Hector seemed pleased to be hearing the tone of Garza’s voice.
“Tell me, how did you know I was troubled by this Bracco family?”
“Word gets around, El Carnicero.”
“Of course,” Garza said. “However, I’ve known you a long time, Hector. How come this is the first time you come to visit me with information?” Garza withdrew a folding clip knife from his pocket and extended it to its full length of eight inches.
Hector remained still, his eyes darting back and forth between the knife and Garza. “I was at a party last night out in the desert. There was a lot of tequila flowing. A lot of liquid bravery. People trying to be macho. There was a man who said you had killed some FBI agents. He said you were going to kill some more. The man mentioned the name Bracco.”
“And who was this man?” Garza asked, wiping his knife on his pant leg.
“His name was Philippe.”
“Philippe? Philippe who?”
“I didn’t get his last name. We exchanged first names only.”
On a small table next to Hector sat a bowl of fruit. Garza took an apple from the bowl, tossed it in the air and caught it like a baseball. He took his serrated knife and carved a slice of the apple and placed it in his mouth. Hector’s forehead glistened with moisture.
“So only first names?”
“Yes.”
Garza glanced at Victor who stood between Hector and the door. Victor shrugged, seemingly unsure what to think.
Garza sliced a piece of apple, jabbed it with the point of the knife, then extended his arm to offer Hector the slice. The apple was just inches from Hector’s face and he reached for the slice as if reaching for a rattlesnake’s fangs.
Garza snapped back the knife with a quick pull as Hector grabbed the slice.
“Thank you,” Hector said, cautiously taking a bite of the apple slice.
Garza looked out the window overlooking his wilting flowers. A soldier absently stepped on one of his geraniums. Garza opened the window and screamed, “Puta! Watch where you are walking.”
The soldier searched his path and found the damaged flower. He cowered, mumbling apologies.
Garza returned his attention to his visitor who was taking everything in with anxious eyes.
“Hector, is there something else?”
Hector looked at his hands on his lap. “The Zutons are honing in on my piracy business,” Hector explained. “I used to make five hundred dollars a week, but now I’m forced to pay fifty percent of my profit to them. Some weeks they don’t believe my sales figures and I actually lose money.”
Garza stared.
“It’s getting crazy out there,” Hector said. “I say the wrong thing and I could turn up dead. I was wondering if you were needing some. . uh. . help?”
“You want to be on my payroll?”
“Mr. Garza, you are a very powerful man. It would be a comfort to know I was under your umbrella.”
Garza considered the request. Hector was fairly unreliable and mostly paranoid. For him to be sitting here was either an act of desperation or sheer stupidity.
Garza wiped a hand over his face. “Okay, Hector, let me consider your situation.”
Hector sat there for a moment seemingly uncertain what to do. From behind him, Victor slipped a steel wire around his neck and pulled it taut. Hector grabbed franticly at the wire, his eyes shocked open, his legs pushing upward, getting to his feet to alleviate the pressure. But Victor was too strong. The wire dug into Hector’s skin with such force, a red line appeared where the wire was imbedded into his neck. Hector only fought and kicked for a few seconds before the lack of oxygen had him unconscious.
Hector’s head dropped forward, then his entire body slipped to the floor. Victor kept up the pressure until Garza said, “Enough, he is dead.”
Victor let go of the wire, then checked for a pulse. He looked up at Garza and shook his head.
“Good.” Garza pointed to a couple of towels sitting on the counter. “Now, clean it up quick. I don’t want a big mess in here.”
Chapter 15
Nick took the elevator to the basement of the Homeland Security Office and made his way to the detention cells. He tapped the bandage on his ear to make sure it was still in place while passing the three cells to his right, full of Mexican nationals who would be deported sometime soon. The very last cell on the left was reserved for individuals who required special attention, or the necessity to remain separated from the current detainees.
A Homeland Security agent stood guard outside the cell and opened the door when Nick approached. Sitting alone on a cot was Greg Chapin. The man was hunched over, elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands together. When he spotted Nick, he jumped to his feet with an eager expression.
Nick sat on the cot and motioned Chapin to sit next to him.
Chapin sat. He looked at the burn marks on the side of Nick’s face. “What happened?” he asked.
Nick felt his bandage, knowing he and Matt were fortunate to leave the scene with just scrapes. He looked over at the agent who stared at him anxiously.
“She’s dead,” Nick said.
Chapin’s reaction was delayed, as if the words needed to absorb into his bloodstream before they took effect. He stood and ambled toward the closed cell bars. He grasped a couple of bars and fell into them, his head pressed against the cold steel, his breathing labored.
Nick pulled a legal-sized sheet of paper from his back pocket and smoothed out the creases. He waited as Chapin struggled to gain his composure. The agent let go of the bars and wiped his eyes. He turned to see Nick holding the sheet of paper.
“What’s that?” Chapin asked with a husky voice.
Nick held up the paper. “This is your only chance to keep the rest of your family safe.”
Chapin seemed to understand. “WITSEC?”
Nick nodded.
Chapin seemed surprised. “You would offer it to me?”
“Only if you want to be part of the solution.”
“But, he’ll get to me,” Chapin’s eyes were pleading for hope. “Even in Witness Protection, he’ll get to me.”
“Not if we get to him first.”
“But how? It’s not like he gave me any information. We had a one-way relationship. I gave him info and he kept my daughter alive.”
Nick wanted to ask how that worked out for him, but he had to corral Chapin’s attention and get him to focus.
“You’re still a law enforcement official with investigative skills,” Nick reminded him. “He must have said something, anything which gave you insight to who was on his team here in the States. You have your suspicions.”
Chapin must have known his daughter wouldn’t survive. He seemed to be on the road to acceptance as he paced around the tight quarters in his cell, head down, mulling over something to himself.
“Don’t be selfish,” Nick said. “Think of your wife and son. They deserve to be protected.”
Nick didn’t want to push too hard, but he needed help and this was his best opportunity.
Chapin seemed lost.
“Listen,” Nick said, “every minute you waste beating yourself up over the past, you’re putting Kevin and Linda at risk.”
Chapin wheeled with surprise on his face. Nick held up the paperwork to show how he’d known their names. The Border Patrol agent was tormented and dropped down on the cot next to Nick, the burden appearing too heavy for him. He gazed out the cell bars with a distant stare.
“I did hear something once,” Chapin murmured. “One of Garza’s men uttered a name when I was relaying intel to him. The man said, ‘Just like Sandoval.’ I don’t know who or what Sandoval is, but Garza wasn’t pleased at the slip.”
Nick waited for any other insights from the beaten man, but after a few minutes Chapin placed his hands over his eyes and began to sob. Nick got up and motioned the guard to open the cell door. Once the door was shut behind him, he looked back at Chapin and wondered how many more Chapins were out there. Garza’s tentacles had reached over the border and into the heart of Arizona’s law enforcement. Nick would have to be smart about his moves. He was going to do everything he could to prevent Matt from getting in his SUV and storming Garza’s complex with a gun in each hand.