L.A. Dead (Stone Barrington 6)

"Wear a red baseball cap, so my man will know you."

"All right."

"Cordova wants a thousand dollars to meet with you."

"For as long as I want?"

"How long do you want?"

"Maybe an hour, maybe more."

"He'll do that, and Stone?"

"Yes?"

"Don't forget the rest of my money, too."

"See you at three o'clock."

Chapter 35

Stone took the freeway to San Diego and made it in three and a half hours. He had some lunch at a taco joint near the border, then put the money and his little dictating recorder into his pockets, put on the red baseball cap he'd bought at the Centurion Studios shop, parked the car, and walked to the border crossing. He was questioned by a uniformed officer.

"What's the purpose of your visit to Mexico?" the man asked.

"A business meeting."

"What kind of business?"

"I'm a lawyer," Stone replied. "I'm interviewing a witness."

"Let's see some ID."

Stone showed his U.S. passport.

"Are you carrying more than five thousand dollars in cash or negotiable instruments?"

Stone was not about to lie about this. "Yes."

"How much?"

"About seven thousand."

The man handed him a declaration. "What's the money for?"

"I have to pay the man who located the witness for me."

"Fill out the form."

Stone did as he was told, handed it over, and was waved across the border.

"You better be careful, carrying that much money," the officer said.

"Thanks, I will." Stone walked slowly down the busy street, waiting for somebody to recognize him. He saw no one, and no one seemed to take note of him. He had never been to Mexico before, and he was nervous. Everything he had read about the place in the newspapers had led him to believe that the country was a vast criminal enterprise, with drug dealers and kidnappers on every corner and a corrupt police force. So far, he didn't like it.

A block from the border, he sat down at one of two tables outside a little restaurant. A waiter appeared. "Cerveza," Stone said, exhausting his Spanish. A moment later, he was drinking an icy Carta Blanca, the only thing he intended to allow past his lips on this trip. He had finished the beer and was wondering if he had come on a fool's errand when a small boy dressed in ragged jeans and sneakers ran up to him.

"Senor Stone?" the boy asked.