Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(110)

“You’re goddamn right,” Vail said. “That’s exactly what I would’ve done.” If I knew how to fly a helicopter.





76


The car pulled abruptly off the freeway. Robby had to force his feet against the door to keep himself from rolling off the backseat. The vehicle’s gentle rocking and the drone of the road’s white noise, combined with his weakened condition, had dropped him into a light, fitful sleep.

As he woke, he began to key in on the conversation. They were stopping to refuel, and the driver needed to use the bathroom.

The interior dome light popped on and Robby squinted and jerked his head away to shield his eyes. The door slammed shut, rocking the car.

“So, you’re awake, my friend.”

Robby slowly loosened his squint and turned to face the passenger. He couldn’t help himself. In his current state, his defenses were not as sharp. A thought formed in his mind, and he spoke it without a moment’s hesitation to process it. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

The man turned away slowly, looked out the side window. After a long moment, he said, “You are a lucky man. If it were not for me, you would probably be dead about now. And if not today, then tomorrow. Or the day after.”

“Why would you help me?”

The man shifted his body in the seat but kept his gaze focused on the windshield, occasionally rotating his head or shifting his eyes between the front and side windows. “Does the name Sandiego Ortega mean anything to you?” he finally said.

Robby grinned. “Diego Ortega was my friend, when I was young.” “He was, I know. He thought a lot of you.”

“And how would you know that?”

The man reached into his pocket and removed a protein bar. He tore it open and handed it across the seatback to Robby, who struggled to maneuver it in his handcuffed grip. He brought it toward his mouth and hungrily attacked the food.

“Easy, easy. When you haven’t eaten in days, you can throw up. And I don’t feel like driving the rest of the way with vomit in my car.”

“Why are you helping me?” Robby asked again, his voice muffled as he chewed on the food.

“Diego told me you moved, after your uncle was killed. He said he missed you. He was angry at first, because he didn’t understand why you would leave him.”

“Wasn’t my idea. When my uncle was murdered, I didn’t have a choice. I went to live with my mother back east.” He took another bite of the bar, chewing quickly in case the man changed his mind and yanked it away.

“It changed his life, your leaving. Not for the better.”

“Why would anything I did change his life?”

“Your uncle was like a father to him, his house a sanctuary. When Diego was there, he could escape.”

“How do you know all this?”

The man reached up and clicked the overhead light, then turned toward Robby. His face was now partially visible, exposed in muted hues with dark shadows exaggerating his features.

Robby stopped chewing and stared.

“Because, Robby, I am Diego.”

Robby fought to sit upright, but his efforts failed. “Diego—”

“It is good to see you, Robby. We have much to talk about, but we can’t do it with Willie here.”

“Willie?”

“Willie Quintero, one of Villarreal’s inside guys. He doesn’t know our relationship. If he finds out, we will both be killed.” Diego turned off the dome light, then craned his neck to look outside. “Finish your bar before he comes back. I’ve gotta get us some gas.” He climbed out and moved around to the pump, sorted it out and shoved the hose into the tank. The front door popped open and Diego stuck his head inside. “I think you know you were being held by the Cortez drug cartel. And I think you know they were going to kill you.”

“That was becoming clear, yeah.”

“Word of your cover being blown spread. Cortez made no secret that he had a federal agent and that he was going to make an example of you. He said it was time to stop fearing the U.S. federales, that he was going to change our thinking. Just like he did in Mexico. He has plans, big plans for the U.S.”

“That doesn’t explain your involvement.”

“I’m with the Villarreal cartel. You asked how your leaving could’ve changed my life. When you left, I had nowhere to go that was safe. My father . . . I never told you this, but he used to . . . ” Diego took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the interior. “Let’s just say I couldn’t stay there.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Robby pushed himself up onto his left elbow. “If you feel comfortable telling me.”

The pump clicked off. Diego stepped away, handled the gas hose, then got back into the passenger seat and closed the door. “He abused me, Robby. Sexual stuff. That’s all I want to say about it.”

Robby knew admitting that took a lot of courage on his friend’s part, and he let the issue drop. “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t want you to know. Hard for a boy to admit that shit. I couldn’t tell anyone. But that’s why staying at your place was so important. It was the only way I could escape that fucker. When you moved, I went to Mexico. Ran away. I had nothing, no clothes, no money. I joined a gang to survive. Eventually I graduated to the cartel. Paid good, gave me a life I could be proud of.”