Cool Heat (10 page)

“Sounds like he was really good.”

“He was. I remember was a funeral procession in the fields outside of buildings that represented
San Cristobal
. The women were dressed in black, homespun cloaks, their mouths covered against the smoke and cold, weeping for the dead on the road. In the background, fierce
Chaumla
warriors rose from the smoke among the caskets that lay everywhere. Beyond them, the burning rain forest, the
Selva Lacandones
, and in the fields, thousands of mummies, tiny mummies from the museum in
Guanajuato
, tiny, baby-sized
pistoleros
climbing from the fish raceways led by naked, wounded, bleeding soldiers. A young girl’s eyes wide and dark as dying suns…”

She was transfixed by the description, and by his passion for the mural.

At some point, he fell asleep. She didn’t. Her mind was in a real spin. She kept thinking the door would burst open and killers would come in. She had the Beretta next to her. Close.

21

On a “hunt” day, Leon didn’t eat. He believed that predators were much more alert when hungry. So he saved eating until after the job was done. If it took long, he’d eat bites of a protein bar, drink coffee and lots of water. It kept the edge.

He went up the mountain in the provided Ford SVT Raptor, the best off-roader in Leon’s opinion. He had a little trouble finding the roads that led back to Cillo’s place, but Leon eventually left the Raptor a hundred yards back in the trees off the logging road, way up on the mountain. He fixed the silencer to his Glock.

He noticed the outstanding way the reddish moon looked. It reminded Leon of a bullet hole in the sky. And he liked the way the night smelled here in pine country, high in the mountains, that lake black as oil after the hot day.

Great place,
Leon thought. It was so pure, nicely tucked away up in the mountains. Vast water below, pure darkness—a primitive magnificence. He breathed in the aroma of heavy pine tinged with smoke from some distant fire. It filled the air as he walked along the dirt road, his gun with silencer at his right side. From time to time, Leon stopped because he had such an outstanding view of the whole basin. He appreciated it more than he thought he would.

Near the house, he spotted two cars: a small one, a Prius; the other, a Jeep Cherokee. The house looked dark save a small light from the back. He moved through the trees toward the porch, then a big, ugly dog rose slowly and came down off the porch to greet him. The dog, looking half-wolf, didn’t bark.

“Hey, boy,” Leon said in a low, confident command voice to show authority without hostility. “C’mon, here…” He stepped closer, open hand out, palm down. If the dog barked, he’d have to shoot it.

Without much of a sound, the dog displayed teeth and came snarling toward him. Leon shot him in the head. Close up, he confirmed that it looked half-dog, half-wolf, a violation of nature.

“You miserable fucker. You come at me!” Leon said in a low voice. He kicked the big, dead animal in the head. Kicked him a couple more times. “I should skin you, you piece of shit. Attack me, damn you. I’m an animal lover.”

Now he’d have to get rid of the creature. A suicide wouldn’t look so good if the dog was shot in the head.

He waited to see if the silenced shot had been picked up by any other ears. Still, he saw no movement in the mostly dark house. Porch empty.

Then he heard voices, but they were coming from up in the woods. A girl giggling. Laughing. Somebody having some dirty fun.

He grabbed the dead animal’s hind legs and dragged the flea-bitten, half-dog fraud out of sight fifty yards down into the woods so he could be food for natural creatures. Then Leon went up on the porch and in through the unlocked sliding glass door and said, quietly, “Don’t shoot. I’m just here to ask you something. Your friend from Incline sent me.”

No answer. There was the stink of cigarettes in the house. Maybe pipes and cigars. Leon left the house and followed the stone path lit by a few Malibu lights up through the trees, leading to a stone hut.

The old man he took to be Cillo was playing stud with a young girl in the rock pool in front of some kind of building. The lovers played in the water like kids. Leon, hidden in the trees, wondered how much she cost. There, in the pool, the old man sitting on a rock with the whole of Tahoe below, the girl was giving him a blow job. And she had to work at it. She jerked and blew on him, him trying like hell to get to the end of it all and then finally appearing to.

Leon got a little excited and a little sick. He waited, hoping the little skank would leave so he didn’t have to do something with her body. He wasn’t in the mood for complications. That was the whole problem with not having time to plan, track, assess, predetermine. These guys were in a panic to shut down the threat, and that led to haste. And haste always, always, brought on unforeseen, unplanned complications.

Fortunately, half an hour after getting the old man off and having finished a drink, she climbed out, then got a towel from a little shed next to the hut. She mumbled something about the night and went down the hill toward the house, wrapped in the towel. A few minutes later, dressed in shorts and a halter top, she crossed the porch and disappeared down the steps. Moments later, she pulled out in the Prius and left.

About damn time,
Leon thought. He figured the old man would slip, hit his head on the rock, and drown. Nice, fitting end. They’d find him in a week or so. Instead, the old man smoked a cigar, naked in his rock pool, enjoying that his ancient cock still had some life in it.

“Nice place you got here,” Leon said. “I take it you’re Tony Cillo, master of this domain.”

The old dude turned, not showing as much shock as you’d think. Anger was more like the expression. Looked a little high on something.

“You on Viagra?” Leon asked, smiling.

“Who the fuck are you? What are you doing spying on me like some kind of sick voyeur?”

“I see where the damn half-breed dog got his attitude,” Leon said. “So far, everybody I’ve met in Tahoe has some kind of messed-up attitude. People up here in paradise should have more chill. You’re either a dog or you’re a wolf. That in-between shit doesn’t make it.”

“Get the hell off my land!”

“Soon as I get what I came for. You got a nice pad here. Isolated. View of the whole basin. Sit up here getting stoned, having some skank getting you off. Hard work for her.”

Leon loved to see how people lived. How big they made their lives. It was so meaningless. Life was short and you were dead forever; all the shit you built up meant nothing.

“I’ll tell you what,” the old man said, showing no fear. “You best get outta here.”

Leon smiled. “Tough old bastard, aren’t you? I gotta ask you a question, and you better have a good answer. I’m not here by accident. There’s this dude thinks he’s God’s gift to the planet sitting in his pad at Incline Village. He brought me all the hell the way out here to get some answers. I’m a kind of a liaison between him and you. So let’s cooperate so I can get out of your way.”

This information changed Cillo’s expression. Now he knew the name of the game. His voice went down to a more civil tone. “All he had to do was call. What does he want to know?”

“Where your nephew is. The one who has the woman who’s causing all this trouble.”

“I don’t know.”

“Now, now,” Leon said. “Let’s be smart. I didn’t come all the way out here, put up with assholes and mean dogs, for ‘I don’t know.’”

“It’s the truth. I don’t know where he went,” Cillo said. “I tried to bring him in, but so far, he’s out there, and you’ll have to go find him. I can’t help you. If I could, I would. If he contacts me, I’ll let your boss know.”

Leon frowned. The nice-guy attitude didn’t last long. The bastard couldn’t resist getting back to his tough prick self. “Let’s get something straight. I haven’t eaten in a long time. Makes me mean. I don’t want to get mean. Like I said, I didn’t fly three thousand miles to hear any bullshit. I asked you a question, and I want an actionable answer.”

“He cut me off. I got no idea where he is. Now get the hell out of here,” Cillo said. “This conversation is over.”

Leon left his Glock on the rock and stepped into the pool.

The old man tried to get up, but Leon was fast on him, grabbing the guy under the chin to lock his head and partially choke him out before he intended to bounce his head on a rock, then drown him. But the old codger, in spite of age and fat, had some fight in him. He pushed off with one foot against the side of the pool and Leon slipped back, hitting the protruding rocks. Now, enraged, he grabbed the old man and put an MMA chokehold on him.

Leon leveraged the bastard, worked him around, and got the hold he wanted. He kneed him in the crouch to get him off balance, then slammed him back against the side of the pool, smashing his skull on the rock. As the man slipped under, momentarily out cold, Leon held him down. Scene still looked good for a slip and an accidental drowning.

Accidents look as good as suicides. No real follow-up.

But then the bastard came alive like some horror-movie dude, grabbed Leon’s ankle, and tried to drag him down with a seriously strong grip, forcing Leon to back off. The way Cillo came up coughing, spitting, and fighting, Leon had to smash him in the face repeatedly, then jump on him with his knee against the bastard’s throat, pinning him under. Even then, the old man showed remarkable fight, and it took a hell of a long time to get him to settle and get done with it.

Finally, the kicking and struggling stopped. The last gurgle and bubbles came next. Leon knew soon the bowels would let loose, and he didn’t want to be in the water. He got out, breathing hard, soaked—amazed at how strong and determined the old fool was. Probably the damn Viagra.

Leon cursed himself for being lax. The last guy, so willing to die, so beaten, had affected him in dealing with this guy, and he wasn’t happy with himself about that. If it was to look like he slipped and fell in, he must of slipped a couple times.

Dripping wet and staring at the dead guy, Leon said, “You miserable old son of a bitch, you had some life in you, I’ll say that. All I did for you—even let you get your last blow job. And you got to give me a bad time. You and your fucking wolf-dog.”

Before heading back to the house, Leon went through the dead man’s robe and found his cell phone. So far, nothing had gone smoothly. First he met the asshole client. Then he ran into this crazy old bastard and his dog. Now he was wet, hungry, and pissed.

He had a lot of work yet to do. Not a good start to the night. Leon left Cillo’s and hiked back to his Raptor. He had his travel bag in the vehicle. Leon never left anything in a hotel room.

He changed, draping the wet clothes in the back seat. Then he headed for Jesup’s condo on the other side of South Lake. He wanted to get a hold of Jesup’s computer, notes, and files.

All the fun had gone out of the night.

22

Marco was asleep when Sydney got the call from her police-reporter friend. She went into the bathroom.

“Hi. Thanks for getting back to me. What did you find out?”

“Not a lot, but enough. You were right about this guy. His records have been sanitized. Wiped clean. I talked to a very solid source who knew all about Marco Cruz and his problems.”

“Federal?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t tell me anything real specific, for obvious reasons. Cruz ended up in a Mexican prison for unknown offenses. I’m not sure he was even charged, but if he was, it’s been cleaned. This was after he took out the guys who killed the border agent. It may or may not have been connected to the gun-walking deal.”

“How did he get away with being in Mexico?”

“He has relatives in Mexico. Some with questionable associations. Anyway, he ended up in prison for a time. All under a tight wrap. Can’t confirm anything about what happened. Then he’s out, vanishes for over a year. Now, apparently, he’s clean and in Tahoe. According to my source, he survived in prison because he was friendly with the big dog in there. Maybe the guy was a relative or a friend of a relative. He got released suddenly, without any explanation. Who got him out, and what he did to earn his freedom, or what he did for his benefactors, I don’t know. Whatever he did, somebody with lots of power liked him for it. And the only people who can clean records like that have a lot of federal power. Could even be the CIA. He was a perfect candidate for whatever they wanted—his military and border background, shady family ties. Like he was designed for clandestine activity.”

“Thanks. I appreciate your help.”

“Syd, how you’re connected with this guy, I don’t know…and maybe don’t want to know. But he’s not exactly someone you want to take home to Mom. Look, I know some rumors, and I don’t much like to deal in them—”

“What?”

“Well, this is rumor. After prison activities—and this is speculation because of timing and location—but it might be connected to the fall of one of Mexico’s most powerful families. That’s very much undercover as well. Information surfaced about connections beyond the cartels, reaching all the way to the Middle East. Somebody got that information and there’s this rumor—and that’s how it was put to me—that Marco Cruz was involved in the operation. People died. People ended up disappearing. It was supposedly a major operation. His role in it, I don’t know. But be careful—”

“I will. Thanks.”

“Syd, I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”

“Don’t ask. I won’t tell.”

Sydney hung up. When she walked back into the dark bedroom, Marco was still dead asleep. She stared at him, that rugged but handsome face, the scar on his neck, the mouth and nose, the curly hair, the dark skin.

He’s my guy, she thought. My dark knight.

She smiled. If he was half as bad as it appeared,
Well,
she thought,
maybe he’s exactly what a girl needs when the most powerful people in the Sierras are trying to kill her.
It wasn’t like she was marrying the guy. And it wasn’t like he didn’t do this kind of thing. But, she admitted, he needed to come to it himself. If all he wanted was the shooter, so be it.