Art nodded. Sixto gave him the disc and said, “Cuidado, amigo. Be careful.”
“You, too. Keep your head on a swivel.”
“Seguro,” Sixto said, “You know where to send the money. I’ll see what else I can find out.”
Art watched the informant drive off the lot and down the hill to the road, circling around Sun Bowl Stadium to turn towards Mesa Street.
He got in his sedan and put the DVD in the glove compartment, started the car–and suddenly felt very hungry. Sending a copy of the video to his bosses and Lincoln Jones would be done after he returned to his motel room in Juarez, where his laptop rested on the small table. This meeting where he had to drive from Juarez to this part of El Paso had been tedious. Lots of traffic congestion, and road construction, too. “I’ll fight that on a full stomach this time.” He said to himself. He decided to cross I-10 and drive on Doniphan out near near Sunland Park, then make his way to the State Line Barbecue. It was good, not too expensive, and shouldn’t be crowded this time of day. Besides, their barbecue sauce was mouth-watering. He drove out of the Sun Bowl lot, his mouth already tasting the brisket.
He didn’t see the van following him. Inside the van, Sixto Cruz sat on the floor in the back, one eye puffed shut and his wrists zip-tied together. He couldn’t see anything out the windshield. The driver and passenger in the front seat wore western shirts and hats, with jeans and boots. Both wore Colt Model 1911 semi-automatics in holsters under light jackets.
The man sitting in one of the rear captain’s chairs looked down at him. He had a hard, flat face, that reminded Sixto of the round, Mayan stone heads he’d seen in the jungles of the Yucatan. The man’s skin was oily, and he had ugly green eyes. The driver had called him Marco. Marco said, “Sixto, did you really think we didn’t see you out there, you with your little camera?”
“That’s what I’d hoped.”
“Our scout drone was high up, out of hearing, watching us as we unloaded the wings, you know, watching for trouble. It spotted you creepy-crawling up through the brush, so we kept you in our sights the whole while.”
“If you let me go, I won’t tell a soul.”
Marco’s green eyes crinkled at the corners, “How can we be sure?”
“I’ll leave the country, go to Canada or South America, anywhere you want.”
“Let’s see how this plays out first.” He patted Sixto’s shoulder like an affectionate uncle. This coming from the man who hit him in the face with a pistol.
Sixto’s mind raced, trying to find a way out of this. Maybe if they keep talking? He said, “So you followed me all the way across the border and to the parking lot with a drone? I didn’t think it could cross without being noticed.”
“We wouldn’t risk that. Our man in El Paso sent his up. We watched you all the way, even when you crossed BOTA, the Bridge Of The Americas, and worked your way to North Mesa and all the way to UTEP and the parking lot above the Sun Bowl.”
Sixto nodded. “So that’s how. And then you followed me when I left.” He hoped they only had the one drone and that Art got away, but he didn’t ask it.
Marco patted Sixto’s swollen cheek with a thick, calloused hand. Sixto winced, and his puffed eye ran a tear from the pain of it. The green-eyed man said, “We have more than one drone, and more than these few men you see.” He pointed out the windshield, “You can’t see it, sitting down there, but we’re following your friend. The one at the parking lot, the one you gave the disc to.”
It was as if his stomach d
ropped. He’d hoped Art would find him and rescue him, but now…
Marco said, “If he talks, you two won’t suffer. But, if he’s stubborn, neither one of you are going to like what happens. I’ll give you time to convince him, a few minutes before we start the questions, so you better be convincing.”
The van slowed and pulled into a parking lot. The sign was high enough that Sixto read it: The State Line. He rose to his knees to see and Marco didn’t stop him.
Marco exited the van and walked to Art’s vehicle as the man wearing the walking cast stepped out and closed the car door. Marco smiled and said, “Excuse me, but could you help? I seem to be lost.”
Art turned to face him and tried to step back because Marco was so close, their chests almost touched, but he couldn’t because his back was against the sedan.
Marco shot him with a Taser.
Art collapsed in a rigid spasm as the weapon made a tic-tic-tic sound like arcing electricity.
The man in the front passenger’s seat hopped out of the van and helped Marco carry Art into the van. Then he took Art’s keys, got in the sedan and left. The van driver pulled out and left seconds later, with no one having seen another person during the incident.
Marco frisked Art and took his pistol, badge and identification, and pushed him into a sitting position beside Sixto before cutting the current to the Taser.
Art’s body relaxed and he gasped, “You bastards,” as he fought to recover.
Marco leaned forward and pulled the two barbs from Art’s shirt and chest, stretching the shirt away from his skin until the barbs came loose. Art grimaced. Marco said, “Try anything, I’ll tase you again.”
Art looked at Sixto, noticing his swollen face, “You okay?”