Southtown (Tres Navarre #5)(46)

Nothing on the line but the hum of the highway.

Wil felt his old friend’s disapproval. Wil should have left the country already. He’d had plenty of time. It shouldn’t take him a week to tie up his loose ends.

“You sure you’re thinking straight, Wil ?” the Guide asked.

Wil had trained this bastard. He had saved his life once on the border.

“You sent them out on purpose, didn’t you?” Wil asked. “You knew they couldn’t handle anything alone.

You knew something like this would happen.”

“We’re even,” the Guide repeated. “And Wil ? That emergency account I set up? Don’t try to withdraw any cash, you hear? I emptied it.”

The line went dead, and Wil shattered the phone against the warehouse’s brick wal .

He threw the iron bolt on the storage room door. Inside, Erainya Manos was sitting cross-legged on an old mattress, her hands no longer tied behind her back. She was eating chicken soup out of a can.

Pablo sat by the window, thumbing a Sports Illustrated, his gun and portable radio on the table next to him. The news was just coming on: “Breaking story in Omaha, a possible connection to the Floresville Five—”

Wil turned it off.

“Hey,” Pablo complained.

“You heard enough news about yourself.”

“What’s your problem?”

“What’s my problem?” Wil repeated. “Who told you to untie her hands?”

“She’s got to eat.”

“Then spoon-feed her.”

“Fuck that.”

Wil went over to Erainya Manos and slapped the soup can out of her hands.

She didn’t even blink. She gave him a look of pure black hate. She held up her spoon, like she was inviting him to slap that away, too.

“Your memory any better today?” he asked.

“I don’t have your goddamn money. You’re wasting your time.”

If she’d shown any weakness, Wil couldn’t have held back from hitting her. Her anger saved her. That, and the doubt that had started to creep into his gut, the feeling that maybe he’d read things wrong. Perhaps very wrong.

“Put down the f**king magazine,” he told Pablo. “Pick up your gun and keep it on her.”

Wil yanked the woman’s wrists behind her back and tied them.

He looked at Pablo. “She stays that way, understand? I’l be back in a couple of hours.”

“When do I get to eat? That soup was it.”

“When I get some money, you get to eat.” And then, sensing rebel ion, Wil forced himself to add: “A few more days, Pablo. You’l be loving on your wife again. Patience.”

Wil could tel Pablo wanted to believe him. That was al that mattered. Even a slim hope would keep him in line a little longer. As soon as the money came through from Barrera and Navarre . . . Stirman would figure out the rest.

He walked out, conscious of their eyes on his back. The concrete floor felt spongy under his feet.

Maybe it was the lack of food. How long had it been since he ate? Fourteen mil ion dol ars coming, and he didn’t have ten bucks for a meal.

From the milk crate by the loading dock entrance, he took a 9mm and a clip of ammunition.

He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t have a plan.

For the first time since the Fourth of July, Wil thought about his Floresvil e cel , his Bible sketches blowing in the fan breeze.

You were better off in that cage, he thought. You’re falling apart.

No. He could keep himself together. He had to, or eight years of praying for vengeance went for nothing.

Just a brief errand, now. Something to clear his head.

He tucked the 9mm under his shirt and went out to find cash and food.

Erainya pretended to sleep for almost an hour. She waited for Pablo to nod off, but it was too much to hope for, even though he’d been guarding her al night and half the morning.

After a while, Pablo turned back on Texas Public Radio. Under different circumstances, this would’ve struck Erainya as funny. A con who liked the Diane Rehm show.

Pablo listened dutiful y as Diane refereed a debate between a Catholic priest and a Buddhist monk on the sanctity of marriage. Stil Pablo didn’t snooze. The guy was made of iron.

A newsbreak came on: two fugitives shot dead in Omaha. Identification was pending, but the men were believed to be part of the Floresvil e Five. Police were confident more apprehensions in the case were imminent.

Erainya opened her eyes just enough to watch Pablo’s face.

He stared at the wal .

He got up, paced, and turned toward Erainya.

She closed her eyes, wil ing herself to breathe deeply.

She heard the big iron door creak open. Pablo walked into the next room.

She wouldn’t get a better chance.

Stirman had been angry when he retied her, which made for sloppy knots. Her fingers had spent the last hour careful y exploring them. She worked herself the rest of the way free with little problem.

She’d tried to keep her legs from going to sleep, but they were sore and stiff when she tried to stand. She wasn’t going to be running anytime soon.

She could hide. She’d been staring at the loose ventilation grate in the corner. It looked big enough to crawl inside, if she could just move it. But there wasn’t time, it wouldn’t be quiet, and she didn’t know if the shaft led anywhere.