Payback

109

The container was one of two dozen carried on the ship. They all looked exactly alike, and at first Babin was worried that the paperwork had been filled out incorrectly and that he had been led to the wrong truck. But his fear vanished when he opened the back and peered in. The crate, its freight labeled as cast-iron bathtubs, sat near the front, secured to its tiedowns.

He nodded to the yardman, who closed the rear of the container up. Babin crutched over to the waiting tractor.

“It’s all right,” he told the driver. “We’ll meet at the park as I told you.”

“My pay.”

“I’ll pay you the money I promised then,” said Babin.

The Mexican was a scoundrel; he’d been promised twice the going daily rate to take the truck north to the U.S. and then had the gall to ask for a “tip” because the cargo container had to be picked up. Babin worried that the idiot would take off with the bomb, but there was no way he could climb into the cab.

Túcume had said very little since Ecuador. Even the girl was more talkative, telling them about her dream to make money in America and then return to buy a restaurant. Babin had considered telling her how things really worked but decided it was better to leave her naïveté unchallenged.

“Don’t let him get too far ahead,” Babin told the general when he got back to the car they’d bought for cash at a small gas station not far from the airport. The truck was just turning around and heading for the exit.

“I don’t trust him,” said Túcume. He used English so the girl couldn’t understand. “We should get rid of him.”

Surprised, Babin asked the general if he was prepared for such a thing.

“We can’t trust him,” replied Túcume. “So we had best deal with him sooner instead of later.”

“Good. Yes.”

“The road would be the best place to dispose of him,” said Túcume. “A stop.”

“Yes. After we make the switch.”