CHAPTER 67

ON SOTO'S PINKY, A FIFTEEN-CARAT DIAMOND WINKED IN competition with the diamond Rolex Presidential on his wrist. His hair, thin and matted flat with grease, showed the band from the cowboy hat that rested on the arm of his bulky leather chair. The only thing that had changed in the five years since Jose had last seen the Cougar was the plastic oxygen mask fixed to his face. He nodded at Jose, removing the mask and placing it atop the valve of the tank resting beside him on a little cart. An empty chair sat facing Soto. A small table with a silver pot of coffee and two dainty cups separated the chairs.

With a quick glance around, Jose knew the gigantic space was some kind of a cave, even though the polished granite floor, Turkish floor lamps, Oriental rug, and heavy leather chairs bespoke a palace antechamber. Soto poured from the pot a thick brown stream whose curls of steam tickled Jose's nose with the rich scent of coffee.

"I like to offer my finest coffee to my guests," Soto said in a wheezy but still sonorous voice. "It's from Jamaica. Blue Mountain. They ship it with the coke and weed. Those crazy black bastards know good cafe.''

His lips parted just a bit and the hint of a smile tugged one corner of his mouth. "Drink the coffee slow, my friend.''

Jose saw the three thin red beams, splinters of light in the black cave beyond the rug, directed at him from different angles. He looked down and watched them move in slow steady orbits around his breastbone, only slightly left of center.

Jose made a show of looking at the rug around him and said, "You get a new rug for every guest or send it out for cleaning?"

Soto finished pouring, sat back with his cup, and waved a hand.

"Don't even think about those," he said, pointing at Jose's breastbone. "It's only a precaution."

"I feel so much better. Thanks, Soto.''

After sipping the coffee, Soto lurched as though he were going to vomit, rested the cup and saucer on the arm of his chair, and quickly grasped the oxygen mask, plastering it to his face and inhaling deeply.

"Smoking?" Jose asked after he had settled down, nodding at the tank.

Soto shook his head.

"Bomb," he said, returning the mask to its tank and easing back into his chair.

Wearily, he fluttered his fingers at Jose and said, "This is why all the red dots. My life is filled with red dots now. I like that they don't seem to affect you the way they do some people."

Soto gently patted his chest. "I lost one lung and part of another, but…"

He shrugged and sipped his coffee.

"Well," Soto said, "let's talk about you. To do something this stupid, you must have a very big problem."

"Nothing you can't solve," Jose said.

Soto looked at him, unblinking. "I like to return my favors, but only to a point. Things, as you can see, are-how would you say it-constrained."

"Nothing happens in Nuevo Leon without your knowledge," Jose said, sipping from his cup.

Soto let his lids droop and he inclined his head.

"There is a factory south of Nuevo Laredo, just off the highway," Jose said. "Big place. Can't miss it. People are being shipped in there like frozen dinners. I need to know who and what and why."

Soto mashed his lips together, inhaled through his nose, and let it out. He took his own cup, lifting it daintily to his mouth as he leaned forward and said, "After what you did-betraying your own government to allow me my escape-in a strange way, I consider you a friend. A loco brother."

Soto raised the tiny cup toward Jose and said, "So I'll tell you what I know."

CHAPTER 68

E LIJANDRO LIFTED THE POT FROM THE STOVE AND BEGAN BANGING it with a spoon. He smiled at Isodora and said they needed to celebrate. Paquita danced around his legs wearing an indigo crepe dress and jangling silver bracelets on her arms, bracelets belonging to her dead grandmother. The banging grew louder and louder. Paquita spun faster and turned into an enormous black whirl. The bracelets spilled to the floor like spare change and Isodora began to shout at Elijandro to stop it.

Isodora yelled so loud she awoke and saw a guard banging her metal food bowl against the steel door.

"Wake up," he said, speaking Spanish. "Come with me if you want to see your little girl. Now."

Isodora felt for the dirty sheet and pulled it close like a shawl. Her feet swung from the narrow bed and she staggered toward the door barely feeling her legs. Her mouth, too, felt numb, so when she asked where Paquita was it came out in a garbled mess. She followed the guard, though, without hesitation. Nothing mattered but Paquita.

Down a long hallway, past dozens of cell doors like her own, she followed the guard, her bare feet slapping the cold and dirty concrete floor. Slime oozed from the ceiling, discoloring the walls with a moldy fur. The smell of human waste fouled the air.

Outside the door, she saw the starry sky above the haze of a halogen streetlight. A single box truck sat idling, spewing diesel fumes into the wind that carried them her way. The guard rolled up the door in the back of the truck and there, in the dark, lay Paquita, swathed in a dirty sheet like her own, sleeping fitfully. A small shriek escaped Isodora's throat and she threw herself onto the bed of the truck, scrabbling to climb in.

The guard grabbed her legs, lifted, and shoved her forward. She wrapped herself around her little girl and Paquita's eyes fluttered open, glassy and unfocused. Isodora began to cry.

"What do we do with these?" a voice outside the truck asked.

"We're getting rid of them," said another.

The door rolled down, slamming shut with a shudder that Isodora felt in the floor beneath her. She could see nothing, but it didn't matter.

She held her little girl tight.

CHAPTER 69

JOSe SLUMPED DOWN IN THE FRONT SEAT OF THE '67 FIREBIRD, peering just over the air scoop and watching the white panel van sitting across from their motel room. The van didn't belong. The faint glow from the tip of a cigarette burned in the darkness, confirming his suspicion. The man-or more likely the men-sitting in the dark van outside their motel room meant one of two things: either they already had Casey or they were waiting for him to show up and planning to take them at the same time.

"Keep going," Jose said, slumping farther down. "Just drive past and don't look at anything."

"I'm just supposed to drop you and go," the punk said, speaking English, but in a thick accent. "I'm no tour guide."

Jose dug into his pocket and peeled off a hundred-dollar bill, extending it to the kid.

"Something extra," Jose said, allowing the kid to snatch it. "Just keep going and look normal. You can drop me around the corner."

The kid did as he said, cruising right on through the motel parking lot with the car's pipes rumbling, then screeching when he pulled into the street, burning up his mag wheels until they came to an abrupt stop at the light.

Jose looked back. Nothing moved except the hair on the back of his neck. "Nice," he said sarcastically.

"You said 'look normal,' the kid said with a lazy shrug, one hand draped over the steering wheel.

"I'll give you another hundred for that shitty little.22 you got in your boot," Jose said to the kid, opening the door.

"No way," the kid said, peering up from beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. "I ain't going naked."

Jose peeled off a second bill and said, "For two hundred you can buy ten of those pieces. C'mon, I'll put in a good word with Flaco."

The kid raised his pants leg and removed the steel black.22 with a broken grip, handing it to Jose for the two hundreds.