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Mercado
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It was hard for a man Mercado's size to stay out of sight. But he could when he needed to. He traveled back roads and stayed in out-of-the-way places where he could lay low.
Victoria Clark's drowning was all over the news. The media reported it as a tragic accident. She had been drinking heavily and fell overboard. An accidental drowning. But Mercado understood that was the story the cops fed them to spit out to the public.
He had received a call from a cousin in Boston. They ran in a gang together as teens. Mercado hadn't spoken to him in years, but recognized his gravely voice right away. It was like sandpaper.
His cousin informed him that Eddie Garavito and some private investigator were on to him. Mercado wanted nothing to do with Garavito. It would be suicide to go up against him. Even for Mercado. But he wanted to know more about the PI.
“Give me the 4-1-1,” Mercado said to his cousin, Ricky. He wanted all the information Ricky had.
“The guy's name is Drew Patrick,” Ricky said. “Former FBI. Been a PI for several years.”
“Is he a real threat?” Mercado asked. He shoved a wad of chewing tobacco into his cheek.
“Yeah,” Ricky said. “He's pretty badass.”
Ricky's voice grated on Mercado's ears. He remembered why he hadn't spoken to him in so long. But he wanted the details on Drew Patrick.
“What else can you tell me?” Mercado said.
“I ain't no frickin' encyclopedia. I've already told you too much. If Garavito finds out, he'll kill me. Literally, kill me.”
“I'll kill you if you don't tell me what I want to know.”
Ricky chuckled. “Funny, bro.”
“Do you hear me laughing,” Mercado snapped. “What else do you know?”
Mercado could hear Ricky swallow on the other end of the phone.
“Okay,” Ricky said, “but swear on your mother's grave you won't ever let anyone know I told you.”
Mercado spit the chewing tobacco on the ground. “Don't bring my mother into this,” he said. “I'll twist your head off.”
“Sorry. I didn't mean to–”
“Just tell me what you know,” Mercado said.
Ricky told Mercado that Drew Patrick was smart and tough. As big and strong as Mercado was, Patrick would be a challenge.
“What does he know about my recent jobs?” Mercado said.
“He knows you killed the girls in Maine and Quincy,” Ricky said. “I heard Eddie saying he also thinks you tossed that girl off the boat in LA.”
“Can he prove any of it?” Mercado said.
“I don't know.” He paused a beat. “Probably not.”
“Then why do I need to worry?”
“Because,” Ricky said. “I told you he is smart. And he's working with the cops and feds on this. Not to mention with Eddie. You killed some of Eddie's girls. He's frickin' pissed.”
Mercado grunted. Ricky didn't know what to make of the grunt.
“From what I hear,” Ricky continued, “this Patrick guy won't give up. He'll keep on it until he gets you, or he dies trying.”
“Then he will die trying. But first I want him to suffer. He married? Have a girlfriend?”
“I don't know,” Ricky said.
“Find out,” Mercado said. “Then let me know.”
Mercado hung up. He rubbed at his ear. Damn, Ricky's voice was annoying.
He surveyed the rustic cabin in New Hampshire where he was staying. He had enough canned goods to stay at least a week. Maybe more if needed.
The burner phone Evelyn Worthington provided him buzzed. He didn't think he would hear from her again but saved the phone just in case. She paid well and he didn't want to miss out any more jobs from her.
“Yeah,” he said when he answered.
“I have another job for you in Boston,” she said.
“Good,” he replied. “Because I have other business there.”