Brodie said, “Not a bad guy for a pimp.” He motioned to the hole. “Ladies first.”
Taylor drew her Glock and crawled through the hole in the wall. “Clear.”
Brodie followed and emerged into a dead-quiet street. Across the street was a row of dilapidated single-story buildings faced with crumbling stucco. There were steel bars on every window, and coils of razor wire snaked along the edges of Spanish tile roofs.
Brodie pulled out his cell phone and dialed Luis as Taylor scanned the street with her Glock at her side.
Luis answered after half a ring.
“We’re ready to go,” said Brodie.
“You are okay?”
“We’re great. How about you?”
“Yes, but I can see the men with guns—”
“We’re on the opposite side of the tower from the entrance.” He hung up and said to Taylor, “You want to go to Petare?”
She hesitated, then replied, “I think we should scope it out in the daylight first.”
“Mercer could be there right now, in his favorite brothel, playing skip-rope with a twelve-year-old.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Beyond disgusting.”
She thought a moment. “Why’s he here, Brodie?”
“Don’t know.”
“Sex tourist?”
“Bangkok is better and safer.”
She glanced at him but didn’t respond to that. “He could have just been passing through.”
“Simpson said he looked like he ran the place.”
She nodded.
“Let’s go to Petare. If we get lucky and see him, we’ll shove a gun in his ribs, march him out, and stuff him hog-tied in Luis’ trunk.”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll call Worley, who will arrange our transportation out of here.”
“Where would we keep Mercer while we’re waiting?”
“In Luis’ trunk.”
“I think we need a better plan.”
“Right. Okay, how about a drink at the hotel?”
“That’s what I need.”
Luis’ Dart turned a corner and crawled down the street toward them, with only his parking lights on. He pulled up to them and they jumped in. Luis turned on his headlights and sped off. He kept looking at Brodie in the passenger seat as if he was surprised to see him alive. “Hotel. Yes?”
