Chapter 22 #2
A deep laugh rumbled up from the guard’s belly and out of his mouth. He turned and sat down on his chair, leaning back and crossing his ankles on top of his desk. The chair squeaked under his weight, and Graham feared the chair would fall backward.
“I met your friend last night. He said you’d be around, and you’d have something for me.” The guard’s thick accent made the words come out slow and broken.
Graham nodded and pulled a wad of bills from his front pocket. “This should cover it.” He extended his hand, the bills hidden in his palm.
The guard leaned forward and grabbed the money.
Shifting through the bills, he nodded his head and a large, crooked grin showed off brown stained teeth.
“This will do nicely. I will take you to a room where the prisoner will be brought in. You’ll be alone, with one guard outside the door. You’ll have twenty minutes.”
“What if I need more time?”
“Too bad for you,” the guard said with a laugh as he stood. “Follow me.”
Graham followed the man out of the office and down a long corridor.
Cells filled either side of the hall, and men shoved their hands through the bars and yelled as they walked by.
Graham ignored them, his attention focused solely on Pete.
Twenty minutes wasn’t much time, but he’d have to make it work.
A young man with dark skin and dressed in military style fatigues stood outside of a white steel door.
Dark stains…blood?... ran down the door and dents made it bow in in several spots.
One small window looked into the room. The man’s lips were set in a grim line and he fixed his eyes straight ahead.
The head guard spoke to him in Spanish, and the young man gave one nod.
“Okay, he’s already in there. If you need help, Hector will be right outside the door. Remember, veinte minutos.”
Graham reached out and opened the door. The room was small and the stifling air inside had to be close to a hundred degrees.
Beads of sweat coursed down his face and gathered on his back.
A rectangular table sat in the middle of the room and the only light hung down from the ceiling over the center.
One empty chair sat pushed into one side of the table, and Pete Bogart sat on the other side.
Graham’s blood boiled hotter than the room.
Pete glanced up and met his eyes. Damn, he looked like shit.
His ashen skin sunk into the hollows of his cheeks and dried blood lingered around his swollen lips.
Clumps of dirt clung to his close-cropped brown hair and red veins ran like spokes in the whites of his eyes.
His hands clasped together on the table.
His gaze stayed fixed on Graham as he walked to the table, pulled out the chair, and sat down.
Graham sucked in a deep breath and the hot air burned his lungs. He crossed his arms over his chest and hardened his gaze. “Where are the girls?”
Pete never looked away, just shrugged his shoulders.
“Is this where you want to live out the rest of your days?” Graham asked and waved a hand in the air. “This is hell. Tell me where the girls are and we’ll transfer you to the U.S. Better food, a clean bed, air conditioning. You can’t be stupid enough to want to stay here.”
“It doesn’t matter where I am. Nothing matters anymore.” Pete’s voice held no inflection, no hint of emotion. His eyes stayed fixed on Graham, but they were looking through him.
“Why? Because you were caught? You can’t honestly believe you’d have a better life here.
Tell me where the girls are and I’ll bring you home.
” Graham’s mind raced. He needed an angle, a carrot to dangle in front of Pete’s face to get him to give up the girls.
If it wasn’t being expedited back to a more comfortable cell, what was it?
“I have no life. Not anymore. Not when he has her now.”
Graham’s heart rate kicked up. “Becca? Who has Becca? Tell me where she is and I’ll get her away from him.”
“It’s too late. I’ve lost her forever.”
The words pierced Graham’s heart like a dagger. “It can’t be too late. I can find Becca, if you help me.”
Pete’s eyes cleared and pain contorted his face.
“This has nothing to do with Becca. Paula! He has Paula! I fucked up so he took the only thing that matters to me. I got too caught up finally having her. I used my real name, I let Mickey into my life. All so she would finally be mine. And now she’s gone. ”
“Who has Paula?”
Pete tilted his head to the side and he sneered. “Did you think you’d finally caught the bad guy? That it was over now? You don’t know shit.”
Adrenaline kicked up his pulse. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not the man in charge. I don’t have the answers you want.”
Graham curled his hands into fists and pounded them on the table. “Then who’s in charge?”
“Did you think it was dumb luck I found Mickey? You should know there are no such things as coincidences.”
Realization hit him like a fist to the gut. Someone else was helping Pete, someone who knew how to find Mickey. Fear washed over him. Someone who was still out there.
Graham pushed up from the table, leaned forward, and grabbed the neck of Pete’s shirt. He pressed his face into Pete’s personal space. “Give me a name. Tell me who it is.”
Pete hung limply in his hand, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The blank look came back into his eyes, and Graham pushed him back in his seat. Panic clawed at him. He needed answers, and fast. He sat back in his chair and took a steadying breath.
“I already told you, it doesn’t matter anymore. He has Paula and he’ll never let her go. She’s my everything.”
As quick as lightning, Pete unclasped his hands and his palm curled around something, its sharp tip barely visible. He slashed it across first one wrist, and then changed hands and slashed the other. Blood oozed onto the table, and a razor blade fell from Pete’s now open palms.
“No! Hector, get your ass in here, now.” He shot to his feet and his chair crashed backward to the floor. The door flew open and Graham yelled, “Get a medic in here. He slit his wrists!”
Pete’s head lolled back, exposing his pale neck.
Graham took off his shirt and used the razor blade to slice strips of material.
He grabbed Pete’s arm and wrapped one strip above Pete’s wrist where the cut had been made.
Grabbing his other hand, he did the same thing above the other cut.
Thick, crimson blood continued to ooze from the wounds.
Graham placed two fingers under Pete’s neck to check his pulse.
His pulse was so weak, Graham could barely find it.
He glanced up at Hector and he yanked his fingers off Pete’s neck. “It’s no use. He’ll never make it out of here alive.”
Wiping Pete’s blood onto his ruined shirt, he grabbed his phone from his pocket.
He needed to catch a flight back home as soon as possible.
His main suspect was dead, he had no other leads, and someone on the inside was up to their neck in this shit.
He had to figure out who, and fast. He ground his teeth together as he pulled up the flight schedule on his phone.
One thing Pete had said kept spinning around in his head.
You should know there are no such thing as coincidences.