Wrecked (Josie Gray Mysteries #3)(42)
Josie frowned. How could she tell him no when he was offering to front the cost?
“He said I had to meet with him alone. I’m sorry, I don’t know why.”
He put a hand up to stop her. “Give him my name. Explain the situation. Tell him to call me.” He reached into his billfold and handed Josie a business card to give Santos. “Did he give you any insight about the ransom? Who might be involved?”
“I’m certain it’s the Medranos. I’d bet my career on it. All Santos said was that I had to have money somewhere for them to set the ransom so high.”
The expression on Macon’s face darkened and he gestured back toward the house. “Gladys watches cop shows. Obsessively, if you ask me. She’s talked about kidnappings nonstop since we heard the news about Dillon. She’s afraid they’ll find out we’ve got money and ransom me off too.”
“Kidnappings are still rare, even along the border, but there’s always the risk. Obviously it can happen.” Josie wasn’t sure how to proceed. Had he just cut her off before she could mention meeting the ransom demand? She sipped her coffee, trying to think of how she could ask for his help, knowing that his wife already feared the cartels would target their family.
He pursed his lips and studied her for a moment, giving away nothing in his expression. Josie felt as if she were sitting in front of a chessboard, staring at the pieces, with no understanding of the rules or the strategy involved, but aware that it was her turn to move.
“I’m just out of my league, Macon,” she continued. “They’re asking for money from me that I have no way of getting. And they’ve tied Dillon’s life to my response. So I came here to discuss things with you. To talk about the ransom.” Josie stopped. She could feel her face redden as she stumbled over her words with embarrassment.
He finally said, “You’re here to ask for my help. With the ransom demand.”
She cleared her throat, and forced herself to not look away from him in shame. “I’m sorry to do this to you. To bring you into this evil mess, but I don’t know where else to go.”
“No apologies. If someone took Gladys I’d move heaven and earth until I got her back. I suspect you’d do the same for Dillon.”
She nodded, no longer able to speak.
“Let’s talk about a few things first. Assuming I help, we do things a certain way. First, no one knows I’m involved except you and Nick. I need your guarantee on that or I can’t help you. I won’t tell Gladys. If she thought I was involved with a cartel negotiation she’d have bodyguards on us by supper.” He paused and considered his words. “That’s just a worry she doesn’t need.”
“I understand.” She nodded again, noting the acid burn starting in her stomach.
“Second, you make sure money is the best route. Nick will coach you there, but I’m not so sure it is.”
She was relieved to finally be laying it out on the table, and thankful that Macon had broached the subject that was tearing her up. “The fifty thousand dollars,” she said. “I’m making myself crazy. If I pay it they’ll want more. They could even keep Dillon longer if they think more money is available. But if I don’t pay it, and Dillon loses his arm, or his life?”
“What did Nick say?”
“He said no, not on the first request. He said the request would double if I paid that quick.”
“Makes sense.”
“But what if they shoot Dillon? If they take his arm and want more?” Her throat constricted and she couldn’t go on. Macon had not offered the money. She couldn’t make herself bring up the fifty thousand again, but she wanted it. She wanted to put it in a suitcase and deliver it herself, anything to buy Dillon at least a day of safety and her some more time.
“Talk to the negotiator. You and I sitting here trying to plan a response is pointless. Neither one of us knows the first thing about ransom negotiation. That’s why he gets paid the big bucks.”
“But what if he’s wrong? In the end, it’s my decision. And what if I choose wrong?”
“Santos will help you make a calculated decision based on past practice. If you need money, and it’s the right thing to do for Dillon, you can have it. I’ll write the check today. But I want to know it’s not out of desperation.”
*
At two o’clock Otto walked down the block from the office to the Hot Tamale for a bologna sandwich and a bag of chips. The front door of the diner opened up into a seating area with about fifteen tables and a slew of chairs that were in constant flux. Customers came in and moved tables and chairs to fit whatever setup they needed. Otto took his customary table next to the window facing the courthouse at the front of the diner, but then sat with his back to the room and shoved the chair opposite him over to another empty table, making what he thought to be quite a clear signal that he wasn’t interested in conversation. However, the owner, Lucy Ramone, wasn’t always keen on social cues. She was a short woman in her late forties with long black hair and a bossy personality. She special-ordered Polish kraut and quality bologna for Otto in exchange for what she called “preferential treatment,” which to her meant getting the gossip before everyone else. Lucy knew as well as Otto that she never received such treatment, but Otto allowed the farce to go on, if only for the grilled bologna and kraut.