ONE
FROST
I'm listeningto two cartel members talk about a woman's abduction, and my hand is wrapped so tight around the glass I'm surprised it doesn't shatter.
The whiskey burns, but not nearly enough.
I should leave. Should finish this drink, pay my tab, drive back to the safe house, and sleep off three days of mandatory leave. CJ's orders were clear:Stand down. Decompress. Get your head straight before you get yourself killed.
"¿Cuándo hacemos la recogida?" When do we do the pickup?
The dive bar in Nogales is dark, loud, and exactly the kind of place where men say things they shouldn't. Jukebox drowning out thinking. Cigarette smoke thick enough to hide in. The locals at the pool table don't care about the two men who walked in fifteen minutes ago with expensive watches and concealed Glocks.
But I care.
Because I've been listening to these assholes describe this woman—American, mid-twenties—like she's inventory.
Merchandise.
And every word out of their mouths makes the dog tags under my shirt feel heavier.
"Cuando firme. Ramirez nos llamará." When she signs. Ramirez will call us.
I take another sip. Force my shoulders to stay relaxed. Keep my eyes on the amber liquid like it's the most interesting thing in the world.
This is not my problem.
This is not my mission.
I'm onleave, for fuck's sake. Mandatory psych eval pending. One more violation and CJ doesn't just suspend me—he terminates my contract and makes sure no other contractor will touch me.
"¿Cuánto tiempo?" How long?
"Tres horas, máximo." Three hours, max.
My jaw clenches. I force it to relax.
Three hours. She has three hours before they move her to a secondary location, and I know what that means. Once they transport, she's gone. Vanished into the cartel pipeline. Mexico, then further south. Six months from now, she'll be in some compound in Colombia or Venezuela, and nobody will ever find her.
If she's even still alive in six months.
The first man laughs, low and cruel."Entonces Ramirez la convencerá. De una forma u otra, ella firma esta noche." Then Ramirez will convince her. One way or another, she signs tonight.
Convince her.
My knuckles go white on the glass.
Don't think about it. Don't picture what "convince" means in cartel speak. Don't imagine some terrified woman tied to a chair while men like these?—
Sofia was tied to a chair.
The thought cuts through everything else, sharp and vicious andwrong. I shove it down, bury it under five years of not thinking about Caracas. About following the orders that killed her.
"Ramirez ha estado esperando un buen pedazo de culo americano. Finalmente lo consigue." Ramirez has been waiting for a nice piece of American ass. He finally gets it.
"Sí. Tres horas, luego ella es suya." Yes. Three hours, then she's his.
They clink beer bottles like they're celebrating.
