Vice(11)

Four hours later, I have a five-year-old version of the motorcycle I just left behind in Mexico, and I’ve gone from sixty grand down to fifty. I ride to a shifty looking café just outside the city, all too eager to leave the busy, over-crowded roads and streets teeming with people behind. There, with a giant cup of coffee glued to my hand and a stale queso wrap growing staler on a plate in front of me, I make a call from my cell. A call I am seriously not looking forward to.

“You did what?” On the other end of the line, Jamie sounds pissed. “You flat-out killed him?”

I stuff the queso wrap into my mouth, hoping the sound of me eating will drown the rest of my conversation with him. That’s not going to work, though. I need something from him, and I can’t really ask him if he can’t understand a word I’m saying. I swallow the huge bite of food in my mouth and sigh. “He had it f*cking coming, man. Tell me you weren’t sick of his shit, Jamie. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same thing if you were in my situation.”

Silence reigns supreme. I chew on another bite of my food, while my best friend, technically my boss, chews on what I’ve just said. Eventually, he grunts down the phone. “You should have called it in,” he says. “We could have done some recon work, seen how many of his guys hung around once he left the country. Now we don’t know how many of them are gonna come looking for payback.”

“You know as well as I do, no one’s gonna be mourning that disgusting piece of shit. If anything, those power hungry bastards will be sending us thank you cards.”

“Maybe,” Jamie concedes. “But still…”

I discard the wrap, wiping my hands on my jeans. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. But sometimes it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission, right?”

Jamie laughs. I can imagine the way he’s pacing, still trying to process the information that Perez, one of our sometimes allies and nearly-all-the-time-enemies is dead, though. I probably should have given him a heads up first. I’m not looking forward to parting with this next piece of information, either. “While we’re on the subject of things I need to ask forgiveness for, I should probably let you know that I’m not in Mexico anymore.”

“What? Where the f*ck are you, Cade?”

“Ecuador.”

“The f*ck are you doing in Ecuador?”

“Julio said Laura was with the Villalobos cartel. I came to find them.”

“Ah. Right. So…would you even be calling right now if you didn’t need me to ask one of the guys to find out where the Villalobos family is based?” He can read me like a goddamn book. He’s laughing, but he’s pissed at me, too. Or worried about me. Probably both.

“I would have called,” I tell him. “Eventually.”

“Damn it, you *. You should have let me come with you. Do you know how shitty I feel right now?” he snaps. “You’re my brother. I should have your back right now.”

“You and I both know you couldn’t have come,” I tell him. “Not with things the way they are right now.” Neither of us wants to talk about the reason he has stayed behind. His girlfriend is sick. Really sick. Disappearing off on a mission with me just wasn’t an option. And I would never have let him come, even if that weren’t the case. He’s happy now, and he’s already given up so much. It’s time for him to get on with his life. “Besides, you do have my back. You’re gonna let me know where these motherf*ckers live so I can go pay them a visit,” I tell him.

“Yeah. On your own.”

“It’ll be fine, Jamie. When is it not fine?”

“One of these days, it really won’t be. And then what? Do not make me travel all the way to f*cking Ecuador to find what’s left of your body, Cade. I will be so f*cking mad at you.”

“You can kick my ass when you come join me in hell. How ’bout that?”

Jamie grumbles down the phone. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll text you whatever we find in a couple of hours. In the meantime, if you change your mind, feel free to get back on the next f*cking flight home, and I swear I won’t castrate you for being a reckless dick.”

“You’re one to talk,” I tell him. “When was the last time you didn’t handle a situation like this recklessly?”

Jamie doesn’t say anything. He barks out a shout of laughter, and then he hangs up the phone.





******





It’s close to eight in the evening when I receive the location of the Villalobos cartel. Orellana, to the east. Way, way, way the f*ck to the east. It’s a ten-hour ride if I use the freeways, or a thirteen-hour drive if I stick to the back roads. Adding three hours onto my journey is annoying as hell, but it also means I’m less likely to get pulled over by cops, or caught up in traffic and accidents.





JAMIE: Took forever to track them down. These guys have no paper trail. No online presence whatsoever. We had to pinpoint them using keywords from Ecuadorian police reports. As far as we can tell, Orellana is where they’re based. We’ve scoured the area, and scrubbed the satellite images. These buildings seem to be the most likely location. It’s the best we can do right now. We’ll keep looking, though.



Underneath his text message, he’s sent a fuzzy screenshot of a group of buildings, surrounded by trees. A whole lot of trees. So I was right. If this information is correct and this is where the Villalobos cartel is based, then they’re way out in the middle of f*cking nowhere. There doesn’t even seem to be any roads in and out of the compound. Not even a goddamn dirt track.