Troubleshooter

Chapter 47

All eyes were on the black octopus of the speaker unit dominating the conference table. A mound of Rich's cigarettes grew from a Styrofoam doughnut plate like an ashen artichoke. Early-morning light filtered through the shades, pale and weak, losing itself in the fluorescents.

At last a clicking issued through the unit as Roberto Garcia returned to the phone on the other end. A liaison from the Mexican attorney general's office, he spoke clear English, unaccented and formal. "Ricardo, are you still there?"

Fingers drumming on his knee, Rich leaned forward over the speaker unit. "Still here, bud."

"The raid was a success. The Special Operations Group killed two Laughing Sinners in a shoot-out. We took the mortician alive."

Whoops and cheers and a smattering of applause.

Garcia said proudly, "My girl is sending the faxes through now."

As if on cue, the machine behind them whirred to life.

"Next time you come, my friend, bring some of that single-malt."

Rich smirked. "That stuff ain't free, compadre."

"I will supply the Cubans. Our customary arrangement."

Guerrera held the fax paper impatiently as it printed, then held up the crime-scene photos of the late Toe-Tag and Whelp to the others. Excited nods and high fives.

Tim slid the speaker unit to his side of the table. "Did you find the bodies?"

"Bodies? No bodies. The funeral home is disused for many months now. But we did find two cadaver tables with fresh fluids."

The celebratory mood dissipated immediately. Bear's shoulders sagged as if he were deflating. Jim swore sharply, his legal pad landing on the table with a slap.

Rich made a ticking noise with his tongue against his teeth. "I need another favor, Roberto. There are two corpses we gotta track down. Is the funeral director talking?"

"Not a word. He's loaded on heroin. He knows enough only to be terrified of the biker network. He will not talk."

In the background Maybeck said, "Even if the bodies shipped, we've got eyes at LAX. We're covered."

"We have to be sure," Rich said, at the same time Tim said, "We've got to question him."

"Can we get him extradited?" Guerrera asked.

"He's a Mexican citizen," Garcia said.

Tim's tone was bitter, discouraged. "They can't deport him, and a Mexican court won't extradite."

"So let's get country clearance from OIA and go interview him," Guerrera said.

The D.C. Office of International Affairs was notoriously bureaucratic. Tim spoke what everyone was thinking: "Won't happen within our time frame. That takes weeks, not hours."

Guerrera pressed on. "Maybe we can reclassify him as an international fugitive."

Garcia's voice came through clearly: "Gringo? Relax."

Wearing a sour face, Guerrera mouthed, "Gringo?"

Garcia said, "We have our own ways of dealing with matters such as this."

Rich's smile came fast, the gleam of his teeth standing out from his scruff. He reached across the table and pulled the speaker unit back in front of him.

"Our usual spot?" he asked.