“All right then. So help me help you. Tell me what you’ve got. If we can arrest him—”
Tucker interrupted. “There is nowe.”
“Hell there’s not. That little shit cut me. He could’ve hurt me a lot worse. If we find him, I can bring him in and slap a felony assault charge on him.”
“Bad idea.Badidea,” Tucker repeated with emphasis. “El Paso’s arrest would shake, rattle, and roll Malone. We should just as well post on social media that we’re surveilling him.Malone would tip Oz to it. Both would go underground and the agency would be screwed. And how would Bowie feel about your butting into a federal case?”
“He knows. I told him about El Paso myself yesterday morning.” He took a breath. “Back to what I was saying. If I can get El Paso in custody, I’ll scare the bejesus out of him. It may take a while to grind him down, but if I hammer him hard enough, he’ll eventually break.
“And maybe, just maybe, when he’s saying he’s sorry and crying for his mama, he’ll give me something on Malone that’s substantial enough to turn over to a prosecutor who’s got the balls to run it through the express lane of jurisprudence.”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Underneath all the attitude, he’s a snot-nosed kid.”
“He’s a member of the Caballeros.”
That knocked the wind out of Mitch. He didn’t need it explained to him who the Caballeros were, or what it said about the young man who was a member. They were merciless. Feral.
Tucker gave Mitch a few seconds to absorb the shock before continuing. “He’s going by the name of David Rodriguez, but the cartel set up a false identity for him in case Malone checked him out before welcoming him into Oz’s fold.”
“What’s his real name?”
“To you, that’s irrelevant.”
Mitch let that snide remark pass. “The Caballeros sent him here to infiltrate Oz’s operation.”
“Yes. Because, under pain of death, one of Oz’s dealers in Juarez told them that Oz planned to steal a shitload of their product from a warehouse somewhere out in the desert. It was to be trucked here to New Orleans, then shipped up the MightyMississipp’ to St. Louis, where a customer is eagerly awaiting to buy it from Oz. At an inflated price, of course.”
By now, Mitch had set his coffee mug on the floor beside the chair and was sitting with his elbows on his knees, head lowered, his fingers dug deep into his hair. “Was the theft successful?”
Silence.
“The warehouse in the desert had to have been heavily guarded. Body count?”
Silence.
“Is the product on its way?”
Silence.
“Is it already in New Orleans? Will El Paso—”
“El Paso, the snot-nosed kid?” Tucker chuffed, interrupting Mitch’s chain of questions. “Be glad you’ve still got your guts. Before being accepted into the Caballeros, the kid had to earn his spurs. He’s credited with a dozen kills that we know of. He was never indicted, but his first suspected victim was his own mama, whom he killed for fucking a member of a rival cartel.
“We think his most recent victim, besides you, was Oz’s turncoat dealer in Juarez who tipped the Caballeros to the planned theft. He was found lying on his bed, bound and spread-eagled, sliced open from scrotum to Adam’s apple.”
He stopped there and, after a moment, said, “The point is, Homeless Man, this isn’t just a punk with an attitude who can be ground down. He sure as hell won’t be crying for his mama. He won’t break. He can’t be broken. Not by anybody, not byyou.”
Following Tucker’s abrupt disconnect, Mitch sat on the porch until it began to rain. The cloud cover was low and bulging with precipitation yet to fall. The dismal weather seemed befitting.
He retrieved his coffee mug and went indoors. Dylan was in the kitchen, pouring herself a coffee. He joined her, held up his mug, and she poured him a refill. He gave her a soft kiss before saying, “I didn’t know you were up.”
“I heard you talking.”
“Sorry. I tried to keep my voice down.”
“Nothing bad about Hank, I hope.”
