Without warning

Pieraro pressed on the accelerator and they pulled away. ‘Your question, senorita?’ he asked eventually.

Jules shrugged. ‘I was just wondering how you ended up on that roadblock, but I guess you answered it. Three children. You were, what, holidaying? Visiting relatives?’

Pieraro snorted at the first suggestion. ‘My wages, they would not have allowed me to clean the streets of el Diamante. I could not holiday here. We were visiting my wife’s cousins further south for a wedding when everyone disappeared. I came as far north as I dared to find work to support them. We have lost everything but our lives.’

Jules glanced in the side mirror to check that the others were still with her. The Jeep was only a few metres behind. She couldn’t get a read on Pieraro at all. He looked like a hard case yet she could detect none of the primitive fear in his eyes that was such a part of the make-up of almost all street thugs – the knowledge that there was always someone harder and meaner than you just around the corner. She could sense anxiety leaking out of him, at the edges, where he couldn’t keep his emotions completely nailed down, but it didn’t seem personalised. If he was telling the truth about his family, that might well explain it. She would have to play him very carefully. In many ways, it would have been a lot easier if he were a simple gang boss.

‘I suppose I should ask how you ended up running that operation. Not a lot of call for herringbone roadblocks, snipers and intersecting fields of fire in the cattle business, is there? Not even when working for Mickey D.’

‘Mickey D? I do not understand… Oh, McDonald’s. I see.’ An arid smile cracked open the dark, sunburnt rock of the cowboy’s face. ‘The catering manager of the resort, an American, once worked for McDonald’s in Houston,’ he explained. ‘I met him on business many years ago. We drank a lot of tequila and he embarrassed himself, eating the worm like a college boy. Well, he was a college boy, I suppose. But I looked after him. I knew he had taken the job here, so this week I came looking for work. Any work.’

‘I see,’ said Jules, nodding. ‘But security work? That’s not your business.’

‘Men are my business. Running cattle and running men. You have never bossed twenty vaquero, no? I have bossed many more. Hard men, not to be crossed. Much harder than those idiotas.’ Pieraro threw a contemptuous look back over his shoulder.

‘Yeah, I get that. But that Roberto guy, he really is ex-military or something, right? He handles the tactical side, yes – where to place your good shooters and how to set up the roadblock?’

The cowboy remained quiet for a moment before finally muttering: ‘He is Colombian. AUC – Autodefensas Unidas de Colombia.’

‘What’s that, some sort of fascist coke-smuggling outfit?’

‘Paramilitaries,’ said Pieraro before hurrying on. ‘So, you have a proposal, Julianne.’ He pronounced the first portion of her name as Chooley.

As the little car wound its way down towards Revolcadero Beach, the signs of breakdown and chaos in the social order became much less evident. The streets remained free of rubbish and any indication of conflict. Huge villas and gated resorts sat quietly underneath palms and soaring canopies of transplanted tropicals. Few people moved about, apparently preferring to hunker down behind their high walls, but those who did, did not seem especially fearful or concerned. Jules scanned the scene for any obvious signs of things beginning to fray, but found none. Perhaps Miguel and his gang were helping to hold it back for now. She decided to take a punt on his honesty.

‘You have three children, Miguel, right?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Two girls and a little boy.’

‘Would you like to get them away from here? From Mexico, I mean.’

There was a slight delay before he answered. ‘Very much so. What you said before, it was not all true. But some was – about how things will soon turn for the worse. I have seen the worst of people. I know what to expect.’

They began to travel downhill through a neighbourhood of large modern houses, some of them set back within vast grounds. Jules caught the first sparkles of sunlight on water as glimpses of the bay showed through the verdant surroundings.

‘Okay, here’s your deal. Passage out of Mexico for you and your family if you can help me put together a passenger list. A short one. People who can pay upfront, right away, in euros, British pounds or trade goods. Stones and jewellery, high-end stuff only – gold, platinum, diamonds, and so on. I have a yacht that can accommodate two-dozen passengers and the same number of crew… well, I can accommodate a hell of a lot more, but I’m not interested in more. I’m not running a budget operation.’