But now as he stood in this desert and looked at the far hills he felt betrayed by what he had once thought of as bravery and confidence. And betrayed by the burden of Murrieta. Wasn’t it all just stupidity and foolishness? What had he gotten for it? A small fortune, yes. And for a while, on the legitimate side of his life, good LASD performance reviews and a minor hero’s status.
But he had also been shot and stabbed and involved in a shootout that had claimed six lives. This earned him an ongoing LASD Internal Affairs investigation that stopped his Mexico deliveries a year ago and dried up his largest stream of revenue.
One year ago, he thought. One cursed year ago everything changed. IA had begun tailing him at work, then had him reassigned from Narcotics to a desk job in Fraud; they had spied on him during his free time and even tried to spy on him at home; they had interviewed his fellow deputies; and they had no doubt gained access to his phone records and bank transactions. They were a thousand terriers yapping and biting at his ankles. The terriers had only begrudgingly given him these ten days off even though his vacation time would cover it.
A year of bitter suspicion and a drastic pay cut and now, worst of all, Erin kidnapped. And their unborn child. Unimaginable. Fire of my life, Bradley thought, I have delivered you to my enemies.
He closed his eyes and heard her voice: Come to me by moonlight, sugar/Let the moon be your guide.
Bradley opened his eyes on the moon and to him it looked not like a guide but an unmoved witness to his own vanity and failure.
11
When he got back to the pavilion Mike Finnegan occupied the chair where Fidel had been. The little man sat up straight, twiddling his thumbs on the table before him, his ankles crossed and the toes of his black dress shoes just touching the ground. He looked up at Bradley. He wore a wheat-colored linen suit with a blue pocket square that matched his eyes and a blue, open-collared shirt.
“I’m deeply sorry for what has happened,” Finnegan said. “But I believe we can get her back.”
Bradley walked around the table studying Mike. A long moment passed before he spoke. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“And a good evening to you, Bradley.”
“You have no idea what happened, you sonofabitch.”
“Don’t overestimate me, Brad. People know what happened. Many people. It’s a statement. Armenta did this exactly so people would know.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Offering to help you.”
Bradley felt flummoxed and fooled. “You don’t know Herredia.”
Finnegan’s expression was impatient but somehow soulful. “You’re so certain of all the things I cannot know! It really is flattering. But Bradley, let’s elevate this discourse. Let’s get right to the point. What do you see in all that has happened? Why has it happened? What are you doing to get her back? It’s far too late not to be honest with me, and you know it.”
Bradley reached down and took Mike’s chin in his hand and lifted up his face so he could more fully view it. He felt the stubble of the red whiskers, the heat of the flesh, the strong bone beneath. In the clear blue eyes he saw concern and intelligence and bottomless optimism.
“What I see is one crazy little shit.”
“But I hear the tick of a clock.”
Bradley pushed away Mike’s face and sat. He pressed his hands to his eyes and ran them through his wavy black hair, then folded them on the table and looked at Finnegan. “I’m down to eight days. I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know if she’s alive.”
“But do you have the money?”
“Hood has the money.”
“He’s your mule? So that you and Fidel can find her first?”
Bradley nodded but said nothing. He had never felt helpless and so furious at the same time. Felt so outsmarted and outgunned. But he felt them all now. He felt that, even with Fidel’s band of blue-ribbon bad guys, Armenta had already beaten him.
“Erin is very much alive and well,” Mike said. “I have word from someone I can trust.”
Bradley sprang from his chair and put both hands on the table and leaned his face into Finnegan’s. He watched the hopeful blue eyes and he searched them for the smallest hint of what truly lay behind them. “Tell me what you know. Tell it!”
“She has been seen in Quintana Roo.”
“Don’t toy with me, Mike.”
“She has been seen in Quintana Roo.”
“How do you know?”
“I have eyes on Armenta, Bradley. But it doesn’t matter how I know. It only matters what I know.”
Bradley shoved off and paced around the big table, his heart beating urgently and his brain firing thoughts he couldn’t control. “And she’s okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Then they haven’t…”
“No. She’s being treated well.”
“Did Saturnino ra-”
“No!”
“Where is she, Mike! Where?”
“She’s being held on one of Armenta’s properties on the Yucatan Peninsula. Somewhere between Polyuc and the Kohunlich ruins, near the Belize and Guatemala borders. On a map it looks small but in reality it’s a lot of jungle. Very dense jungle. We should have a good GPS fix within twenty-four hours.”
Bradley stopped opposite Finnegan and again leaned forward into the man’s face. “Should or will?”
“I do what I can do, Bradley. Every vessel has its shape and capacity.” Finnegan took Bradley’s right hand in both of his small, strong own. “Let me be your ally and friend.”
“What do you want?”
“For you to have everything on this Earth that you deserve.”
“She’s all I want. I’ll do anything to get her back.”
“I understand that.” Finnegan studied him for a long moment and in his eyes Bradley saw both judgment and sympathy. “Then ask me to be your friend. Phrase it any way you like. Make a joke of it if you have to. The words are what matter to me, not your opinion of them. I need to hear them before I can help you.”
Bradley pulled his hand but Mike held it fast and Bradley felt the surprising strength of him.
“Speak to me, son of El Famoso.”
“Don’t start that shit.”
“That’s a start.”
Bradley pulled hard again, but Finnegan’s two fierce little hands were stronger than his one, so he twisted it free with a Hapkido move that left him able to break Mike’s elbow. “Okay. Be my friend, Mike. Help me get her back. Or I’ll snap your neck, roast you on a spit, and feed you to my dogs. I have twelve of them.”
Mike smiled. “What an exceptional proposal of friendship. I accept.”
Bradley released his arm and sat back down across from him.
“I’ll also need just a few drops of your blood.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious.”
“Blood for what?”
“For everything words can’t cover. It’s a ritual. I’m not sure why, but it works. It really does. You’ll see.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Just old-fashioned.” From somewhere inside his coat Mike produced a dagger and rested it on his palm for Bradley to see. It was short, mostly handle, and Bradley could tell that the metal was black and old. Before stainless steel alloys, he thought. Before carbon and graphite and tungsten. The flatish handle was wrapped in tooled leather held by rounded silver rivets for weight and grip. “Hand out now and palm up. Just a little prick.”