Nick knocked again, louder this time. Immediately the TV was shut off. A few seconds later the door opened and a man sitting in a wheelchair looked up with extreme caution.
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Don Sandoval?”
The man’s eyes darted around the courtyard, maybe for help, maybe for Nick’s backup. “Who’s asking?” the man said from the darkened room.
Nick showed the man his shield. “FBI.”
The man flipped on the porch light and examined Nick’s credentials until he seemed satisfied they were legit. He murmured something under his breath and with a click and a whir, the motorized wheelchair rolled back from the doorway.
“Come in,” he said.
Nick entered the apartment searching for light. Apparently when the TV went off so did all the light in the apartment.
The man swiveled around in the center of the room to face him. He pushed a button on his wheelchair and the interior lights illuminated the room. The man came into clear view. He was missing both of his legs and one arm. His lone arm sat on the armrest of the chair.
“What do you need?” the man said.
Nick was certain now he had the right man. “I merely have a few questions for you,” Nick said, polite, but not patronizing.
Sandoval looked as if he were asked for his tax return. He was sour-faced and appeared completely dubious of Nick’s intentions.
“What kind of questions?”
Nick took in the room. It was much more organized than one would expect for an apartment in this neighborhood. There was a picture of two smiling girls on the wall.
“Those your kids?” Nick asked.
Sandoval sneered. “What’s your business here, Mr. FBI Agent?”
“You’d written articles about drug trafficking over the Arizona border a while back. I’d like to know some of your findings.”
Sandoval took his one good hand and rubbed it across his face. His eyes became glossy.
“What brought you here?” he asked with a cracking voice.
“You spent a lot of time reporting on this issue. I could use some help tracking down an assassin who works with the cartels.”
This piqued Sandoval’s interest. He pushed a button on the arm of his chair and motored up to Nick. “Who?” he asked.
“Antonio Garza.”
Sandoval grimaced as if Nick had spiked a knife into his chest. “You think I’m going to help you get Antonio Garza?”
Nick said nothing.
“Do you?” Sandoval asked.
Nick looked around the apartment at all the family photos. A chess trophy sat on a narrow table against the wall. Next to the trophy were more photos. In one, Sandoval wore a coach’s jersey with his arm around a young girl wearing a soccer uniform. Next to that were various soccer trophies.
“Where’s your family?” Nick asked.
Sandoval followed Nick’s gaze. “They’re gone,” he said, vacantly.
Nick waited.
“The girls left with their mother six months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sandoval looked down at his truncated body and forced out a phony laugh. “Yeah, well, would you stay married to this thing?”
The man was in pain, yet he seemed on the verge of purging something from his soul. He whirled around, away from Nick, and sat with his head down. The room was stone silent. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
“What happened to you, Mr. Sandoval?”
This was too much for the man. His shoulders bobbed up and down and he began to sob. Nick had struck a nerve and he was beginning to formulate a theory. He let this go on for a minute before he walked around the man’s wheelchair and got to a knee.
“I might be able to help you,” Nick said. “Please, tell me what happened.”
“How did you find me?” Sandoval asked, tears meandering down his cheeks.
“One of my computer science techs tracked you down.”
Sandoval suddenly wheeled up to a window and pulled up one of the slats on the blinds. He looked outside searching for something.
“What are you afraid of, Mr. Sandoval?”
Sandoval raised his voice. “Who do you think, asshole?”
Nick finally put it together. “I can get him for you.”
Sandoval’s face scrunched up into a tight ball of pure agony. “Oh, really?” he said, sardonically. “And could you get my arm and legs back for me as well? And when you’re done, could you explain to my daughters why their father can’t play soccer with them or even go bowling? I mean, you said you could help me.”
Sandoval whirled away from Nick again and gazed up at a photo of his two girls. They looked to be in their early teens.
“Did you know how he got his name, El Carnicero?” Sandoval asked.
Nick said nothing.
“His father was a butcher,” Sandoval said. “Garza grew up cutting sides of beef. He could slice a full cow down to the bone inside of twenty minutes. Eventually his father wanted Garza to take over the family business, but he refused. Garza was already gaining a reputation as a rebel. He decided cutting up humans paid more than slicing up animals.
“One day his father opens the shop up early and discovers Garza cleaning up the remains of one of his victims. Garza didn’t even hesitate.”
Sandoval spun around to face Nick. “His father was never seen again.”
Nick looked down at the man. His eyes were red. His lips trembled.
All Nick could think to say was, “I’m sorry.”
Then, Sandoval’s expression changed. There was a seed of determination growing on his face. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward for so long, afraid to lose what little I’d had left.” He looked around the apartment and waved his hand. “It doesn’t seem I have anything else left to protect now, does it?”
Sandoval motored into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and Sandoval said, “Would you like a beer?”
“Sure.”
Sandoval returned with two beers between his leg stumps. He gave one to Nick, then ripped off the top of his beer with expert agility and took a long gulp. This seemed to change his behavior. He pointed his beer at a nearby couch and said, “Have a seat.”
Nick sat and took a sip of beer.
Sandoval appraised Nick with a renewed sense of curiosity. “So, you want to get Garza, huh?”
“No, you misunderstood me. I will get Garza. I just wanted to know if you could offer an insight to his drug carting business.”
Sandoval grinned for the first time. “You have no idea how screwed you are, do you?”
“Tell me.”
Sandoval took a long swig of his beer. When the can came down, his face had lost all emotion. He looked down at his torso. “When Garza did this to me, he didn’t know how much I knew. I was about to expose everything in my latest installment, but it never left my computer. To him, I was just a pest.” He raised his beer. “He said he’d leave me with one hand so I could still whack off, since that would be the only pleasure I would ever have again. He was right.”
Nick watched the journalist carefully eye his beer and put his thoughts together. When his eyes met Nick’s, he seemed to consider something.
“They’re in Canada now,” Sandoval said, pointing to a photo of his family on the wall. “My wife changed her name back to her maiden name, along with the kids. Do you think they’re safe up there?”
“You mean from Garza?”
Sandoval nodded.
“Yes,” Nick said. “He’s been under intense scrutiny over the past few weeks. We have a few of his men in custody right now. Even though they’re not speaking, he has to assume one of them will turn. Anything I learn tonight would never be tracked to you.”
This seemed to be what the man wanted to hear. He finished his beer, motored into the kitchen and returned with two new cans. Nick accepted a second one even though his first was still full.
After another dose of liquid courage, Sandoval wiped the back of his mouth with his one functioning limb. He looked at Nick conspiratorially. “I know how he does it.”