The Devil's bounty

Thirty

Arriving in Diablo, they found a hotel in the centre of town. It was part of a large American chain. There were lots of vacant rooms — no surprise, given the wave of violence engulfing some of the border towns and cities.

Ty checked them in using a fake ID, paid in cash, and then they drove straight to the bar to meet his contact. Lock was hoping he would be back for a second evening. He had already decided that if he saw Mendez in public he would take him there and then.

When they arrived, the parking lot behind the bar was already crowded. Ty found them a spot as close to the back door as he could manage and they got out of the Durango. Lock plucked the picture of Mendez from the sun visor as he got out.

They walked around to the front of the bar. Ty glanced up at the sign. ‘This is it.’

Lock squared his shoulders and, with Ty a pace behind him, pushed his way through the front door. The first thing he noticed was the smell of cigarette smoke. Presence of the abnormal if you had just come from California: smoking in public was worse than farting. He had tucked the picture of Mendez into his back pocket.

At the bar, he ordered two beers and checked out the crowd. It looked to be mostly locals but there were a few Americans.

Lock clinked glasses with Ty.

‘What should we drink to?’ Ty asked.

Over Ty’s shoulder, Lock noticed a white guy sitting alone, nursing a Boilermaker. He seemed to be tuning in to their conversation.

‘Let’s drink to a great vacation,’ Lock said, tipping the neck of his bottle against Ty’s. He half turned, so he was square to the bar. The barfly caught his eye. ‘You guys American?’ the man said.

‘How’d you guess?’ said Lock.

The guy gave a modest shrug. ‘Suppose I’m just good at reading people.’

‘You want a drink?’ Lock asked.

The guy smiled. ‘Sure.’

Ty nodded towards a table of tourists, mostly young and female. ‘I’m gonna go circulate, brother.’

Lock slid his beer down towards the guy and grabbed a stool. He’d already spotted something he could use: a battlefield cross tattoo on the guy’s right biceps. ‘My buddy over there was in the Corps.’

‘Good times, man,’ the American said, raising his glass. ‘Your health.’

‘And yours,’ Lock said, taking a gulp of beer. ‘Where did you serve?’

‘Here and there. Did my final tour in Iraq. First time round. Desert Storm.’

That was the phrase Lock had been waiting for, the phrase that told him they had found Ty’s contact. He lowered his voice but kept the tone conversational. Just two dumb-ass Americans shooting the bull on vacation. ‘So what you got?’

The American dug out a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Lock, who declined. ‘He was in here last night.’

‘You’re sure it was him?’ Lock asked.

The American lit his smoke. ‘Yeah. Soon as I saw him I knew who he was. Kind of surprised to see him here, though.’

‘How’s that?’

‘You get tourists in here.’

‘He was with a girl?’

The American blew a smoke ring, which settled over the bar. ‘There’s a resort not too far from here, still gets some trade. She came in on her own. They were talking, he bought her a drink. She must have been pretty blitzed because he had to help her walk out.’

Lock’s heart almost stopped. ‘She couldn’t walk?’

The American shrugged. ‘Kids come down here, they can’t hold their liquor.’

The bartender was back, asking if they wanted more drinks. Lock waved him away. ‘He left with the girl?’

‘They went upstairs. I didn’t see either of them again for a while until this Mexican dude came to get him.’

‘A bodyguard?’ said Lock.

‘Looked like it. Here,’ he said, digging into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. ‘I didn’t get a chance to snap your boy but I did get a picture of the muscle.’

The American pulled up a grainy picture on the tiny screen. The bartender was still hovering. ‘Great boat, ain’t she?’

Lock played along as he took the cell phone and studied the picture. It showed a man in profile as he walked out of the bar. He was dressed in shorts and a wife-beater shirt. Mexican. Heavyset, with hooded eyes and a boxer’s squashed nose.

‘So why you selling her?’ Lock asked.

The American shrugged. ‘Low on cash, you know how it is.’

Lock handed the cell phone back. ‘Hey, send me that picture so I can show my wife, okay, and we’ll work something out.’

‘Okay, will do. Listen, good meeting you.’

They shook hands, the American slid off the stool and walked out of the bar. A few seconds later the picture flashed up on Lock’s cell. The contact would be paid by wire transfer the next day as per their agreement.

Ty was still talking to the crowd of girls. Lock joined him. ‘Hate to break up the party, but we gotta go, brother.’

Ty slid his chair back from the table. ‘Catch you later, ladies.’ He shot them a backward glance. ‘I asked them about an American girl maybe going missing.’

‘And?’ Lock asked.

‘Hadn’t heard about anything like that.’

‘Well, if it was him and he drugged her, maybe she hasn’t remembered it yet.’

They headed back out to the Durango, scanning the parking lot as they made sure no one had followed them. At the rear of the vehicle, Lock shared what the American had told him.

‘You believe him?’ Ty asked.

Lock nodded. ‘Yeah. But I don’t think Mendez’ll be back anytime soon. Not if he took a girl out of here.’

‘So where does that leave us?’

Lock tilted his cell phone so that Ty could see the picture of the bodyguard. ‘Leaves us with one more face to pick out of the crowd.’

They sat outside the bar for a while in the Durango, watching as patrons came and went. None was Charlie Mendez or his bodyguard. Exhausted from the long drive, they took it in turns to grab some sleep. After years of practice they were both accomplished at napping when they could. In relative terms, the back seat of a Dodge Durango was luxury compared to some of the places they’d had to sleep in the past.

At around three in the morning, the lot had begun to empty. Their vehicle parked alone with both of them inside it might attract attention. Ty woke Lock.

‘He ain’t coming.’

Lock sat up, rubbing his face. ‘Let’s hang on for a while yet.’

Another half-hour passed and the last few drinkers staggered outside, climbed into taxis and headed off into the night. The staff began to leave. The last one out was the bartender who had served Lock. He walked towards his car.

Lock opened the door of the Durango and got out. The man froze as he approached, no doubt figuring he was about to be mugged or forced to let Lock back into the bar to have that evening’s takings.

Lock showed him empty palms. ‘I just want to ask you a question.’ The bartender stepped back, fumbling for his keys, but Lock placed himself between him and his car. ‘You speak English?’

The man flicked his head up and down. ‘I don’t want trouble.’

Lock pulled out the picture of Charlie Mendez as Ty flicked on the headlights of their vehicle. He angled it into the beam so that the man could see. ‘This guy was here last night?’

The bartender looked from the picture to Lock and back again. Everything about the way he was holding himself told Lock that he didn’t want to say anything. His reluctance was understandable. ‘You know him?’

The bartender screwed up his face.

Lock reached out and tapped the man’s cheek. ‘Look at me. This is important. Was he here?’

The bartender looked at him with pleading eyes. ‘ Si.’

‘He was with another man. This man here,’ Lock pressed, showing him the picture on his cell phone of the bodyguard. He studied the bartender’s face. There was a flicker of recognition, and he swallowed so hard that Lock saw his Adam’s apple bob. He didn’t answer. He pushed past Lock, trying to get to his car. Lock reached out to grab his arm but he broke away. He started to run. Lock took off after him, his hand falling on the man’s shoulder as he fumbled with his car keys, his hands shaking.

‘Who is he?’ Lock asked. ‘What’s his name?’

The bartender just stared at him. ‘Please, I have a family, children.’

Lock let him get into his car and drive away. He had the answers he needed.

They headed back to their hotel. The elevator was broken. They climbed the three flights of stairs, rigged the door so that anyone coming in unannounced would cause a hellish racket, and fell, exhausted, into a dreamless sleep.