, and he sounded frustrated by something. “But you need to take care Mac. There is something buzzing. I figured out a way to tap into a board that caters to journalists covering the cartels and those in northern Mexico. Did you know how many journalists have been killed? It’s the most dangerous country in the world – worse than a war zone. They said one of the cartels is talking regime change. You do not want to get caught in the crossfire, Mac.”
“No, I don’t,” Mac said slowly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay out of that.”
“You do that,” Shorty said. “Take care.”
Mac ended the call and looked at Toby. He forced a smile. “Shorty says hi.”
It took them an hour to get through customs. Mac was ready to crawl up the border agent’s ass when they got to the gate. But then he looked at the mass of people heading the other way — stoically, weary. And he took a deep breath and let it out.
“So Jesus says you’re with them and you’re good,” the agent said with a smile. “So I just need to see your passports.”
Mac and Toby both handed them over.
“Enjoy your stay,” he said as he handed the passports over. “Be careful after dark. Don’t drink too much — it’s easy to do down here. And have fun! Jesus says he’s taking you all to Puerto Peñasco. It’s a beautiful beach.”
“We’ll do our best,” Mac promised. And the man looked at him shrewdly.
“You’ll live better if you do,” he said. Mac thought he was trying for ambiguous, but Mac wasn’t impressed. It sounded like a threat — or a warning.
They pulled into a taqueria in Sonoyta. It was 3 p.m. “Took longer than it should have,” Chuy complained. “We can stay here, go to Puerto Peñasco, or go to Hermosillo — but Hermosillo is five hours away. We’d be cutting it close.”
“Just say it, Chuy,” Pedro said. “You want to go to Puerto Peñasco. Say it, and we will go. It is less than two hours, and we can play in the beach cantinas tonight.”
“Adds five hours onto our day tomorrow,” Mateo said. “If we go to Hermosillo, it’s 17 hours home. If we go to Puerto Peñasco, it’s 23 hours home. We won’t make it in daylight. We’d have to stay over in Mazatlán. And that....” Mateo trailed off with a glance at Mac and Toby.
Chuy’s smile was vicious. “Maybe we will be able to test what they are made of, do you think?” he said softly.
Mac glanced at Toby and saw he didn’t know what this was about either.
“Call it, Chuy,” Mateo said tiredly. “Or we will be stuck here. And this place sucks.”
“It does at that,” Chuy said, sounding happier about something. “We’ll go to Puerto Peñasco. It would be a shame for Toby and Mac to miss it. Don’t you think?”
The men grunted and finished their tacos — small soft tortillas filled with seasoned meat, onions and cilantro, with a drizzle of hot sauce. Mac happily ate as many as the cook put on the picnic table in front of him. They didn’t have Mountain Dew, but they did have Orange Crush which was almost as good.
The others were drinking Pepsi and staring at the bright orange can in front of him. Pedro shook his head sadly. “No one drinks that shit.”
Mac laughed at them and continued to wolf down tacos.
They went to Puerto Peñasco and Mac was glad they did. He’d been to Mexico’s beaches before — but Cancún on the other side of the country. A bunch of Marines on shore leave from El Paso. This was nothing like Cancún. This was smaller, quieter. Most of the people were Mexican. They parked the truck and 4-Runner, and walked the streets, stretched out, in kind of a saunter. Mac saw the worried glances from storeowners. The mothers who hurried their girls out of the street. “They know,” he said quietly to Mateo who seemed to assign himself as Mac’s guard — or maybe his guide.
“They do,” Mateo said. “And they scurry away to safety. We own the streets when we walk them.”
Mac glanced at him but said nothing more. How could he judge? He’d delighted in putting the fear of God into men many times. To make them back down.
But it finally occurred to him that there was a difference. He had been standing up to men who were his equal or more powerful. The swaggering men of Chuy’s crew were intimidating mothers with young girls, and shopkeepers along the boardwalk. It left a sour taste in his mouth.
But there was a cantina on the beach that Chuy liked and he insisted they would all go. Mac hesitated. He was in a foul mood and felt off balance — a bad time to go drinking. To drink the Coke without the rum. To find an Orange Crush if there was no Mountain Dew. And what he really wanted to do was punch someone.
Anyone.
But Chuy wouldn’t take no for an answer, and so Mac drifted along to the cantina with the other men. It was an open-air thing — a thatched shack with a bar deep inside, and kitchen behind that. Mac brightened a bit when he sniffed the smells coming from there. Shrimp? Maybe. Something smelled good. There was a live band set up and they were playing norteno music, and some young girls in white dresses with full skirts were dancing to it. Mac leaned against a post and watched. He’d found a Mexican non-alcoholic beer, Sol Cero, and he felt better about being sober in a group that was getting increasingly drunker.
Mac just watched them. Mateo had been nursing the same beer all night, he thought. Pedro was matching Toby drink for drink. Good luck with that, Mac thought with a laugh. Toby could hold his beer. Nacho was eating — Mac was beginning to get the picture of why he was called that.
Chuy, however, was going to be a problem. He was drinking too much, and he’d already gone up to ask a woman to dance. She looked nervously at the table of people she was with, but no one came to her aid. Chuy just danced though, and then she returned to her table. He came over to where Mac was. “You don’t dance?” Chuy said.
Mac shrugged. “I like to dance,” he said. “But I don’t know this music. I’m more of a R&B, hip-hop, rap fan. But it’s fun to watch the girls dance to it.”
“Black man’s music,” Chuy announced. “You’re not a Black man. You’re Mexican. Like me.”
“My Latino friends in the military said I shouldn’t claim to be Mexican until I could speak Spanish better than I could with them,” Mac said, looking to diffuse the conversation.
“You can’t speak Spanish?”
Mac shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “Well, the phrases you need in El Paso. Phrases to get you a girl, or a fight. To find the bathroom. Order a beer. You know, those kinds of things.”
Chuy laughed a bit in spite of himself. He was trying to pick a fight, Mac thought. And it wasn’t going to happen.
He hoped.
And you’re drinking some sissy beer.”
Mac didn’t say anything to that. He just took another sip.
“Why?”
Mac raised his eyebrows. “Why what?”
“Why are you drinking a sissy beer?”
“I don’t drink alcohol anymore,” Mac said simply.
“Because?”
Mac studied the younger man. He’d had too much to drink. There was a flush to his face and he was getting belligerent. Mac glanced over at the table. There were more there now. Mac didn’t know where the additional men had come from. No one was paying attention to Mac or Chuy. Mateo was focused on the newcomers.
“Chuy?” Mac said quietly. “Who are the newcomers to our table?”
Chuy glanced over and started to dismiss Mac’s question. Then he took another look. “Shit,” he said. “We need to get our men out of here.”
“Who are they?”
“Sonora,” Chuy said.
Sonora cartel. They were on their turf, if Mac understood it correctly. Powerful cartel. Vicious.
“Is it a problem? That you are here?” Mac asked. He didn’t look at Chuy but stayed focused on the music.
“That my men and I are here?” Chuy shrugged. “That you are here? They will be curious about Toby. And about you. And that is not good.”
“So I can just head back to the hotel, and you and they can follow,” Mac suggested.
“No,” Chuy said. “You cannot go alone. You’ll get jumped. And then there will be hell to pay.” He considered the situation.
Mac looked around. “We need a disturbance,” he said slowly, and then he grinned at his half-brother. “You were trying to provoke a fight a bit ago. Try again — and throw a punch. We’ll make a mess of things, and Mateo will come to intervene and to scold. And we will all stagger out of here.”
Chuy laughed. It was a wild laugh that bordered on being out of control. “Yes,” he agreed. “Although we may have more problems if they decide to get into the fight as well.”
Mac grinned. “It’s been a while since I was in a bar fight,” he admitted cheerfully. Since he’d nearly killed a man because he was drunk and didn’t stop. The Marines had not been amused. They’d dried him out and reprimanded him. It could have been worse, much worse. The man had lived.
He’d even healed up — eventually.
Chuy shouted something — Mac didn’t catch what — and swung at him. Mac ducked and sat his beer down on a nearby table. “I’ll be back for that,” he told the startled woman. She laughed. And Mac turned back around in time to catch Chuy’s next punch.
“What the hell, Chuy?” Mac shouted back at him, and he punched him in the stomach. He pulled it a bit — he wanted Chuy to feel it, but still be able to stand up. Chuy sucked in a deep breath and lashed out with his foot.
“What are you two doing?” Mateo hissed at them, as he tried to get between them and stop the fight.
Mac grinned at him. “Starting a diversion,” he said cheerfully. “Get our men out of here.”
“And whose bright idea was this?” Mateo grumbled.
Mac laughed and threw a punch his way. Mateo dodged, and with a shake of his head, grabbed Mac.
But that allowed Chuy the freedom to throw himself at the two of them, and they all three crashed into a table.
A girl shrieked, and the music stopped. “All right you two,” Mateo said, pulling them onto their feet. “Time to head back to the hotel. You’re obviously done for the night.”
Chuy started to sing. He wasn’t half-bad, Mac thought with amusement. He flung an arm around Mac’s shoulder and staggered toward the beach. Mateo followed; Mac assumed the others had enough sense to follow too.
Chuy was still singing when they reached their hotel — a small building with rooms that opened up onto an interior garden and courtyard. There were birds in the garden; earlier they had been singing when they’d checked in.
“OK, you can stop now,” Mac said, laughing, when they stepped into the hotel.
“You do not like my singing?” Chuy said, amazement in his voice. “Everyone says my singing is wonderful. I am wonderful. I am the handsomest, smartest, funniest man they know. Do you not agree?”
Mac was genuinely amused by that, although he kind of felt sorry for him too. That was a hell of a burden for a young man. “I’m sure that I do,” he said with faked solemnity. “How could I not?”
Mac looked around and counted noses. They were all here, except for Toby.
“Where’s Toby?” Mac said sharply. And all of the loose-limbed laughter and fun went out of everyone.
“He was just with me,” Pablo said. “I swear. I didn’t let him get out of my sight.”
“Then where is he?” Chuy said, and his voice was cold and tight.
Pablo shook his head. “I do not know.”
“Come on,” Mac said to Pablo. “We’ll go look for him.”
“You will?” Chuy said. “No, not you. Pablo and Mateo can go.”
“Because I’m sober,” Mac said. “And if not Pablo, Mateo and I can go. I’ll have better luck with Toby than the rest of you.”
Chuy considered that, and then nodded. “Go,” he ordered. “Mateo, go with him.”
The two of them ducked back out onto the street. “You almost pulled it off,” Mateo muttered, as they headed back toward the beach and the cantina.
“Almost,” Mac agreed. Actually he’d been surprised. Chuy wasn’t that bad after all. He’d taken a couple of pretty solid hits without losing his temper.
They heard the argument before they found them. Not the words, but Mac recognized Toby’s voice. “This way,” Mac said with a sigh. He’d been pulling Toby out of fights since they were 12 after all.
“You got a plan for this?” Mateo asked as they rounded the corner. Toby was... brawling, Mac decided was the right word for it. And he was taunting the five men who were trying to get ahold of him. Taunting them at the top of his voice.
Toby lashed out with a kick when someone got too close. Mac grinned.
“You piece of shit, you hit on my woman and now she’s pissed,” Mac shouted as he headed toward Toby.
“What? I did not!” Toby protested. He didn’t move his attention from his attackers, however. “I would never.”
“Well, she thinks you did. Says it’s disrespectful,” Mac shouted back. “You need to come apologize. Or I’m sleeping on the couch.”
Mateo was right behind him. Felt good to have a fighter at his back, Mac acknowledged.
“You do this often? Rescue your cousin from a brawl?” Mateo said dryly.
“In our teens, this was what we did,” Mac said back. “Drink and fight. Toby gets belligerent when he’s drinking.”
“Doesn’t look like it stopped.”
“Toby doesn’t drink that much anymore — but he was attacked, I think, not the aggressor. And I fight even sober,” Mac said grimly. He’d reached the fight, and he stopped talking to Mateo.
“Come on, Cuz, you’ve got to talk to my woman, and do it now,” Mac said loudly. “You know how she is. She bears a grudge like no one I’ve seen.”
“She does,” Toby agreed. He grinned at the men who were still trying to take him down. “Got to go, guys. Family. You know how it is.”
Mac wanted to laugh at the men’s expressions. Nonplussed, he thought. They’re trying to take down one man, and he’s treating it like a pick-up basketball game at the park.
But Toby was no newcomer to street fights. He didn’t turn his back on his attackers. Instead he angled backwards — not quite backing away, oh no, because that might signal defeat, and Toby didn’t do defeat. Amused, Mac surged forward, to stand at his back. Toby didn’t even look back.
And then he was free of the cartel men, and Mac and Mateo were moving right along with him.
“Mateo,” one of the men called. “You shouldn’t be here. None of you should. Del Toro isn’t the power it once was. And its name won’t protect you. Not here. Not anywhere.”
Mateo stopped and looked at the man. “It has some power still — you know my name,” he observed coldly. “And I don’t need a name to protect me. I protect myself. Even with the five of you, you couldn’t even corral the drunken lamebrain here. Do not try me.”
“Hey,” Toby protested. “Lamebrain, maybe. But I’m not drunk.”
Mateo glanced at him and rolled his eyes. “See?” he said to the cartel. “And a word of caution, sicarios like you? You are out of your depth here. Leave it alone. Pass the word that we’re coming through, and we mean no disrespect, no harm. But we are coming through. Just as we have always done. And we will continue to do so. Comprehendes?”
It was only when Mateo reverted to Spanish for a word, that Mac realized they were speaking English — English so the gringos wouldn’t miss a word. He frowned, but he kept Toby moving back toward the main street. Toby had dropped his cheerful drunk persona. Mac could feel the difference in him. He grinned. He almost wished they would attack. It had been a long time since he’d been in a street fight with his cousin.
Mateo was still talking. “And for God’s sake, do not attack my companion,” he said. “He will kill you. That is what he does. And I do not want a cartel war, and neither does your capo. So back away. Go have another drink, and count yourselves fortunate, that Mackensie Davis Del Toro did not consider you a threat.”
Mac stilled. Say what? Mateo had just named him a Del Toro?
Well, he guessed he was. But there was a lot of innuendo in what Mateo was saying. He needed to parse that all out. He saw the glance Toby gave him, but he just shook his head briefly. He didn’t know what was going on. But his gut said it was important.
“Come on,” one of the sicarios said. “A drink sounds good — dancing with the lamebrain makes a man thirsty.”
The others laughed, and they headed back to the beach. Mateo didn’t relax, so Mac stayed alert as well. Something.
No, someone. They were not alone.
“Mateo,” Mac said in warning. Mateo nodded. He knew.
“So you give orders to my men now, Mateo?” a man said from the shadows. He didn’t step forward either. Instead he lit up a cigarette. Mac saw the small flare of his first draw. Dangerous to do that, he thought. But then, by doing so, he was declaring this was his turf, and he had nothing to fear here.
“Saving them from themselves, more like,” Mateo said. “But I figured someone was around to do their thinking for them. God knows they need someone. How are you, Luis?”
“I am good,” he answered. “Do your guests not speak Spanish? Is that why we speak English? Even the one you named a Del Toro?”
“Even him,” Mateo said. “I didn’t realize that your organization is attacking tourists at the beach, now, Luis. Mackensie Davis Del Toro wanted to see it, and he was impressed. But then we were jumped. And that is not so good for the tourists, Luis. So we head back to the hotel, only to have your men grab one of our guests? A cousin. You are fortunate that you don’t have dead bodies to clean up.”
“They were under orders to take him, not kill him,” Luis said dismissively.
“He isn’t the one who would die, my friend,” Mateo said.
There was silence at that. When Luis spoke, his voice was different. “My boss says to tell you that safe passage is no longer offered to Del Toro. You will need to tell that to your boss. But you will no longer be able to run product through our territory to the border. We are shutting you down.”
“We do not accept such a thing,” Mateo said coldly. “We go where we need to go. If we have no guarantee of safe passage, we will arm our trucks. It is your men who will pay for that decision, Luis. But our trucks will continue to move product to the border.”
“I have delivered the message as I was told to do,” Luis said. He started to walk away.
“Luis?” Mateo said softly. “Tell him. Tell him that the wayward son has come home. He will know what that means, even if you don’t.”
“I will tell him,” Luis said, and then he was gone.
“Move,” Mateo ordered.
Mac led the way back to the hotel.
“What the hell?” Toby muttered softly.
“I have no clue,” Mac replied. “None.”
“Pretend you never heard that,” Mateo advised softly. “For the love of God, do not ask questions or bring it up in front of Chuy. Or Pedro for that matter. Let your father tell you.”
Mac glanced at him, then nodded shortly. No it didn’t sound like a Chuy question. He shuddered envisioning the reaction of that prickly young man. But tomorrow, they had a long trip ahead of them. And he was going to get some answers, if he had to beat them out of Mateo.
Mackensie Davis Del Toro?
And then, wayward son?
Mac frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.