“And if anyone barges in here and you don’t tell them to get the fuck out, I’m going to signal to him and he’s going to kill you. Do you understand that?”

Sweat was running down his cheeks. “Yeah, I understand.”

“Don’t pull your forehead off that glass,” I said. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”

“Alright! What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Tell me about Landon Keene.”

His eyes were dancing back and forth between me and the rifle pointed at him from two hundred yards away. “What do you want to know?”

“He works for you?”

“No. Yes. He’s blackmailing me.”

That surprised me. “How?”

He was bent over at an awkward angle, but he was as still as a statue. “I pay him. He works out of my casino.”

“Works out of your casino. Hiring coyotes?”

His eyes shifted in my direction. “Yes.”

“Are you involved in his smuggling operation?”

“I was. I got out a few years ago as I was getting into the casinos. That’s what he’s holding over me,” he said. “It overlapped for a while.

He says he’ll go to the gaming board and let them know about my past if I don’t let him do his thing.”

That made sense. Moffitt didn’t need the smuggling money because the casino money was worlds better. But one wrong turn and it could all disappear.

“My back is killing me,” he said. “Can I stand up?”

“Do it slowly, but don’t turn away from the glass. Keep your eyes on our friend out there.”

Moffitt moved like he was in slow motion, rising until he was in an upright position. He kept his forehead on the glass.

“What about Russell Simington?” I asked.

He took a deep breath, looking for any measure of composure. “The three of us worked together. Keene, Simington, and myself. Smuggling. Keene and I worked together at first. He wanted to put together a larger operation. I wanted out, to do other things. I got interested in the casinos, he stayed with the smuggling. Keene was always the brains, the driving force.”

“You employed Simington, too?”

“Yes. But only because Keene made me. He wanted him working in the casinos to help scout.”

I believed him because it all fit together. “When did you get out?” I asked.

“After Simington got arrested,” he said. “I’d made enough, and it was getting too dangerous. I got in on the gaming contracts with the money I’d made from running the Mexicans and was able to open two more casinos. I didn’t need it anymore.” He let out a sigh. “Keene came to me a year later and wanted to use the casinos. More casinos meant more recruiting for him, more potential targets. I said no, and he threatened to ruin me. I gave in.”

All of what he was saying put things in line for me. But at that moment, I didn’t care about getting things in line. I only wanted one thing.

“Where do I find Keene?” I asked.

“Oh, man,” he said, getting close to a whine. “Come on.”

“One signal from me and he puts one bullet in your face,” I reminded Moffitt.

The perspiration cascaded down his red cheeks. “Shit. Alright. I don’t know where he lives. He jumps from house to house. But I know he’s going to El Centro tomorrow.”

El Centro. A little spark went off in my head. “Why?”

“I’m not sure. He said he was going down there for a few days. That he had to go tie up some loose ends.”

Loose ends. The widow of a man he had murdered.

“Why has what happened there become so important to him?” I said, as much to myself as to Moffitt. “Why is he now so determined to close the whole thing up?”

“I don’t know,” Moffitt said, glancing at me.

I nodded at the window. “I think his finger is getting twitchy on the trigger. Try again. Why now?”

Moffitt swallowed hard. “He said something about a woman talking to a cop.”

Lucia. And Asanti. And Keene was probably worried that she was telling him about the extortion attempt and that she might be able to tie him to Simington. I wasn’t clear on what was setting Keene off, but it seemed to me that while he was confident that he had Moffitt and Simington leveraged, he feared anything I might learn.

Loose ends.

I stepped in close to Moffitt. I held two fingers up to the window, and I saw Carter nod in the distance.

“I just told him I’ll be outside in two minutes,” I said. “If you move before he lowers that gun, he will shoot you. If I’m not out in two minutes, he will shoot you.” I leaned in close. “And if you talk to Keene before I find him, if I find out you told anyone about our conversation, I will get to you and make you wish he had shot you. Got it?”

He nodded, his forehead squeaking against the window. “Yes.” I hoped I never had to set eyes on Benjamin Moffitt again.

SIXTY-FIVE

Carter had the truck waiting in front of the casino when I walked out the front like I’d just finished testing my luck. Which I guess I had.

“He didn’t move, so I suppose it went okay?” he said as we drove off.

“Keene is going to be in El Centro. Tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Vasquez’s wife?” I said. “Moffitt said something about him tying up loose ends. He must know she’s still there.”

“He could be going down just to do business. Maybe he’s bringing over another load.”

Carter could have been right, but I doubted it. The timing was too coincidental. The week of Simington’s execution, Keene was heading back to where it all began. He was probably assuming that everyone would be so wrapped up in Simington’s impending death that he could slip down south, do what he needed to do, and slip out unnoticed. Make sure that everything went to the grave with Simington.

I’m sure he thought it was a good plan.

And if I hadn’t learned about it, it would have been even better.

WEEK FOUR

SIXTY-SIX

Carter and I spent the rest of the day making plans. We needed some things to take with us, and we needed a second car. I rented a Chevy Impala rather than risk going back to my place to get my Jeep.

By the time we pulled off the freeway into El Centro, midnight was descending on the Imperial Valley. The moonlight threw shadows over the gravel and sand as we drove down the road toward the Vasquez house. I shut the visions of Liz out of my head as I parked the rental in front of the home.

I didn’t want to ring the doorbell in the middle of the night, and I figured no one would attempt entering with two strange cars parked in front of the house. Carter and I tried to sleep in the cab of his truck but ended up taking turns dozing more than anything else.

At eight the next morning, Carter and I went up the front walk and I rapped on the screen door. The front door opened and Lucia Vasquez looked at us, her expression puzzled for a moment before recognition filtered onto her face. “Mr. Braddock?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Vasquez,” I said, then gestured at Carter. “This is my friend Carter Hamm.”

They exchanged nods.

“May we come in for a moment?” I asked.

She looked reluctant.

“Please,” I said. “It’s important.”

She pressed her lips together, then held the screen door open for us. We stepped in past her.

The television was on in the living room, the volume turned down.

“My boys,” she said. “They are still asleep.” She pointed at the sofa. “Please, sit down.”

We sat, and she moved into the chair across from us, sitting on the edge. “Why are you here?”

“The man who arranged to bring Hernando here,” I said. “Landon Keene. Have you heard from him?”

Her features immediately filled with alarm. “No. No. Why?”

“I think he’s looking for you,” I said. “I believe he’s on his way here.”

She brought her hands to her chest. “What? Why?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I feel certain he’s coming here. To your home.”

She whispered something in Spanish, then looked at me. “I won’t let him hurt my boys. I won’t.”