Illegal

SEVENTY-ONE

I lost the bet, Javier Cardenas thought.

He couldn't believe it. Here was Payne, sneaking up to the trailer like some Special Forces wannabe.

Bastard's gonna kill the guy, and it's gonna cost me a Black Ice bow.

Not that Cardenas had paid for the sleek hunting bow, which must have cost six hundred bucks new. He'd seized it as evidence from a hunter who lacked a license. He also confiscated the guy's arrows, broad heads, tree stands, camo gear, and tent. If the hunter'd had an English bulldog, Cardenas would have taken that, too.

Now he sat in his cruiser, under a white alder tree, engine idling, A/C on, iPod plugged in, listening to Salma Hayek whisper "Quedate Aqui" from the Desperado soundtrack. The cruiser was parked on a small rise near Manuel Garcia's rusted-out trailer. Cardenas had been waiting two hours, convinced Payne wouldn't show up and he'd win Sim's Mossberg shotgun, the combo over-under model with 12- and 20-gauge barrels. That was the bet, the Black Ice bow for the Mossberg shotgun. It seemed like such a sure thing.

"Payne's not a killer, Sim."

"You think you're that good a judge of character?"

"It's what I do."

"And here's what I'm gonna do, Javie. I'm gonna shoot a wild boar with that bow and arrow. The one that used to be yours!"

They had bantered a few minutes. Planning a trip to Hog Haven up in Geyersville. Been going there since Javier was ten years old. Hunting those huge smelly boars with the wide snouts, sharp tusks, and grouchy dispositions.

"Don't shoot till he's ten yards away. Then make it a kill shot."

Simeon had barked those instructions when Cardenas was a boy and repeated them to this day. Instilled confidence and courage.

Back then, Cardenas knew that if he missed a shot, Uncle Sim would be there to rescue him. These days, Cardenas was not so sure. The certainties of childhood had been replaced by the complexities of the adult world.

He endlessly replayed the phone call with Charles Whitehurst. Like polishing a jagged piece of quartz, he kept finding new angles. On the surface, the lawyer appeared concerned for Simeon's welfare. But underneath, Whitehurst feared losing his biggest client. If the government took over the business, he could say adios to all those legal fees.

So Whitehurst's advice-convince Simeon to plead out-was never sincere. Then what was the real purpose of the call? What message was the lawyer sending? It could only be one thing.

That everyone would be better off with Simeon out of the picture.

To drive home the point, Whitehurst had told Cardenas about Simeon's will, to hell with attorney-client privilege. And what about that bone-chilling statement?

"The sad fact is, the only way for your uncle Sim to achieve his fondest wish is for him to die."

How the lawyer must have rehearsed that line, pruning the words of any manifest intent.

Earlier today, when Simeon had called, Cardenas did not mention the conversation with Whitehurst. He hoped Simeon would bring up the indictment, ask for advice, but of course, that did not happen.

Cardenas was lost in a fog of conflicting emotions. Simeon was a surrogate father, no other way to put it.

Now Cardenas watched Payne kick open the trailer's screen door.

Heard shouts.

Wondered if Garcia had a gun.

Thinking it was just as likely that Garcia would kill Payne as the other way around. He wouldn't arrest Garcia for murder. The man would be defending his family and his home against a violent invasion by a man sworn to kill him. But if Payne killed Garcia, different story. Cardenas would arrest Payne for premeditated murder.

Either way, Payne was gone, and Sim would be happy. For now.

Poor Jimmy Payne. Heads, you lose your freedom. Tails, you lose your head.

Keeping his eyes on the trailer, Javier Cardenas checked the clip on his 9mm Beretta and waited to see who walked out the door.