27

Knuckles wasn’t too concerned about the company to his left and right, but he did mind the smell. And the filth. He watched the clique of human waste around him lay about and wondered just what it was that led someone to this. At what stage of life did you decide to congregate on a street corner and do nothing but stare at one another? They looked for all the world like a pack of dogs trying to escape the heat. Some passed a joint back and forth; others simply leaned against a wall, coveting the shade. Most were barefoot, with a crust of filth coating the soles of their feet.

The majority were under twenty-five and would probably escape the pack once they’d experienced whatever lesson they were searching for. Others would remain forever. One fifty-something began juggling balls in the air like he’d found the reason for his existence, making Knuckles feel like he was in a zoo experiment. Into his earpiece, he said, “Pike, you are going to pay for this.”

He heard, “Pay for what? You’re the only one who looks like a hippie. You blend right in.”

Knuckles glanced at Veep, sitting cross-legged two feet away, seeing a smile. Off the radio, he said, “You’ve got a bill coming due as well for thinking of this idea.”

“Not if it pays off. Which it will.”

The team had few threads to begin the search, but they weren’t starting from scratch. While they had no name, address, or electronic tether, they did have a dark selfie of the target and a batch of emails detailing a couple of locations where he intended to generate more drug revenues, all signed with the letter F. They’d flown to Granada right after getting the sanction from Kurt Hale, and then spent a day and a half conducting reconnaissance, eventually locating this congregation of Woodstock wannabes.

The email threads indicated that the target intended to use groups like this to make inroads into the marijuana market, so while the rest of the team conducted reconnaissance of other locations, Knuckles and Veep were stuck playing vagabond hipster.

On the surface, Granada looked like any other cosmopolitan city in Spain, but it was unique in two respects: One, it had the largest university in the country, spread out over five campuses in the city; and two, it had been the capital for the Muslim Moorish kingdom called the Emirate of Granada—the name Granada actually coming from the Arab rulers rather than the Spaniards—and a last vestige of that kingdom still existed.

At the base of the Sierra Nevada, on the banks of the Darro River, stood the castle of Alhambra, a giant walled citadel that had once been the royal palace of the Moorish sultans, and then the emperors of Spain after the Moors were pushed off the Iberian Peninsula in the fifteenth century.

Those two unique anomalies—the university and the citadel—led to Granada being a logical choice for expansion of the marijuana trade, as the city was bustling with a transitory population of students and tourists. While Knuckles was positive none in his little pack of loafers was a tourist, some of them might be students.

Just across the Darro River, in the shadow of the Alhambra, Knuckles watched the juggler continue with his tennis balls, a small hat in front of him for passersby to toss him coins. Knuckles wondered if he was truly delusional.

Veep finally leaned over and said, “I don’t think they sit here all night. Take a look at what most of them have with them. Bongos, guitars, and other props.”

Knuckles saw he was right. “You think this is just a gathering spot before breaking out to various street corners?”

“Yeah. With a few groupies thrown in.”

“Well, that’s good news. I don’t want to spend any more time here than necessary.”

Initially, Knuckles had fought the insertion, saying he was on the university thread and someone else could pretend to be a new-age hippie. Nobody had listened, with Jennifer putting in the final, crushing blow.

“If I had to grind on you in the Cayman Islands to get inside, the least you can do is dress a little ragged.”

Knuckles said, “That was about the mission. This is not.” But nobody was listening. Veep said, “I think it’ll be a little cool,” and everyone had laughed. Everyone but Knuckles, that is.

Knuckles had been picked because he had a bohemian vibe already. While he was a tall man with a CrossFit-looking body, he had a mane of black hair that he refused to cut, in defiance of the military. Pike made fun of it relentlessly, saying it bordered on Fabio territory, and now that small fact had been the deciding point of who would infiltrate.

Veep was the second choice simply because he could blend in to the crowd of students. Young enough, his face would lead the way, the team hoping the hipsters would ignore the fact that he, too, was a little burlier than the average skinny drug addict. Knuckles and Veep had found a secondhand store and had dressed the part, getting input from the peanut gallery the whole way, with Veep scrupulously selecting what he thought they’d need to blend in, and Jennifer forcing Knuckles to tie his long hair into a man bun.

Knuckles was disgusted, but when they’d eventually wandered into the group of shiftless malcontents, they’d been accepted without question. While they appeared a little more scrubbed than the average person in the group, nobody looked askance at them, and a couple had actual come over to talk, one with a guitar. Initially, the fact that they were Americans generated some interest, but eventually that wore off and they’d been left alone, sitting by themselves on the outskirts of the pack.

Veep said, “Maybe I should just flat out ask someone if they have any weed for sale.”

Knuckles said, “No. Not on first cycle. We’ll let this break up, and if we have to come back, maybe tomorrow night.” He quit talking as two females came across from the other side, leaving behind the guitar player who had spoken to them earlier. Both were clothed in flowing skirts that went to their ankles. One was wearing cheap rubber flip-flops, with a nose ring; the other was barefoot, her hair tucked under a loose knit cap.

Veep turned around, following Knuckles’s gaze. Nose ring asked, “You are American?”

“Yep. I am.”

She pointed at Knuckles and said, “You too?”

“Yes. I’m going out on a limb—by your accent: You’re French?”

She smiled in a vacant way and said, “Yes. We’re here for a week. Do you know Frank McDermott? He’s American.”

Veep hid a grin, and Knuckles wondered if she’d fried her brain cells forever. He said, “Well, no. Not offhand. Should I?”

She looked disappointed in the answer. She said, “Do you have any hashish you want to sell?”

Veep took the opening. “Actually, we were looking for some ourselves, but we just got here.”

“So you don’t know Frank.” She said it as a statement, as though Knuckles’s answer had finally settled in the fog of her brain. She glanced at Veep and said, “He’s the one with the hashish. Do you know if he’s coming tonight?”

Veep glanced at Knuckles, letting a smile leak out. They knew their target was American and that he had the initial F. Knuckles made the same connection. He said, “I’m not sure, but I’d like to meet him. How often does he come?”

“Usually every night, but he hasn’t been by for a couple of days. It’s aggravating. I mean, don’t sell yourself as some great conduit, bragging about what you can do, and then leave me high and dry. Especially after I’ve fucked you.”

Veep was a little stunned at the openness. Knuckles said, “Maybe we could help. Where does he live? Maybe we could talk to him.”

The girl said, “I have no idea. He said he’d keep coming by here. It’s why we’re all waiting.”

Veep started to reply when the barefoot woman glanced behind him and breathlessly said, “There he is!”

Knuckles turned around and saw their target striding into the plaza with a backpack, the two girls running to him. He made a quick call. “Pike, Pike, this is Knuckles. Jackpot. I say again, jackpot. Peel off what you’re doing.”

Jennifer came back, saying, “You sure? We’re staking out the university site, and the folks here say he’s going to show up.”

“Well, he might be showing up there later, but I’ve got him here right now.”

Pike came on, saying, “You got the Dragontooth?”

“Of course. Veep’s ready. Get Retro working.”

“Roger all. Let me know when it’s emplaced.”

Unlike everyone else in the confab, Frank McDermott was dressed in a pair of simple jeans, Converse sneakers, and a short-sleeve button-up shirt. His hair was cropped close, and his ears were not adorned with gauges or other piercings. With the exception of a full-sleeve tattoo on his left arm, he looked like a tourist.

Knuckles let him enter the ring of people, content to simply watch, not wanting to be remembered. The women immediately fell on him, and Knuckles heard, “Yeah, yeah, I got some stuff, calm down.”

The ring-nose woman whispered a thing or two and, surprisingly, pointed at Knuckles.

McDermott walked over and said, “She tells me you’re an American.”

Shit.

Knuckles took on a deadpan expression and said, “Yeah, I am. What of it?”

“What part?”

“Here and there. Why the questions?”

McDermott nodded, sizing Knuckles up. “Not very friendly, are you?”

Knuckles said, “You got anything I can buy? Like right now?”

“Maybe. Depends on what it’s worth to you. I might want something more than money.”

Knuckles locked eyes with Veep, then returned to Frank. He said, “What’s that mean?”

Veep sidled up to the target’s left side, then brushed the outside pocket of the knapsack on his back. Frank turned, pushing Veep back, saying, “Get the fuck away from me.”

Knuckles grabbed McDermott’s arm, saying, “He’s with me. He’s okay.”

McDermott jerked his arm away, looked between them, then said, “I don’t have time for this. Either you two jerk-offs want my product, or you don’t.” He flicked his head at the girls and said, “I know they do.”

The Dragontooth beacon emplaced, Knuckles decided to get the drug dealer on the move, a little aggravated that he had been singled out. “You mean you want me to let you fuck me? Because that’s apparently the price these girls paid.”

He stood up, towering over the drug dealer. McDermottt staggered back, having never encountered hostility in the ranks of the hipsters. He said, “You just lost whatever I have to sell.”

Knuckles said, “Fine by me. You’re about to lose a lot more.”

McDermott took one look at the venom in Knuckles’s face and retreated, running back the way he’d come. The two women began berating Knuckles, demanding to know why he’d attacked Frank. He nudged one back, saying, “He started it.”

The juggler saw the exchange and stood up, saying, “Hey, man, we don’t need this shit here.”

Knuckles said, “Sorry. We’re leaving.”

Veep tensed, sensing the shift in mood, and the guitar player backed up the juggler, saying, “You fucking Americans always screw up everything.”

The nose-ring woman tried to slap Knuckles, but he grabbed her hand before it landed. She jerked it away, incensed, shouting, “You don’t understand what we’re about. Get out of here.”

Knuckles saw the juggler looking at him with satisfaction. The man slid forward, crowded him, backed up by four other greasers. Dropping his tennis balls, as if that was a threat, he said, “You don’t belong here.”

Knuckles said, “You got that right,” and punched him straight in the face. The juggler dropped to the pavement, mewling and holding his nose. The men around him were shocked, amazed that someone would actually use violence, even as they insinuated it. In their world, the violence never really happened.

Knuckles glared at them, but they made no move. Knuckles flicked his head to the square, and Veep started walking. Knuckles waited a beat, then followed him. When they were safely out of fighting range, the crowd began hurling invectives, but nobody made any attempt to give chase.

Moving fast across the plaza, Veep said, “I can’t believe you just did that. We’re supposed to remain covert.” But he looked at Knuckles with a little bit of admiration.

Knuckles glanced at the crowd behind them and said, “Yeah, that was probably wrong, but sometimes wrong is better than right. Bunch of assholes.”

Veep said, “What are we going to tell Pike? He’ll kill us for this.”

Knuckles laughed and said, “You have a thing or two to learn yet.”

Veep didn’t look convinced.

Knuckles said, “Pike would have punched that jerk a hell of a lot sooner than me. Don’t worry about it. You’re still on the payroll.”

Knuckles clicked his radio and said, “Pike, Pike, Dragontooth is placed and he’s on the move. Track him.”