bosses. They got hooks in me like you wouldn't believe. I agreed to do this one last trip to clear my debts. I didn't agree to murder."
"You think they killed Chris?"
"Chris was part of the system. That money you found? That came from Chase and Markie. They paid him off every time they came down."
"But why would they kill him?"
Ty shook his head miserably. "This was supposed to be the last run, before the hotel shut down. Chris was pretty bummed about that. Maybe he leaned on Chase and Markie for more money."
Again, I thought about Chris's journal, the comments he'd made about escaping to Hawaii, his anger at Alex for closing the hotel. "So you've been smuggling in drugs from Mexico. What are we talking about? Heroin? Marijuana?"
"Oh, man, that is old school. We brought in Mexican pharmaceuticals. Ritalin. OxyContin. Codeine. You name it. That's what the people in the dorms want. Prescribe your own high."
"You could get pharmaceuticals here."
"In cheap bulk shipments? Easier to arrange that from Mexico. Warehouse security down there is a joke. Plus the cartels and federales don't bother you. They're all focused on the 'illegal' stuff."
"How were the drugs brought in?"
"Fishing boat. See, that's the thing. You said there was no way off the island until the ferry. Maybe that's not exactly true. Chase and Markie have this plan - "
Steps in the hallway above. Chase called down, "Yo, Ty. You all right, man?"
Ty closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yeah. I feel like shit. But I'm...I'm better, I guess."
Chase and Markie came down the steps. They checked us out, trying to read what was going on.
"He's not making much sense," I told them. "You gave him too much sedative."
"He'll be okay," Chase said. "Come on, buddy."
Ty gave me one last look, like a convict going back inside the pen. Then he let his buddies lead him up the stairwell.
I went back to our refugee room, wanting to talk to Maia, but she was still asleep. For once, she looked comfortable. I didn't want to disturb her. Lane slept more fitfully. She was mumbling something that sounded like a protest. Garrett lay next to her, his arm around her waist.
He glanced up as I came in. We had a brief, silent conversation that went something like this:
Me: No sign of Alex.
Garrett: If I could get up without waking Lane, I'd beat you with a large stick. Search again!
I checked the next room and found Benjamin Lindy asleep on the couch. Chase and Markie sat on the bed having a quiet, earnest conversation with Ty. I decided to move on.
The next bedroom's door was also open, but Jose and Imelda were nowhere to be seen.
What now?
There was too much to think about, too much trouble besides the storm blowing through this hotel.
I stood at the end of the hall, looking down the stairwell into the shadows. I thought about the story Ty had told me. Given my past luck, I shouldn't have been surprised to find myself cooped up with a trio of drug dealers, as well as a paid assassin.
I had no trouble believing that Chris Stowall had been making money by helping drug runners. In South Texas, that was a well-established part of the economy, right up there with ranching, drilling for oil and making acrylic-rattlesnake toilet seats for the tourists.
Still, I doubted Chris had died because of a drug deal. Certainly Jesse Longoria wouldn't have come down here for anything as petty as a crate of Mexican Valium. Both of them had been playing a much more dangerous game.
I rubbed my eyes. I kept seeing Rachel Brazos's face carved in wood.
Two bodies downstairs, and the death that haunted me most was a lady I'd never known.
I imagined Ralph Arguello laughing. You hang out with the dead too much, vato.
No contest, I pleaded. Then I turned and headed toward Alex Huff's bedroom.
Inside, the storm had sprayed everything with broken glass and sand like sugar coating on a pan dulce. Somebody, probably Jose, had nailed a quilt over the smashed window. The wind and rain had already ripped it to shreds.
I wondered if it was just wishful thinking, or if the storm sounded a little less intense now. It wasn't much louder than your average booster rocket.
I picked up the wooden statue and set it on the dresser. She still looked like Rachel, her hand out, asking some question I couldn't answer.
I went through Alex's dresser drawers, then his closet. After ten minutes of turning