Blood of the Assassin - By Russell Blake Page 0,89

how the assassin had made his fortune.

Nobody spoke as Cruz and Dinah slid into the back seat. Briones started the engine and then pulled down the dirt road, lights extinguished. He didn’t illuminate them until he was a hundred yards away, swinging onto the pavement of the larger street that would lead them back to the city proper.

“Where to, boss?” he asked as he gave the big sedan gas.

“Didn’t you say that we’ve got a new condo leased and waiting?”

Briones nodded. “I did indeed.”

Dinah looked up from where she was leaning against him. “I want to take a long shower, get some new clothes, and sleep for a few days,” she declared.

Cruz nodded. He hadn’t commented on the bruise or the damage to her face. There would be time enough to talk about it when she was ready.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor?”

“I want a bath and bed.”

Cruz looked at the back of Briones’ head. “You heard the lady. Take us to our new digs.”

~ ~ ~

It was six a.m. by the time they made it to the new flat. Dinah gratefully inspected the bedroom and bathroom and declared them acceptable, and then closed the door so she could bathe. Cruz sat at the dining room table, a generic contemporary affair much like the ones in the last four condos, and thought over the night’s events as he watched the first stabs of a new dawn pierce the sky, all shimmering orange and red and streaks of violet and fuchsia. The ever-lingering pall of smog did make for spectacular sunrises and sunsets, even if it was toxic, he thought appreciatively, then rose and opened the refrigerator, which had been thoughtfully stocked with staples, including a six-pack of Modelo beer.

He popped one open, took his seat again, and downed half the can in a gulp. He burped, then took another pull, then rubbed a tired hand over his face. They – no, El Rey – had accomplished the impossible, without a single casualty, leaving no trace of their passage to tip anyone off. Perhaps if law enforcement worked like that, there would be less of an appetite for lawlessness. Far more cartel members were killed by each other than had ever been killed by the police, and arrest was viewed as a deserved break from the ugly realities of the street. Maybe if criminals knew there was a bullet waiting for them, or the sharp blade of a silent knife...

His thoughts drifted to the assassin’s performance, and then to his suggestion that Cruz leave well enough alone and not report their role in the night’s adventure. He had a point. It would be Cruz’s group that ultimately investigated a cartel-related execution scene, and nobody would really expect them to arrive at any conclusion besides the obvious – that the cartel business was a rough game in which disputes were settled with a bullet. So six miscreants had been butchered. Better sixty, or six hundred. The world was certainly no poorer for it.

The cold beer soothed his parched throat as he reasoned through how he would explain Dinah’s sudden reappearance. Then he realized that the explanation didn’t have to be logical. The cartel had set her free. Why? Maybe they got scared from the heat being brought by the investigation. Or maybe it wasn’t cartel-related at all. Perhaps it had been a gang of kidnappers that had chosen a convenient target of opportunity, and when the word had hit the street that the full weight of the Federales was going to land on whoever had kidnapped her, they couldn’t get rid of her fast enough. Random and inexplicable events took place all the time. Sometimes, they worked in the good guys’ favor – a welcome relief from the norm.

When the smoke cleared, it would be his word against...nobody’s. It was the perfect scenario. No one would connect the massacre at the warehouse with Dinah – there was no reason to. And once the blaze had worked its magic, there wouldn’t be much to sift through. The assassin had covered all the bases, and all that remained was for them to keep their mouths shut.

He had no doubt that Briones would go along with whatever story he told – his loyalty to Cruz was absolute. The bad guys had lost a round, and an innocent had been saved.

Some days were good ones.

Today was one of them, he thought, watching the sky lighten, the light show over as the sun