Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,119
reading between the lines.”
“He probably figured that you would have told him if anything was seriously wrong.”
“Right. No point in asking. Inefficient.”
Cruz rose from the table and studied Briones. “You can put in a requisition for a new shirt. I doubt you’ll get the blood out. You should be more careful.”
“I intend to. I also bought some coffee while on assignment, as I recall.”
“Have an expense report on my desk this afternoon. I’ll sign it.”
“Are you going back in today, sir?”
“I want to move some of my files back to headquarters. I have to see Godoy anyway. Might as well make that a useful trip.”
“I’m going to take a few days off, at least until the swelling goes down.”
“Not a bad idea. Do you want me to notify the shrink? Are you traumatized by your experience?”
“I’m hungry. Could that be a sign of post-traumatic stress?”
“I think so. I prescribe tequila. Three times a day for four days.”
Briones saluted smartly. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir!”
Cruz’s face cracked as a smile forced its way to the surface. “It’s about time I got some respect. Carry on, then. You up for lunch? I’m buying.”
Briones thought about it, evaluating how he felt, considering his blood-soaked shirt and the cotton stuffed up his nose. “Lead the way. I could eat a horse, sir.”
“Which is probably what it will be, if they’re out of dog.”
The pair trundled out of the room, Cruz weary and limping a little from where his knee had collided with the dashboard, Briones taking it slow because his head hurt with every step, as sad-looking a pair as had ever worn a uniform.
~ ~ ~
“Ah, Capitan. Good to see you. Again, congratulations!” Godoy rose from behind his desk and actually came around it to shake his hand. Cruz couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever exhibited the slightest interest in civility, or treated him as anything more than a servant. “Please, sit. May I offer you a refreshment? Water? Soda? Something with a little more kick?”
Did Godoy just wink at him as he returned to his plush executive chair? Cruz hoped it was the onset of some sort of devastating nervous disorder. Preferably painful. And embarrassing.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Well, then. Thank you for coming in. I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am that this was resolved without becoming an international crisis. The German is dead, the accord is signed, and the Chinese are none the wiser. I was told to express the president’s gratitude, as well,” Godoy gushed.
Ah. So that was it. The president had congratulated Godoy, and told him to pass it down.
“How?” Cruz asked.
Godoy’s mullet-stare drifted to the cut on Cruz’s head, as though noticing it for the first time, and then back to his eyes. “I...I’m sorry, Capitan. Come again?”
“I asked how? How is the president going to express his gratitude?”
“Why...I should think that his thanks for a job well done would be good enough,” Godoy stammered. The conversation was taking an unexpected turn.
“Well, it isn’t.”
Both men stared at each other for a few slow moments.
“Capitan, I’m not sure where you’re going with this, but I don’t like your tone...”
“I don’t really care what you like.”
The words had the effect of a slap.
“Now see here–”
Cruz cut him off, the rage that had been building coming out in a glacial, tightly-controlled tone.
“No, you see here. You blackmailed me into taking a job that I didn’t want. You forced me to work with the man who killed my wife’s father, as well as my men. You threatened to withhold the pension I earned with my blood and my loyalty. You’re a despicable fecal stain and a disgrace to Mexico, and those are your positive qualities. And I feel ill just being in the same room with you. So listen carefully. I want my pension. All of it. No strings. And I want a security team assigned to me, under my direction, for the next five years. I’ll keep my gun, and you’ll issue a permit for a concealed carry for both myself and my wife. The department will continue to pay for my accommodations for that period, as well. I’m in constant danger, due to the service I rendered for my country, and I will be treated fairly.”
Godoy sat, speechless, his mouth hanging open like a bass. Cruz had a momentary vision of him reaching over and stuffing a dirty sock into it, or maybe his underwear, and then shrugged it off.