Brodie saw out of the corner of his eye that Taylor had followed his lead, heading for the exit, but she was blocked by the other submachine gun–toting gentleman.
This looked like it could go bad quickly.
Then again, Raúl was Worley’s guy, and if something happened to them, Raúl and Worley would both be in a world of shit. Brodie decided this was likely some customary machismo dick-wagging, and if they stood their ground it would not escalate.
In fact, Brodie decided—based on past experience in situations like this—that it was time for some dick-wagging of his own. He said to Scarface, “Call Raúl. Tell him he does not have to be afraid of our guns. We are here to buy information for the American Embassy, not to rob him. Also tell him he doesn’t need three men to protect him, and he needs to get his skinny ass here pronto.”
Taylor translated, though Brodie could tell by her tone and cadence that she’d put a little diplomatic spin on his statement.
Still, the guy looked pissed. He pulled out his cell and called. After a brief conversation, he hung up and said something to Taylor.
Taylor said to Brodie, “Raúl wants us to come to him, though by keeping our weapons we are only endangering ourselves.”
“I’m not following that logic. Okay, tell this asshole to take us to his leader.” He added, “Assholes two and three stay here.”
Taylor spoke to Scarface. He nodded, then said something to the two other guys, who headed back toward the gate. He then gestured for Brodie and Taylor to follow. They walked across the atrium toward the main tower, through a doorway and into another lobby-type room with a set of stairs. Brodie spotted a bank of open elevator doors, but no actual elevators. Brodie and Taylor followed Scarface up the wide staircase.
The next level was divided by walls of stacked cinder blocks that rose almost to the high ceilings, creating a sprawling warren of rooms that had obviously been built by the former squatters. They continued up to the next story, which had a similar layout, then followed Scarface down a narrow walkway lined with brick walls and doorways. Some of the doorways had actual doors, but most relied on tattered sheets for privacy.
A line of fluorescent light fixtures hung from chains above the walkway, though the bulbs were all dead, missing, or shattered. Whatever method the former residents here had used to pull power had probably long been cut off.
In the dim light, Brodie could make out some details in the small brick rooms as they passed. Some were interconnected, forming something like apartments, though all that was left now were spoiled relics of home life—broken metal bed frames, shattered plates, old fruit crates and industrial debris creatively reconfigured into tables, chairs, and cooking surfaces. A few of the brick walls were actually painted. In the half-light Brodie could make out dashes of chalk along the edge of a cinder-block wall, each one accompanied by a date. Someone marking the growth of their child.
Scarface gestured toward a doorway. “You go here.”
Brodie and Taylor walked into a small brick room lit by a battery-powered fluorescent lamp. There were a couple of ratty couches on either side of a wooden crate coffee table, and a plastic table against one of the walls held a flat-screen TV that someone had put two bullets through. On the far side of the room facing the doorway was a wide opening where a floor-to-ceiling glass window would have been had this tower ever been finished. Instead, there was a low brick wall to protect the former occupants from a thirty-foot drop.
Raúl sat in one of the couches, smoking a cigarette. Brodie looked at him in the fluorescent light. He had large and ugly features—big ears, big nose, big black eyes that darted between the two of them. He took a deep drag and exhaled a stream of smoke. “Who is this pretty lady?”
Taylor replied in Spanish, and Raúl didn’t like the reply. He took another drag.
He was slouched in the couch, one arm hanging over the back of it, attempting to look relaxed and in control. But in reality he looked wound up tight. His eyes kept darting from Brodie and Taylor to Scarface behind them. Brodie guessed that Raúl did not own this man’s loyalty, but only rented it.
Brodie pulled an American fifty-dollar bill out of his pocket and held it up to Scarface. “Go away.