Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [57]
She popped the passenger side door and kicked the groaning man with her Roger Vivier heels. "Get out before you ruin my goddamn upholstery," she screamed. Standing near the trucks, Pizarro Rojas watched her performance with interest. His brother Balboa, who had been examining Hugo Bix's silver Jaguar, frowned at the woman's vulgar display.
Curtis Manning tumbled out of the front seat, into a puddle of grease. Hugo Bix stepped forward, looming over the semi-conscious man.
"Hell," he said with a crooked grin. "Look what the cat dragged in."
Lilly was not amused. She climbed out of the car, slammed the door. "You dumb bastards almost lost him," she cried, eyes flashing. "Jesus Christ! Don't you know that if Curtis got away, he'd have warned Jaycee something was going on over here."
"We had it under control, honey," Bix replied in a reasonable tone.
A sneering Stella scanned the faces around her, then glared a challenge at Carlos and Roland. "Next time, don't send a bunch of taco benders and tamale stuffers to do your job, Hugo."
Roland turned his back on the woman, walked back to the Jaguar parked in the corner to speak with Balboa and Pizarro Rojas. Together, the three men moved to the line of panel trucks, opened the door to one of them and climbed inside.
Carlos set Curtis Manning's PDA and cell phone on the hood of Stella's car, under Hugo's nose.
"This man who was spying on you is not a gangster," the Cuban announced. "I can't crack the codes, but this device..." he touched the PDA. "This belongs to a federal agent. FBI, perhaps DEA. I was lucky to be able to hone in on the tracking beam."
Hugo snorted, then threw back his head and laughed. "That dumb som' bitch of a bastard Jager has a snake on his own damn team. This guy here's probably working to bust his whole crew."
Fat Frankie Toomes' expression soured. "Too bad we stopped him."
Bix peered at the man on the ground. Curtis hadn't stirred. He looked to be dying, or dead already. "Yeah, maybe..." Bix grunted, glancing in Roman Vine's direction.
Roland Arrias returned to speak with his partner Carlos. Pizarro and Balboa remained with the trucks. The brothers seemed reluctant to get involved with Bix's business.
"The charges are set. A very professional job," Roland reported. "There is more С4 than we asked for. More than enough to do the job. The Rojas boys are quite happy with the arrangement, despite the presence of this pig..." He spit on Curtis.
Bix smirked. Carlos faced the American. "You have fulfilled your part of the bargain."
A Cuban stepped forward, opened a leather attache case. It was stuffed with cash. Stella's eyes narrowed when she saw the money. She licked her lips.
"Five million dollars," Carlos said. "You've already received the shipment of cocaine. Count the cash if you wish."
Bix grinned. "I trust you, amigo." He reached out, closed the case himself. Roman Vine took it from the Cuban.
"What do you want me to do with this here federate?" Bix asked, his booted foot prodding Curtis's kidney.
"Throw him in one of the trucks. He killed two of my men, he can die with the others in the first blast."
While a pair of Cubans grabbed Curtis under the arms and dragged him to one of the trucks, Carlos faced Bix.
"We have only one problem now," he said. "One of the men this American agent killed was the brother of a waiter at the Babylon. He was to take his brother's place this night, in order to plant the final bomb in the banquet hall."
Bix frowned. "Spot of bad luck there, eh, amigo?" He rubbed his chin. "Look, I can provide you with a driver or two — for a price. But I can't get you close to the VIPs, not without advance planning. I reckon nobody can. Not now..."
"I can."
Carlos and Roland turned to face Stella Hawk. Head cocked, hands on her hips, she nodded. "Yeah, you heard right. I can