Mingo Cruz sat outside his bar, repairing a chair when Bobby stopped in front of him.
Mingo said, “You like that Toyota?” indicating the Land Cruiser.
“Yeah, it drives fine. Comfortable, too.”
“You don’t buy American, support the U S of A?”
“I buy what’s the best deal at the time. This,” he indicated the Toyota, “was the best deal.”
Mingo finished with the chair and carried it inside. Bobby followed him and they sat at one of the tables. No one else was in the room. Mingo said, “I got a little info for you.”
Bobby said, “I’m listening.”
“Somebody’s pulling Colonel Godoy’s puppet strings about you.”
“He went after me because somebody told him to?”
“That’s what I heard. Before you beat the crap out of him, that is.”
“And now?”
“What I hear, now it’s personal. He wants you bad.”
“You hear what he’s planning?”
“No, but I figure he’ll want to catch you in a public place, then force you to do something so he can shoot you, something like that.”
“I’m not armed.”
“You think he cares? It won’t matter that you don’t carry, because he’ll have a gun to put in your hand after you’re dead.”
“I think so, too.” Bobby scratched his chin, “I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“That would be a good thing. You want, I could shadow you a few weeks.”
“ Thanks, but I’ll stay solo.”
Mingo nodded. “I hear anything else, I’ll let you know.”
Bobby took out his billfold, but Mingo shook his head.
“You live through all this, we’ll settle up.”
Bobby smiled, white teeth bright in his dark face. “When this is over, you and I’ll spend a week on the beach in Cancun, with some ladies I know down there.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Bobby rapped the table twice with his knuckles and rose, “Later.”
Mingo watched Bobby drive away, then went behind the bar and opened a small hidden door. Resting on a shelf in its shoulder holster was a big .44 Magnum Smith and Wesson Model 29. Mingo checked the cylinder and the pouches on the shoulder rig that held three Safari speedloaders. All were full of fat hollow-points. He put it back and closed the door, saying to himself, “Never hurts to be ready.”
***
Bobby drove into Ojinaga and decided to check the bus station at the edge of town. The bus station and the adjoining plaza were always a mass of activity, with those getting off after coming from the interior of Mexico and those getting on to go south. Around them were the coyotes, the alien smugglers, putting together loads on the spot. Small-time dope dealers, pickpockets, petty thieves, and other opportunists eyed the crowd, ready to prey on those newly arrived at the border. Mixed in with them were the vendors and salesmen hawking tacos, ice cream, corn roasted in the shucks, soft drinks, and single beers almost cold. Bobby parked three blocks away and walked into the crowd to pick up any news from other parts of Mexico. As he looked around, he spotted Anda Tumecas at the edge of the crowd, looking small and dusty.
Anda stood just outside the milling group of people, scanning the entire area, like she was looking for one thing and watching out for another. Among the coyotes, she looked for one whose attitude, face, and mannerisms gave the indications she wanted; someone professional, competent, and strictly business. Not ones like the Barbosas, who Maria had picked. She also looked for anyone giving her undue attention, or just as bad, deliberately avoiding looking at her. The Barbosas, Cleto Holguin, the thin Colonel Godoy, and several of his soldiers she would recognize in an instant. It was the others working for them that she wouldn’t know.
She saw only one person across the crowd that gave her initial notice, so she watched him. He was slender and handsome, with a black western hat and a ponytail of dark hair hanging between his shoulder blades. He smiled while moving through the crowd, shaking hands with a few, stopping to talk to others, but always staying at the edge. She realized he was working around the crowd, like circling a wheel.