‘Can you read it?’ Lock asked.
Mendez screwed up his eyes as they tracked the white piece of paper, the gun loosening in his right hand.
Heels already dug into the side of the trench, Lock pushed off as hard as he could, launching himself into the air directly above Mendez, the air rushing around him, the ground and the barrel of the gun, which was coming up fast.
Mendez’s body cushioned the landing. There was a shot, and a piercing scream as Lock’s knee came down hard on Mendez’s left ankle.
Lock knew better than to concern himself with whether he’d taken the stray round. You fought until your body stopped you. He threw a big, swooping right elbow at Mendez catching him high on the chest, just enough to send him off balance.
Mendez tried to twist his right hand around to get the angle for another shot but Lock dug the heel of his boot back into his ankle, drawing another shriek of pain. His hands grabbed at Mendez’s shirt, and he crawled up the man’s body so that they were face to face, so close that the gun was now redundant.
Lock head-butted him. It was enough to loosen the gun. He prised it from Mendez’s fingers, clambered off him and stood up.
The shouts were getting closer, the flare a busted flush, the search party no doubt pivoting round and moving back towards them, realizing they’d been punked by what was known in the trade as a come-on — the oldest but most effective trick in the book.
Lock reached down, grabbed Mendez’s hair and yanked him to his feet. Using sheer brute force, he began dragging him up the shallower side of the trench and towards the barrier. Now he could only trust that the coordinates he’d given Ty were accurate. If they weren’t, there was no way he could manhandle a fully grown man with an injury over ten feet of sheer steel on his own.
He was almost there. He let go of Mendez’s hair and instead threw a supportive arm around him. Mendez began to struggle.
Fuck it, thought Lock, as he half turned, planted his feet and unleashed a ferocious right hand to Mendez’s head. Mendez folded like an old dollar bill and began to sink to the ground. Lock picked him up, slung him over his back and staggered towards the wall of cold metal as the first live rounds slammed into the ground behind them.
Half walking, half running, he stumbled onwards, his heart sinking with every step as he saw only sheet metal. He was already contemplating a dive back towards the trench when he heard the sweetest words: ‘Yo! Over here,’ Ty shouted, all six foot four of him materializing like a phantom from the darkness, falling into a crouch and letting loose a volley of covering fire towards the advancing search party.
Looking towards him, Lock saw the access door, three feet wide and a little over six feet tall, swing open. He ran for it as Ty moved in front of him, still firing. A round pinged off the steel barrier.
Barely through the door, he crouched and dumped Mendez unceremoniously on the bare ground. Mendez sprawled on his back, legs and arms flailing in the air, like a turtle’s. Lock drew his leg back and kicked him hard in the side for good measure. ‘Welcome home, asshole.’
Seventy-six
Ty drove the vehicle in which he had arrived at the RV point, the white Ford Ranger, as Lock sat in the back with a cuffed, shackled and subdued Charlie Mendez. Ahead of them lay a mile and a half of rutted farm track, not that anyone farmed cattle so close to the border. From here they would pick up a secondary road that would lead them eventually to the freeway. By Lock’s calculations if they made it that far they would have slipped, at least temporarily, from the cartel’s grasp. A set of headlights behind them, though, and they were done.
‘I think you broke one of my ribs,’ Mendez whined.
Lock glanced at him. ‘If that’s all that’s broken you can count yourself lucky.’
‘So, what now? What are you going to do with me?’
The question prompted Lock to trade a glance with Ty. Lock took a deep breath. ‘That’s down to you. And your family.’
Ty twisted around in his seat. ‘Say what? We’re handing him over. Or have you forgot about that promise you made to the girl’s momma?’
Lock checked the surprise that registered on Mendez’s face. ‘There’s five million if we don’t versus a couple of hundred grand if we do.’
Ty didn’t seem appeased. ‘And you think we can trust this piece of shit?’
Mendez seemed to forget his bruised ribs. He bounced forward in the seat. ‘You can. I promise you.’
‘Like your word counts?’ growled Ty. ‘Naw, Ryan. Hell, naw. We know the government will pay out, but this guy? Dude could peel a banana in his pocket and we wouldn’t know about it.’
Lock eased back in the seat. ‘That’s why we’re going to see the first three million in an offshore account by midnight tonight. Isn’t that right, Charlie?’
Mendez’s cheeks filled with air and he exhaled slowly. ‘That’s a lot of money to move all at once.’
Lock smiled, thinking back to their previous conversation about how the cartel had been paying to protect him. ‘But someone in your family must know how to get it done, right?’
Ty turned round to stare at him — badder cop to Lock’s bad cop. ‘Course, we could just drop you off with the Feds.’
‘I’ll make the call,’ said Mendez.
They kept moving, at first tacking north to put more distance between them and any pursuing cartel members, then heading west.
Forty miles further along Interstate 10, they passed an Arizona State trooper parked on a crossway. His head swivelled as they passed. He pulled out, tucking in behind them for a few miles. It was no great surprise. This was a well-known drug route, and three males in the same vehicle were bound to attract attention. Ty stayed cool, keeping to the speed limit. After a few more miles the trooper grew bored and passed them, giving them a final sideways glance as he roared off into the distance.
‘Here,’ said Lock, handing Mendez his cell phone. ‘Time you spoke to Mommy.’
They drove through the rest of the day. After some tense early calls, Mendez made the final arrangements for the initial transfer of funds. The money was scheduled to move at midnight. Ty would call the bank to confirm it had been lodged.
In the meantime, exhausted, they decided to take a break. They pulled into a motel parking lot a few miles shy of Phoenix. Lock got out first, leaving Ty in the car with Mendez, who had already fallen asleep, like he had in the shack: Lock had noticed then how he slept like a baby — not a care in a world. He guessed that was what money bought you: the knowledge that, no matter how bad things got or how far you screwed over other people or destroyed their lives, it would always get you out of a corner.
Lock pushed open the door of the motel office and walked inside. The carpet stuck to his feet. There was a Coke vending machine to one side and a long desk, behind which sat a young Hispanic man wearing blue jeans and a bowling shirt.
He smiled at Lock. ‘How can I help you, sir?’
‘I’d like two rooms. Adjoining if you have them.’
The hotel clerk rose from the stool he was perched on and walked over to check an old-fashioned ledger. His fingers traced over the paper. He looked up. ‘I think we can accommodate you. Just the one night?’
‘Yeah. One night,’ said Lock. ‘What time’s check-out?’
‘Eleven o’clock on the button. Not a moment later,’ said the clerk. ‘We like our guests to be punctual when it comes to checking out.’
‘Got it,’ said Lock, reaching over to take the single key fob.
With Ty babysitting Mendez in the room, Lock headed out to grab some food and supplies. In the parking lot of a nearby Wal-Mart, he dug out his cell phone, powered it up and checked his messages. There was one from a man whose name he didn’t recognize, but who obviously worked for Miriam Mendez, saying that matters had been taken care of and the money would be transferred at the designated time. Lock smiled to himself and punched in a Santa Maria number. He got a switchboard operator and asked to be transferred to Police Chief Gabriel Zapatero. He was informed that the chief was a busy man. Lock gave his name, asked to be put through to his secretary, if the chief wasn’t available, and waited.