Ghost Sniper

65

Mariana hadn’t had too much trouble getting Billy Jessup to notice her in the nightclub. The trouble was getting him to un-notice the twins sitting three tables over, where they pretended to be interested in the half dozen inebriated young men vying heavily for their attention.

“Those two seem to be distracting you,” she said, drinking from a bottle of Tecate beer.

“I’m sorry,” Jessup said with a laugh, embarrassed to be called on the carpet for gawking. “I just don’t see that every day.”

His Spanish had turned out to be too poor to carry on a conversation, forcing Mariana to talk to him in accented English, which required a conscious effort on her part to keep from breaking character. “You don’t see what every day?”

He laughed again. “They’re just really hot.”

“And I’m not?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re beautiful. It’s just…” He laughed again, sounding more stupid each time. “There’s just different kinds of pretty, that’s all.”

“So you prefer women who look like putas?” Sluts.

Again the annoying laugh. “I don’t know if that’s what I said.”

“Well, go over and talk to them. That’s obviously where you want to be.”

He turned his back to the far table. “No, this is where I want to be. Your English is very good. Where did you learn?”

“I’ve lived on the border all my life. My whole family speaks English.”

“Do you like the US?”

She nodded. “What are you doing in Mexico?”

“I’ve been doing some consulting.”

“Consulting?” She put on her most interested face. “My brother’s a consultant in DF. What kind of consulting do you do?”

“Well, it’s not…” He hadn’t counted on her knowing a damn thing about consulting. “It’s more like security work — security consulting.”

“For banks and things like that?”

“No, no.” He took a drink from his beer. “More like, um… more like bodyguard-type work.”

“For politicians?”

He chuckled. “Sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘Sort of’?”

“Well, I don’t know… just sort of.” He laughed again.

She gave his sizeable biceps a squeeze, noting the bottom part of a military tattoo sticking out beneath the sleeve. “You’re a mercenary, aren’t you?”

Jessup knew women well enough to know they didn’t start squeezing on you unless they were at least contemplating taking off their clothes. “Suppose I am?”

She shrugged, offering a flirtatious smile. “Suppose you are?”

“Would that bother you?”

“I guess it depends.”

“On what?”

She sat forward into the table, making the moment more intimate. “If I decide to fuck you at some point in the future, and I find out you’re down here working for the DEA … or the ATF …”—she took a drink, and her expression turned almost vicious—“I’ll cut your fucking balls off in your fucking sleep.”

Jessup felt himself stiffen inside his jeans. “Believe me, the last people on earth I work for is the ATF or the fucking DEA.”

“Because the people I work for,” she went on, “they don’t fucking play. Do you understand?”

He took a drink and set down the bottle. “And just who do you work for?”

“Way too soon.” She sat back. “But he’s the kind of man who’d feed us both to the fucking sharks if I hooked up with you and you turned out to be a fucking narc. I got rules I have to follow.”

He pushed the beer aside. “You wanna get outta here?”

She smiled. “Again, corazón, way too soon. There’s no way I’m fucking you tonight, so relax. I don’t even know your real name.”

“Yes, you do.” He dug his California driver’s license from his wallet and put it on the table. “See, Billy Jessup.”

Mariana looked at it. “Your name is actually Billy. Not William?”

“I was named after my daddy. His name was William, but everybody called him Billy.”

“I like that,” she said thoughtfully. “I think you should name a kid what you’re gonna call him.”

Realizing he wasn’t going to get laid, Jessup pushed aside his disappointment and settled in for conversation. “So do you want kids?”

“Sometimes. You?”

He shrugged. “I’d like to have a son. But a daughter would be okay.”

She could see he was telling her the truth. “It doesn’t sound to me like you’re in a position to start a family right now.”

“I can quit whenever I want. Nobody owns me.”

“Must be nice.” She put on her sad face and took a drink from her beer.

“What, you can’t quit?”

She pretended to force a smile. “We don’t know each other well enough, Billy. You don’t know the kind of people I work for.”

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “You work for the cartels, and we’re in the North — which means you work for Castañeda.”

She looked suddenly angry. “Liar! You are with the DEA!” She stole a look around the club. “You’re gonna get me killed!” She grabbed her purse and began to get up.

The second he grabbed her arm to stop her, she knew she had him.

“I don’t work for the DEA, okay? I work for Ruvalcaba.”

Mariana stole another quick glance around, lowering herself back into the chair. “That’s even worse!” she hissed. “What are you doing up here? Trying to get yourself killed?”

“Well, I don’t exactly work for him anymore. I quit a few days ago.”

“Just like that? And you’re not scared to be walking around Mexico?”

“They don’t really care about me. They care about my partner; he’s the one who’s important.”

She pushed up the sleeve of his T-shirt to get a good look at his Airborne Ranger tattoo. “Are you the one I’ve heard rumors about?”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not me; that’s my partner.”

“So it’s true,” she said quietly. “There is a gringo sniper.”

He drank from his beer. “It’s true, all right. And he’s not really anybody you’d wanna meet.”