"She's coming over in half an hour. That was hard for me to do."
"I know it was," Meehan said, patting him on the shoulder. He grabbed Fred's lower jaw with his left hand and yanked down as he jammed a pistol into the now-gaping mouth with his right hand. Utiey didn't have time to scream as the bullet exploded in his brain. Meehan relaxed his grip and Fred collapsed on the floor, the pistol protruding from his mouth. Meehan smiled, bent over the body, wiped the pistol grip clean, wrapped Utiey's fingers around the weapon, and got busy tidying up. The suicide angle might just hold up indefinitely, but it wasn't essential.
It was Friday night and Utiey wouldn't be missed over the weekend. That gave him more than enough time. Meehan checked his watch, his hands sweating inside the latex gloves he wore as he removed all traces of his presence. Sara would arrive soon, and Benton should call shortly after that to report on his meeting with De Leon He hoped Sara wouldn't crack too easily. *** Sara had half a notion to call Fred back and tell him she wasn't coming over, but the sudden death of his mother had obviously shaken him up. Fred wasn't one to ask for unnecessary attention, and the demands of her job often forced her to neglect the few good friends she had. In spite of Fred's unwelcome romantic interest in her, he was still a friend. With no word from Kerney or Eddie Tapia in the last twenty-four hours, she was more than a little worried about them. She recorded a short message and Fred's phone number on her answering machine for Kerney, and suddenly realized that she missed him. The question was, how long would the feeling last? So far, it felt very authentic. In her Jeep Cherokee, she checked her hair in the visor mirror. Her smile amused her; it was blatantly lascivious. Chalk another one up for Kerney, she said to herself. Fred's car was in the driveway when she arrived, and the drapes to the large picture windows on either side of the front door were closed. She walked up the brick path to the house and rang the bell.
When it opened, Jim Meehan stood in front other, a friendly smile on his face.
"Hi, Sara," he said amiably.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I've been waiting for you," he replied, as he raised a sap from behind his back. She saw the blow coming, tried to sidestep it, and drove the palm of her hand at Meehan's nose. He turned his head and the blow caught him on the cheek. She clawed for his eyes with her fingers as he hit her hard with the sap above her ear. She was unconscious before the side of her head bounced against the doorjamb. Meehan grabbed her as she fell and carried her inside. She woke up handcuffed, tied to a straight-backed chair, with her feet bound. Fred Utiey, sprawled on his side, his cheek pressed against the carpet, stared at her with a dead, startled eye. A gun stuck out of his mouth and his lips were seared black with powder burns. Sara felt her stomach turn over. She swallowed, held her breath until the sensation passed, and looked for Meehan. He sat on the couch at the far side of the room with a boyish, pleased smile. The back of her head hurt like hell. She raised her wrists away from the small of her back, and handcuffs bit into the bone.
"Why did you kill Fred?" she asked, concentrating on Meehan to avoid the grotesqueness on the floor.
"He killed himself," Meehan answered casually. "The strain of becoming a rich man was just too much for him. What kind of funeral do you think he'd like?"
"Didn't you ask?"
"I didn't have the time," Meehan said.
"I think something original would suit him. A Tibetan ritual, perhaps. By ancient tradition they put bodies on a mountainside for the vultures to pick clean. Do you think Fred would like that?" Sara shrugged.
"How about you? What kind of funeral would you like?"
"Full military honors," Sara answered.
"Something you'll never get." Meehan laughed. "You're so spunky." He got up from the couch and stood over her, rubbing his hands.
"A spunky, meddlesome cunt in uniform."
"Fuck off, Jim." He slapped her.
"Pissing me off isn't smart." He smiled and walked behind the chair. Sara froze when she felt his fingers on her shoulders. Gently, he rubbed her neck.
"You're all tensed up."
"Take your hands off me." He tightened his fingers around her neck.
"I want the coins and letters."
"I don't have them."
Meehan laughed. "That's what Kerney said before he died in Juarez." He felt her stiffen. He twisted her face upward, forcing her to look at him.
"You must be bad luck, Sara. Both of the men you were fucking are dead." He could feel Sara's jaw tighten as she clamped her mouth shut. He released her face and patted her cheek.
"We'll keep Fred company for a while," he informed her cheerfully.
"It will give you time to think about your options." Humming to himself, he turned out the lights and returned to the couch. *** Eddie stopped the car in a parking lot on the El Paso side of the bridge. The stink from Kerney's vomit had dissipated enough to make breathing bearable. He could hardly believe all the stuff the lieutenant had told him about a secret cave with hidden treasure. It sounded like something out of the movies.
"Your turn," Kerney prompted.
Eddie told him what he knew about Benton and De Leon.
The main problem, Kerney mused, was putting the final pieces together before they ran out of time. "Did Benton mention any names when he was talking with De Leon he asked.
"No."
"We need to find out more about him," Kerney proposed as he opened the car door.
"I'll backtrack on Benton," Eddie volunteered.
"Maybe I can find out where he was staying, where he hung out-that sort of stuff."
"You need to get that arm looked after," Kerney countered.
"I will. You're not in great shape yourself," Eddie reminded him.
"I'll survive," Kerney said.
"Okay, see what you can dig up. I'll let Sara know what you're doing."
Kerney pulled himself out of the car, his hand gripping the door to keep his balance.
"Thanks."
Kerney shut the door and looked at Eddie through the open window. "Don't thank me. I owe you a lot. I'm too old to be brawling in dark alleys with guys like Benton. Leave a message with Sara Brannon if you find anything." Eddie nodded. "You're heading back to the base?"
"Yeah. Be careful, Eddie."
"You got it, Lieutenant," Eddie said, shifting the car into gear. He watched Kerney hobble to his truck. The vehicle lurched and stalled as Kerney tried to drive away. He cranked the truck engine again, eased the clutch out, and rolled slowly through the parking lot.
Kerney was some piece of work, Eddie decided. With the odds totally against him, Kerney had stood his ground and done a lot of damage before Benton had him down. Eddie wondered if he could do as well under the same circumstances. *** The living room was dark except for the weak light that spilled into the room from the kitchen and illuminated Fred's body. Meehan was behind her, and all Sara could hear was the sound of his breathing. The handcuffs were killing her, and she had lost most of the sensation in her fingers. She tried moving her hands to restore the circulation and bit her lip to keep from gasping with pain. She heard the rustling of clothing as Meehan paced behind her chair.
Was Kerney really dead? She didn't want to believe it, but the possibility plagued her. She needed to stop dwelling on it and stay focused on Meehan-stay angry. He planned to kill her, she was sure of it, but he was waiting for something to happen first. It gave her time. She made another attempt to force her finger into the back pocket of her jeans. She'd stopped for gas in town and out of habit had stuck the charge slip in her pocket. She brought her hands as high as she could and wiggled a finger into the pocket. Meehan heard the sound.