Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(81)

She fumbled for the handle of her Glock, yanked it free, then swung it as hard as she could, clocking him across the back of his head. Diamante stumbled, then crumpled to his knees.

Vail landed atop him but maintained the grip on her pistol. She thrust it into the base of his skull and damn-near shouted, “Don’t move. Not one move—or I’ll blow your goddamn brain all over the dirt, you hear me?”

DeSantos was pulling up behind them in full stride. “Karen! Karen, what are you doing?”

Ignoring DeSantos, she said into Diamante’s ear, “We need some information. We’re not here to hurt you. Understand?”

He nodded his head, and his face scraped across the ground.

She gave him a thorough pat down and pulled a .45 Magnum from his belt. She handed it back toward DeSantos, who snatched it away, anger pulling his face into a snarl.

They needed to move Diamante away from the main drag. People would be getting out of work soon, and it’d be best not to be in full view while they questioned him. In the era of camera phones—not to mention ATM cameras and security eyes recording everything within reach—they had to be careful.

“I’m gonna get off you now,” Vail said to Diamante. “You’re going to stand up. Slowly. Then we’re going to walk to the back of this container and have a chat. You cooperate and no one will get hurt. Understand?”

He again abraded his face against the dirt.

Vail backed off him but kept her Glock at her side, against her pants, out of view of any passing onlookers—who’d already gotten a good show if any had cared to watch. Vail surmised that in this neighborhood, when shit like this happened, people either turned their backs—or got the hell away before bullets started flying.

They also needed to avoid trolling Metro police cruisers. Vail didn’t have a problem with pulling her creds and explaining their purpose, but the last thing they wanted to do was make a show of being seen with Diamante; it could destroy him. Talking to cops was . . . frowned upon in this hood, and it would likely result in him no longer being a source of any value. Not to mention it’d probably get him killed.

Diamante, a coerced but willing party, walked alongside Vail, with DeSantos bringing up the rear. They continued about a hundred paces until they reached the far end of the long container. Two dozen feet away stood a line of parked vehicles. Realizing that these SUVs, pickups, and minivans could provide adequate cover while they talked, Vail headed in that direction.

Before they arrived, her phone buzzed. It was Gifford. She muted the ringer, then steered Diamante between two Suburban-type SUVs.

Vail got a good look at his face for the first time: not a bad-looking guy. She wondered what he was really like, why he had a connection to one of the most powerful drug cartels—and if he’d be a cooperating informant.

DeSantos stood with his hands in the back pocket of his jeans—no suit for this meet—and did not look pleased.

“Sorry about that back there,” Vail said to Diamante. “I didn’t think you’d run. I didn’t have a choice.”

Diamante turned to DeSantos. “Whaddya want with me?”

“It’s like I said,” Vail replied. “We need some information.”

With his gaze still on DeSantos, Diamante said, “I don’t talk to women who carry guns. It’s one of my rules of doing business.”

“What business are we doing here?” Vail asked.

But DeSantos held out his arm and eased Vail aside. “That’s fine. Talk to me.”

Vail bit down hard—the objective was to get information. How they did that did not matter. Now was not the time to allow her bruised female ego to intervene.

Diamante reached for his pocket. Vail raised her Glock.

And Diamante raised his hands. “A cigarette, cabrona, take it easy.” Vail knew that translated to “bitch”—but she let it pass. Dr. Rudnick would be proud.

DeSantos nodded for him to continue. He pulled a lighter and held it out for Diamante, who lit up. He puffed smoke into the air and said with a shrug, “I don’t know nothing, so there ain’t nothing to talk about.”

DeSantos stepped forward and spoke in a low voice. “Cortez. We know you’re connected. That’s what we need to know about.”

“You’re loco, amigo. Fucking loco if you think I know something about drugs.”

DeSantos grinned. “I didn’t say anything about drugs. So you know enough to know what Cortez’s business is. But okay, I get it. You had to say that. Now that we’re past all that shit, I need to know what you’ve heard. About a certain guy.”

“I told you. I don’t know nothing.”

Vail stepped forward, nudging DeSantos aside. “Bullshit. And I’m not in the mood to play games, so you will answer our questions.”

Diamante spit in her face. A gooey, cigarette smoker’s phlegm stuck to her cheek. Rather than wiping it away, she reached back and slugged him, right in the nose with the butt of her Glock. His head snapped back into the top of the car and he slunk down onto his knees, at her feet.

DeSantos turned away and brought a hand to his forehead. “Jesus Christ.”

Vail crouched between the trucks. Her face was now an inch from Diamante’s bloodied, crushed nose. “Now we’re going to try this again. I don’t know you and I don’t know what you’re involved in. But I do know you’ve got a line into Cortez. That’s all I care about.” She lifted the Glock to the man’s face. He looked at it with groggy eyes, his head bobbing slightly to the sides. He probably had a mild concussion. Getting slugged in the face with a handgun will do that to you.