Gael Morales could feel the cool metal of the gun barrel against his left temple and the pain of his right shoulder being twisted near its breaking point, but still couldn’t believe he’d gotten himself into this situation. He should have anticipated it and been able to stop Francis before it got to this point. But he hadn’t thought the man would be desperate enough to pull this kind of shit. Francis Waters might be crooked but he was still law enforcement and had to know this situation almost never played itself out well.
Gael looked across the gravel driveway to George Rankin, who was holding his gun steady as stone, no shake in his hands at all, but his eyes were darting quickly from Gael to Francis and back again.
“Calm down, George, it’s fine. Francis doesn’t want a murder charge against him.”
“I don’t give a fuck about a murder charge. I go to jail for a week, I might as well get the death penalty, because I’m dead and we all know it. I won’t be locked up.”
“You kill me, you won’t make it out of an interrogation room alive.”
“You know if you shoot him, it’s over for you,” George said.
“I’ll only shoot him if I have to.”
“Can you ease up on my shoulder a little?”
“Shut up.” But Francis did ease up on his shoulder some and the pain subsided. It was still there, throbbing, moving through his body in waves, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been.
“What’s your plan, Francis?” George said.
“My plan is to leave.”
“How are you gonna do that?”
“Gael is gonna drive me out of here.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’m not standing here with a gun aimed at my face, what do you think?”
“I think it’s a shitty plan.”
“I’m not real interested in your opinion of my plan, George.”
“You should be.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m the one who can save your life. You get into that car—and I won’t make it easy for you—you’ll be dead within thirty minutes. I know exactly what it leads to, and that’s you in a shallow grave.”
“You have no fucking idea what I’m doing or where I’m going once I leave this place, which means you have no fucking idea what happens. So cut the shit, Uri Geller.”
“But he does know, Francis.”
“Bullshit.”
“Do you want to explain it to him or do you want me to?” George said.
“I’ll do it,” Gael said. “I’m just standing around anyway.” But instead of explaining the situation to Francis he said, “Bullets come right out the end of that gun, you know. You don’t have to push the barrel through my fucking skull.”
“Shut the fuck up.” But he pulled back.
“Thank you. Now let me explain what happens if you make it to the car and have me drive you away from here.”
“I’m all ears.”
“What happens is, you have me drive you to Rocha’s estate. You and Diego will tell him what happened and offer me up. He’ll kill me. That’s a given. I’m undercover DEA and I know too much about his operation. But what you don’t seem to realize is that he’ll kill you too, because you know more than I do. He’ll be worried that the cops will catch up with you and that if they do, you’ll spill like a toddler’s milk glass.” Gael gave him a few moments to think that through before he went on. Once he believed it had sunk in, he continued.
“Now you’re thinking that through, and it’s making sense to you, so you’ve decided you can’t go to Rocha’s estate. You’re thinking, fine, I’ll get into the back of the car, kick Diego out—if I’m not going to the estate, Diego’s dead weight—and have Gael drive me south. You’ll get to Mexico City and take a flight from there to Costa Rica where your brother has a vacation home. He isn’t there right now and you can hole up for a while and decide what to do next.
“Problem is, the DEA knows that’s what you’re thinking. George is standing right in front of you. Rocha will probably know that’s what you’re thinking too. Question is, who gets to you first?”
“I’m not going to Costa Rica.” His voice sounded weak.
“No, you’re not. But the only reason you’re not is because I just told you what happens if you do. Let me tell you this too. What you’re thinking of doing now doesn’t work out any better for you. So why don’t you put the gun down? There’s no good outcome for you. But there are better and worse outcomes. Cooperating now will lead to one of the best of the bad.”
Francis was silent for a long time, thinking through the situation. Finally, he dropped his weapon to the gravel.
Gael turned around, shoved Francis against the wall of the church, and slapped handcuffs around his wrists. He paused a moment. This idiot would have had no problem killing him. He was supposed to be a good guy but he’d have triggered a bullet through Gael’s temple without hesitation if he thought it would save his own ass. Gael grabbed the back of Francis’s hair, pulled back, and slammed his forehead into the wall.
It bounced back with a ripe-melon thud.
“That’s for putting a gun on me, you dumb shit.”
He led Francis to the black sedan and put him into the back of the car next to Diego. He slammed the door, looked at George, and said:
“Let’s get Danielle Preston out of that church.”
“How did you know he’d go to Costa Rica?”
“I heard him talking to Sylvia in the break room about his brother’s vacation home once.”
“What if you’d been wrong?”
Gael shrugged. “I wasn’t.”
* * *
Danielle was sitting on the stage, staring blankly down the length of the center aisle to the back of the church, thinking she was a dead woman. She knew there was a tunnel that led across the border, but she’d been unable to find it. Any minute now men would break down the door and kill her. She was trying to find some sort of acceptance, since death couldn’t be avoided, but she wasn’t able to. She wanted to live. She wanted to leave Rocha behind and live like normal people lived. It was too bad she’d never have that opportunity. She’d waited too long and now she was going to die. She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. The shock of reality—the reality of this situation she’d put herself in—made it impossible. She felt almost numb.
A knock on the front door.
A voice: “Danielle, it’s me. Diego Blanco and Francis Waters are handcuffed in the back of a DEA vehicle. You’re safe now.”
She looked toward the door and wanted to believe what she’d heard. Gael might be lying, and if he was and she stepped out the front door, she’d be shot as soon as the sunlight hit her face. But despite this, she felt hope. She’d trusted Gael once and wanted to trust him again.
Anyway, she couldn’t hide in here forever.
She looked toward one of the stained-glass windows. Jesus in a white robe, a halo of light hovering above his head. She’d never been religious, but the image of Jesus had always made her feel calm, and as she looked at that stained-glass window, she felt peace seep into her pores and find a home in her chest.
She got to her feet and walked down the aisle. She reached the front doors and twisted the dead bolt. It retracted with a clack. She grabbed the handle and thumbed the paddle and pulled. Bright light slanted into the church, a dark man-shaped silhouette partially blocking it. Her eyes adjusted and she saw Gael take on form and definition. He reached out his hand to her.
“Let’s get out of here. You’re safe now.”
She took his hand.
* * *
The three of them stood in the gravel driveway. Gael lit a Camel and took a deep drag, smoke filling his lungs. He exhaled through his nostrils. His hand shook as it pulled the cigarette away from his lips, but he tried to hide it.
“What are you gonna do now?” George said.
“We’re gonna act like nothing happened.”
“What if Rocha knows?”
Gael shrugged. “Then we’re dead. But I don’t think he does. Only way he would is if Diego told him and, knowing Diego, I think he’d want to handle the situation himself.”
“You sure that’s the best decision?”
“No. But it’s the decision I’ve made.”
George stood silent a moment before he said, “You want a ride back to the department store?”
“We’ll walk,” Danielle said.
“Okay. I’ll take care of these two.” He nodded toward the sedan.
“What are you gonna do with them?”
“Francis is going to jail. I haven’t decided what I’m gonna do with Blanco yet. He needs to be in prison too, but he’s a Mexican citizen in Mexico, and even if he weren’t, we don’t want his arrest to get back to Rocha. I might hole him up in the Juarez safe house for a while.”
Gael nodded. “Okay. We’re gonna head back to the department store. Danielle has to finish her shopping.”
He turned and started walking south. Danielle followed.
“Gael.”
He stopped, looked over his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve had guns aimed at your head twice today.”
Gael shrugged. “Nobody pulled a trigger.”