The Traffickers

FIVE

Terminal D Philadelphia International Airport Thursday, September 10, 5:21 P.M.

“Well, Matt,” Jim Byrth said. He wore clean slacks and shirt, his white Stetson atop his head. “I’d say Juan Paulo Delgado got his wish.”

Payne looked at him a long moment. “I don’t follow you.”

“ ‘Death before dishonor’?”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “I dunno, Jim. He looked pretty dishonored in that chair.”

Byrth grinned. “My granddaddy had an expression. He told me, ‘Jimmy, in life you’ll find three kinds of men. There’re the ones who can learn by reading. And there’re the ones who can learn by observation.’”

He paused to let that sink in.

“And?” Payne said.

“ ‘And then there’s the rest of them who have to pee on the electric fence to find out for themselves.’ ”

Payne laughed aloud. “Sounds like one of Ron White’s lines.”

Bryth and Payne looked at each other. “ ‘ You can’t fix stupid,’ ” they said, simultaneously quoting the Texas comedian.

“And thankfully, most bad guys are stupid,” Byrth said.

“That.45 Officer’s Model had the serial number ground off,” Payne said, but it was more of a question.

“What.45?” Byrth said with a straight face. After a long moment, he added: “Oh, the one a certain informant carried?”

Payne nodded.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Marshal.”

After a moment, Payne said, “So, what’s with the beans?”

“Beans?”

“The ones you tumbled on your hand.”

Byrth nodded. The Hat accentuated the act.

“John Coffee Hayes?”

Payne shook his head.

Byrth explained: “He became a captain in the Rangers round about 1840. Helluva reputation for dealing with lawless Mexicans and marauding Indians. A couple years later, one of his men, who guessed he was as good as his boss, got involved with a bunch of other Texans who were planning an invasion of Mexico. The Mier Expedition?”

Payne shook his head again.

“Well, they failed miserably. The Mexicans captured them, including Samuel H. Walker-that was Hayes’s man-and a fellow named Big Foot Wallace. The order came down to execute every tenth man.”

Payne was nodding. “Then they let the rest loose to take the message back to Texas. ‘Don’t mess with Mexico.’ ”

“Exactly. You know, Texas actually uses that in an antilitter campaign. But that’s another story.”

“But what about the beans?”

“To decide who died, they had a drawing. The prisoner who drew a white bean lived. A black bean meant death for the poor bastard. Both Walker and Wallace drew white ones, and that’s how the story got back to Texas.”

Payne had a mental image of the black bean at Delgado’s feet.

Byrth looked in his eyes and sensed it.

“Look, Matt, the way I see it, our informant friend just saved the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania and the Lone Star State countless dollars in the housing, feeding, and prosecution of the deceased gangbanger. Plus, my favorite part-no more paperwork.”

Payne did not look convinced.

“Prosecuting a capital murder charge,” Byrth went on earnestly, “costs from two hundred thousand to three hundred thousand bucks. If you get a conviction and a long jail sentence, then it’s about thirty grand a year per inmate. That’s another three hundred grand every ten years.” He looked at him. “The way I figure it, El Gato getting shot when he attacked the Philly PD’s confidential informant saved the lawful taxpayers a million bucks. At least. You ought to factor that in when you compensate Paco. It was self-defense.”

Payne shook his head.

“Matt, you really don’t think that I came here planning on taking that piece of shit back to Texas?”

Payne said nothing.

Byrth grinned, and quoted, “ ‘All warfare is based on deception.’ ”

Payne nodded. “Sun Tzu.”

“Yup. So you do know this has been going on for millennia.”

Byrth held out his hand. As Matt shook it, Byrth said, “Come visit us in Texas, Marshal. We could use someone like you. We’ve got plenty more bad guys like Delgado. And it’s only going to get worse.”

Texas Rangers Sergeant James O. Byrth then affectionately patted Philadelphia Homicide Sergeant Matthew M. Payne on the shoulder. He turned and joined a crowd walking down the concourse.

And then The Hat was gone.

As he was driving out of the airport, Matt Payne thought about what Jim Byrth had said. He couldn’t quite reconcile all of it. At least not yet. But he already was seeing there was some truth to it.

Cops have held the line between civilized society and the barbarians forever.

And that’s not going to change as long as there’re bad guys.

Even Amanda said she understood that.

He felt his cell phone vibrate. And the Pavlovian response was triggered.

As he looked to the screen, his pulse quickened.

He read: — no number -

Dinner gets delivered at 7 o'clock.

Just found this cute cottage on the Internet.

To hell with lunch… -A