Deadly Journey (29 page)

Chapter 49

From Bad to Worse

Four guards, all
carrying automatic rifles, entered the yard. I’m not sure if it was out of
disdain, respect or fear, but the inmates stepped aside to leave a wide path,
like the sea parting for Moses. One of them signalled to Big Guy and then
turned to me.

‘
Visitante
.’

Pleased as I was at the revelation of yet
another visitor, I felt uncomfortable walking alongside Big Guy. At the same time,
I felt relieved at walking away from Surfer’s company, before he realized how
he knew me. When I looked over my shoulder, Surfer’s eyes followed me. He stood
akimbo, still stroking his chin and appearing deep in thought. We both stood
passively as they shackled our wrists and ankles and then led us through the
second gate. Taking a sideways glance, Big Guy stared at me.

‘You don’t fit,’ he said.

‘Yeah, the jeans are too short.’

‘Smartass, don’t fucking disrespect me. You
seem too clever to be in here. I’m watching you.’

He growled out some phlegm and spat on the
floor in front of me. Skilfully shuffling around the green slime, I saw two
suited guys sitting on a bench ahead. One of them with his back to me rose from
his seat and dipped his hand inside his jacket. He turned and whipped out his
ID. Special Agent Doug Walters, FBI. I didn’t need any introductions.

‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Big Guy stopped and shot me a look before a
guard tapped him on the shoulder and he moved on and through a door.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ I said, praying
Walters had put our spat behind him. ‘Have you come to get me out?’

‘It’s not that simple. Let’s talk inside.’

There was intelligence I wanted to feed
them. It was hard to know where to start, but my priorities came to the fore.

‘How’s Mary? Is she coming to see me soon?’
I asked as I shuffled around the table and sat. The guard closed the door.
Walters sat opposite me, but with only two chairs, his buddy had to stand.

‘Mary’s in shock and under sedation, but
she’s going to be fine,’ said Walters.

‘Does she know what’s happened to me down
here?’

‘Yeah, she knows everything.’

‘She’ll know I’m innocent. I guess you want
to know about the kidnapping, how I escaped and ended up in here?’

Walters didn’t reply, but held his hand out
to his partner, who handed him a file.

‘Ah, yes, the kidnapping. We’ll come to
that. First, you’ll be pleased to know we’ve put pressure on the authorities
here and they’re going to transfer you to a facility where you can have a cell
to yourself. The bad news is we don’t know where and when. From there hopefully
we’ll get to extradite you to the U.S.’

‘Hey, less of the “extradite” business.’ I
laughed. ‘Surely you mean free me to the U.S.’

My excitement waned, replaced with a
tightening gut. His expression remained sombre. I looked at his partner for
some solace, but he simply lowered his head and inspected his shoes.

‘No, I meant what I said about extradition.’

‘What? If this is a joke, you’re not funny.’

‘This is no joke. You got careless.’

My mouth gaped open. He wasn’t making
sense.

He opened the file and slid a photo across
the table. If this wasn’t a joke, I was mindful of my lawyer telling me not to
speak to them. All I could see was a photo of me holding the Detroit newspaper,
with the bedsheet in the background. I said nothing, but inched it back to him.

‘And the significance is what?’

He took another photo from the file and
pushed both back to me.

‘Take a look and tell me what you see.’

I inspected the second picture, noting the
date and time stamp. It was a grainy picture from a CCTV camera of someone
dressed in a black SWAT type uniform, holding an automatic assault rifle across
his chest and wearing a ski mask. My eyes were drawn to his bandaged wrists and
left hand. The hand bandage was stained. I noted a mesh fence and behind that,
a pile of cocaine bricks framed the background.

‘Where was this taken?’

‘Oh, I think you know the answer to that.’

‘I know the second picture isn’t me. Sure,
it’s similar bandaging to the one where I’m holding the newspaper, but I was
held captive in a rainforest at the time of the second photo.’

‘And you have someone to give you an alibi?’

‘Why would I need an alibi? But yeah, if
you can find her, she can testify to our whereabouts on that date. She was
captive with me and we escaped together, but we got separated just before my
arrest.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Nothing of the kind. You know I’m married.’

‘Oh, yeah, married. According to Mary,
things haven’t been very rosy this past two years. It seems to her like you’ve
been living two separate lives.’

‘What the hell does that mean? You’re
twisting her words. It’s nothing we couldn’t work through.’

He sighed and slid another photo across the
table. ‘Try this one.’

The picture was the same guy as in the
second photo, but he’d almost removed his mask with one hand, while placing his
left hand on a counter. Whoever it was looked remarkably like me. Walters
handed me another photo of the clothing I’d been wearing when I was arrested by
the Mexican police. My eyes popped in disbelief.

‘Let’s not fence, Walters. What are you
driving at?’

‘I’m just wondering why you turned from
gamekeeper to poacher. Or have you been a poacher all along?’

Anger welled inside. ‘Stop talking in
fucking riddles and spell it out. If this is your idea of payback for our spat,
you’re a sick mother.’

‘Okay, here’s what I think. My idea is that
you planned your own kidnapping. You had a bullshit film made to divert us and
tie up our resources, but you gave the game away with that smirk at the end.
Got to say, we had a lot of discussion about that smile. Anyway, then you
carried out the raid on the DEA evidence facility that held the cocaine from
the bust you made. Then either you or one of your gang tortured and killed an
agent in the process of the heist for the combination of the lock to the
evidence area. With no money coming in until your haul hit the streets, you
fled to Mexico and got caught trying to smuggle a relatively small amount of
coke to give you some pocket money.’

I sat back and laughed at the stupidity of
his scenario. ‘Me and whose gang? Where the hell would I get the resources from
to carry out a hit like that? Why don’t you try and find the girl? She’ll put
you straight.’

‘No need, and here’s why. We think you sold
out to Perez, so you could start a new life. Why else would you turn down
promotion? Intelligence reports have rumours coming out of the northwest of
Mexico that you killed Perez. I figure that was probably the result of some
disagreement with him over the split of the fifty million-dollar haul. But all
that’s irrelevant. The DNA from the blood smear from the counter matches your
DNA, from a sample of your hair taken from a hairbrush at your home. Same with
the blood sample taken from the clothing of the agent that you tortured and
killed. As for the girlfriend or your partner in crime
–
if she exists
–
the only reason we would
have to find her is if we had evidence that she was implicated.’

I wondered why Perez would go to that
extent to frame me, but then I didn’t have to think long and hard. As he had
said, “No one steals from me.” The bullet in the back of his guard’s head for
stealing fruit from a tree was testimony to his warped mind.

Walters handed me a clipping from the front
page of a newspaper, dated at the time I was in the rainforest.

‘In scenes reminiscent of the Patty
Hearst story, could this allegedly kidnapped DEA agent have turned to crime,
plotting a fifty-million-dollar heist of cocaine from his agency’s own evidence
facility?’

A picture of me holding the Detroit
newspaper stood alongside the picture of the guy removing his mask.

‘If you see this man, do not approach
him. He is considered armed and dangerous.’

The rest of the article blurred and I
tossed it back at him.

‘Fifty million? It would take two vans and
four pallets to shift that amount of coke. You’ve got this so wrong.’

I turned over my hand and stared at the
scar on my palm. I shook my head at the vision of Maria handing the facemask to
a guard and then the doctor taking my blood sample. It was easy to understand
why the TV sets had been removed from my room and Leandra’s. Even in death,
Perez had me in checkmate. A flash of light and I blinked. I looked up in time
to see Walters sliding his cell phone into his pocket.

‘Thanks for the picture of the scar on your
palm. I guess all we need now is your confession, but first I’ll read you your
rights.’ A smirk developed on his face.

‘You can read me anything you like, but
when my lawyer and I have finished, the truth will slap that freaking smile
from your ugly face. So I’m saying nothing, except, I see your hand in all
this.’

‘Lawyer. Yeah, right. You mean that skinny
broad who stood up in front of the judge this morning? I guess she hasn’t told
you yet that you’re going to trial?’

I shrank and trembled as if someone had
removed my skeleton. I was aware of him reading me my rights, but all I could think
of was what Mary and God forbid the kids must all be thinking. It was no wonder
she was in shock. In a daze, I couldn’t quite grasp if I was imagining the
whole thing.

He swayed his head as a signal to his partner, who walked
over and left the room, closing the door behind him.

‘What are the charges again?’

‘Murder one, in the process of a robbery
and extortion. Hopefully, the Mexican authorities will think it’s better to let
us deal with you than for you to pay the price for the rest of your crimes down
here.’ He sat back with a self-satisfied expression etched on his face. I
wished I could reach out and knock the smirk from his face, but a question
burned in my mind.

‘Where would you be thinking of having the
trial?’

He leaned over to me.

“Do you think it will get to trial? You’re in the gutter,
exactly where I said you’d end up. Once they find out who you are in here, you
won’t make it to any court. Think about that tonight when you try to sleep. As
for Mary and your kids, you’re already toast.”

Gripping the edge of the table, I shoved it into his gut. He
winced, but kept his balance, and then stood. Walters walked to the door and
turned to face me.

‘
To answer your question, if you get
that far, we’ll be having the trial in Texas. Incidentally, we’ll be asking for
the death penalty.’

Chapter 50

The Bucket

It was a strange
experience returning to the yard from the interview room. I had no recall of
the journey, as if I had been beamed to where I stood. All around me, my vision
blurred. I can’t say I was in shock in the sense of trembling, just numb.
Surfer stood in front of me. His mouth moved, but his words were lost to me in
the muffled conversation rising from the throng of bodies around the yard. If
he wanted an answer to a question, there was none to give. I had lost the will
to converse as if disconnected from reality and craving solitude.

Surfer took hold of me by the shoulders and
gave me a shake.

‘You in there?’

Taking hold of his wrists, I forcibly
removed his hands and marched toward the stairway. Arriving at my cell, I
climbed onto the bunk. Surfer walked through the cell door.

‘Listen, man. When you feel the need to
talk, I’m a good listener.’

Not wanting to share my thoughts with
anyone, I turned over and fixed a stare at the paper chain.

‘Whatever, man. When you’re ready.’

I thought about the implications, not just
for me, but also the damage that the situation would inflict on my family.
However I shuffled the cards, it was a lose-lose scenario. If Otego didn’t get
me, there was still a chance Walters would have his day of glory. Me, I just
felt like an inconsequential cockroach, only any good for being stomped on by a
heavy boot. Thirteen years of loyal service and my words of explanation
wouldn’t count for diddley against forensic evidence in a courtroom. All I had
was the truth of the story of my journey. Weasel had been right; I was nobody.
I should have told him all he wanted to know without the torture.

My head pounded at the tension brought on
by my thoughts spinning in so many different directions. All this grief I had
suffered for the sake of some low-life with a grudge putting a price on my
head. I began to wish that whoever it was had succeeded. The unthinkable came
to the fore. For my family’s own good, maybe I would have to cut them all
adrift
–
even if it meant taking my life with my own
hand.

‘Hey, Razor, you forgot the piss bucket,’
Skunk said and tugged at my shoulder. ‘It stinks in here.’

I growled, turned over, jumped off the
bunk, and faced Skunk nose-to-nose.

‘Empty it yourself before I tip it over
your freaking ugly head. While you’re at it, go take a shower. The only smell
in here is you.’

Surfer squeezed between us. ‘Whoa, steady
there, you two. I’ll empty the goddam bucket.’

Skunk stood his ground and I shoulder-charged
him on the way out to the gantry. Grasping the railing, I took a deep breath.
The tension drained through my knuckles and I slapped the railing, turning to
face the cell.

‘Sorry, Skunk, I’ve just had some bad news.
I shouldn’t have bad-mouthed you like that.’

‘Whatever. It’s all bad news in here, so
fuck you.’

Skunk sat on his bunk, picked up a book,
flicking the pages as if nothing had happened except I could see his fingers
shaking. Surfer walked out of the cell, holding the bucket, and whispered, ‘See
you’ve got a temperamental side to your nature. Just be careful not to snap,
’cause Skunk’s a good guy really
–
for a serial killer
with a sweat-gland problem.’

Surfer laughed and then whistled a tune as
he walked away.

I turned and looked out over the yard. Even
though they were all grown men, the activity was akin to a school playground.
Inmates huddled in groups, others played handball, while some sat around
reading books, or watching what was going on around them.

Big Guy
–
I noticed
–
stood near the gate with five of his clan. They all touched
fists and broke away, as if they’d just discussed tactics in a football game.
Something was afoot. Call it a sixth sense from years at school as a victim,
developing a nose for danger and watching the bullies at play. But nothing
could compare with a yard full of psychopaths, taking their will to dominate to
a completely new level of tension.

Big Guy walked through the centre of the
yard with his buddies spreading out and following. He waved at a prisoner
across the yard, and then in the blink of an eye, brought his arm around
someone’s forehead, clutching him to his chest. As if the whole thing was
choreographed, one of his men walked quickly past him and handed him a knife.
In a fluid movement, he stabbed his victim in the back and then drew the knife
across his throat. Big Guy released his arm and his victim dropped to his
knees, clutching his throat in a futile attempt to stem the flow. Blood oozed
through his fingers. Another of his crew walked past him and palmed the knife
from Big Guy’s hand.

I couldn’t be sure if Surfer was in the
wrong place at the wrong time, but I saw the guy with the knife drop it into
the bucket. Surfer walked on to the toilet and shower room. In no hurry, Big
Guy walked away, and glanced up to where I was standing. A shiver ran through
me.

The central area of the yard emptied as
inmates walked to their cells, with everyone turning their backs to the victim.
The corpse lay face down and bleeding out. I saw the gate open and guards
walked nonchalantly over to the body, laying down a plastic sheet. They rolled
the corpse onto the sheet and dragged it across the yard and through the gate,
leaving a slug trail of blood in the dirt.

I looked left along the gantry at the sound
of footsteps. Big Guy and his crew were walking in line toward me. He paused
and we exchanged glances.

‘That’s what you get for being a snitch.
Remember that the next time you talk with your friends. I’m keeping my eye on
you.’

For someone with only one eye, I thought
his words ironic. ‘They’re not my friends.’

‘What did they want?’

‘They came to charge me and to tell me
they’ve applied for my extradition.’

‘What charge?’

‘Not charge, charges. Murder, robbery and
extortion.’

He rolled his tongue across his top lip and
nodded his head in approval, like some toy dog that you stick on your dash,
with a spring attached to its head as a neck. Big Guy moved on and into his
cell.

Turning to the railing, I buried my head in
my hands, doubting that I could sink any lower, as if I were stuck in the
mudflats with the tide coming in to drown me. Getting moved out of there
couldn’t come quickly enough. As I removed my hands, it started to rain. It was
a few drops at first, and then it came down in buckets. The stain of the
inmate’s blood in the yard washed away in the deluge, as if nature was sweeping
the entire event away.

The ferocity of the downpour abated to a
drizzle. Surfer ran across the yard to the gate and put the bucket down. The
gate opened and he stepped through. I glanced right to see if any of the MS-13
gang were watching, thinking that maybe Surfer was looking for a ticket out of
there by snitching. The gantry was empty.

Five minutes later he returned to the yard,
picked up the bucket and burst into a rendition of “Singing in the Rain” while
hopping, skipping and jumping in the puddles. I heard his footsteps clattering
up the stairway and then watched him speed-walking toward me. His smile arrived
before his presence at my side.

‘Yes
–
I’m outta
here.’

‘They’re transferring you?’

‘No, man, twenty-four hours and I should
know if I’m gonna be released. Another twenty-four hours for the paperwork and
I should be gone.’ He punched the air.

‘Slow down, speak English. What’s happened?’

‘My attorney made the prosecution look like
idiots. I just spoke to her on the phone. Told you I’d plead ignorance. The
judge has given them twenty-four hours to find the padlock they cut from my
truck.’

‘How come?’

‘She told the judge the lock must have been
tampered with at a sleepover and I knew jack-shit about the dope being stashed
inside. She said the lock would prove it, one way or another.’

‘Yeah, but what if they find the padlock?’

‘No chance. I snuck it from the bench and
tossed it away.’

‘You said she. Who was your attorney?’

‘Angelina Lopez. She’s something else, man.’

I looked at him with disbelief that my
attorney could spring a guilty party, but as an innocent, I was facing trial.

‘Hey, man, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. I’m pleased for you. She didn’t
do much for me. I’m going to trial.’

‘So that’s why all the gloom. Hell, I’m
sorry it hasn’t gone your way. Still, I’m not surprised. I’ve figured out who
you are. Told ya it would come to me.’

I guessed someone had to find out sooner or
later, but it was what Surfer would do with the information that worried me
–
especially if he got word out before my transfer.