The Watchman

Nine

Parillas made a big show of climbing out of the car and looking down at the box, then lifting his chin as if asking what it was. The fat man said something and Parillas bent to lift the lid up and down as if testing the hinges. For good measure he gave one side a gentle kick before nodding and asking another question.

The fat man went through the motions of haggling, which I didn’t think would fool anybody for a second. But maybe it was the way they do things down here. It was their show and probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for strangers meeting in a car park in the middle of the day and making an exchange of some kind.

Parillas handed over some notes and lugged the box on to the back seat of the Land Cruiser, while the fat man waddled back to his pickup and took off.

‘We just bought a piece of furniture,’ Parillas said, in a weak attempt at humour. ‘There are guns and cell phones in the box — all throw-aways. Were the jackets and hats your idea?’

I nodded. Disposable clothing is useful for changing one’s profile in tight situations. Followers of a target automatically lock on to colours, clothes and the physical characteristics of the person they’re tailing. Switching any of these creates confusion and maybe a chance of getting clear. Changing physical points isn’t so easy, but putting on a jacket, taking off a hat, picking up or discarding a bag, are often sufficient to throw off a tail.

We set off again, this time for a kilometre or so, before Parillas stopped to drop me off. It put me five minutes’ walk from the hotel where the meeting was to take place. I stretched into the back and opened the wooden box, and took out a 9mm semi-automatic and a spare magazine, a pale linen jacket roomy enough to throw on over my own jacket, and an anonymous baseball cap. A cell phone completed my kit and I was ready to go.

We synchronized watches and cell phone numbers, then I shrugged on the jacket and left Parillas to disappear somewhere quiet until it was time to arrive at the hotel for the meet. I had more than an hour to scope the area, and figured that should be enough to spot trouble if it was waiting. If there were any bogies around and I hadn’t spotted them by then, we were in deep water.

As it turned out, I didn’t have long to wait. As I approached the hotel, which was in a busy section of town, I saw two black SUVs nosing at walking pace through the traffic. Alone, they might have gone unnoticed in such a crowded street. But keeping pace alongside them were several men on foot, scouring the faces of pedestrians.

I felt alarm bells ringing. This wasn’t good. They might have been local dealers for all I knew, putting on a show of strength to win over some turf. Or a local law enforcement team on an exercise. But if so, why here, right now?

I took out the disposable cell phone and hit speed dial to warn Parillas. If they were the cartel, we had no choice — we would have to abort. The meeting must have been compromised, although whether Achevar had already gotten scooped up was an unknown quantity.

The phone rang for a full thirty seconds. I cut the connection and tried again, checking to make sure I hadn’t fed in the wrong number.

No answer.