The Devil's bounty

Thirty-one

Lock woke at seven on the button. He got out of bed as Ty slept on, went into the bathroom, took a leak, showered, shaved and worked through some stretches. By the time he came out, Ty was emerging from under the covers, his feet and ankles sticking out at the bottom of the bed. He got up, walked to the window, opened the curtains and looked out over the smoke stacks of a nearby factory.

‘Man, there’s nothing like being on vacation.’

‘I know, and this is nothing like being on vacation,’ Lock said. ‘Go get ready. We got work to do.’

Ty shuffled towards the bathroom, scratching himself as he went. Lock watched him. ‘You’re going to make some woman very happy one of these days.’

‘Thanks, brother.’

‘When she divorces you and takes half your money.’

As Ty took his turn in the shower, Lock sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at the number he’d found in Brady’s office. Now that he was here, he felt more hesitant about calling it. What if calling it had somehow hastened Brady’s death? Could a number summon death? He had no doubt that it could. He had kept the picture of the bodyguard as the screensaver on his cell phone. He stared at the man whose name was too terrifying for someone to utter. Lock clicked on his recent calls list and tried the number.

The cell phone pressed to his ear to block out the hiss of the shower, he listened to the familiar trill. Someone picked up. Lock was so startled that he almost dropped the phone. He stood and walked to the window. ‘Hello?’

A woman answered him, in English, but with an accent. ‘If you want to fuck me, why don’t you just come up to me like a man and ask me?’

Of all the responses, this was one that he hadn’t been fully prepared for.

‘My name is Francis Brady. I found your number in the personal effects of my brother Joe Brady. He was murdered in Mexico.’

Lock had no idea if Brady had had a brother or not, never mind what his name might be if he had, but he had figured that a family member wishing to ask some questions was about as plausible an explanation as any. Also, he didn’t want the person at the other end to know who he was. Her response, though, suggested that perhaps Brady had had a little more going on south of the border than the hunt for Charlie Mendez.

There was silence.

‘Hello?’ Lock said again.

He could hear the woman clear her throat. ‘You are his brother?’

At least she’d heard Joe Brady’s name.

‘Yes, that’s correct,’ he said.

Ty had emerged from the bathroom, a towel around his waist. He scratched his chest. ‘Think we got bedbugs or something.’

Lock waved at him to shut up. ‘I found your number in his office. I’m trying to work out exactly what happened to him when he came down to Mexico. I thought you might be able to help.’

More silence, more hesitancy.

‘Can I at least ask your name?’

‘Where are you now?’ the woman said.

‘Santa Maria,’ Lock lied, unwilling to give away the precise location to someone he didn’t know.

‘Are you crazy? You already know what happened to your brother, right? You want to join him?’ she asked.

‘No, I don’t. But I need to know why it happened.’

‘Go home, Mr Brady. That’s my best advice to you.’

Lock took a breath. Beneath him he watched a crowd of workers clamber on to a bus. He picked out a middle-aged woman who took a seat by the window. She had the worn-out look of someone who didn’t so much live as exist. ‘I can’t do that.’ He paused. ‘You knew my brother but I don’t even know your name.’

More silence. He could hear her, though.

‘Meet me in an hour.’ She gave him an address in Santa Maria. His lie had caught him out. The drive last night when the roads were quiet had taken an hour and ten minutes. Now it was rush-hour.

‘Wait, can we make it a little later?’ he said. But she had already hung up.