Mission Road (Tres Navarre #6)(35)

“Four,” Ralph said.

“Respect,” Madeleine said tightly. “You’ve tried to kill my father a dozen times. You’ve murdered his men.”

“Just business.” Zapata took another bite of his taco. “But here’s the thing, Miss White. I was bullshitting Arguello. I don’t know nothing about your brother’s death. If I did, I’d tell you. Bad misunderstanding between your father and me, years ago. Cost me plenty. I don’t want all that stirred up again.”

“Three.”

Zapata kept his eyes on Madeleine. “Arguello called me. I knew he had to be desperate to do that. I’ve been wanting to take over his properties for years. So I told him what he wanted to hear. I set Arguello up so I could kill him.”

He spread his hands, as if his intentions were completely reasonable.

“Two.”

“Go on, Arguello.” Zapata tapped his chest. “You’re a f**king disgrace.”

“One.”

“You know why you can’t? You married a goddamn cop. You got the perfect network set up for fronting drugs, guns, money laundering, you name it. And what do you do with it? Nada. You try to go straight. I offer you a fair price over and over and you don’t take it. You’re standing in the way of profit, Arguello. You need to be removed.”

I put my hand on Ralph’s wrist just as he shot. A plaster Jesus exploded on the shelf behind Zapata.

Zapata shook his head. “Pathetic.”

I kept my grip on Ralph’s wrist. His arm was like a steel cable.

“Zapata,” I said, “you said yourself you want Ralph’s pawnshops. Ralph started those businesses with Frankie White. Maybe Frankie was standing in your way, too.”

He studied me, probably deciding whether or not it would be advantageous to insult me. “I’m not that stupid, PI.”

“Not stupid enough to do it yourself,” I agreed. “You could’ve hired Titus Roe.”

His face reddened. “Titus Roe? Who the f**k would hire him? Who’d pay anybody to whack a loser like Frankie? I mean, Jesus, unless you were a woman—”

Zapata stopped.

“You were saying?” Madeleine’s eyes had a dangerous gleam.

Zapata moistened his lips. “All I meant, Miss White: I had nada to gain. Think about it. Your brother getting killed was damn bad for my business.”

Outside, Zapata’s mother was arguing with Ignacio. She said she was sure she’d heard a shot, which meant her son had finished killing whoever he needed to kill. It was closing time and she had to get back to her shop.

I felt like I was standing in a meth lab, between vats of chemicals that could blow the neighborhood to rubble. I wanted to get out before that old lady came back in.

“Come on,” I told Ralph. “Shoes doesn’t know anything.”

“Listen to the man,” Zapata said. “And, Miss White—” He flicked his finger between Madeleine and Ralph. “Is your family leaning on this loser now? I mean, I knew Mr. White was sick and all, but—”

“Mr. White is not sick,” Madeleine said. “He leans on no one.”

“So if I was to see Arguello out on the street, without you—”

“I have no interest in whom you kill or who kills you,” Madeleine said. “Just remember your place, Zapata—down there by the floorboards with the other insects.”

Zapata’s eyes glinted, like light off the edge of a scalpel. I doubted a woman had ever talked to him like that before.

He turned to Ralph, crumpled up his taco wrapper. “See you around, Arguello. Having your wife shot—that kind of thing should make a man reexamine his priorities. You still got a baby daughter to think about, don’t you?”

I was glad I had Madeleine with me. It took both of us to get Ralph out the door without firing his gun again.

IN THE COURTYARD, MAMA ZAPATA WAS still arguing with Ignacio, whose face was pale and clammy. He looked at us like we’d come to deliver his last meal.

“Done,” I told him. “Sorry.”

I tried to steer clear of Mama Zapata, but the old woman stepped in front of Madeleine. “I know you. I remember your father.”

“Excuse us,” Madeleine said.

The old woman grabbed Madeleine’s arm. “My son won’t tell you, but I don’t give a damn. Your brother got what he deserved. Punishment for your father’s sins. Entiendes?”

“Get off me,” Madeleine said.

The old woman spat in the dust at Madeleine’s feet, then allowed a very ill-looking Ignacio to escort her back into her souvenir shop.

THE LIMO DROVE NORTH.

The chauffeur asked us where to. Nobody answered.

Along Roosevelt Avenue, run-down businesses were decorated with frayed Christmas garlands, weather-bleached Santas, grimy lights that had started to glow in the evening. This being South Texas, the Christmas lights stayed up year-round, but even a broken holiday is right once a year.

In the front seat, Ralph cradled his borrowed .38 in his lap. At Ralph’s insistence, the chauffeur had anonymously called Ana’s hospital and tried to get an update on her condition. They wouldn’t tell him anything. Now Ralph was muttering something under his breath. The chauffeur was leaning as far away from him as possible.