Chapter 39
El Paso couldn’t get over the rain. In his life, he’d never experienced this kind of rain, the gray, noisy, wet monotony of it. How did people live in a climate like this? Give him a blistering sun, hot air, and the dry, dusty desert any day of the week.
He hunched deeper into the high collar of his sweatshirt, but it had absorbed a lot of moisture and felt clammy. The least Oz could have done was give him a raincoat before sending him on this assignment.
Last night seemed like a weird dream. He’d been in that spooky warehouse watching Malone tightening the garrote destined for his throat. He’d been pleading for his life and promising to obey any future orders without hesitation or question.
That’s when Oz had said, “I’m very pleased to hear that.” Then, “Kill Roland.”
Without thinking twice, he had plunged his blade deep into Malone’s gut, thrust it upward beneath his rib cage and through layers of dense tissue, and the deed was done. Before Oz’s command had fully registered with Malone, he was already dying.
He’d fallen backward onto the concrete floor. He’d pawed at the gaping wound that had ripped open his torso, but he hadn’t had a chance of living, and he’d known it. El Paso had watched dispassionately as he’d drowned in his own blood.
Later, El Paso would admit to himself that he had feared what Oz then had in mind for him. There’d been no cause for worry, though. Oz hadn’t revealed himself, but a calm, disembodied voice had come to him from out of the concealing darkness. “Well done, El Paso.”
Then Oz had told him to put on the gear hanging from pegs in the wall. Rubber boots, a long rubber apron, a clear visor that covered his entire face, gloves that came up to his elbows. He thought he must look like Darth Vader.
Oz had proceeded to issue instructions on how to do this, how to do that, where to find certain implements to use on Malone until he was dangling from a meat hook, his entrails scooped onto the floor.
“Cut off his right pinkie finger below the ring.”
By then, feeling more confident, he’d had the gall to ask if he could keep the ring as a souvenir.
“You cannot,” Oz said. “Wrap it in some of that butcher paper and then toss it to me.”
He’d done as told and pitched the bundle into the darkness. He hadn’t heard it hit the floor, so he’d said, “Good catch. I guess you wanted the souvenir.”
Oz didn’t seem to appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood a little. He said, “Now, get Roland’s phone and the keys to the panel truck. Toss me the phone, hang on to the keys.”
He’d found them in Malone’s coat pocket and pitched the phone. It hadn’t landed on the floor, either. Oz thanked him.
Then, he’d said, “I know you’re a Caballero spy.”
And he’d almost shit his pants.
“You were a Caballero spy,” Oz continued, smooth like. Like he hadn’t just dropped a bombshell.
“You have a choice to make. With a phone call, I can see to it that you’re arrested, charged, tried, convicted, and executed for killing Roland Malone. Or you can start working for me.”
“I’ll work for you.”
“Not so fast. We must come to an understanding first.”
“What understanding?”
“You’re obviously skilled and extraordinarily efficient. But your smug and arrogant attitude won’t do. Get rid of it. As of now, it’s history. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yeah. Clear.” For good measure, he’d added, “Sir.”
Oz had left him standing there shivering in the refrigerated cavern for what seemed like forever before he spoke again.
“The contraband I stole from the Caballeros arrives tomorrow, as I’m sure you know.
You were sent to intercept it, kill as many of my people as you could, then oversee the return of the product to Mexico, yes or no? ”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s not how your Saturday is going to play out. You won’t be there for the fireworks.”
He’d then gone on to give him detailed instructions on where to go and what to do to whom.
“Can you remember all that, the names and addresses?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
He tapped his temple. “All up here. But can I ask you a question?”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to piss you off and end up like him,” he said, glancing at Malone’s carcass, which by then had almost bled dry.
“All right, ask.”
“I thought you two were thick. Why’d you want him dead?”
“Roland was doing something behind my back. He was unaware that I knew. It was something that could have compromised him, me, the entire operation. But I tolerated it because I needed him. I was biding my time until someone came along who was as dispassionate about killing as he.”
“Me?”
“You have the job if, when I tell you to do something, you get it done quickly without getting caught. If you do get caught, you’re on your own. It can’t come back to me because you don’t know who I am.”
“Malone knew.”
“Yes, and you see how vulnerable that made him.”
He’d looked over at the corpse again. “Yeah, I get it. I’m better off not knowing.”
“Exactly. Now, listen and do everything I say. Use that hose to wash the blood down the drain. That barrel behind you is full of bleach. Put all the gear into it and replace the lid. Then, wearing a fresh pair of gloves, drive away in the truck, but ditch it soon, preferably in an area where it’s certain to be stolen and taken to a chop shop within half an hour.
There’s a phone for you under the driver’s seat.
Don’t forget to take it. For the time being, that’s what I’ll use to communicate with you. ”
“What about the garage door, the alarm?”
“Never mind. Just walk out and get into the truck.”
And that had been the conclusion of his bizarre job interview.
He didn’t know how Oz had gotten into the building.
Even Malone had been surprised by his unexpected appearance.
He hadn’t heard him leave, and that was unnerving.
He’d stood there for a time, wondering if it was safe to leave.
But then, when nothing else happened, he’d gotten busy.
Fearing Oz might still be observing him, he’d followed his directives to the letter.
He’d gotten away clean, no hassle.
It had been so easy, he’d even given some thought to playing double agent by calling the Caballeros and telling them that Oz was wise to them. But he’d decided that his prospects for advancement were more favorable with Oz.
So here he was, and here he’d been for hours, following Oz’s specific orders.
And it sucked.
He was huddled behind a dumpster beneath the corrugated tin covering of a used car dealership’s parking lot. He was stiff from staying in the same position for so long. His sneakers were wet, his clothes were damp.
His stomach was growling, and his mouth was watering because the nearby diner was giving off the aroma of hamburgers cooked on a griddle. But he’d noticed that many of the customers were cops and, in any event, he didn’t dare be seen so near the place where he was about to kill somebody.
He’d thought that becoming Malone’s replacement would entitle him to more benefits, that he’d have more prestige. Being sent to squat behind a dumpster was anything but glamorous. Where was his chauffeur-driven car?
Malone had bragged about how brilliant Oz was, but he might have exaggerated. Or just been wrong. This could be a fool’s mission. Or maybe Oz was using this shitty detail to test his loyalty and endurance. In any case…
His mother had been a filthy two-dollar whore, but she hadn’t raised him stupid.
“Enough of this shit.”
He had a better idea.