chapter forty-six

---

Just before dawn, Adams arrived at the hospital and handed a bag full of clothes to Lily.

“You’re a little smaller than my wife,” he said, “but at least it will give you something until you get home.”

After Lily thanked him, Adams looked at Jack and said, “So? Are you ready to go for a ride?”

“I feel good. Let’s do it.”

After promising Lily he would be back to pick her up before noon, Jack left with Adams.

On their way to the airport, Adams said, “Slater never returned to our side of the border yesterday.”

“I’m not surprised. I don’t think the cartel would have taken too kindly to him saying I was his cousin and he has known me all his life.”

“Maybe we could send a request over to Detective Sanchez to investigate his disappearance,” chuckled Adams.

Jack smiled. “I’m sure Sanchez knows the right people.”

Minutes later, Jack and Adams taxied onto the runway in a U.S. Customs plane. By first light, they were flying along the border within easy sight of the radio tower on the Mexican side.

“You owe me a beer for making me hang and bake on that son of a bitch,” said Adams.

“I’m surprised you could climb it with all the guns you carry.”

It didn’t take long before Jack spotted Casa Blanca. There were no vehicles visible in the yard or on the surrounding hills.

The plane circled over three potential houses on the American side of the border. Two of the houses had vehicles in the yard. The third house didn’t.

Jack and Adams looked at each other and silently nodded in agreement.

The plane was taxiing back up to the private hangar when Adams received word that entry teams were preparing to hit the houses on each side of the border simultaneously. Each team also had a representative from the opposite country.

“We’ve been invited to watch,” said Adams. “You’re the guest of honour. They want you there to give the signal for the teams to go in.”

“Uh, thanks for the honour, but tell them not to wait for me,” said Jack. “The places will be empty.” Well … except for maybe two bodies at Casa Blanca …

“They know, but it will take them that long to get the warrant. They’ll wait for you, regardless. Everyone thinks you’re a hero. Go out and act like one. You’re in my country, it’s the American thing to do.”

“Will I be expected to shoot a gun off or something?”

“Hell, yeah! Did you bring your camera? Maybe we could even stage a car chase.”

“Had enough of that yesterday.”

Their one-hour drive out to the American side of the tunnel was strangely quiet. Both men knew it would be the last day they would work together and each dealt with the sadness quietly.

When they arrived, Jack was taken inside the back of a SWAT command-post truck where he was handed the police microphone and given the nod. Jack grinned at Adams as he squeezed the button and said, “Teams ready?”

“Team one ready,” drawled a voice in response.

“Team two are ready,” came a second voice.

“Go, go, go!” yelled Jack.

The initial results on the American side were as expected. The house had been cleaned out, but a tunnel entrance was located under a kitchen counter like the one in Casa Blanca.

Casa Blanca itself was a different story and the SWAT commander relayed the information as he received it over his headset.

“They’ve got six bodies over there,” said the commander.

“Six?” replied Jack.

“Five in the kitchen were lined up against a wall and taken out with one or more automatic weapons. Another body is in a back bedroom.”

“Have they identified them?” asked Adams.

The commander nodded and said, “Just getting to that. Of the five in the kitchen, three were known members of the Guajardo cartel. Sanchez … who they say was a cop, Eduardo Cortez, and a guy they call Berto. The other two are unidentified.”

“There were two mercenaries hired to work as security,” replied Jack. “Berto told me they were from South America, but I never got their names. Bet it’s them.”

“You gotta be kidding,” exclaimed the commander into his microphone. He looked at Adams and Jack and said, “The body in the bedroom is another cartel member by the name of Pietro Franco who goes by the nickname of El Pero. He was found half naked and someone literally put a round up his ass. No powder burns so it must have been real up close and personal.”

“Yeah, Jack said someone was shot in a bedroom,” replied Adams, while staring at Jack. “I just didn’t hear the part about it was up his ass.”

“Hang on, there’s another one,” continued the commander. “They found a seventh body at the bottom of the ladder in the tunnel. They say it looks like someone chewed the guy’s nose off and threw him headfirst down the shaft. Probably has a broken neck.”

“Let me guess,” said Adams. “Was it Alphonse Franco? More commonly known as Big Al?”

“Yup. How did you know?”

“Just a lucky guess,” replied Adams, looking at Jack.

“Hang on, someone else has something,” said the commander.

As they waited a moment, Adams leaned over and whispered in Jack’s ear. “Hope you used dental floss after.”

Jack looked surprised at the comment, then a look of concern came over his face, and he shook his head in denial.

“Okay,” said the commander. “Doesn’t look like we can give you guys a tour of the tunnel. The bastards have it booby-trapped with plastic. We’ll probably blow it up ourselves rather than risk anyone’s life by trying to dismantle it.”

Both Jack and Adams voiced their agreement and stepped out of the command vehicle.

“Looks like the Guajardo cartel didn’t appreciate some of their guys letting you escape yesterday,” said Adams.

“Looks that way.”

“You want to hang around and see them blow the tunnel?”

“Not really. I’m hoping to catch an afternoon flight.”

“I’m still supposed to take you back to the office. The bosses want to shake your hand and congratulate you before you go.”

“Politics.”

“You got it.”

Adams unlocked the Camaro and seconds later, they started the one-hour trip back to El Paso.

“Guess you’ll be glad to get home,” noted Adams.

“You wouldn’t believe how bad,” said Jack sombrely. “I want to go home and give my wife and kid the biggest hug I ever have. I didn’t have time to get into all the details with you yesterday, but after Big Al handcuffed me to a pipe, he had El Pero give me a shot with a cattle prod while asking me some personal questions.”

“Like the names of the guys you work with? Their home addresses, names of their relatives … and your wife and kid’s names?”

“Exactly,” said Jack in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Those are some of the same questions they asked my last partner when they grabbed and tortured him. I told you about him. He ended up quitting because of it.”

“You told me he was tortured. I didn’t know they were going after his family.”

“Yeah, well … they were.”

“That’s … that’s … I mean, you can’t let them get away with that!” said Jack vehemently. “Once that starts happening we’ve all lost. No cop will do their job.”

“Tell that to our friend across the border.”

“Okay. Very few cops will do their job. But you must know what I mean? You’re a street cop. Front line. Not some desk jockey who doesn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand alright. Believe me, I understand,” said Adams.

Jack looked at Adams’s face. Earlier he had thought his friend was simply tired. But there was more to it. His face was haggard and dark sacks of skin hung from eyes which were now twitching. Something more than lack of sleep was troubling him and Jack could see he was trying to decide whether to tell him something.

Jack remained silent, not wanting to press him. If he wants to tell me something, he will. If not, that’s his choice …

And then Adams talked. The words started to spill out of him, picking up speed as he went. “Remember when we had coffee at your hotel the morning after you went to the whore house with Big Al? When I told you I was in deep shit?”

“Yes, but you said you didn’t want to talk about it because we needed to focus on what we were doing.”

Adams took a deep breath and let out a long sigh and said, “Well, I’ll tell you about it now. You know Rafael Guajardo heads the cartel?”

“Yes … and below him are the Carrillo Fuentes brothers.”

“Right, but below them comes three lower bosses, who also happen to be brothers. One of them, a guy by the name of Chico, took part in my partner’s kidnapping.”

Something about the tone of Adams’s voice gave Jack an indication about where the conversation was going.

Jack suddenly understood something. Something that floated in the back of his mind from the first day he met Adams.

This car … Adams is the junior guy, but he always gets the best car …

“I grabbed Chico outside a bar in El Paso and —”

“Man, this is a great car!” exclaimed Jack. “Stereo, air conditioning —”

“I’m trying to tell you something,” said Adams, looking hurt that Jack would interrupt him when he was talking about something so serious.

Jack gestured to his mouth with his fingers and pointed at the air vents on the dash.

Adams frowned and continued, “So I grabbed him and took him about fifty miles out into the desert and —”

“I always wondered why you got the nice car,” said Jack loudly.

“Jack,” pleaded Adams, “I’m trying to —”

“Remember when I commented on it? I know where I come from the bosses scoop the best cars, but you always end up with this one. Wow,” added Jack sarcastically, “you sure are a lucky guy. The bosses must think you’re pretty special.”

Adams stared at Jack as his mind processed the conversation.

Jack made the gesture again of putting his fingers to his lips, as though he was pulling the words out and tossing them into the air vents on the dash.

A look of absolute shock came over Adams’ face when he realized what Jack was telling him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Jack, “but I have to take a leak. Mind pulling over?”

Adams looked dumbfounded, but nodded and mumbled, “Me, too,” as he pulled over to the side of the highway.

Once Jack and Adams took a short stroll away from the car, Jack said, “The problem with being a good cop is learning to live with your conscience … especially doing our type of work. You’re always questioning whether or not you’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, I agree with you there,” mumbled Adams, still looking dazed.

“Maybe that’s what differentiates a good cop from a bad one. Sometimes we make mistakes and have to learn to live with what we did. That’s the problem with being human.”

“What are you really trying to tell me?” asked Adams.

“Well, to start with, I’m telling you I think you are a hell of a good cop. I’m really going to miss working with you.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Adams, glancing back at the car, wondering if Jack’s fear was simply paranoia.

“You and me think … and act much alike,” continued Jack. “Our job is also filled with secrets. Some secrets if known could get someone killed … or sent to jail. I have done things I felt were morally right, but a court of law would not agree.”

“Like yesterday?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“That pisses me off.”

“What does?” Jack asked.

“Okay, I know five of the bodies they found in Casa Blanca were knocked off by the cartel because they fucked up. Probably means good news for you, because they took the retribution out on them.”

“I’m happy with that. So what’s your point?”

“My point is I thought you and I were friends,” said Adams.

“I think we are.”

“Friends trust each other … but you obviously don’t trust me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You didn’t see the look we both gave you yesterday in the car when you said some guy killed El Pero?”

“No … guess I was busy consoling Lily,” said Jack, frowning.

“There is no goddamned way any of the cartel guys at Casa Blanca, with the exception of Big Al, would have ever picked a fight with El Pero.”

“We spoke about that last night. Maybe it was someone else’s relative.”

“Bullshit. El Pero was too high up. Even Big Al wouldn’t give him shit in front of the guys. So for you to say somebody argued with El Pero about whose turn it was to rape Lily is absolute crap. Then to say the guy went in and shot him after is ludicrous. At first I was thinking you didn’t want Lily to know … and that makes sense. I presume she didn’t see you or had her eyes closed or something?”

“Do your bosses think its bullshit?” asked Jack, avoiding Adams’s question.

“They’re desk jockeys. They don’t know squat. That’s not the point. Let me finish. Now I learn Big Al was found at the bottom of the shaft with a broken neck and his nose bitten off … there is no fucking way his guys would do that.”

“You sound pissed off about it.”

“Yeah, I’m pissed off!” said Adams. “Not over him being dead. I’m pissed off at you. With everything we have been through, I thought you would trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

“Listen … I’d trust you with my life … but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you something you don’t need to know just to try and ease my conscience. Sure, sometimes I would like to confide in someone. Maybe get their assurance that whatever I did was the right thing.”

“So why don’t you? I was about to do that with you.”

“And look what might have happened. Does it really matter if someone else agrees or not?” said Jack. “You have your own conscience and have to live with what you did. Confiding in someone might give you temporary relief, but it’s the rest of your life you have to deal with. In the long run, having told someone else will give you one more thing to worry about. It is also a burden for the person you told. Keep in mind what Al Capone once said: ‘Two can keep a secret if one is dead.’”

Adams looked up at the sky, then sighed and looked around at the landscape, avoiding Jack’s intense stare as he thought about what had been said. He then focused his gaze on the Camaro and his face darkened. Without warning, he scooped up a rock and threw it as hard as he could and swore as the rock bounced off the car fender.

“Feel better?” asked Jack.

“No, I should have shot it,” replied Adams.

“It would be the American thing to do.”

Adams stared hard at Jack a moment, then grinned. “Don’t give me that shit. If you had a gun you would probably put a slug up the muffler and then chew off the radiator hose and push it over a cliff.”

Jack smiled in response and said, “We each have our own style.”

Adams put his hand on Jack’s shoulder and said, “Guess I’m not pissed at you. What you say makes sense. I think I’m pissed off at the world we live in. Don’t know who the good guys are anymore.”

“In my books, I’m talking to one of the good guys,” replied Jack.

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Let me give you a hug … or are you afraid that will ruin your two-gun-packing macho image?”

“Only if you keep your underwear on and promise not to tell anyone. Otherwise I’ll be forced to shoot ya.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” replied Jack.

Adams followed Jack into the main office and saw the open door into Davidson’s office. Inside, District Attorney White was standing and talking to Davidson, who was sitting behind his desk.

What’s he doing here again? Am I being arrested?

Then Adams saw Weber and the other two bosses were also in the office talking. By the looks on their faces, he knew they were angry.

Jack also saw them and as he approached, Davidson spotted him and gestured at him with his hand. The others turned and looked at Jack and their faces displayed a combination of anger and pure hatred. As Jack neared, Weber stepped forward and slammed the door in his face.

Jack shrugged and returned to where Adams stood.“I suddenly feel like I’m persona non grata right now. Gee, I wonder why?”

Adams didn’t reply, but stared at the closed door with his mouth gaped open. Seconds later, his body trembled as he gazed around the office. Up until this moment, he still had some doubts that his car had been bugged. He didn’t want to believe he was really considered a bad guy. Now he had no doubt.

As he looked at his colleagues sitting at their desks, he felt like he was in no man’s land, with enemies on both sides. Family was the only thing he had left and all he wanted to do was go home and hug his wife.

“I thought I felt alone before,” mumbled Adams, “but it was nothing compared to how I feel now. Are you done? I want to get the hell away from these guys.”

“I’m done.”

As they were heading for the door, three men were sitting in the general office talking in hushed tones to each other. One looked up at them and said, “Hang on a sec.” He gave a furtive glance toward Davidson’s office, before rushing into Weber’s empty office, only to return a moment later and hand Jack a desk ornament. It was a small U.S. Customs and Immigration flag attached to a small plastic pole and stand.

“The guys … me …” the man started to say to Jack, but glanced at Adams and mumbled apologetically, “We didn’t know, uh, until a few minutes ago that they,” he nodded toward Davidson’s office and continued, “uh, that they were doing what they were doing.” He looked at Jack. “We wanted to give you something,” he added solemnly, before turning on his heel and returning to the others.

When Jack and Adams stepped outside, Jack waved the flag in front of Adams’s face and said, “Looks to me like you might not be alone as much as you think.”