"It is not good for strangers to come here looking for someone. Especially American strangers. We do not like Americans here."
Riley saw the barely perceptible signal go from the big man to the other, yet he didn't react to it. They grabbed his arms and bent him backward over the bar. The knife Riley had anticipated was there at his throat.
"Stand still, gringo, or my friend's hand may slip."
The big man released his hold and quickly patted Riley down. Finding no weapons, he pulled Riley's wallet out of his pocket. He flipped through the contents.
"Gonzalo, heh? Who you work for, Gonzalo?"
"I'm a cabdriver in New York. My wife and I are down here looking for a baby to adopt. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."
The big man looked at Riley quizzically and then at the wallet. The contents bore out Riley's story. The man struggled to read the English on Riley's taxi union card. This wasn't what he'd been told to expect. The American didn't act like any of the DEA or other American agents who ran around the city.
The big man signaled his partner to put the knife away, then stepped back, pondering the situation. His instructions had been to hurt the American. Kill him if he put up a fight. He hadn't been told to think or make a decision. "You are stupid. You have a very good story but I know you work for the DEA."
"I don't work for the DEA. I'm here on my own. What about Maria? I was told she might be able to get me in contact with someone who could help us." Riley looked at the man beseechingly. "You understand, my friend. It is my wife. She is unable to have children and she wants to have a child so badly."
The big man shook his head. "There is nothing Maria can do for you. Who gave you her name?"
"An American marine who used to be stationed at the embassy told my brother, who is also in the marines."
The big man laughed. "You tell a good story. I am going to feel sorry to hurt such a good storyteller. Maybe we cut out your tongue so you not tell any more stories."
The big man turned to his partner. "Do you want to take care of him or should I? Ah, he is too small for me. He's yours."
The knife man smiled. "Thanks." He reached back under his shirt to retrieve his knife.
Riley's crescent kick caught the man on the side of the head before the knife had even cleared the shirt. He dropped with a loud thump onto a table and rolled to the floor, unconscious. The big man was still in the process of reaching for his gun when Riley's side kick caught him in the ribs. Riley heard the crack as two of the man's ribs splintered under his steel-edged boots.
Riley stepped up and watched as the big man painfully straightened and tried for his gun again. He snapped a front kick into the man's crotch, and as it doubled him over, caught the man's face on its downward motion with his opposite knee. A satisfying splat told him he'd broken the man's nose.
Riley rolled the big man onto his back and pulled the gun from under his sweatshirt. A Colt Python revolver. Riley tucked the gun under his own shirt. Then he placed his boot on the big man's neck. He spoke in Spanish. "If you carry a gun you should put it someplace where you can get to it more quickly. That's free advice. You should also learn to be more friendly. I am going to ask you some questions and I want answers. It will make everything much nicer for all involved if you answer with the truth."
"Fuck you!" The big man spat. Blood was seeping from his nose, covering his face.
Riley removed his foot from the man's neck and jabbed it straight into his side, nudging the broken ribs. The man groaned and rolled, trying to protect himself.
Riley glanced at the door. Even if the kid didn't check in, he knew he was running out of time. He went over to the unconscious sicario and removed the knife from under the man's shirt. It was a Randall hunting knife with an eight-inch blade. Only one cutting edge but honed razor sharp.
The big man was making an attempt to get to his feet. Riley stomped the inside of his boot onto the outside of the man's knee. He screamed as the cartilage gave way and crumpled onto the floor.
"I need to find Maria." Riley held the knife to the man's throat.
"Fuck you!" The big man tried spitting at him.
Rather limited vocabulary, Riley thought. He also knew the kid outside had undoubtedly heard the yell. He just hoped the boy would assume it was the American doing the screaming as the sicarios worked him over.
Riley pressed the knife harder into the big man's throat, drawing blood. "I need to find Maria. I'll kill you if you don't tell me where she is."
"Fuck you, gringo. I know you won't kill me. You're one of those motherfucking drug enforcement scum. You'd better catch a flight for home before I kill you."
Big words for a bleeding man, Riley thought. Playtime's over. Riley turned and strode across to the unconscious man. He placed the knife under the man's jaw, pointing up. "Hey!" he called to the big man. Waiting until the sicario had focused on him, Riley put the weight of his body on the handle and shoved the blade up through the unconscious man's jaw into his brain. The body twitched violently for a second and then was still.
The big man's eyes bulged. "You're crazy, you fucker!"
Riley pulled the knife back out and wiped it clean on the dead man's shirt. He cut the dead man's belt and relieved the body of the knife scabbard. The pungent odor of the corpse's released bowels filled the cafe.
Riley stepped back in front of the big man. He stomped down, breaking the man's right hand. The sicario backed himself into a corner and put his arms up, right hand dangling, to defend himself.
"Maria!" Riley hissed. He pulled out the gun and pointed it.
The big man was frantic in his attempt to talk. "I don't know where she is. I swear!"
Riley tried another tack. "What about the DEA man, Stevens?"
"I don't know. I swear on my mother!"
"Too bad. Sucks being shot by your own gun. Kind of adds embarrassment to the whole thing. Besides being dead, of course." Riley cocked the pistol.
"Try the warehouse!"
Riley uncocked the gun. "What warehouse?"
"About two maybe three kilometers out of the city on the north mountain road — route 46. It says International Coffee Shipping and Receiving on the outside. It's a big brown building. You cannot miss it. It's off to the right, about a hundred meters from the road."
Riley put the gun in his waistband and the sicario breathed a deep sigh of relief. Riley reached down and grabbed the top of the big man's head with one hand, placing his other forearm under the man's neck and tilting the head so he could look into his eyes. "One last question, my friend, and then I go. Do you know anything about the American soldier who was captured?"
The man rolled his eyes, obviously confused. "American soldier? I know nothing of that. Please, I have told you everything."
Riley nodded. He rotated his forearm upward from the elbow, levering the big man's jaw while keeping a tight grip with his other hand on the top of the man's head. The man's eyes showed a moment of panic before the crack of his neck caused them to lose their focus.
Riley stood up to leave. To his surprise he found he was trembling.
Riley slid the key into the lock and swung the door open. Westland looked up from the bed where she was reading one of the local papers. "What's the matter? You don't look so good."
Riley shut the door and went over to the armchair, sinking down into its comfort. He drew the Colt Python out from under his shirt and tossed it on the bed. "You keep that."
Westland picked up the revolver and checked the load. "Am I going to need it?"
Riley shrugged. "Might. Might not. It's started."
"What's started?"
"The fun and games. I ran into two of Ring Man's thugs. They're the ones who donated the gun and this knife," he said, pulling up his shirt to show the scabbard.