Act of Deceit

Chapter 61

T he burst of laughter from drunks leaving a cantina a block away sounded sharp against the low rumble of thunder as Donnally climbed Uncle Beto’s hand-made ladder at 2 A.M. It was leaning against the bougainvillea-topped back wall of the White Sands compound.

Donnally worried about Lalo standing below, steadying the ladder. The worn pine sagged with each step and his shoes had uncertain purchase on rungs that were slick with wear and humidity.

The image of the satellite photograph of the property he had looked at on Corazon’s computer remained fixed in his mind as he neared the top. Once he cut through the thorned branches intertwined into the heavy latticework, he’d drop down into a geometric garden surrounding a swimming pool.

A blast of low lightning lit up the alley and reflected off the stained glass windows of the church behind him. It gave him a moment of illumination, and just enough time to reach in with the saw toward the thickest branches. Uncle Beto’s leather gloves protected his hands as he sawed, but the barbs tore at his forearms.

After he cut each branch, he hung it by a rope from the latticework. When he opened a large enough space, he gritted his teeth against the bite he’d feel in his hip, then climbed onto the top and grabbed the ropes. He waited for a round of thunder, then lowered himself to the ground in the space between the bougainvillea and the wall. As he did so, he pulled the branches back up and into place. He then slipped off his backpack and dug out the 9mm.

In the silence that followed, Donnally heard scraping as Lalo lowered the ladder to the ground and then his footsteps in the mud as he carried it away.

Moments later, thunder rolled again and the rain began.

Donnally heard drops ticking the canopy of leaves above him. Then the rhythmic squishing of rubber soles on wet concrete. They ceased and a flashlight swept the bushes concealing him. They moved on. A disciplined stop-and-go as the police officer worked the perimeter.

Donnally peeked through the branches, trying to locate the trellis Lalo’s friend described as the easiest route to the roof, three floors up. It had borne the weight of kids using it as a jungle gym, but Donnally wasn’t sure it would bear his.

For a moment he tried to imagine where Sherwyn was holding Janie, but put it out of his mind. If there were as many cops in the building as Lalo’s friend had claimed, trying to rescue her now would be suicidal.

After waiting for the officer to make another circuit, Donnally skirted the courtyard. He reached through the ivy and pulled on the trellis. It held firm. He found a foothold and eased himself up, distributing his weight between his hands and feet. His damaged hip jabbed at him. He thought of Mauricio. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe he should’ve gotten it replaced years ago and broken the last link to his past, or at least not have relied on pain to maintain it.

As he reached the second floor, a flashlight beam swept the bougainvillea securing the perimeter. The light died. Donnally heard the rip of a zipper and the sound of the officer peeing into the bushes below him.

And Donnally let himself enjoy the fantasy of putting a slug into the top of the cop’s head.

After the man moved on, Donnally continued upward and hoisted himself onto the roof. He removed a rope from his backpack, tied it around the air-conditioning unit, then lowered himself down the front of the building toward Sherwyn’s office.

As he reached to pull the window open to climb in, he had a panicked moment, wondering whether Lalo’s friend was still bought, or whether he’d sold them out to Jago Cruz, who’d be poised like an executioner on the other side.