Gun Work

“And between the time she got kidnapped and now, Estrellita bounces along to fill your lonely waiting period? What, did you run out of magazines?”

Carl flushed crimson again. “I met her in a bar. I was going out of my mind, man.”

Barney sighed. They’d gone through worse, and crazier, in Iraq.

“Erica is the only thing I’ve ever done right in my life,” Carl said. “You remember how I used to be. I was a world-class fuckup. Still am. That’s why I need you. That’s why I need to save Erica.” He held his hands out in entreaty. “She’s all I’ve got now.”

Barney tried never to judge. What was that line about walking a mile in another man’s shoes? Oh yeah: By the time he figures out you’ve screwed him over, you’re a mile away, and you’ve got his shoes.

“Call the bad guys,” Barney said.

The Rio Satanas was not a genuine river. It was a toxic spillway etched into bedrock by overflow from Mexico City’s compromised waste management system. It was lost — that is to say, handily concealed — within the contaminated maze of industry on the municipal outskirts, everything from oil pumpers to propane plants contributing their discharge. At some point, somebody had built a wooden bridge over one of its tributaries, the veins and backwaters eroded by its determined march toward cleaner waterways. The bridge was almost quaint-looking, as though it had been shipped in from New England, but the whole place would never make for an attractive postcard.

The bridge was the rendez, and Carl obtained directions. Barney drove the ostentatiously ridiculous limo, even donning a chauffeur’s cap he found stashed in the glovebox. Why not play it to the rim? Rich American shows up in big car driven by obvious lackey to deliver dinero grande with extra sauce.

Using the GPS in the car, Barney checked the signal on the transplanted chip. Thumbs up.

They got lost, naturally, trying to navigate chuck-holed streets with no signs, following directions mostly by landmark — a clear, wide, long, twisting trail that would allow ample surveillance, and guaranteed no tails or hidden reinforcements. They knew they were in the right general area when they could see the car headlights cutting through assorted noxious gases. They could see the air. Dark, now.

Barney scanned the perimeter a safe distance from the bridge, using the nightvision binocs. Wherever their opponents were, they had blended well. No movement, no hot spots just yet. A few heartbeats of very tense quiet, to the backbeat of distant machines, grinding, pumping, polluting.

When the cellphone went off in Carl’s hand he nearly shrieked like a freshman with an icicle up his nether port.

For the first time, Barney heard the curiously uninflected voice that was bossing Carl around.

“You are to exit the car on my word. You are to walk thirty paces straight ahead to the bridge, place the bag on the ground, turn around, and return to your car without looking back. You are to drive away without looking back. Remembering this route will be useless to you. Be advised that you are being tracked by men with automatic weapons. Non-reflective gear, sight-shields and baffled muzzles. You will not be able to see these men using night vision equipment. Step out of the car now.”

It did not sound like some grubby gangster playing snatch-and-grab. This sounded more like excellent strategy, or maybe a simple playbook of what worked, per brutal experience in the game. Carl’s glance to Barney said perhaps they were in far deeper than their competence.

“What about my wife?” Carl said to the caller.

“Your wife is about to lose another finger if you do not step out of the car now.” Click — that was all.

“We don’t even know she’s alive,” said Barney. “We can about-face and burn ass out of here in this tank, right now, and they can shoot all they want.”

“No,” said Carl, opening the passenger door. “I’ve got to do this. If somebody nails me, at least... wing ‘em, or something.”

“I’ve got your back.”

Carl stepped out, exposed, elaborately demonstrating that he carried nothing except the bag, then began to plod toward the bridge. The smell outside was unique, almost physical in its oppressiveness. Barney could see through the binocs that Carl was actually counting his paces.