Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [123]
“Look,” I said, “we have a deal.”
He set his jaw stubbornly. “We got a deal, but I didn’t know about him. Somebody who can’t look out for hisself, it makes it more dangerous.”
I’d promised him nearly all the cash I had, and coyotes didn’t honor Visa. “The deal stands,” I said flatly.
Mojas folded his arms and looked at me.
Mourning didn’t have any money on him. I was reasonably sure Hy had less than I did. Just how much did I have? I reached for my oversized purse, which Hy had retrieved from the beach in front of Fontes’s villa along with the camera. The camera …
“Listen,” I said again, “I’ve only got about twenty dollars, but I can give you something valuable to make up for the additional danger.”
Mojas looked at the purse, licked his lips. “What?”
I opened the purse and took out the camera. “You can sell this for quite a bit—the lens and mount alone retail for over four hundred. Or you can keep it to use in your work. It’s not as good as the night scopes la migra use, but it’ll give you an edge.”
Mojas reached eagerly for the camera. He put his eye to the scope, sighted around the room. “Oh, man,” he said.
“Deal?” I asked.
“Deal.” He got up and placed the camera on a cabinet behind him. Before he turned, I saw his hand caress it.
I glanced at Mourning. He’d raised his head, was watching Mojas. For a man whose life was on the line, he seemed curiously placid. Maybe he didn’t comprehend how much danger lay before us. Or maybe the placidity was a side effect of his long confinement. Whatever the reason, this was not the man I’d read about in the newspaper and magazine profiles.
A car door slammed in the street. Footsteps came up the walk. Mojas left the room and returned shortly after, followed by Hy.
“Sorry I took so long,” Hy said.
I asked, “Did you check the border control?”
“Uh-huh. I didn’t see Salazar, but there’s a guy hanging around near the corridor that goes into U.S. Customs; I could swear I saw him coming out of his place on Island Avenue.”
I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly. On some level I’d still hoped we could just walk through the checkpoint like any returning tourists.
Mojas was looking interested, but he merely asked, “Everybody here now?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What about the other woman?”
Hy and I exchanged glances. Mourning’s head was bowed over his coffee mug. Hy said, “She didn’t make it.”
Mojas stood. “Then let’s get a move on. You bring the dummy.” He motioned at Mourning. The whole time we’d been in his house, he’d never once addressed Tim directly.
Mourning didn’t seem to notice what Mojas had called him. He looked at Hy, then nodded obediently. Hy went over and helped him stand.
I rose, hefting my bag.
“No.” Mojas snapped his fingers, pointed at it. “Everything you need goes in your pockets. Stick the gun someplace where you won’t get blown away if you fall.”
I set the bag on the table and opened it. Crammed my wallet and I.D. folder into my shirt pocket under Hy’s sweater. Stuck the gun in the waistband of my jeans. The rest of the contents—makeup, address book, comb—were inessential. At the last minute, though, I stuffed my Swiss Army knife and a piece of coral that I carry for good luck into the pocket of my jeans.
When I straightened, Hy and Mourning were already leaving the room. Mojas looked levelly at me, then turned. I followed him—the man who claimed he always got his people through.
Thirty-One
3:11 A.M.
We huddled together on the hard rock ground, only yards from the border fence. On the barren hillside behind us, fires had hours ago been doused. It was a chill moonless night, and stone silent. No one moved, no one spoke, yet I could feel the presence of the others who waited here. Their fear and urgency created a pressure that surged against the fence like floodwaters against a dam; soon it would burst over the corrugated steel panels, and we would be carried on its tide down into the canyons—to deeper darkness, danger, and, for some, death.
In a hoarse whisper, Mojas said, “Them panels,