He started to leave again, but Javier couldn’t help but tug him back down a second time. “Also, you forgot this.”
“What?”
Javier leaned over and kissed him deeply, trying to memorize the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin. When he pulled away, Bowie was blushing. “You’re kind of ridiculous.”
“So I’ve been told,” Javier said, echoing Bowie’s words from earlier.
Javier watched until Bowie was in the building, texting to make sure he was safe inside before pulling from the curb and hitting a number on his phone.
“Hola?”
“Hola tío, ¿cómo estás?” Javier asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“What’s wrong?” histíoasked in English.
He knew Javier well enough to know he wasn’t calling unless he needed something. Not after he’d sworn he was out of the business for good. “I need a favor.”
“Anything for family,” his uncle promised.
Javier knew there was a caveat to the statement, even though it went unspoken. It wouldn’t come for free. “Can you get me out of LA and back into Mexico. Off the books?”
Histioscoffed. “You know I can.”
“Tonight?”
There was a long pause. “That’s going to take some phone calls.”
“But it can be done?” Javier pressed.
Histiosighed. “I’ll get it handled. If you’re going off grid, lose this phone. Text me from your burner. You know the code word.”
Histioended the call without a goodbye. Javier asked Siri to call Lawson. It went straight to voicemail. “Hey, man. I need to head out of town for a bit. Family emergency. Take care of the plants. Also, can you fill in Pam and Cy? Thanks.”
He powered his phone off, chucking it into the trash can when he stopped to put gas in his car. He bought a new one at the corner store, sending histiothe code word. He shot back instructions saying a man would meet him at the bus station at ten thirty.
Back in his apartment, Javier packed a bag with only what he needed before opening his closet and smacking the lower back corner, popping out a piece of the drywall. In the space behind the wall, Javier pulled out ten thousand dollars in cash, his fake passport, a kevlar vest, and two guns. Having an uncle who was a gun runner did have its perks.
The gun was clean, nothing to lead back to him or anybody else for that matter; no serial number, no proof of purchase. A gift from his uncle, an FN P90 TR. It was a gorgeous weapon, but it was what was inside that was the real present, specialized rounds carried almost exclusively by military and law enforcement. It was compact, .22 caliber bullets, but it shot at such a high velocity that they tore through almost anything. Like bulletproof glass.
Once it was dark, Javier pulled on the kevlar vest and changed into all black, hiding the vest beneath a zip-front sweatshirt. As he boarded the bus, he pulled the hood up to hide his face, keeping his head down and his headphones in until he picked a random stop and disembarked.
From there, he stole a nondescript silver Honda Civic, swapping the plates with a Kia Soul, before pulling out the burner phone and dialing a number.
“You got Webster.”
“Hey, I need a favor,” Javier said.
“Hello to you, too,” Nicky retorted. Nicky was Cy’s husband, the one who’d helped Javier track down Bowie in the first place.
“I said hey,” Javier reminded before adding, “I need you to track his phone.”
“His…?”
“Yeah,his,” Javier said, emphasizing the last word.
“Do I even want to know?” Nicky asked.
“No, you don’t. So, don’t ask. I also need you to make it like this phone call never happened.”
