Her cell phone rang.
Mary glanced at the caller’s number. It was one she didn’t recognize.
Mary answered and a highly synthesized voice told her to take the suitcase out of the car.
“Yes sir,” Mary said.
She got out, popped the trunk, lifted out the suitcase and set it on the ground.
A black Chevy Impala with tinted windows and black wheel rims pulled in next to her.
Two men got out.
One was a short, fat, swarthy man in dress slacks and a black T-shirt with prison tats covering every exposed inch of skin, including his neck and half of his face. His hands had been in his pockets when he got out of the car.
The other was Derek Jarvis.
He smiled at Mary.
“I know you’ve got my money,” he said. He shook his head. “I know all of Veronica’s moves. Even hiring that other bitch. So stupid.”
The fat man now took his right hand out of his pocket and along with it came an automatic. An ugly little thing, probably a.38 or maybe even a.22.
“So I think I have it figured out,” Mary said. “Buslipp and Trey Williams must have found out who Nina really was. “
“Apparently she liked to talk during sex.” Jarvis said. “I’m pissed I never got the chance to find out for myself.”
“She probably would’ve just said, ‘that’s not it! That’s not it! That’s not it!’” Mary said. “But seriously, she told one of those two idiots, and they decided they could make more money blackmailing the Baxters than trying to get her a film career.”
Jarvis nodded knowingly.
“It didn’t help that Buslipp’s heroin habit was out of control, and he was in deep debt to these guys,” he said, jerking a thumb at the fat man next to him. “Ever met a member of MS-13 before?”
Mary knew of the legendary gang — if you lived in Los Angeles, you certainly knew.
“I think I met one before,” she said, thinking of the ambush at Lonzo Vega’s address. “Have to say they don’t take kindly meeting new people.”
“Enough talk,” Jarvis said. “Show me the money.”
Mary didn’t move.
“So you tracked down Buslipp and Williams, and rather than busting them, you took over the operation?”
“I can’t stand unprofessionalism,” Jarvis said. “That’s why I immediately disliked you.”
“You took care of Williams at Styx. What about Buslipp?”
Jarvis smiled. “Oh, he’s around.”
“And the ambush at the house?”
“Hey, once you went to Sol Landscaping, we knew you might track down Lonzo, so we put a guy at the house just in case you showed up. Sure enough, you did.”
The rest of it fell into place for Mary.
“So the guy at the landscaping place I chased — ”
“Nina’s biological father?” Jarvis said. “Absolutely. I tell you, Veronica really slummed around back then, didn’t she?”
It was a wild guess, but Mary took it anyway.
“Except for you, right? You hit on her, I bet, and she turned you down. You just bided your time, right?”
For once, the smug smile on Jarvis’ face was gone, replaced with gritty rage.
“Those two assholes deserve each other. She’s a bitch and he’s a moron. Fuck both of them,” Jarvis said.
Behind them, an explosion sounded from the artillery range. Jarvis didn’t flinch, but the fat one did.
It was all Mary needed. She drew her.45 and shot the fat one center mass.
Jarvis had his pistol out of his shoulder rig, but Mary was faster and pumped two rounds straight into his heart. Double tap.
He looked at her, his bright-blue eyes wide with surprise. Mary approached the Impala, her gun still at the ready.
There was a shape in the backseat behind the privacy glass. Mary held the.45 ready, squatted down, and pulled open the door.
She glanced up and saw a man whose wrists and ankles were tied, and whose face had been worked over so badly it looked like one giant blood splatter.
Still, Mary recognized what was left.
“Well, if it isn’t Vince Buslipp,” she said.
The body groaned.
“How’s your day going so far?” Mary said.
43
Forty-three
She put him in her passenger seat and got the hell out of Dodge.
It was likely that homeowners in the general area of the military range wouldn’t be calling the cops at the sound of a few gunshots. Still, there was no point in taking chances.
“I need to go to a hospital,” Buslipp said through his mangled lips.
“That’s for sure,” Mary said. “Your face looks like someone puked up a few cans of Spam.”
“Are you taking me to an emergency room?” he said.
“Fuck no, you worthless piece of shit,” she said. “I’m taking you out into the desert where I’m going to shoot you and bury you.”
Buslipp’s lopsided head lolled forward.
“Please,” he said.
Mary thought back to the first time she met him — what an arrogant prick he’d been at ExtReam Productions.
“Look, asshole,” she said. “I know that you know where Nina Ramirez is.”
“Awwww,” Buslipp groaned.
Mary drove with one hand. With the other, she put the muzzle of her gun against Buslipp’s temple.
“Where. Is. She.”
”I. . we. . sold her,” Buslipp said.
“To who?”
“They did. The MS-13 guys.”
“So you were never going to give Nina back to her mother?”
“I wanted to, but they said they could make more money selling her to. .”
“To who?” Mary said. She pressed the gun even harder into Buslipp’s face.
“Some horrible people,” Buslipp said.
“Unlike you?”
“I think they’re doing it tonight, out in the desert. Sometime tonight,” he said. “They wanted to wait until the money was in hand, just in case.”
“What are they doing tonight?” Mary said.
Buslipp groaned.
“They’re filming,” he said.
“What are they filming?” Mary said, expecting porn to be the answer.
“Her murder,” Buslipp said.
44
Forty-four
The Salton Sea is the largest lake in California, and it is a disaster. Originally created by the flooding of the Colorado River, it has seen various attempts at rehabilitation over the past one hundred years, at least.
All to no avail.
It is a huge body of water that has a higher salt content than the Pacific Ocean. Most of the fish are dead, and the birds are worried.
Mary drove through the desert, circling the lake, following Buslipp’s directions and trying to restrain herself from putting a bullet through his head and feeding him to the coyotes.
“I didn’t know,” Buslipp said.
“Fuck you,” Mary said. “You knew goddamn well who you were selling her to. You are a filthy, sick bastard.”
He had told her they were probably making the snuff film at a place the illegal pornographers used for their illegal productions. If you wanted to make kiddie porn, film violence, and maybe even shoot a snuff film every year or so, this was the place you went.
The little porn complex was a series of aluminum farm buildings and trailers that represented the only signs of human habitation in the area.