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El PASO, TEXAS (Wednesday, Dec. 12, 2012) — At 7:30 a.m. Mac waited in the courthouse employee’s parking lot. Three parking places were labeled D.A. Investigators. How convenient, Mac thought, warming his hands in his pockets. Thanks to Springer’s traffic violations, he even knew the vehicle he was looking for: a black Dodge Ram. He wasn’t ruling out that the man might have more than one vehicle, but it was a start.
The Ram pickup pulled into one of the designated spots at 7:50 a.m. Mac walked up quickly to the driver’s door before Springer could get out. “Rob Springer,” Mac said.
“Yeah?”
Springer was 45ish, military gone a bit soft, short blond hair, blue eyes. He wasn’t afraid, barely even annoyed... yet.
“I’m Mac Davis.”
Springer’s eyes narrowed. Mac opened the door, shoved Springer over into the passenger seat, started up the car and pulled out of the parking spot.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’ve got a gun or some such thing?” Springer said, settling into the passenger seat.
Mac grinned at him. “Nope.”
“Going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Cristo Rey.”
“Ah.” Springer sinking deeper into his seat, looking out the window.
Mount Cristo Rey was an isolated landmark. Three miles off I10, sitting right on the Mexico border, the famous statue of Christ sat at the top. Once it had been a journey for the pious. Now tourists were warned to only go in groups because of its isolation. Vandals and hoodlums partying up there. Mac had been one of those hoodlums as a Marine, he supposed with a snort. It was known as a good place to party. Pick up the booze and weed, invite some women along, and you could have a pretty good time year-round. Especially when you were too young to be allowed in the bars, and you couldn’t exactly take a woman home to the barracks.
The parking lot was deserted. Wednesday morning in December — the place had no draw for tourists or partying soldiers this time of year. Mac parked the car, gestured to Springer to get out. He took the keys and got out himself. He pointed to a trail that led slightly to the south of the hill. He’d be damned if he would call the bump a mountain. He thought calling it a hill might even be generous.
Springer preceded Mac slightly as they walked out of sight of the parking lot.
“Here’s good,” Mac said, stopping at a small clearing in the brushy growth.
Springer looked at him. “Long way to come just to talk,” Springer observed.
Mac went in low and hard, a punch to the belly doubled Springer over. He came down on his back with his fists linked, then used his knee to catch Springer’s face as he went down. Mac grabbed Springer’s hair, pulled his head up, smashed his fist into the man’s nose. Again.
The beating took five minutes. Maximum pain, blood, little permanent damage except the broken nose. But Mac figured it had been broken before, so no great loss. He threw the man out flat across the rocks. Springer moaned and curled up to protect himself from the expected kick.
It didn’t come. Springer opened one eye to look at Mac. The other was swelling shut. Mac reached into his back pocket, pulled out a digital recorder.
“Now we’re going to talk,” Mac said. He started the recorder. “You are on the record, as you can see. You’re Rob Springer and you were one of the men out at the coke warehouse that Marines busted in 2005. Correct?”
Springer groaned. “I’m not going to talk to you.”
Mac stopped the recorder, but it back in his pocket. He swiftly kicked Springer in the stomach. Springer gasped for air. Mac waited. Started recording again. “You are on the record. You’re Rob Springer. You were one of the men who was busted at the coke warehouse in 2005. Correct?”
Springer hesitated, saw Mac shift to kick him again. “Yes!” he said.
“Who were you working for?”
“You know all this,” Springer whined.
Mac knelt beside Springer, grabbed a handful of hair, pulled him up close. “Look you piece of shit,” he said softly. “You answer the questions, and I give you a ride home. You don’t answer the questions, I break a leg and leave you here. You get slow at answering questions, and I break a finger, or maybe blacken your other eye, take out a tooth or two. Your choice.”
Mac turned on the recorder again. “Who were you working for?”
Springer looked at Mac’s cold gray eyes. He swallowed. Having no doubt that Mac meant his threats, he sighed and answered, “I was pulling my check from the DEA, but did some contract work for the CIA. When the CIA wanted to set up a drug operation moving cocaine in and out of Central America, who better to run it than some DEA guys along the border? We knew how it worked. Hell, we’d been trying to stop it with absolutely no success for years.”
“Who was the person in charge from the CIA?”
Springer hesitated. Mac set down the recorder by Springer’s head, reached for a finger. “Howard Parker,” Springer said hastily.
“So, after we busted it, Parker started clean up. Couldn’t let you guys stand trial after all. Where did he find the guys who did go to trial?”
“They were the contacts we bought from. Grabbed them the next time they went through customs, a little hocus pocus at the courthouse and Juan and Jorge are doing time for a small bust instead of Rob and James.”
“And the operation continued?”
“Oh yeah. We were turning over a lot of money,” Springer shook his head, then winced. Mac didn’t let go of his hair. “One of the CIA’s most successful operations: coke bought guns in El Salvador, and the pipeline kept information flowing about Colombia cocaine lords.”
“Right,” Mac said. “We still got Colombia drug lords, we lost whatever we thought we were doing in El Salvador, and the CIA sold drugs in L.A.’s Black neighborhoods. Successful indeed. When did it get shut down?”
“We moved it after your bust. Too many people could have noticed something weird going on. Moved it farther into New Mexico. Then when it looked like Bush wasn’t going to get re-elected, the powers that be decided they didn’t want to explain this operation to a Democratic administration. Orders came down to close it.”
“When was that?”
“Summer 2007, there about.”
“So then what happened?”
“We closed it down.”
Mac started to break a finger, saw the confusion in Springer’s eyes, rephrased his question. “What happened to the men who were actually out at the warehouse that day?”
“They found other jobs, I guess,” Springer said evasively. “Like I did.”
Mac impassively bent Springer’s index finger of his left hand until it popped. Springer screamed. “What happened to the men?” Mac repeated, his voice level. “Robert Hilliard?”
“Hilliard and James Jackson were CIA all the way. They were re-assigned to some other project before you were even back at base that day.”
Mac nodded. “And Allen Clayton?”
“He was CIA, too, but his contacts in Mexico were too good to reassign him. He bought it one day when he was in Mexico.”
“You kill him?”
Springer shook his head in denial. “No way. Doubt I could. He was hard-core CIA. I’m just a town clown with a bit of education the DEA picked up.”
Mac nodded. “And Joey Hightower. You one of the burglars that shot him up? He wasn’t CIA.”
“Joey. Joey was a sheriff’s deputy full of enthusiasm, but he grew up here, knew the area, knew the people. He kept us informed. He didn’t even know what we were doing out there. Wide-eyed innocent.”
“Then what was he doing out at the warehouse when we busted it?”
“He got wind of the DEA’s operation with you Marines. He hiked in to warn us. Got there maybe a half-hour before you guys did. We figured we could take you.”
“You were wrong. So why did Hightower get killed?”
“He was disillusioned. Couldn’t cope with it. Started drinking, talking too much. I tried to get him to shut up. I liked the kid, you know? We all liked the kid.” Springer fell silent.
“And so in the 2007 cleanup a hit was ordered?”
“Yeah.”
“Who ordered the hit?”
Springer shook his head.
“Who did the hit? You and who else? Clayton?”
“Clayton wouldn’t do it. Said it was wrong.”
“That why he bought it in Mexico?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to know. But I figure, who else would tip off banditos? Hell, Clayton knew that area better than anyone, even the Mexicans living there. He had to have been set up.”
“So Clayton refused. That left you to pull the trigger on the kid you liked.”
“I didn’t kill him! Okay, I was there, but I didn’t pull the trigger.”
“Who did?” Mac was remorseless.
Springer shook his head. Mac reached for the middle finger, started bending it slowly. Springer winced, then blurted out, “Parker, he shot him.”
Mac let go of Springer’s finger, sat back on his haunches and looked at him. “You expect me to believe that?” he said softly. “Parker did his own dirty work?”
Springer closed his eyes, sighed, opened them again. “You have to realize, what it was like. There was no money left. We’d shut everything down. No personnel. Parker was out of power. He came back, the bastard would, but at that point, he had nothing. And here’s this kid mouthing off in every bar in town. Naming names for God’s sake. Joey was innocent, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d done a bit of research, had some names. Too young to do anything but talk. Trying to work up the courage, I guess. Or hoping someone would follow up on his words. I don’t know.”
“So you and Parker go out to do a hit.”
“He didn’t tell me that. We were just going to be there when Joey got home, reason with him. Scare him good, you know?”
“Didn’t go down like that.”
“Hell, no. Joey got physical; Parker pulled a gun and shot him. First bullet went wild, hit his wife, grazed the kid in her arms.” Springer paused, went on, “Parker set up a big trust fund of his own money for the wife and kid later. Got me the job with the district attorney. Even attended Joey’s funeral.”
Mac regarded the man. Springer had forgotten the recorder. He was talking now because it felt better to say it. Nothing like a lot of pain to get someone’s attention focused.
“What else?”
Springer looked confused.
“What else has Parker asked you to do over the years since then?”
“Small things. Keep an eye on that file, let him know if anyone asked for it. Maxim did, then you. Some errands here and there, not related to this. Information mainly.”
“He tell you to watch for me?”
“Yeah. Said to take you out if you showed up.”
“That why you came out here?”
“Bad decision, huh? Figured I could take you with your own gun.”
Mac nodded. That’s why he hadn’t brought one along. He turned off the recorder, put it back in his pocket. He helped Springer up. Once up, he could hobble along with a bit of help.
“I’ll dump you off at the emergency room,” Mac said, opening the car door for him. “Amazing how brazen these muggers are these days.”
Springer gingerly got into the car and leaned his head against the seat back. “And don’t mention your name, I suppose.”
Mac slid in behind the wheel. “Depends on who you want to hear this recording,” he said, driving out of the parking lot.
“What do you mean?”
“Right now, I don’t need to use your name,” Mac said. “I can write this story without naming you. I’d suggest you get some bandages and take a vacation with no forwarding address for a week or so, but then you can come back here and get on with your life.”
Springer snorted. “And Parker? He isn’t going to be looking for me? He’ll know.”
“You got a stash, right?”
Springer half shrugged. “Yeah.”
“Enjoy it in Mexico, or wherever. Watch the newspapers for a week. You’ll know when it’s time to come home.”
“And Parker?”
Mac shook his head. “Parker won’t be a problem soon.”
Springer just closed his eyes. “If you say so.”
“But Springer?” Mac waited until Springer looked at him. “I wouldn’t call Parker if I were you and confess. He’s not likely to take kindly to this. Surprised he didn’t kill you years ago.”
“I couldn’t incriminate him without incriminating myself. Texas is pretty hard on murder during the commission of another felony. You get death row for that. I figured Parker would weasel out of it, and I’d be left holding the bag. He made sure I knew that would happen. And I made myself useful.”
Springer opened one eye to look at Mac. “Can I ask you something?”
Mac shrugged. “I guess.”
“Did you feel anything out there? Beating me up?”
Mac’s mouth twisted. “No.”
Springer nodded. “Parker is like that. One cold-hearted son of a bitch.”
“So everyone says.” Mac saw a hospital sign, exited from the freeway, pulled up in front of the emergency room. He got out, helped Springer out of the car, handed him his keys. Springer pocketed them automatically.
“This sounds stupid,” Springer said. “But, good luck. I hope you get the SOB.”
Mac laughed. “Takes one cold SOB to get another?”
“Something like that,” Springer admitted. “I’m no bleeding heart,” he said, “but it makes me break out in a cold sweat to even think about taking Parker on.”
Mac walked him into the emergency room, got the attention of a nurse, and while she was fussing over Springer, walked through the building to the front entrance, flagged a waiting taxi. He got in, gave the name of his hotel.
Mac felt his pocket with the recorder in it. Holy shit, he thought. I wonder how many others Parker has blackmailed into delivering favors. The Rolodex was going to be very interesting.
The rental car was parked in front of the hotel, Mac was glad to see. It meant Kristy had gotten her tasks done and was safely back in the room.
She’d remembered to safety chain the door, and she checked through the peephole before letting him in.
“How did it go?” he asked, shrugging out of his jacket.
“I didn’t get much out of Joey’s widow,” Kristy said. “She said it was a long time ago and she’d moved on. Joey’s son has two sisters, now. She’s got a new life.”
“Yeah, one Parker helped fund,” Mac said.
“Like the check he gave me.”
Mac nodded. “Did you get the tickets?”
Kristy laughed. “Yes, although the travel agent was a bit flustered when I paid in cash. Flight out of here at 3 p.m. one hour lay-over in Dallas, direct to National from there. And I got some clothes. D.C. is a bit dressier than jeans and T-shirt.”
Mac smiled. She looked at him warily. “Did you talk to Springer?”
“Oh yeah we talked.” He pulled the recorder out, played it for her.
“Do you really think Parker killed Joey Hightower himself?”
Mac nodded slowly. “I can believe it. This isn’t proof, alone, ‘cause Springer obviously could be lying. But it’s a start.”
“You beat it out of him,” she observed.
“Yeah. That bother you?”
She half-shrugged. “Lots of things bother me. But it’s a different world since they kidnapped me. Some things don’t bother me as much as they would have before.”
“Some women friends have said I scare them.”
Kristy frowned. “You have a lot of rage,” she said slowly. “It just sits there under the surface, waiting. And then it bursts out.”
Mac shrugged, looked away from her. “The anger is always there,” he admitted. “But...,” he hesitated, not sure what he wanted to say.
She reached over, touched his face. “I’m not afraid of it,” she said simply. “I’m not afraid of you at all.”
He met her eyes, searching them. She didn’t look away. “I thought you said you were afraid all the time,” he said gruffly.
She chuckled. “It’d be scary to have that anger directed at me,” she said. “But I think you control who you focus on. So far, you’ve focused on my enemies. I like that just fine.”
Mac laughed. She hugged him. “I’m hungry,” she announced.
“Fine. And then I have to download Shorty’s file.” He explained his theory that Parker’s Rolodex was going to have others like Springer in there. “I figure he has all kinds of connections from benevolent to out and out blackmail. We’ll just have to figure out which ones are which.”
“How many people?” Kristy asked as they left the room with their things.
Mac shrugged, grinned at her. “Oh, a thousand or so calls to make,” he said. “Hey, there’ll be three of us, what’s the problem? We’ve got all weekend.”