Gun Work

Beyond the image, here is what Barney saw: She used to date outlaws but tired of their arrested adolescence. Probably snagged a useless college degree or two. Just old enough, now, to appreciate adult company. Doesn’t want children and never has; that DNA imperative was subtracted from her makeup, so this woman has sex for pleasure. Barney looked at Carl again, now seated on a sagging twin bed redolent of mildew, staring uncomprehendingly at a TV game show in Spanish. A lot of people were shouting and talking very fast. Carl would have to work to satisfy this woman.

Back to the photo: The type of woman who does not expect convenience, knows life entails pain, and earns what she considers to be her rewards. Yeah: If held captive, she could probably muster some backbone. A darker thought: Maybe her union with Carl was strategic.

First impressions, a still life, impossible to say.

Barney handed Carl one of the cellphones. “The ringers are off. They’ll blink. These are our walkies.”

“What’s the third one for?”

“I put the guts into the car’s GPS, which is a simple receiver. Now it’ll tell us where the chip is, instead of where the car is.”

“You mean where the bag of money is. Why? If they give Erica back when we—”

Barney overrode him. “If they don’t, we’ve got something to follow. If they’re smart, they’ll ditch the bag straightaway. The difference could be just enough time. A fix, a location, a general direction. I mean, you’re not going to be able to Google ‘hostage hideouts’ and come up with a list of addresses.”

“You still want me to call them tonight?”

“Yes.”

Whatever Barney was going to add was cut short by a knock on the door, in a place where there was no room service.

Nobody was supposed to know where Carl and Barney were headquartered. Barney had engineered the move himself, advising Carl to keep his original hotel room at a place six blocks distant. Nobody was supposed to know Barney was an added extra guest, and it was a fair bet that housekeeping was not this formal, not at the dive Barney had purposefully selected.

The gun was already in Barney’s grasp as he backed toward the bathroom. With a finger of silence to his lips, he directed Carl toward the door.

Here is a snapshot of what walked in:

Long legs on six-inch heels, liquid brown eyes, skin the color of Bailey’s Irish mocha, shiny gaze, glittering bangles, sharp edges, a halter top and skirt that pretty much showed you in detail what you were getting — a healthy balcony (no implants), good teeth, a few scars for character and no scabs — along with the triple-shot of attitude that stormed into their presence. From what Barney could figure out from his vantage, eavesdropping, this flamboyant vision’s name was Estrella — “star.”

“Hey, Carlito,” she said, advancing on Carl. “You should know better than to try and hide from your chamaca... you alone?”

Her radar was good, as if she could smell Barney in the space, and Carl knew better than to try faking it. “Ran into an old war buddy.”

Barney had been cast in the part, no audition, and now the spotlight was on. He flushed the toilet to give himself an entrance cue. It gurgled and tried to back up. The bowl was ringed with brown stains similar to the strata of calcification on the teeth of many Mexican citizens, a fringe benefit of no fluoride. Estrella obviously enjoyed a better dental plan.

“Hey,” Barney said, playing his walk-on badly. “Company?”

“Hombre,” said the intruder, inviting enough but not game for a handshake. She sized Barney up in an eyeblink. “Looks like you’re the company.”

Barney tried to picture the pie chart of her bloodline, which looked to be a generational dime-a-dance mix of Latin, Asian, maybe some Dutch, plus a shot of some indefinable exotic extra wallop.

Great. Carl had gotten himself entangled with some Mexican hottie. The scenario sucked more by the microsecond. She needed to be jettisoned.

“You come to party with Carlito?” She wagged her eyebrows up and down.

“Just cervezas and dirty boy talk,” Barney said. But there was no beer in the room.

“You gonna talk dirty to me, Carlito?” She already had her hand on his belt buckle, pulling him into a clinch. Possessive. Territorial.

“You guys need a moment?” Barney smiled. It hurt his face.

Estrella held up two fingers. Peace sign. “Two moments.”

Barney’s gaze exchanged information with Carl’s: You okay?

Carl: Yeah. Let me deal with this.