Anyway, he had Nestor to take care of the political fallout; that was not de la Rocha’s main concern. His role in the next day or two would center on public relations.
And appeasing la Santa Muerte by killing Major Gamboa’s unborn son and laying the body on her altar.
TWENTY
Court Gentry drove the church van north, out of Jalisco State and into Nayarit State. They had dropped the surviving members of other families off along the way, at the airport and the bus station and a rental car office. Everyone just wanted to get the hell away from Puerto Vallarta.
Left in the vehicle with him now were the survivors of the Gamboa family: Eddie’s wife, Elena; Eddie’s sister, Laura; his brother Ignacio; his nephew Diego; and his parents, Ernesto and Luz.
The van’s radio was tuned to a station that reported on nothing other than the shooting in Puerto Vallarta. The reports said first eleven, then twenty-two, and finally twenty-eight people had been killed, including prominent businessman and suspected drug lord Daniel Alonzo de la Rocha Alvarez, three Puerto Vallarta municipal police, five federales, a German citizen, and an American citizen. Another thirty-odd civilians and police had been wounded. The initial presumption had been that after de la Rocha had been shot by either government assassins or sicarios from the Madrigal Cartel, the assassins, police, and bodyguards in the crowd had all opened fire on one another, causing the largest bloodbath in the nation in nearly five months.
Laura Gamboa sat behind Court and fed him driving directions and periodic instructions. “Make a left here.” And “It will be dangerous in front of the army base; let’s take the beach road.” And “There will be a roadblock at Sayulita; we can get back on the highway after that.” She seemed peculiarly well acquainted with the roads and highways and traffic patterns of Puerto Vallarta, and oddly professional and in control, as opposed to the five others in the van, who did nothing but shout and cry. Court wondered if Laura was in shock or denial, or if she had just experienced enough turmoil and danger and loss in her life to where she could, more or less, take this in stride.
Elena was on her fourth phone call now. Gentry had let it go for a while, he knew her frenzy to find out who was alive and who was dead would be all consuming. But he couldn’t take this flagrant security violation any longer. “Get off the phone,” Court demanded. Elena just ignored him, kept calling friends and hospitals and clinics in Puerto Vallarta trying to find out about Eddie’s brother and aunts and uncles.
So far she hadn’t learned a thing from her phone calls. Only by retelling the events amongst themselves in the church van could the family get an idea about the fate of their loved ones.
“Rodrigo was killed. I have lost another son!”
“I saw tío Oscar; he was shot in the stomach. I think he is dead!”
“Tía Esperanza was right next to me; she was screaming, but she just went quiet and fell.”
“I think the Ortega family was in front of us, but they weren’t in the church. I hope that they—”
“I saw Señor Ortega lying in the street; his leg was bleeding, but he was alive.”
“Capitán Chuck is dead. Did you see?”
Court did not enter the conversation; their frantic shouted Spanish was all but indecipherable to him. And his mind was on their escape.
And then his own. He had to get them home and then get himself out of here before the cops came to question the Gamboas.
Elena dialed the number of one of the other relatives there on the podium; she did not know if the woman was alive to take the call.
“Hang it up!” shouted the American behind the wheel now. She nodded but kept listening to the ring, willing someone to answer.
Court rolled down the window next to him, reached across his body, and wrenched the phone from Elena Gamboa’s hand. He threw the device out onto the highway.
“Why did you do that?”
“They can track your calls. You are a target.”
“A target?”
“Yes. Those federal cops were gunning for everyone on the stage. There was nothing random about what just happened.”
“De la Rocha was killed. Why would someone kill him and then kill the families of the GOPES men?”
“I don’t know. The only thing I can think is there was more than one group in the crowd. One group trying to kill you; one other group trying to kill him.” Court shook his head. “This place is completely fucked up.”
Elena just put her head in her hands and cried.
“We need to swap vehicles,” Court said, more to himself than to the six others in the car.
“Why?” asked Elena. “What’s wrong with this van?”
“Operational security. We left the scene in this van; we need to switch it out for something clean.”
She looked around the interior. “It’s clean enough.”
Laura spoke out from the back. “He means something that did not come from the crime scene. Joe, where are we going to get another vehicle? We passed the last rental car office back at the airport.”
“We can get whatever car we want. I have a gun, remember?”
It was quiet in the van for several seconds, only soft sobbing from Luz Gamboa in the backseat. Finally, Laura said, “You can’t steal another vehicle.”
“Wanna bet?”
“It is against the law.”
Court laughed, more in surprise at the comment than anything else. “What, are you a cop?”
“Sí.”
“Right.” Court shook his head, kept driving. Then he slowly looked back up at Laura in the rearview. “You’re serious?”
“Sí.”
Elena entered the conversation while wiping her nose with a tissue. She spoke dismissively, “She’s with the tourist police in Puerto Vallarta. Not a real cop.”
Laura snapped back at her sister-in-law. “I am a real police officer. My training and responsibilities are just as—”
Elena shouted back at her sister-in-law, and the two women’s argument became heated. Court recovered slowly from his shock, realized Laura’s knowledge of roads and roadblocks and traffic patterns made sense now. He then took Eddie’s sister’s side against Elena. Like a man sprinting headlong into a minefield, he entered into a squabble between two Latin women. “The real cops killed a lot of innocent people today, and I saw how Laura shoots, so I’m glad she’s on our side.” He looked back into the rearview mirror at Eddie’s sister. “Why didn’t you tell me you were with the police?”
She shrugged. “You didn’t ask me.”
“Oh.” Just like always, he found himself having to struggle to take his eyes from her. He forced himself to stare at the road ahead.
She continued, “Anyway, when Eduardo died, I was suspended. Many say that he acted without permission, and I would need to be investigated and cleared before I could return to work.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“I know, but that’s what they said. They took my gun when they took Eddie’s weapons from his house.”
“You still have that Beretta you used in the church.”
She shook her head. “No. I gave it to the padre to hold. I cannot be caught with a weapon.”
Court sighed. Neither could he, but that didn’t stop him from packing one now. He wished she was still packing. He let it go, looked back up, and he and Laura made long eye contact in the rearview. He said, “You did good back there.”