Bob bounded up the stairs to Maura’s office.
Esteban was worried. How much time did they have to pull this off? Would it even work? He knew that as long as the cops didn’t have Amado’s arm or Amado — figuring that a man missing an arm would be as much circumstantial evidence as an arm missing a man — they couldn’t build a case. Without either there was no way they could tie Carlo’s murder to him, it would be over. Terminara. But when he thought about it, that seemed so flojo. Better to take it one step further. Give them some kind of clue that would have them chasing their tails for months if not years. A real “¡Qué te jodas!” right in the fucking face of the federales. Let the jalapeños know who’s boss. That, he thought, would be mejor. Better than mejor, it would be la puta madre.
Suddenly Norberto turned from the front and nudged Esteban.
“Mira.”
Esteban followed Norberto’s gaze and watched as a plump gringo in a track suit climbed out of a Saab.
“El es un poco gordo como Amado.”
“Cierto.”
Norberto reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy sap. Martin started squirming.
“I don’t know, guys, maybe this is a bad idea.”
Esteban glared at Martin. He watched as the jodiendo gringo withered right in front of him.
“Creo que el niño se ha meado en los pantalones.”
Norberto laughed.
“Qué lástima.”
Martin sat up and pointed at Norberto.
“Don’t think I can’t understand what you guys are saying, because I do. Mostly.”
Esteban growled.
“Understand this. We need an arm. El Gordo has an arm. ¿Entiendes?”
Martin nodded.
Norberto and Esteban climbed out of the car.
Max Larga woke up to the gentle rocking of a car in traffic. It was dark and his head was throbbing. He didn’t remember much. He was on his way to his appointment and then he woke up in the trunk of a car. What the hell was going on? Why was he in a trunk? You don’t just dump someone in a trunk. This was not how civilized people behaved, he was sure of that. Not that he was uncomfortable, it was a spacious trunk.
Larga decided he needed to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. He began to kick the trunk lid as hard as he could. It didn’t take long before he got tired of that — it didn’t seem to be making much difference. So he felt around in the trunk for something hard. He came up with a tire iron and began to pound that against the frame, the hood, whatever made the loudest noise.
Larga felt a sense of triumph when the car finally slowed to a stop. He heard the driver’s side door open. He couldn’t wait, he was going to give them hell. You can’t just put Max Larga in the trunk of your car and not answer for it.
The trunk lid was thrown open. Larga was temporarily blinded by the light, but he could distinctly see a Mexican man with a ponytail swinging a baseball bat right at his head.
Don was annoyed. He wasn’t getting anywhere. He’d called Flores at Parker Center. There was no sign of Bob, the delivery guy, or the arm. He’d called UCLA, where Bob was scheduled to drop some tissue samples for the medical students. Nothing. Don knew something was wrong… but what?
“Tell me, does Bob take drugs?”
Morris squirmed.
“I don’t know.”
“Of course you know.”
“You can’t expect me to be a narc, man.”
“So he does do drugs. Is that what you’re saying?”
Morris clammed up.
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“I got nothing to say until my lawyer gets here.”
“But you’re not under arrest.”
That made Morris think.
“Did you do something that might lead to your arrest?”
“No.”
“Then just answer the question.”
Don watched as the kid worked it out in his brain, replaying in his mind some lawyer show that he’d seen on television, trying to remember how it ended. Don had seen this countless times in interview rooms and crime scenes. Once a crumb even asked him if he remembered a Columbo episode. As if Don was patterning his line of questions after a TV show. Don still hadn’t decided whether all these cop shows and lawyer shows had made his job easier or more difficult. People seemed to think that what he did was more glamorous, which definitely helped when he went out on a date.
“Does Bob have a drug problem?”
“Dude, I don’t think it’s a problem.”
“But he does puff the occasional joint.”
“Maybe. He likes beer. I know that.”
“So do you think he’s at a bar?”
Morris scratched his head.
“Maybe. He was pretty crabby when he came in this morning.”
“Why was that?”
“His girlfriend dumped him. Harsh.”
Don smiled. Now things were starting to make sense. They always did. Once you had enough information, everything made sense.
“That is harsh.”
“Yeah.”
“So… where do you think he might be?”
Martin sat in the back and felt a feeling of dread wash over his body. He watched as Bob, the idiot delivery guy, sat in front and pounded out a drumbeat on the dashboard.
“Hey, guys, can I ask you something?”
Esteban turned to Bob.
“Sure.”
“Can I change my name?”
“Legally?”
“No, what I mean is, would you guys call me Roberto instead of Bob?”
Esteban laughed.
“Cierto, Roberto, cierto.”
Norberto playfully whacked Bob on the head.
“Roberto!”
Bob nodded.
“Me llamo Roberto.”
Esteban laughed again.
“Already you’re speaking Spanish, Roberto. Muy bien.”
Bob broke into a huge grin, smiling like he’d just dropped a double hit of ecstasy. Martin remembered the feeling of excitement, of belonging, that he got when he first joined up with Esteban. Now he just felt sleazy, his conscience working against him, stealing his appetite, taking away his erection when he was supposed to be banging some hot chick with fake tits. Martin felt a migraine coming on. Maybe it was the fucking kidnap victim in the trunk who was battering the shit out of the lid. Like he could dig his way through reinforced German steel.
The fat guy’s clanging and thumping was a reminder to Martin. What, exactly, were they going to do with him? Tattoo him and then chop his arm off? Obviously. That was the point of the whole harebrained scheme. But then what? Dump his body in the desert? And who was going to do the chopping? Martin tried to remember if he’d been high when this stupid idea came to him. Probably.
He wished he could fire up a jumbo right now and just forget the whole thing was happening.