The Ninth Day (17 page)

“Looks like you’ve traded up, Mono,” he said.

Mono shook his head. “She’s cargo.” He jerked a thumb at the Escalade. “We’ve got twenty in the back for you. You want ’em?”

The wiry man nodded. “If it’s good.”

Mono snorted. “The best Mexico has to offer.” He pronounced “Mexico” like “Mehico.” The wiry man shrugged.

“We’ll test it, like we always do.” He jerked his chin at Emma. “Come on inside.”

“You carry the shipment in?” Mono said.

The second man, who up until this point hadn’t said a word, started toward the Escalade. Emma felt her nerves stretch as he approached the car.

“You got any gardening gloves? Maybe you get them before you start unloading,” she said.

The man stopped and looked at her in surprise. “Why? To protect my soft hands?”

Mono chuckled in an unconvincing manner and waved the gun at her. “You stay quiet.”

The man kept going. He swung open the back door and reached inside. Emma couldn’t watch anymore. She started to the trailer, moving past the tattooed man, who still stood in the doorway.

The house was dark and oppressively hot, even though the windows were open. A fitful breeze blew the curtains around, but did little to lower the temperature. A tattered couch shoved against a far wall dominated the living room, and a ring-stained coffee table held two bongs, one filled with sludge water. Emma could see a portion of the kitchen. Stacks of pizza boxes were on the floor, along with several beer carriers, each holding empty bottles. The entire house smelled like stale beer and old cigarette smoke.

The two men entered, each holding a brick of the shipment. Mono walked in behind them. He held his gun, but no bricks.

The wiry man settled onto the couch and prepared a bong using the brick. The second man tossed his onto the cocktail table before joining his buddy on the couch. The wiry man packed the bong in no time and held it to his lips as he lit it. Emma heard him inhale.

“I need some fresh air,” she said. She spun around and moved past Mono, who watched the two men smoke with a knowing look on his face. She hit the screen door and pushed it open. It slammed shut behind her with a sound like a gunshot. She looked around at the dilapidated trailers and littered lawn and hoped that not all of rural America had become so worn down, so sad.

The screen door gave a second report and she looked over to see Oz coming toward her, with Mono at his heels.

“Let’s go,” Mono said. “Fast.” He jogged toward the Escalade, and some of his urgency transmitted to Emma.

“What’s going on?”

“They’re smoking the sick leaves,” Mono said. “We got to get out of here now.” When he saw Emma and Oz staring at him, he became impatient. “Come on! We don’t have much time. Get the hell out of here. Fast. Before they realize they’re dying.”

“They have nine days,” Oz said.

Mono shook his head. “Not these guys. When they smoke the bad leaves it goes fast. We’ve got to get out of here.”

The screen door slammed. One of the men staggered out onto the lawn. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, and mouth. He took an unsteady step toward them. He fell to his knees and landed on his face in the grass. He twitched once, and stilled. Emma saw the second man stumble out of the house. He, too, was covered in blood.

“Jesus,” Oz said.

“Go! Now,” Mono yelled.

Before Emma could respond, the first bottles on the picnic tables between the trailers exploded.

Emma felt the heat and force of the blast, which knocked her backward onto the ground. She hit the dirt, and lost her breath. Oz fell next to her.

More bottles exploded, followed in rapid succession by the others. One by one Emma heard the stash in the backyard begin to combust. Tico gave a guttural scream, which was followed by a high-pitched one from the blonde. Emma scrambled into a crouch and grabbed Oz’s arm. She hauled him upward as the next group of bottles exploded, creating a large fireball that belched into the air. She started running toward the cars and nearly ran into Carlos, who appeared from around the corner. Flying bits of metal, rocks, and dirt hit the back of Emma’s head.

Carlos yelled at her in Spanish. She didn’t know the words, but she understood his intent. She ran right behind him as they sprinted to the vehicles. Carlos veered off toward the ambulance. More explosions rocked the area. Flames spewed up from the lab. Oz threw open the door to the Escalade’s driver side. Emma ran to the passenger door. Mono crawled into the back.

Oz started the car and hit the gas. He pointed down the dirt road away from the trailers. Explosions triggered behind them, filling the air with sound. Emma craned her neck to see. Flames engulfed the lab, creating black smoke that billowed into the sky.

Oz gunned the Escalade, keeping it close to the ambulance, which filled the road in front of them. No one spoke for several minutes.

“There goes Serena’s chance,” Oz said.

Emma gazed out the window, watching scrub brush and twisted cactus flash by. Mono remained silent in the back, his ever-present rifle by his side and a gun on his belt. Emma was still trying to wrap her head around what she had seen. Oz was quiet, brooding.

“Guess they’ll never steal from La Valle again,” Mono said. After a moment, Emma heard him chuckle.

Chapter 20

B
anner lurched toward the ringing cell phone, reaching it before Sumner could. The display showed that Stromeyer was calling.

“Tell me some good news,” Banner said.

“Good? No. Weird? Yes. I just received a call from some investigator with the Mexican army. Seems that they found a Range Rover that contained a piece of paper in the glove compartment with both our cell-phone numbers written on it.” Banner switched the phone to speaker and placed it on the desk so that Sumner could hear.

“Whose car was it?”

“It was registered to a woman named Luisa Perez. She was a veterinarian.”

“Did she say who gave her the numbers?”

“Unfortunately, no. She’s dead. They found her body inside a compound owned by one Eduardo La Valle.” Sumner groaned. “I know, I didn’t like that either.”

Sumner leaned toward the cell phone to speak to Stromeyer. “But I thought the GPS transmission was coming from Ciudad. La Valle’s compound is one hundred and fifty miles south of there.”

“Perhaps Caldridge made it out of Ciudad.”

“You said they found this woman’s body. What happened at the compound?”

“The army raided it early this morning. La Valle’s men put up a fight, and a whole group of cartel dealers died. Apparently the Mexican army had a tip about a cartel gathering there, and they planned the raid to coincide with it. Half the partygoers died before they knew what hit them. Sumner, would you recognize Caldridge’s handwriting?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me fax you this note. I received it by fax as well, so it’s going to be a bit blurry, but perhaps you can rule out her writing.”

Sumner’s office phone rang. He punched on the speaker and answered. A voice that Banner recognized as the man in the control tower poured out of the speaker.

“You wanted to know about this air jockey, right?”

Sumner nodded, then seemed to catch himself. “Yes I did.”

“Well he disappeared for a while, then reappeared, but he’s changed his course.”

“Okay,” Sumner drew out the word. “Where’s he going now?”

“The Midwest. Not Miami.”

Sumner frowned. He thought a minute. “Then he’s not hauling cocaine. Miami would be his first stop if he was. Midwest route through Chicago?”

“Most likely.”

“So he’s hauling either meth or marijuana,” Sumner said.

“Yep. You want to fly intercept?”

“You bet I do.”

“Think you can beat this guy? I mean, Jorge couldn’t.”

“No disrespect to Jorge, but I think I can beat this guy,” Sumner said.

Banner heard the man laugh over the line. “Okay. I’ll keep you posted.” Sumner got up and walked over to the fax machine to remove a piece of paper. He gazed at it a moment.

“Well?” Banner said.

Sumner nodded. “It’s Caldridge’s handwriting.”

Banner heard Stromeyer blow out a breath. He felt the same way, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Sumner just stared at the page. Banner couldn’t tell what the man was thinking.

“Okay, so we know that her GPS watch is in Ciudad Juarez, but she somehow made her way to La Valle’s compound.”

“Or was taken there against her will,” Stromeyer said.

“Absolutely,” Banner said. “Taken against her will. But why the phone numbers in a Range Rover?”

“To get a message to the outside?” Stromeyer said.

Sumner’s office phone rang again, and once again he put it on speaker. “Sumner here,” he said. This time a woman’s voice poured out.

“I’ve got a call from a sheriff in some small town in the Arizona hills. He wants to speak to Mr. Banner.”

“Me? Why?” Banner said.

“He won’t say. Let me transfer him.”

“This Edward Banner? The man who’s looking for a woman named Emma Caldridge?”

Sumner sat forward. Banner felt a twist in his stomach.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“I’m Sheriff Reimer. We had a meth lab in the mountains explode. Two men dead, one seriously wounded and an injured woman.”

“The woman is Emma Caldridge?”

“Nope. The woman is Shelby Warren. She’s in the hospital and not saying a word. The man is Timothy Conway. He’s also in the hospital, but he’s saying a lot. He told us that Emma Caldridge and another guy came by his trailer right before it exploded, looking for a lab to make meth. He says they shook up a batch, but did it wrong. It blew up his trailer and his Harley Davidson motorcycle. He’s fighting mad and is demanding to press charges.”

Banner looked at Sumner, who raised his eyebrows. “Is he well enough to be interviewed?”

“He’s got some burns, but he can talk. You want to come on over?”

Sumner leaned into Banner. “I’ll fly you. I want to be present when you talk to him.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good, because there’s something more. The two dead guys are members of the Black Eagles motorcycle gang. Conway claims that the Caldridge woman and two other men went into the house right before the explosion and they ran out with two of the Eagles staggering behind them. Conway says the Eagles were bleeding from everywhere and died on the lawn before the explosion. Bodies are pretty beat up from the explosion, so it’s hard to verify his account. There’s an autopsy scheduled for tomorrow.”

“I’m on my way,” Banner said. He and the Sheriff exchanged information and Banner rang off.

“That’s an unusual story. Caldridge knows how to cook meth?” Banner said.

Sumner nodded. “I imagine she knows how to make a lot of different substances. The question is, why would she?”

“Perhaps she was coerced.” Stromeyer’s voice poured out of the cell phone. Banner had forgotten she was there.

“Perhaps,” he said.

“I wish I could join you guys, but something’s heating up and I have to deal with that. You’ll keep me posted?”

“Yep,” Banner said.

“Then I’m out.” Stromeyer rang off.

“Do you think she would make meth?” Banner said.

Sumner thought a moment. “Perhaps. I can’t tell for certain. But one thing I can tell you, if she did make it, she’d do it right. No explosions when she cooks.”

Banner stood up. “Let’s go talk to this guy. The situation is getting stranger by the minute.”

Chapter 21

B
anner stood next to Timothy Conway’s hospital bed, with Sumner at his side. He’d already been briefed on Conway’s arrest record. A long history of theft, some petty and some not so petty, drug possession, and two arrests for armed robbery, as well as three domestic-abuse calls. The domestics all were dropped within three days of filing. Two were filed by Shelby Warren, who was currently resting in another wing of the hospital. Banner intended to talk to her next. Conway was also a reputed member of the Black Eagles motorcycle gang, a small startup enterprise that dabbled in crime, prostitution, and drug dealing. They were part of the 1 percent, a term used among motorcycle members to indicate their status at the top of the gang food chain. Banner took stock of the man.

Conway’s bandaged arms and battered, bruised face gave testament to the force of the blast he’d survived. Most of his hair had been burned off and the rest cut close to his head by the doctors, but the pungent, almost metallic smell still seemed to surround the man. A plastic bag hung from a hook near his bed, with a snaking tube that ended in an IV needle, still unused and wrapped, ready to be stuck into a vein on his arm. Banner noticed the open, red sores on Conway’s arms and his jittery affect despite the painkillers he must have received. Meth addict, Banner thought.

His sly, dark eyes looked a challenge at Banner, despite the fact that he couldn’t possibly know why Banner was there. He struck Banner as the type that would forever fall on the wrong side of everything.