Liquid Smoke

SIXTY-FIVE

Carter had the truck waiting in front of the casino when I walked out the front like I’d just finished testing my luck. Which I guess I had.

“He didn’t move, so I suppose it went okay?” he said as we drove off.

“Keene is going to be in El Centro. Tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Vasquez’s wife?” I said. “Moffitt said something about him tying up loose ends. He must know she’s still there.”

“He could be going down just to do business. Maybe he’s bringing over another load.”

Carter could have been right, but I doubted it. The timing was too coincidental. The week of Simington’s execution, Keene was heading back to where it all began. He was probably assuming that everyone would be so wrapped up in Simington’s impending death that he could slip down south, do what he needed to do, and slip out unnoticed. Make sure that everything went to the grave with Simington.

I’m sure he thought it was a good plan.

And if I hadn’t learned about it, it would have been even better.