Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2)

Shooting Scars (The Artists Trilogy #2) Page 25

But I guess I already proved that the other day.

“These are something else, you do them yourself?”

“Only the ones I can reach but I’ve drawn them all. I have a few artists in Palm Springs that I trust to carry them out.”

“Are they everywhere?” He was wincing as he said it.

I winked at him. “I think that’s between Ellie and I.”

He gave me an unimpressed look then went over to the door. “I’ll go get us some breakfast for the road. Can you be ready in five? We’re meeting someone.”

I nodded and ten minutes later we were back in the GTO, munching on a doughy pastry, the smell of hot dirt blowing in through the open windows.

“Who is this someone?” I asked, crumbs scattering in my lap.

He said, “An old friend.” Wasn’t that always the case? The old friend. That was the case between us right now. Me and Ellie’s old friend.

We drove for some time, flipping through an assortment of Spanish radio stations, before the air began to lift a bit and the sharp bite of salt hit us. The Gulf of Mexico sparkled amid refinery plants as we hit Tampico. We went through the city sprawl, the startling amount of Starbucks and Burger Kings and Walmarts, before we entered the real Mexico again and were hurtling down a pale dirt road, dust flying behind us like flour, dodging giant potholes and overhanging branches.

We eventually arrived to a little piece of paradise. A cream sand beach was lapped by azure water while a beach shack stood nestled in a crop of palm trees. Gus pulled the car up beside a mud-splattered Jeep just as a man with an even bigger mustache than his came out of the house, arms wide.

“Gus!” the man cried out. Gus gave me a sheepish look.

“This is Dan,” he explained. “He’s very … affectionate.”

We got out of the car and Dan immediately embraced him. I held back a chuckle as Gus awkwardly hugged him back. Gus then waved me over.

I shuffled through the sand, absently enjoying the breeze that washed over me while keeping my senses on high alert. As nice – or huggy – as Dan seemed, I wasn’t one to trust the old friends. Sometimes I wondered if I even trusted Gus.

“Hello, Camden,” Dan said, taking my hand in a two-handed shake. He was about a foot shorter than me, in his early fifties, with a huge handlebar mustache and fake Ray-Ban sunglasses. His hair was cropped short and unusually dark and he had pock marks on both cheeks left over from bad acne. His teeth were yellowed. Overall the vibe was genuine and I was glad for the lack of hostility so far, even though I knew things could always turn.

If they haven’t turned already. Gus’s phrase repeated in my head.

“Hello, Dan,” I told him, trying to make my smile look easy. “Beautiful little spot you got here.”

“You like?” he said, eyes gleaming. “Oh you must come inside. I’ll get you Americans some beer. Real beer, you know?”

We went inside and sat down on his small screened porch that faced the incoming surf and chugged back three Bohemias. The small talk came first, Gus and Dan catching up on old times while Gus would occasionally fill me in as Dan smoked like a chimney, one cigarette after another. They knew each other when Dan used to live in San Diego, illegally, and Gus’s ex-girlfriend and his wife were friends. Dan eventually got deported, even though Gus tried to pull a few favors for him with the LAPD, and settled here to open his own business renting kayaks to tourists. I didn’t know what happened to the business since I didn’t see any kayaks and the Tampico area wasn’t a big tourist attraction. But fronts were fronts and I knew how to spot one.

Dan’s wife was now dead, something he glossed over very quickly and I knew from the way his eyes burned at the mention of her that it wasn’t accidental. The drug cartels had their fingers in absolutely everything here.

“Now, Gus,” Dan said, his face growing serious after he finished off the remainder of his beer. “You know I love to see old friends. When I heard what happened to you …”

A strange hush came over them and both their eyes darted to me and back again. This thing, this mysterious health problem that had afflicted Gus had come up again and again but I had yet to figure it out. I didn’t want to ask. Maybe I was going to have to. I didn’t want the man having a stroke on me if that’s what it came down to.

“I miss you, you know?” Dan continued. “But please tell me what brought you here all of the sudden.”

Gus sucked in his upper lip until the bristles of his mustache stood out. “We need to find Travis Raines. He’s somewhere in Mexico, maybe Veracruz.”

Dan’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “You want to find Travis Raines? The Hombre Blanco?”

“What, seriously, that’s his nickname?” I blurted out.

Dan ignored me, getting out of his wicker chair and walking over to the kitchen. “My God, my God. We need some coffee. Yes, we do.”

Gus and I exchanged a glance as Dan put on the kettle and began carrying things over to the table for us, cups, saucers, a sugar bowl, non-dairy creamer. Then he sat back down and lit another cigarette. His hand shaking.

“Tell me why you need to find him.”

“It’s not so much him that we need to find but a man who is after Travis. He has a woman with him. We think he’s planning on using her to assassinate the Hombre Blanco.”

He blinked a few times, puffing back rapidly. “I see. And this is a bad thing?”

“He will get the woman killed. Getting to Travis Raines isn’t easy. If it was, he’d already be dead.”

“Yes, Gus, I know this. What do you think I do all day here? Think of fairy tales?”

I looked at Dan imploring. “The woman, Ellie, is very important to me. The man she’s with will hurt her. She’s not a gun for hire. She’ll have to do it against her will and it will end very badly, for everyone, if we don’t get to her first.”

“Who is the man?”

“Javier Bernal,” Gus supplied.

Dan’s eyes widened and he quickly put out his cigarette. “Javier is here in Mexico?”

“You know him?” I asked.

Dan gave me a petulant look and got up to the kettle which was just starting to steam. “Yes, I know him. We all know him. We are all part of the same family when you trace us back. Sinoala.”

The other extremely dangerous and fanatical cartel.

Dan poured the water into a French press and brought it over to the table.

“This sounds like something Javi would do.”

And now he knew him on a first name basis. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be good. I shot Gus a look but he was focused on the coffee. I wanted to keep staring at him, get him to look up, but Dan was already observing me, eyes narrowed.

I cleared my throat and nodded at the press. “Local coffee?”

Dan watched me for a few painful beats before he said, “Yes, of course. None of that American shit.”

Gus smiled. “I’m pretty sure half of the American shit comes from Mexico at any rate.”

Dan shrugged lightly. “This is true. But we don’t put chemicals in our coffee.”

“Not like what you’re putting in your lungs,” Gus joked.

And suddenly they seemed like old pals ribbing each other again. Maybe I was creating these situations in my head. Maybe my gut was wrong.

But my gut was never wrong.

Dan poured us both a cup of the fragrant, dark liquid and said, “Do you know where Javi is?”

We shook our heads. “No,” Gus spoke, “we figured you could tell us.”

“Why would I tell you?”

“To be a friend, I guess.” Gus was still smiling but his posture changed ever so subtly. He was aware now, more alert. Maybe because Dan was being stubborn. Or maybe because Dan and Javier were friends, something Gus couldn’t have seen coming, and friends sometimes go to great lengths to protect each other. If my devotion to Ellie had brought me here, perhaps Dan’s loyalty to Javier was just as strong.

The bad feeling in my gut multiplied when Dan put the coffee press down and one of his hands, so easily, so slowly, went to his side and under the table. I didn’t look, I didn’t acknowledge it. I only sipped my coffee all the while knowing he had a gun under that table, maybe affixed to the underside, and it was pointing at us.

We wouldn’t be walking out of here alive. Not if we could do something about it.

“Well, I don’t know where Javi is. But Travis is in Veracruz. Fucking Zetas have taken over the whole city, such a shame.”

“Where in Veracruz?” I asked.

Dan smiled wryly and took a sip of his coffee, bringing his hand back on the table. “I do not have his address, if that is what you’re asking. It’s a large compound in the hills. Where the rich bastards live.”

“How do you think Ellie will get close to him?” It was a longshot, but one I felt I needed to ask. If I was right and there was a gun under the table, he’d be telling us the truth because the dead don’t talk. The dead wouldn’t spoil this attempt on Travis’s life, someone both Javier, Dan, and maybe Ellie, would want killed.

“I don’t know,” he said carefully. He put his coffee cup back down. One hand went under the table while the other was going for a cigarette.

“Can I have one?” I said quickly, putting my hand out. “I always wanted to try the Mexican kind.”

Dan laughed out of the corner of his mouth. “Okay, fine.”

He gave me a cigarette, his other hand never straying. I held mine out for the Zippo lighter and he gave me that too.

I really hoped Gus was right about Coffee Mate being extremely flammable, and that the theory extended to all non-dairy creamers, not just the name brands. If he was wrong, we’d be dead. But if I sat there and did anything else, we’d be dead too. The minute either of us would reach for our guns, he’d know and pull the trigger. He had the upper hand. I had the lower cut.

I started playing with the flame, running my thumb over the wheel again and again. “So you don’t know what Javi’s plan could be? I thought you were good friends.”

Dan stiffened. “We are not good friends. I admire him. He’s done a lot for us and he’s stayed loyal, unlike Travis.” So much animosity seethed off of his words. I knew what had happened to Dan’s wife now. “Travis knows how hated he is. I think he’s even a threat to the Zetas. No one just switches sides like that for no reason. He has people following him everywhere he goes and, as you would think, he doesn’t leave his house all that often. Just to the market on Saturdays where he walks around like he’s Marlon Brando.”

I made the flame dance back and forth. Dan’s one hand stayed under the table. With his other he put a cigarette to his mouth.

I tilted my head to look at Gus. His face was drawn together, looking incredibly sad. It must have hurt, what he was realizing about his friend.

“Hey Gus, would you mind passing me that non-dairy creamer over there.” I nodded at the container.

He swallowed hard and handed it to me.