Chapter 16

Toby was still asleep when Mac woke up. He used the attached bathroom and took a shower before putting on the clothes he’d been wearing. He grimaced. He needed his duffel from upstairs, but he wasn’t going to leave Toby until he was awake.

He padded out to the bedroom barefooted and put his hand against Toby’s forehead. It was cool to the touch — no fever. But he didn’t wake up at the touch either. Mac would have — and probably gone for the toucher’s throat. He assumed Toby had similar reflexes. So unconscious still.

There was an oversized chair near the bed — not unlike the ones in the dining room. Dark wood, a leather seat and back attached with nailheads. It was surprisingly comfortable. Mac sat there for a while, watching his cousin breathe. It was fine. He needed time to think. But about 10 minutes later, Toby opened his eyes. He blinked a bit, disoriented, then focused on Mac.

Mac snorted. “It’s not like I have a lot of family, Toby. I’m hardly going to let one of the few I have bleed out in the streets.”

Toby smiled. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Mac thought he had drifted off to sleep.

“You’ve got more family now,” he said. “Should I have told you? When Chuy first showed up? I knew.”

“Two years ago?” Mac said, and he considered that. “I don’t know. I’m in a better place to deal with it now than I would have been then.”

“Angie?” Mac said, startled by the abrupt shift in conversation. He took the time to think about it. He told her he loved her. And he meant it — in a short haul sort of way. Not what Toby was asking though. Could he picture being with her forever? Raising a family? Did he want what Toby had with Keisha? He did, he realized. “Yeah,” he said. “I love her. The real deal.”

Toby nodded. “Keisha was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Her and the girls.”

“I like your daughter Belinda,” Mac said, to lighten things a bit. “She’s got sand.”

“She does,” Toby said with a laugh, and then he grimaced. “Best not laugh.”

“No, probably not,” Mac agreed. “That was quite the knife wound. It went deep.”

“He said if I wouldn’t come with him, then I might as well die,” Toby recalled. “He said ‘retrieve or remove, your choice.’”

Mac’s eyes narrowed. Those weren’t the words of a mugger who just happened to see a man with too much jewelry. Intentional. Well that confirmed his suspicions.

“Mac, you got a girl, now. You got friends. Those people you were with last fall. They matter to you.”

“Dad. He gave the articles to Keisha,” Toby replied. “She made me read them. Pretty amazing story.”

“More than you know. Remember that cop that busted us? He’s the one that spearheaded all of this,” Mac said, and told him the part of the story that wasn’t in the paper. “Angie picked up that gun and did what needed to be done. Saved my life. I thought I was gone.”

“A woman to hang onto then,” Toby said. “And friends who will have your back like I know you have mine. The others? They’ll turn on me. Things go bad? Or a chance comes along to make more money? They’ll shrug and leave me hanging. You wouldn’t. Keisha wouldn’t. And God help me, even Mom and Dad would do their best to help. But you’ve got people, Mac. Don’t let them down.”

Mac’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Spit it out Toby,” he said. “What’s on your mind here?”

Toby moved restlessly in bed, then flinched when it hurt. Mac got him a bottle of water, there were several on the bedside table. Lukewarm, but it would help. He checked the seal, and then opened it. He helped Toby sit up enough to drink it.

Toby paused, then he said, “You know what Del Toro wants, don’t you? He wants you. Wants you to run the cartel.”

Mac was silent. “I feel like they’re backing me into a corner,” he admitted. “Forcing me to accept the name Del Toro.”

“You don’t sell your soul to the devil in one big moment, Mac. You do it in small bits. Small enough you barely notice. And then one day, you realize you’ve lost your soul and there’s no way to get it back.”

“Son of two college professors? I’m not stupid,” he protested, then added, “Done some pretty stupid shit. But damn. The money? It was so easy, Mac.”

“I get that,” Mac said. And he did. Being Toby’s contract enforcer was easy money too.

“Not here,” Mac interrupted. “I know. And I’m working on it. Well, those friends of mine are working on it. But we’re not in a place to talk.”

“I suspect you got dragged into my mess, actually,” Mac said. “Mateo said Del Toro always knew you were my cousin.”

“Huh.” Toby didn’t say anything more, and Mac thought the conversation might have tired him out.

“I’d like to go for a run,” Mac said. Needed to go for a run was more accurate. But Toby would know that. “But I don’t want to leave you alone. Anyone here you trust?”

“Trust to do what?” Toby asked. “I don’t think the attempt was by Del Toro. So I’m probably safe here.”

Mac agreed. He didn’t think it was Del Toro either. Retrieve or remove. Three attempts, Toby. But he didn’t say it. Toby needed to heal, not worry.

“Stupid question,” Toby muttered. “Leave it with me. If someone does come for me, I’m able to defend myself.”

“All right,” Mac said slowly. Toby wasn’t a particularly good shot. He didn’t routinely carry — in the States, as a convicted felon, he couldn’t legally. His crew was there to protect him.

But they weren’t in the States. And even Toby could probably hit something at 10 feet. He could throw it, if nothing else. Mac fetched the pistol he’d been carrying last night for all the good it did. Toby took it and put it under the covers.

“I’ll see about some food,” Mac said. When he got to the door, Toby said, “Thanks, Mac.”

Paulo was happy to take care of Toby while Mac went for a run, and Mac thought Paulo was a safe choice — unless Del Toro himself ordered a hit, Paulo would take care of a houseguest. And as he and Toby had discussed, he didn’t think the threat was from the Del Toro cartel. Del Toro’s response to a problem would be much more direct.

Mac changed into running gear, laced up his shoes, and at the last moment, grabbed a windbreaker and found his backup weapon in the bottom of his backpack, a smaller pistol than what he’d just given Toby: Ruger .380 auto, good for concealed carry. He considered the fact that carrying the gun was illegal here, then shrugged. Del Toro could bail him out of jail; not much he could do if Mac got himself killed.

It was a beautiful, bright day, when Mac emerged from the house. He actually stopped and blinked a bit. The house was dark and cool, and he hadn’t expected this. He grinned. It felt good. He started out at a slow jog, warming up, and headed toward the beach. Paulo had suggested a run along the barrier walk called the Mazatlán malecón, a 13-mile seawall that ran along the beach and linked the historical district to the hotels. They’d been on part of it last night, he thought. He’d like to do the whole thing, but that didn’t seem reasonable. Well, he’d run to the historical district, then turn back. Ten miles? About that. Even at an easy pace, he’d do that in 90 minutes.

It was a very different city in the daylight. The beach was white sand, and it was packed with families. Food vendors lined the malecón. The ocean was an incredible blue, and he could see the Navy ships out there. But it didn’t have the intense, claustrophobic feel of last night. Instead it was felt open, free, especially with the ocean stretching out like it did. Children were laughing and playing. There was music, but even it felt lighter.

Mac could feel the tension and stress of the last few days start to loosen as he ran. He reached the historic downtown, and wished he had time to explore — wished he had Angie here to explore with him. He gave a half-laugh at how much he’d come to want her with him. He kept turning around to share something with her. Pretty strange for a man who used to say he needed no one and meant it.

He thought about what Toby had said. Thought about the phrase blood is thicker than water. He’d looked it up once — the phrase. The explanations of what it meant conflicted, actually. Over time the meaning had even changed. But it still meant trust your family, because they will be there for you when no one else would be.

But that wasn’t true, Mac thought, suddenly. His blood — Del Toro blood hadn’t been there for him. They’d known about him for more than 20 years. No, they wanted something from him. And that was a completely different thing.

Toby was right. Shorty? Shorty had never let him down, not ever. Stan, Janet, Rand, Joe, Nick — all those people at the Parker house? They would be there for him.

And some of his family, too, he conceded. Lindy had taken in him in — twice — and so had Michael.

And then there was Angie. He didn’t think it was possible for her to let anyone down.

He got a fruit drink from a vendor and went down to sit on the edge of the seawall. He pulled out his cell phone and grimaced. It wasn’t secure. He couldn’t imagine that Mateo or someone hadn’t figured out how tap it. Well, they could listen to him make cooing noises to his girl, he guessed.

But he also needed to talk to Shorty. He wished he could figure out how to talk to Stan Warren. That retrieve or remove comment bugged him. He shrugged and called Shorty first. He should be getting out of school about now. “Probably can’t talk,” he said rapidly. “But someone is trying to kill Toby. Me? I would get that. But him? The last guy used the term ‘retrieve or remove,’ and that bugs me. Pass it on?”

“And hello to you too,” Shorty said dryly. “Developments here too. The name — at least one of them — is Bridgeman.”

Mac frowned. “Doesn’t mean anything to me,” he said. “You think there’s more?”

“Fair,” Mac said. “When Janet does too, send in the Marines after us, will you?”

Shorty snorted. “About that. I’m accessing your funds, setting up an exit strategy. Nearest airports, will-call tickets for direct flights. Two tickets.”

Mac felt a sense of relief. “Good job,” he said sincerely. “We’re not even there yet.” Mac glanced at his phone. “Going to hang up. I want to call Angie.”

“Go,” Shorty said. “And Mac? Remember we want you back. Janet keeps muttering about how she wants her cop reporter back, and you haven’t even been gone a week.”

Mac smiled at that. “The cop reporter is coming home,” he said. “I promise.”

Two minutes. Good enough. Mac called Angie, and relaxed. Just a nice conversation with his girl, sitting on the seawall in Mazatlán, and missing her.

“I wish you were here,” he said, knowing he needed to get off the phone, but it sounded good to listen to her. She was telling him stories about Michael and the Toby’s girls. It sounded like they were having a good time. “I keep turning around to tell you something or point out something. And I’d love to see what you would see through that camera of yours. Last night was wild.”

There was a moment of silence. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said in a small voice. He thought she sounded choked up a bit.

Mateo was standing there, about 15 feet away. He was looking out over the ocean, but obviously waiting for him to finish his call. Mac sighed. Play time was over.

“Urgent stuff now, longer conversation on the road tomorrow?” Mac said as he fell into step beside the man and they headed back up the boardwalk.

Mac grimaced. “Hadn’t really thought about it at all,” Mac said. “Paulo said something about a family doctor could check him out?”

Mateo nodded. “When we get back. Toby is tense about having strangers around without you there, I think. Not sure he’s all that trusting of us.”

“If you wanted him dead, you wouldn’t need to go to all this effort,” Mac said. “You would have just taken him out in Vallejo, dumped his body in a ditch, and left town.”

“Someone who can jerk the chain of Sonora cartel, Mexican police and put someone in place in Mazatlán,” Mac replied.

Mateo stared at him for a moment, then continued walking on, his hands jammed into the pockets of a windbreaker not unlike Mac’s. Mac wondered if his hand was resting on a gun.

“You think all three incidents were deliberate,” Mateo said. “And aimed at Rollings? I’ve been concerned about someone coming at you, not him.”

“Figured you were,” Mac said. “If some other cartel was trying to take Rollings out to weaken you or as a prelude to coming at Del Toro? Would that make any sense? Who would it be?”

Mateo thought about it. “Sonora maybe,” he said slowly. “Luis said as much — that we were vulnerable, and they’d be coming at us. But taking out Rollings?” He shrugged. “Luis would just show up on his doorstep with a load of product and say we’re your supplier now.”

Mac grimaced as he thought about that. He didn’t think Toby would have even blinked, he conceded. Scratch that one off.

“Mac?” Mateo began. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. As you say, there’s a long road trip still ahead for talking.”

The doctor came in late that afternoon, and he didn’t even protest when Mac stood inside the door and watched him as he examined his patient. “Lots of fluids, continue the antibiotics,” he announced. “But I’d like to see at least one more day of bedrest before you try to sit up in a truck for ten hours. Preferably a week, but one day is the minimum.”

The doctor packed up his black medic bag and started out of the room. He gestured with his eyes, and Mac followed him.

“I’m not kidding about a week,” the doctor said. Mateo was there to listen. So was Chuy, but they weren’t even pretending that he was in charge anymore. Mac thought Chuy was actually relieved about it.

“We could leave Toby here,” Mateo said thoughtfully. “Paulo could take care of him. Someone could bring him to Patzcuaro later.”

Mac looked at Mateo, then the doctor. He held out his hand and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said sincerely. House calls? After 5 p.m. on a Friday afternoon? He waited until Paulo had escorted the doctor out before turning to Mateo.

Mateo was watching him, and Mac thought he was amused. “The doctor has been on retainer for his entire career,” Mateo said. “Del Toro paid for his medical training. He’s not a danger.”

“What he doesn’t know he can’t let slip,” Mac said. “But I stay with Toby. I’m not leaving him behind.”

Mateo considered that, then he shrugged. Mac watched the shrug. Mexicans shrugged differently. He’d tried to get it right in the Marines and never had. Kind of like the language. Couldn’t get that right either. Pissed him off, to be honest. He could blend in with the shrubbery of the North Cascades, or the desert in Afghanistan — but he couldn’t learn to shrug right?

“Does that mean we have to stay another night in Mazatlán during Carnival?” Chuy demanded, and then he laughed. "Damn. What a hardship.”

Mac looked at him and shook his head. Then he laughed. What the hell — hard not to like the guy. “I don’t suppose you know a bar with a DJ who would let me borrow his board while he takes a smoke break, do you?”

“No one takes smoke breaks, Mac,” Chuy said laughing. “In a Mexican bar, people smoke — legal or not. But sure. I know a DJ.”

Mac made sure to have a word with Paulo before setting out. “They may come for him again,” he cautioned. “I’ll have my phone. Send a text — I’ll have it on vibrate, no way I’d hear anything. But be prepared.”

Paulo’s eyes were cold. “No one gets to a guest of this house, Mackensie Davis Del Toro. No one has. No one will.”

Mac flinched a bit at the name, but he nodded his thanks and caught up with the others at the entry hall. It was a promise made to a member of the Del Toro family, he realized, not just to Mac some guy visiting from the States. It made him feel better about Toby’s security, but he could feel that corner closing in on him.

I will not be a member of the Del Toro cartel, he thought grimly. He doubted there was any way to be a Del Toro outside of it either.

Friday night carnival was ever more intense than Thursday night, Mac found. The crush of people, the noise they made, was hard to manage. He wanted to dive for cover every time someone set off fireworks. They stayed together tonight, five men, dressed in black — some still with more jewelry than sense, Mac thought with a snort — and people moved to let them through. Mac wondered if they just recognized them as dangerous men? Or did they know they were cartel?

There were similar groups of Mexican Navy, he saw. They ignored his group, and Chuy ignored them. Mac grimaced. He wished he could say he belonged with the sailors — as much as a Marine could at least — but he knew that wasn’t how the crowd would see him. He looked like he fit in with Mateo and Chuy and the rest.

Mac shook his head. Enjoy the night, he told himself. Enjoy the dancers on the stage. Enjoy the music. Hell, enjoy the company. Just don’t forget you aren’t one of them. And you aren’t going to become one of them.

They walked along the boardwalk. There were more dancers whose bodies were outlined with florescent paint. People were dressed in elaborate costumes — headdresses of dragons and devils. Some fire dancers were amazing — he wanted to stop and watch them, but Chuy pressed on. And Mac was confident that Chuy would know where best to have a good time.

They pushed into a club with only a nod from Chuy at the bouncer, jumping a line that snaked around the block. Inside, people danced to live music that had enough drum at its base to make the wood-plank floor vibrate. Mac listened, fascinated by the hip-hop tinged with salsa. He’d like to get closer to the musicians, he thought. But Chuy grabbed a table for them, and a waitress promptly showed up to take their order.

Mac got a beer. He wasn’t even going to try to order a non-alcoholic beer, although he was sure they had them. But he didn’t trust the people he was with. Didn’t know the bar staff. He wasn’t going to end up drinking beer because someone thought it was funny to spike his drink. Or just mixed up his order. No, better to carry a beer around, and know what it was, and not drink it. He’d about perfected this during the last year of his time in the Marines, and it had become routine at college.

Actually it had only been the last two years, that he trusted the people he drank with. Wasn’t that a fine realization to have in a dance club in Mexico?

A woman came up to ask Chuy to dance, and when he accepted and followed her onto the floor, and flock of women descended upon the rest of them, tugging them out to dance as well. Pretty women in tight, glittery dresses with bird masks — it was like dancing with a flock of parrots, he thought with amusement. But the woman he was dancing with was a good dancer, and he concentrated on being a worthy partner. Apparently, the dance style was a modified swing, and it fit the salsa beat of the music.

He returned to the table and pushed his plastic cup of beer around on the table. Mateo was sitting there, watching the crowd. Watching Chuy, Mac thought.

“You really are his nanny,” Mac said, pitching his voice to go under the noise rather trying to out-shout it.

Mateo shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “Although if something serious happened to him, it would cost me my life. But Chuy can take care of himself in a place like this. That’s not why I watch.”

Mateo shrugged. Then he sighed. “Chuy belongs here, a young man having a good time. Maybe starting his career post-college. He isn’t strong enough, tough enough for the role his grandfather has decreed for him. And here, where you can see him in what should be his element, you realize how bad a fit it is for him.”

“He did, but in Morelia, instead of going to the Universidad in Mexico City, or to the States as his father did,” Mateo answered. His eyes didn’t move from Chuy. “The Del Toro family sends their boys to college. Girls too, actually. They believe in education. But there is the expectation that you will come home when you are needed. No one escapes, Mac.”

Mac thought there might be a warning embedded in that, but he didn’t pursue it.

Mateo nodded. “His grandfather thought it best. And it is true, Chuy is no great student. So he went to Morelia and got a degree in business. It allowed him to play. But at the end of the day, he came home. He has been on a very tight leash.”

“A sister and a brother is at the university in Morelia — you’ll probably meet them,” he answered. “Another brother is at San Diego State.” He smiled wistfully. “My alma mater.”

Mac wasn’t surprised that he’d gone to college in the States. His English was too colloquial. He wondered what Mateo had majored in. And why he came back to the cartel. All questions he would save for the road.

“He’s not,” Mateo said. “He enjoys all the privileges and attention being the heir of the cartel capo receives.” Mateo shook his head. “And he won’t survive six months if he has to become the capo.”

Mac considered that. He was beginning to realize he didn’t know the cartels from within. They were mafia-like, he thought. And walking away wouldn’t be tolerated.

“Do you think there’s a chance that he will have to step into that position anytime soon?” Mac asked. “Hector del Toro is still young. What is he — 55?”

Mateo started to say something, then shook his head. “Go,” he ordered. “Dance. Have a good time. We can talk business tomorrow. Or the next day. But Chuy is right. Carnival is for pleasure before the austerity of Lent. Enjoy.”

“And you?” Mac said getting up. He really was going to go observe the musicians. “Do you get to enjoy yourself?”

Mateo’s eyes focused on someone behind Mac. “It looks like I might,” he said with a laugh, as he got up to be pulled onto the dance floor by a woman in a green sequined dress and matching mask. Mac laughed.

The band was really good. Much of it was in Spanish, of course. But then they sang one in Spanish and then English. Mac’s eyes widened.

“Welcome to my kingdom, Reynosa, my dear/

Where every day everyone gambles on their life/

People who matter will blow your head off/

Better be careful or bullets will rip you apart/

Mutilated bodies floating in the canal/

Too much evil to fit in a jail cell.”

Gangster rap about drug cartels? Mac wondered who the original artist was, because people obviously recognized the song.

“Narco-rap,” said a man standing next to him. “They glorify the cartels.”

“Didn’t sound like glorifying anything in that song,” Mac replied. “A cover? Of whom?”

“Couple of guys in Reynosa,” the man answered. He looked around. “Cartel here tonight. Wonder what they thought?”

Mac glanced at him but didn’t offer his name. “You said a couple of guys in Reynosa? What are their names?”

“Rap, hip-hop, soul, R&B,” Mac answered. He turned away from the man and looked at the band again. There was an accordion sitting on the floor by the drums. Really? He’d like to hear how that sounded in hip hop. He grinned. He liked music, in all of its forms. But he particularly liked how music made patterns.

“I have a message for you,” Peter said. Mac jumped. He’d dismissed him in favor of music. Obviously he shouldn’t have.

“DEA. You’re headed where we can’t go. We want you to report out what you see.”

Mac shook his head. “Sorry, I have a job. And if I report on my trip? You’ll find it in the Seattle Examiner.”

The man snorted. “You think you have a choice? Ask your cousin how that feels.”

Mac grabbed the man, twisting his arm behind him and shoving him backstage. He moved fast, not wanting to call attention to himself. A glance around said people didn’t notice.

Mac pushed the man up against the wall there, smashing his face against it. The man struggled, but Mac contained him, as he looked around again. The black nearly invisible wall formed the backdrop of the group performing on stage; the only one to notice Mac was a security guard who headed his way. Mac shook him off. The guard hesitated, and then nodded. He stopped about 20 feet away — close enough to intervene, far enough he couldn’t hear.

“All right, motherfucker,” Mac growled in the man’s ear. “Let’s get a few things straight. Do not threaten me. Second? Do not threaten my cousin. Now, who are you? DEA?”

Mac jerked the man’s arm higher. “Answers or dislocated shoulder,” Mac said grimly. “I’m good with either one. I owe someone for stabbing Toby. Was that you?”

“Not me,” Peter said, gasping a bit against the pain. “But we have an interest in Rollings. And him hightailing it to Mexico alarmed people. We wanted to talk to him.”

“Retrieve or remove,” Peter answered. “And he wasn’t willing to come with.”

“You might have just given him a call,” Mac muttered. “Accosting him on the street at Carnival seems excessive. And has a high probability of failing.”

“Mazatlán is our last chance to reach either of you,” Pedro said. “When you disappear into the Lake Patzcuaro compound, we are going to be completely closed out. So if you want our help, now is the time to make that bargain.”

Mac raised the man’s arm a bit higher on his back. If he could talk in complete sentences he wasn’t in enough pain.

“A bargain that would seal my fate,” Mac said grimly. “Ain’t gonna happen. I work for Janet Andrews at the Examiner. And that’s it.”

“No,” Mac said. Whoever this was, he was way too familiar with Mac’s life. “I turned their offer of a job down too. So fuck off, Peter, or Pedro, or whatever your name is. I want no part of you. And tell your bosses that they can renew their conversation with my cousin when we’re back in the States.”

“Yes I do,” Mac said. “Tell your people. You come for me or Toby again, and I’ll treat them like any other mugger — and you’ll be dead. Hear me?”

“Get the hell out of here.” Mac threw him toward a door that said exit/salida over it.

Nacho was standing on the dance floor when Mac re-entered the crowd. “Everything OK?” he shouted. “Mateo was concerned.” Nacho rolled his eyes.

During the break, Chuy remembered his promise and introduced him to the DJ. Mac got him to show him the different instrumental tracks he used, and then the DJ — a slightly built guy named Tomas who was passionate about his music — let Mac try his hand at mixing beats. Tomas had more kinds of drum beats than Mac was used to, and it made for a different kind of music altogether. Mac included the accordion for a riff just so he could tell the DJ at the Bohemian he had done it. As always, it left him exhilarated.

“Not bad,” Chuy said, when Mac left the DJ’s booth. “Did you want to be a musician?”

Mac shook his head. “Can’t play an instrument,” he said. “Not my gift. But I can make music out of those who do play.”

The two of them made their way back to the table. “And what was that all about backstage?” Chuy asked.

“A man with a proposition I took exception to,” Mac responded. “He won’t be back.”

“Be careful, Mac,” Chuy warned. “I like you. I didn’t expect to — and I still think mi abuelo is being unfair. But you have no idea how ruthless we are in the cartels. We will not tolerate someone who plays both sides against each other.”

Mac looked at him. “Get something thing straight, Chuy. I’m not interested in what your grandfather wants from me. And know this, too. I don’t play.”

Mac shook his head. “Then where has he been for the last 30 years? Blood may be thicker than water, but you wouldn’t know it by his actions. Or your father’s actions. The more I see, the more I wonder about what they allowed a child to go through.”

Chuy pursed his lips. “Between you and me? I think it was deliberate. They think I am too soft. A pampered heir. They left you there to grow up tough. And now they will seek to bring you inside. A heads up, Mac.”

Chuy hesitated. Then he shook head and didn’t answer. “Another beer?” he asked.