Beyond the Breaking Point - Lori Sjoberg Page 0,103
She’d been the one who nicknamed him Flaco.
“I assume you came back from the dead for a reason.” Chato chuckled again. “What can I do you for?”
“I need supplies: surveillance equipment, weapons, explosives, tactical gear, and a car—something old but reliable. And I need you to keep this quiet. As far as anybody else is concerned, you still think I’m dead.” He didn’t bother to explain the need for anything, because Chato wasn’t in the business to care. His only concern was the method of payment or, in this instance, the fulfillment of a debt he’d assumed he no longer owed to a man he’d long considered deceased.
“Sure, no problem.” Chato downed another mouthful of whiskey. “You want the fillings out of my fucking teeth while you’re at it?”
Wade scowled. “I’m serious. You owe me.”
“That was a long time ago.”
Though it didn’t surprise him that Chato was going to be a pain in the ass about this, it still pissed him off. “Last time I checked, there wasn’t a statute of limitations on that kind of debt. Unless you want me to make a few calls—”
“No! Shit, don’t do that.” Chato muttered to himself as he refilled his glass, this time to the brim. At the rate he was going, he’d flop over dead from alcohol poisoning. “When do you need it?”
“Tomorrow evening at the latest.” That was a lie, but if he gave Chato more time than that, he’d use it to try to weasel out of getting Wade everything he wanted. Besides, a guy like Chato worked best under pressure. It was one of his finer qualities.
“Of course.” Chato screwed the cap on the bottle and put the bottle back in the drawer. “After this, we’re even.”
Not by a long shot. Over the years, Wade had saved Chato’s ass on multiple occasions. If it wasn’t for Wade, the little ingrate would be serving hard time in a Mexican prison. Not to mention, the US government had a handful of warrants they’d love to talk to him about. But if Chato came through with everything he needed to take down Aranza, he was willing to wipe the slate clean.
Wade handed him a list he’d written at the house in Guadalajara. “Here’s what I need.”
Chato scanned the list, his gray bushy eyebrows drawing down so low they almost touched. “What do you need all this shit for?”
“You know better than to ask that question.”
In his line of business, every name was an alias, every story was bullshit, and asking too many questions had a way of making people dead.
“I don’t know if I can get my hands on cyclonite.” Chato rubbed the back of his neck. “You might have to make do with C-4.”
That was bullshit, Wade damn well knew it, and he wasn’t in the mood to fuck around. Given the proper motivations, a guy like Chato could get his hands on just about anything. “You’ll get me the good shit, or we’re not even.”
Another sigh. “Yeah, sure, whatever. You got a number I can call you when everything’s ready?”
Wade shook his head. “The less you know the better. I’ll come back tomorrow same time.”
That was another lie. He’d watch the place for a couple-three days, just to be sure the little shit wasn’t going to knife him in the back. He doubted that would happen, but it never hurt to be careful.
“Just get me what I need, and you can forget you ever knew me.”
Chapter 25
Blending in could be tricky, especially in a crime-ridden town like Dos Cruces, where outsiders were distrusted. Austin and Jackson’s size made them stand out. Wade’s scars attracted too much attention.
But Navarre possessed a chameleon-like ability to assume an identity that allowed him to move about town without raising red flags. In a matter of days, he’d recruited a network of informants from all walks of life. Shop owners, bar patrons. The guy washing windows at the corner for spare change. For the equivalent of a few dollars a day, he was able to collect valuable information that most people considered trivial.
Thankfully, Chato hadn’t tried to screw Wade over and came through with every item on his list. The surveillance equipment had gone to good use, installed in the dead of night at strategic locations along the streets outside Aranza’s home. On her end, Larissa had hacked the house’s virtual assistant, which allowed her to record any conversations the microphone picked up.
After two weeks of around-the-clock surveillance, Wade knew every facet of the