Power and Empire

The chamber of the incinerator itself was a somewhat stubby cylindrical tank, approximately ten feet long by seven feet high. A large walk-in door was cut into the front, used for raking ash, replacing any of the foot-thick insulation, or loading refuse that was too large to fit into the rear chute. Secondary burners at the top of the chamber reached 1,200 degrees, igniting unburned gases before they could escape through a fifteen-foot chimney.

Clark waited for the reading on the control panel to reach 1,880 degrees and then lifted the heavy metal lid on the three-by-six-foot chute attached to the rear of the chamber. The rusty, coffinlike box was smeared with black oil and flecked with bits of fiberglass insulation and other trash. A trapdoor hung down in front of the firebox, telltale orange flames just visible around the edges of blackened metal. The face of a heavy steel ram was flush with the back end of the chute. A red plastic sign affixed to the box above the controls warned: Use by unauthorized persons is prohibited.

Clark looked down at his prisoner and smiled. “Don’t pay any attention to that. I’m authorized.”

Pacheco was no lightweight, and it took some maneuvering for Clark to get the thrashing man up over the edge. Both men were sweating, albeit for different reasons, by the time Pacheco landed inside the chute with his feet toward the fire chamber and his head against the ram. He rolled and thrashed, trying in vain to gain some kind of footing that would allow him to escape from the narrow prison. As he was wearing only gym shorts and a T-shirt, his hairy legs and arms were covered in black oil and grime in a matter of moments.

Clark leaned over the side, peering down into the greasy darkness. He caught the sudden odor of urine. That made sense. For an instant, he felt a pang of guilt, and then remembered the dead girls in the sorghum field, the snuff videos, and a child named Magdalena who was still somewhere out there, perhaps even dead already.

He clapped his hands together. “They say this can melt bone,” he said. “But I’d imagine they’ll find a knuckle or two.”

Pacheco began to sob.

Clark pushed the red button.

Nothing happened, except for the muffled screams, thrashing — and more urine.

“Ah,” Clark said. “The lid needs to be closed.” He reached toward the hinge and flipped a manual override that allowed the mechanism to operate with the lid open, before hitting the red button again.

This time, the heavy door at Pacheco’s feet began to slide upward, metal squealing against metal. At the same time, the ram at his head pushed him toward the waiting flames. Pacheco tried to brace himself, but even if he hadn’t been tied, the slippery steel box would have made that all but impossible.

Clark pushed the button again, relieved that the hydraulic ram actually stopped. It occurred to him that he should have tested it beforehand.

“Okay, Ernie,” he said. “Here we go. I need information. You have information. It’s a simple process.”

Pacheco nodded, seeing a possibility of survival for the first time.

Clark continued. “I should tell you, I’m not a patient man. I’m looking for Magdalena Rojas. You’re going to tell me where she is.”

More nodding and some muffled grunts.

Clark shrugged. “Not good enough. I told you I wasn’t patient, Ernie.” He pushed the red button again, waiting for the door to get halfway up and the ram to begin its movement before pushing it again.

“Sorry about that,” Clark said, ripping away the tape. “Guess I do need to take this off so you can talk.”

Pacheco spat out the paper towel and let fly a string of Spanish curses, hyperventilating to the point that Clark thought he might vomit. Clark reached as if to push the button again.

“Okay! Okay!” Pacheco said. “I dropped her at Emilio’s. She was good when I saw her last. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“I’ve probably seen your mother’s grave,” Clark mused. “Zambrano. Where do I find him?”

Pacheco gave him directions to the ranch Caruso and Callahan had already visited.

Clark shook his head. He left his hand over the red button. “Already tried there.”

“Hang on!” Pacheco cried. “He’s got another place out in Palo Pinto County.” He rattled off the directions.

“And if he’s not there?”

“If he’s not at his other place, that’s where he’ll be,” Pacheco said. “Good luck getting to him, though. He’s got a shitload of guards. Lily’s guys. Emilio is a badass, but his woman, I ain’t shittin’ you, man, she’s the devil. And her guys ain’t much better.”

“Triad?” Clark asked. He’d been wondering where all the Sun Yee On goons were hiding.

Pacheco nodded. “She keeps a dozen or more around all the time. Look, amigo, I told you what you wanted to know. Can you please untie me now? You’re scaring the shit outta me. Know what I’m sayin’?”

“I’m not your amigo,” Clark said, his voice hoarse and pointed. “Let’s say Magdalena’s not with Zambrano. Where else would I look for her?”