Rick walked to the Delta office and rested his elbows on the counter since the place was empty. A pile of bags sat outside next to the carousel and in the office, so he was content to wait, not wanting to check every tag himself.
This section was the airport’s newest addition, and from where he stood he could see the new customs office. A group of Hispanic men loitered outside the solid door, and the shortest one in the bunch piqued his interest. Rick thought he’d seen him before but couldn’t place where or with whom. He moved closer to the glass wall for a better look at the guy with the ponytail. The men stood in a circle talking and laughing at something one of them had said, but none of them were facing out.
One other guy sat on the other side, and Rick could see his legs and his black dress shoes, but not his face. He moved closer to the door, trying to get a better angle to see the guy and hoping that whoever it was would trigger the memory of where he knew the long-haired man from.
When he moved to the open door, the short guy turned in Rick’s direction and, from his facial expression, Rick guessed he’d recognized him right off. The guy said something, the others looked too, and then Rick could see the man seated. Anthony Curtis locked eyes with him, and Rick fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. Lou’s number rang twice before the men reached him, pulled his arm down, and pressed a gun into his back.
The action made Rick remember where he’d seen the little guy with the long thick hair. He was one of the men standing outside the Steak Knife the night Juan Luis went there with Nunzio Luca and his uncle.
“What you doing here, hotshot?” the men behind him asked him in a heavy accent. Rick took a slight step forward when the gun was jammed harder into his back. “I asked you a question.”
The door behind them started to open, but before the airline employee made it in, the men hauled Rick toward the bathroom close to the escalators. Anthony watched the whole time but didn’t move.
One of the four guys checked the stalls, while another one stood at the door to prevent anyone from coming in. The guy Rick had recognized was screwing a silencer to his gun and the sight of it drove his pulse up, but he showed no outward emotion. They were probably just going to scare him a little after luckily finding him alone.
“How you know we here, cowboy?” the little guy asked as he pressed his gun to Rick’s forehead, having to hold it at an odd angle to reach.
“I’m picking up a bag, asshole, and I don’t really give a shit why you’re here.”
The last guy kicked him behind the right knee, making him lose his balance and fall to his knees. “You don’t got no backup, cowboy, so be good.”
“You need plenty of backup, don’t you, little shit?” The last word had barely left his mouth when his head exploded.
“What in the fuck was that, Jesus?” Oscar, who’d been standing behind Rick, jumped back and reverted to Spanish. The back of Rick’s head sprayed him from head to waist, and he wiped his face and visibly shivered as his fingers found solid particles that couldn’t be blood. “This is going to bring the kind of heat Juan is paying us to avoid.”
“Shut up and let me think and keep everybody out.” Jesus Vega took his gun apart and paced by Rick’s body. He couldn’t go back to Rodolfo after this, which made him feel sick to his stomach. “Merda,” he said as he stared into Rick’s open, dead eyes. Before Juan had been sent home, Jesus had reluctantly cut a deal with him as a way to assure his place in the future. Rodolfo was more level-headed, but he wasn’t going to live forever.
“They’re starting to let people out,” the guy at the door said.
“What do we do, Jesus?” Oscar asked.
“Put him in the last stall,” Jesus ordered in Spanish. “And change clothes with him. We’ll get stopped for sure if you try to walk out like that.” He pointed to Oscar’s blood- and brain-splattered suit.
“Somebody’s going to find him eventually, and when they trace it to us we’re dead,” Oscar said.
“None of you are going to tell Juan what happened, so it’s not a problem. Get me?” Jesus glanced around the space, trying to remember if he’d touched anything. The others arranged Rick so he wouldn’t fall forward.
“And get us all killed? Don’t worry,” Oscar said as he cinched Rick’s belt as tight as it would go.
Anthony was gone when they walked out, but a crowd of people were waiting for their luggage after they’d cleared customs. The four turned toward the wall as Lou rode past them on the escalator. Jesus saw Lou glance back at them as if he’d noticed something. Lou had most probably come in because Rick wasn’t answering his cell, which they’d heard ringing and dropped in the toilet they’d sat him on.
“Did someone claim Ross Verde’s bag?” Lou asked. He snapped his phone shut in irritation when Rick’s went to voice mail again.
“I’ve got it right here.” The guy placed it on the counter.
“You didn’t see a blond kid in here?” Lou punched the redial button only to get Rick’s recorded message instantly, as if the phone was now turned off.
“Some people were leaving when I got back from my break. I called out but they went that way.” He pointed toward the men’s room.
“Fuck,” Lou said, taking off at a run. The restroom was crowded with guys who’d gotten off the Mexico City flight. He bent down and looked under the stall doors, wanting to throw up when he saw the feet adorned only with a pair of socks. That’s what was weird about the guys on the escalator. One of them had on a suit that was way too big. The guy had stripped Rick for some reason and worn his clothes.
Lou kicked the door of the stall in and yelled “No” so loud that most of the men headed for the exit. Rick was slumped on the seat, his eyes still open and a bullet hole in his forehead with a single line of blood coming from it.
“Get security,” Lou screamed at the man standing next to him staring, “now.” The command got the man moving, and Lou took advantage of being alone to make a phone call. “Cain,” he said, hearing Emma and Hannah’s voices in the background. “Rick’s dead and I need you to stay put until I can figure out what’s going on. With Katlin gone I don’t need to worry about you too.”
“How?” Cain asked.
“Somebody shot him and stripped him in the restroom. It might’ve been random, but I did see some guys who acted hinky on the way out.” Four security guards ran in and Lou stepped away from the stall. “I’ll call you later.”
Lou closed the phone but made no move to put it back in the holder on his belt. “You need to call the police,” he told the group as he held his hands slightly upward. He knew the pose would make his gun holster visible, but he thought it would be better to get the fact that he was armed out of the way. “It’s my friend.”
He made no attempt to fight when the guards came forward and pushed him to the floor face down. The force they used to pull his hands back into cuffs made Lou exhale, but he stayed quiet otherwise. At least one of his captors was calling the police, and Lou took one last look at Rick as he was escorted out. The security personnel had laid him in the spot where Rick had been killed, and Lou noticed some of his blood was smeared on the front of his shirt.
They had already compromised and contaminated the crime scene, and Lou thought he was losing valuable time dealing with such incompetence, but this wasn’t the place to flex his muscle. He didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary cuffed by the pretend-cops. He wanted to hunt down the idiots who’d done this.
As the police arrived, Lou was escorted to a windowless room close to the customs office. They sat him in a chair, leaving his cuffs on, and only one of the guards stayed with him; the others, he was sure, were going back to take another look at the men’s room.
“Don’t I get a phone call or something?” Lou asked.