the garage. They already know we’re here.”
Of course they do. After throwing the car in park, I lift the console for the black pair of gloves inside and slip them over my hands.
Wearing a frown, Adrien nods toward them. “Why the gloves, man?”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness. Isn’t that how the saying goes?”
Snorting, he shakes his head. “Ain’t no god in this place.”
The two of us exit the vehicle, and while gathering the cash-filled leather bag from the back, I flip on the portable cellphone jammer. A pricey little gadget, but the range covers up to a mile, and I don’t need the entire cartel chasing me out of Texas. This little piece of equipment will essentially render their cellphones useless.
Adrien leads the way, practically skipping up to the house, and I realize something is off about him. He’s not all the way there, which probably explains how he can serve as a middle man in these exchanges. The cartel must find him to be harmless. It’s only his connections to high profile and powerful individuals that make him valuable, otherwise I suspect he’d be dead.
One of the men I recognize from the files as the bodyguard greets us at the door with an assault rifle hanging off his hip. I’ve watched the house long enough to know no one else consistently comes and goes but the three. Occasionally, there’s a female, or coyote, in tow, but no one else, as far as I’ve seen.
Those naturally pissed-off eyes give me a onceover before he sets to work, directing me to face the wall, and when I do, his hands pat me down in search of weapons.
“What’s with the gloves?” the bodyguard asks in a thick Spanish accent.
“Germophobe,” Adrien answers for me, rolling his eyes. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, as he awaits his turn. “Which reminds me. He wants to see the girl first. Make sure she’s clean.”
In the next breath, the bodyguard wrenches his smaller frame toward the wall, as he’s also checked for weapons.
“Hey! Easy, man, you’re gonna leave a bruise.”
Once finished, the bodyguard sweeps his gun over the bag on the floor, a silent order for me to pick it up. When I do, he zips it open to show the cash inside, using the barrel of his rifle to move the stacks around. The compartment beneath is designed to be sleek and subtle, and I’ve taken care to ensure the zipper moves soundlessly. Effortlessly. While I hold the bag up for inspection, I slowly, cautiously, unzip the hidden pouch beneath, one tooth at a time, careful not to move too abruptly and draw his attention.
Just wide enough to slip free the gun I’ve stored there.
Adrien meanders down the hallway, unwittingly gifting me the guard’s distraction, when he snaps his head toward the idiot.
“Where do you think you’re going, pinche gavacho? Stay put, or I’ll blow your fucking kneecaps off!” he barks, while I slide out the stashed gun.
“Damn, dude. You don’t have to get all violent. You already fondled me for weapons.”
The moment the guard snatches the bag from my hand, I rack the chamber and put a bullet square in his head. Eyes bulging, he drops to the floor. Boom.
“What the fuck!” Adrien flies backward into the wall beside him, hands up and eyes scanning from the dead body to me, and back to the dead body. “You fucking crazy, man?”
As I take shelter around the corner, backing against the wall inside the living room, I sweep my gun over the surroundings for any sign of the others, catching a flicker across the wall from a candle set in the corner. The image of an accompanying skull and scythe indicate Santa Muerte--a common shrine in safe houses.
I swing my gun back toward the hallway and peer around the wall.
Two shots fire from one of the rooms up ahead, and seconds later, Adrien drops, crying out.
Kitty corner from me, he drags himself toward the entrance at my back, blood trailing after him. The fabric of his pants is torn where the bullet hit him, blood saturating his shirt at the site of another presumed hit, and his outcries echo down the hallway.
Letting the gun lead the way, I move out from the living room, stepping over him to make my way down the hallway to the first closed door on the right. A swift kick knocks the door open onto an empty room, and after a quick sweep, I turn my attention back toward