“I will,” she said. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”
Passengers had started to line up out on the platform, the queue already stretching into the lobby. Michelle took her place at the end.
She glanced around, as normally as she could-just a tourist, taking in the sights-to see if she could spot any obvious tails. She couldn’t, but then, Carlene had wanted to be spotted, back in Houston. There were so many people here. Any one of them might be following her. Or no one was. She couldn’t know, one way or the other.
A few minutes later, she heard the warning bells that signaled an approaching train. Funny, because the train was already here, waiting across a set of tracks. The line started moving.
Now she was out on the platform and could see the gate that had lowered to protect passengers crossing the trolley tracks to reach their train. A trolley waited on the other side of the barrier, its doors open, passengers getting in and out.
Michelle stepped out of the line, walking quickly up the platform toward the trolley. She kept walking till she reached a gap between buildings at the end of the depot and turned right, passing trolley customers heading to the tracks. She turned right again, doubling back toward the front of the station. The back half of Santa Fe Depot had been turned into a contemporary art museum; she glimpsed vaguely sculptural shapes inside through the glassed-in archways, on the exterior wall, a black sign with scrolling red diode letters spelling be all that you can be.
Up ahead, at the back of the train station proper, two taxis waited at the curb.
The taxi stand was there, like her research said it would be. “Just don’t expect to always find taxis waiting,” a guy on TripAdvisor had said. If there hadn’t been, she’d planned to walk to the closest big hotel.
Who knew if her feint to Los Angeles would work? But it was worth a try.
She approached the first cab. “Can you take me to San Ysidro, to the border?”
He nodded, and she climbed in.
She could see the city changing as they headed south, from the harbor with the tall ships, the shiny highrises and condos of downtown, to a more industrial area: shipyards, a Navy base, car lots; then small, faded stucco houses, graffitied cinderblock walls, a weed-choked wetland, outlet stores. There was less money here.
Twenty-five minutes, and she was at the border.
The trolley station was a giant McDonald’s: a cream and brick red stucco building that looked like it might have been a small warehouse once, or a garment factory, a long building with two low stories. There were three brick-red cement ellipses in descending order, like an upside-down series of steps, at the top of the building. McDonald’s Trolley Station was spelled out in square white plastic letters on the uppermost, largest step, next to a small pair of golden arches, just to clarify this was actually a McDonald’s, maybe. The building also had signs for check-cashing and money-changing in English and Spanish, and something called “Saldos Gigantes: Ropa, Cosméticos, Miscelánea.”
She’d gotten there early. It wasn’t even 8:45. Maybe a cup of coffee, she thought. McDonald’s coffee wasn’t bad.
She went inside.
The McDonald’s took up most of the back wall on the first floor. Above it was a Shoes for Less with a small neon sign that said Abierto. A few other small glassed-in stalls filled the remainder of the space. The middle was dedicated to seating for the McDonalds: Plastic-benched booths and tables divided by low orange walls topped with Plexiglas panels. The place was about three-quarters full, the languages she heard a mix of Spanish and English: tourists on their way to Tijuana, residents from both sides of the border. Michelle got her coffee and sat down at an empty table, facing the entrance, Danny’s ruck on the bench by her side.
About ten minutes later, Gary walked in, wearing his Humboldt Crabs baseball hat.
There was no point in running. Where would she go?
She waited as he crossed the room, pulled out the chair across from her and sat.
“Pretty good try at evasion there, Michelle.” He smiled, that phony grin she hated. “I’m sorry you and I never got a chance to work on that together.” He gestured at her cup. “Coffee?”
She nodded.
“Why don’t you go get me a cup? Black.”
Of course he wouldn’t get his own. Easier for him to watch her this way.
She returned with his cup of coffee. She thought about throwing it in his face and trying to run. She wouldn’t get away, but it would be satisfying, for a moment or two.
Instead she put the coffee in front of him and sat back down.
He sipped. Leaned back in his chair. “Do you know how much you piss me off, Michelle? I can’t think of many people who piss me off more.” He wagged a finger at her. “Believe it or not, I’ve got a pretty good track record with these kinds of ops. And this was gonna be so sweet.”
Her stomach twisted, thinking of what he’d wanted to do.
“Thanks for the heads-up about Carlene,” she said.
“Well, now, you turned off your phone. If you’d kept your phone on like you’re supposed to, I would’ve been able to let you know what the plan was.”
“Right,” she said.
“Be fair. If I’d told you, would you’ve gone along with it?”
“Of course not,” she snapped.
Gary sighed. “I told Carlene if you were in the frame, she’d better watch herself. She’s a great little killer. But she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.”
“She was going to kill me too?”
“Only if she had to. She was gonna trank you if you were around and being a problem. Having a second victim in that scenario… that would’ve been problematic.”
“What about Troy?”
“He was going to kill himself. You know, in a fit of remorse. That’s what the gun was for.”
Gary took a sip of his coffee. “I always figured you for a practical woman, Michelle. Once it was done, you’d rather’ve lived, right?”
He leaned forward, with an expression that appeared earnest, for Gary. “And I did want you to live. I’ve always liked you, Michelle. If Caitlin hadn’t done her one-eighty, I would’ve been just fine with you babysitting her, like I said. I mean, it seems to me you’ve done her a world of good. What do the Jews call that? A mitzvah?”
It was always going to come down to this, she thought. Me, running out of options. Gary, pulling the strings.
“Just tell me,” she said. “What are you going to do?”
Gary stretched out his legs, draped his arm awkwardly around the curved back of the metal chair. “Well, you know, it’s not just me you’ve pissed off. There’s some folks who are really upset with the way this whole thing’s turned out. They’re looking at losing a lot of money. Nobody likes that.”
She thought she knew Gary pretty well. She knew his capacity for violence, and she knew that he could turn on a dime. But for all that he claimed to be angry right now, he didn’t actually seem to be.
“I’m sure Safer America was a nice little racket for you. But what if Caitlin hadn’t changed direction? Those propositions are still leading in the polls here. Say Safer America poured millions of dollars into this election, and they won anyway. Then what?”
“Yeah.” Gary heaved a massive sigh. “Sometimes you can’t hold back the tide. Just between you and me, I think that’s what we’re looking at here. With legal weed there’s getting to be too much money on the other side of the equation. Oh well.”
He straightened up. “But you know what, there’s plenty of other ways to fill those prison beds. Can’t pay your debts? Go to jail and work them off. Cheap labor! That’s how we make America competitive again.” A snort.
“God,” Michelle muttered.
“And country,” Gary said, lifting up his coffee cup. “Oh, hell, Michelle, would you just relax? Look, you and Danny can go off and do whatever you’re gonna do. I’m not going to stop you.”