The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (8 page)

T
he man in
the passenger
seat emerged first. Dressed head to toe in black, his Fu Manchu mustache and goatee gave him a mildly evil appearance, although a beer belly the size of the Bronx somewhat ruined the look.

Herrera turned toward him, hands at his sides where both men could see them. The driver hopped out of the jacked-up truck and stood near the golden front grill, leaving the door open. Several inches shorter and just as heavy as the other man, he wore a Hawaiian shirt, black jeans with spit-shined cowboy boots, a flashy watch, and a major attitude. Leine deepened her breathing in order to slow the adrenaline dump into her veins.

“Ignacio,” Herrera said, acknowledging Fu Manchu. Ignacio inclined his head but didn’t smile.

“Who’s your friend?” Ignacio asked, nodding at Leine. The driver leaned against the fender, silent.

“The parents of a missing girl hired her to investigate her disappearance.”

Ignacio’s lips curled into a smile. “An investigator, eh? Maybe she’ll want to investigate this.” He grabbed his crotch and leered.

Leine cocked her head but didn’t say anything, gauging the distance between them. The guy would be easy. Herrera could take out the driver
.
Plausible scenario, but she wasn’t excited about the fallout. When Ignacio didn’t get the reaction he was expecting, his mouth curved down into what could only be described as a pout.

“Our mutual friend is not happy,” he said, speaking to Herrera but still looking at Leine. “Just this morning he said to me, ‘Ignacio, you must be sure that this woman is escorted safely from our city. We wouldn’t want something terrible to happen to her while she is here.’” Ignacio removed his sunglasses and stared at Leine. His gaze held the hint of menace.

“Tell our mutual friend that he has nothing to worry about,” Herrera replied. “As I said, she is here at the request of the parents of a missing teenager. Nothing more.”

“Why doesn’t she speak?” Ignacio asked, irritation apparent in his voice. “Doesn’t she understand Spanish?”

“I understand Spanish very well,” Leine answered. “I just didn’t feel the need to add to what he said.”
Or antagonize an asshole who clearly doesn’t respect women
, she thought.

“You are wise, señora.” Ignacio brushed his hand against his hip and briefly lifted his shirt, flashing the butt of a pistol.

“I hear the lines are very long at the border,” he said, watching her intently. “You may want to get there early so that you have no problems returning home.” He turned to Herrera with a smile and saluted. “Have a good day, my friend.”

Ignacio returned to the Suburban and climbed inside. His silent sidekick did the same. The driver revved the engine, turned the SUV around, and slowly drove away. Leine and Herrera watched them leave.

“Well, that was enjoyable,” Herrera said.

“I assume the mutual friend he referred to is Otero?”

Herrera nodded. “Yep.”

“You did say he’d have me watched. I’m surprised he sent someone to warn me away.”

“Me too.” Herrera frowned. “In fact, I’m more than surprised. Otero isn’t usually so ham-fisted.” He glanced at Leine. “Santa never did give me your background.”

Leine shrugged. “I worked security for a low-level diplomat for a few years, but that shouldn’t have raised any flags.” There was no way that Otero could have found any information about her previous profession. She’d had a friend in her old agency do a series of high-level background checks on her. Nothing had come up. At least that was one thing Eric hadn’t lied about. Her old boss had promised to scrub her past when she left the business. Apparently, he’d kept his promise.

“Obviously, Otero feels threatened by my presence. How far do you think I can push things without turning this into an international incident?”

“His sending Ignacio and his BFF tells me there’s more to the story. I’d watch your back from this point on.” Herrera scanned the development. “I think we’ve done all we can do here.”

Leine sighed. “I really hate it when someone threatens me.”

Herrera squinted at her. “Santa told me you had a rebellious streak. I’d be remiss if I didn’t strongly advise against antagonizing Felix Otero or Ignacio. But, you gotta do what you gotta do. Just don’t make my job harder, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

***

Herrera dropped Leine off at her vehicle with another admonishment that she take Ignacio’s warning seriously. She was taking it seriously, all right. But first, she had one more errand before she left Mexico.

She ordered two tacos from the now open restaurant and asked the woman making tortillas where she could find a hardware store. The woman gave her directions to one a few kilometers away. Leine thanked her and drove there as soon as she finished eating.

She picked out several meters of heavy rope, a pulley, some clips, a machete, and a pair of leather gloves, and paid at the front counter. Then, following the crude map Willy gave her, she drove to the place where his “friend” had purportedly driven the car over the cliff.

Six kilometers past the white house with the fence, Leine slowed as she came to an area missing several meters of metal barrier. The spot was remote, with no visible homes or businesses. She pulled over just beyond the break and parked. Grabbing the binoculars from her bag, she got out and walked to the edge of the road.

Steep and composed of heavily eroded soil with sparse vegetation sprinkled near the top of the cliff, the slope grew less severe approximately halfway down. A mixed palette of desert trees and shrubs partially obscured the bottom of the ravine. Leine scanned the slope for pieces of Porsche, but nothing stood out. She was about to chalk Willy’s story up to a lame attempt at a payoff when something far below in the dry brush caught her eye. She trained the binoculars on a small red patch of color between two straggly mesquites and zoomed in. In between the branches, she picked out a slim, metallic letter R resting against a red background.

Well, what do you know?
Leine lowered the glasses and studied the area surrounding the ravine. A sturdy mesquite grew by the edge of the road near the terminus of the old, rusty barrier, half of its roots gripping the shoulder, the other half weaving their way into and out of the cliff face, seeking a stronger hold.

Leine walked back to the rental and stowed the binoculars in her bag, which she took with her to the rear of the SUV and placed in the cargo area. She grabbed the equipment she’d purchased, slid her phone into her back pocket, and shut and locked the door.

After looping the rope around the tree trunk, she threaded the other end through the pulley, making sure it was secure. Using the clips, she rigged a harness with the remaining line and tested the combination. Then she tied the machete to her back and slid on the leather gloves. She gripped the rope and stepped backward down the steep slope, allowing the line to slide through her gloves as she went.

Halfway into her descent, she stopped, gagging at the putrid stench filling the air. Leine pulled her T-shirt over her nose and took shallow breaths through her mouth. It didn’t do much to mask the nauseating odor.

Memories from a time in Morocco years before came flooding back. In search of a target she’d been sent to kill, Leine walked into an abandoned building and was greeted by the sickly sweet smell of a decomposing body. An unlucky associate of the intended target had been shot twice and left to die in the stifling room as a message to potential traitors. She never forgot the smell, like a month-old chicken carcass doused in maple syrup and left to rot in the sun, only worse.

Regretting the tacos she’d eaten earlier, she continued to pick her way down the cliff. A few yards further, the cliff face began to level out and she found the going easier. The closer she got to the Porsche, the thicker the brush and the stronger the smell.

The car had wedged itself at its widest point between two trees about a third of the way up from the bottom of the ravine. Shrubby vegetation blocked both doors. The windshield on the driver’s side had been smashed and the side mirror was missing. The front end, where the trunk was located, had buckled from the impact of the car’s journey down the cliff. Dozens of flies droned at the opening.

Leine untied the machete and brought it to the front. With one hand on the rope, she hacked at the brush near the passenger side with the other, clearing a path to the front of the car. The temperature in the canyon had spiked with the climbing sun. Leine wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her arm between swipes with the machete. Due to the heat, the stench emanating from the trunk took on a more robust aroma and Leine finally gave in to her gag reflex. The tacos quickly became lunch for the local coyotes.

After several passes with the sharp blade, Leine cut through enough to allow her access to the trunk. She slid the machete behind her back and secured it before she let out more line, permitting her to climb onto the roof and slide over the right fender to the front of the car.

Leine gagged again from the intense odor, but she had nothing left to offer and dry heaved into a nearby jojoba bush. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and repositioned the T-shirt over her nose as she peered into the trunk. Unable to see into the shadowy recesses, she wound the rope around her leg, gripped the hood with both hands, and pushed. With a metallic screech, the trunk opened the rest of the way. Excited by the interruption, dozens of flies scattered and regrouped, buzzing her face and shoulders.

Oh, shit.
Almost too late, she clamped her lips shut in case one flew into her mouth.
Santa said it happened to him once, during an investigation, and she didn’t want the same experience. Breathing shallowly with her lips barely apart, Leine swatted the insects away and peered into the trunk.

The bloodied corpse laid on its side, missing a shirt, the skin dark and mottled. The body had ballooned from its decomposing gasses, resembling a freakish piñata. Maggots crawled around what was left of the face, making efficient work of cleaning flesh from bone, and something had gnawed at an arm. By the looks of the shoes and pants, hair, and body composition, the deceased was a male. Something else caught her eye, and she held her breath as she peered closer.

Blood had congealed along a jagged, six-inch gash on the corpse’s back, near where the right kidney would have been. She moved the body to get a better look at the rest of the back. A similar gash could be seen on the left.

Leine slipped her phone out of her back pocket and held it in front of her. Focusing on the body, she took several pictures from different angles, zeroing in on the gashes and the expensive clothing. Next she took a couple of wide shots of the car and the VIN tag on the dash. Gunderson or Nabokov could run the number to confirm the car’s registration.

She put her phone back in her pocket and closed the trunk as far as it would go to prevent access by the larger scavengers in the area. Then she made her way back to the passenger side.

The door initially wouldn’t open more than a few inches, having sustained damage during its trip down the cliff, but with dedicated effort she was able to widen the gap enough to squeeze inside. Still breathing shallowly, she rummaged through the console and dug behind the seats and under them, but came up with nothing. Leine sat in the passenger seat and studied the interior.

Her gaze drifted lower. Her foot rested on a bump in the floor, near the dash. Leine slid out of the seat and onto her knees outside the car and peeled the carpeting back. On the floor lay a hot pink iPhone. Leine picked it up and held it to the light. She hit the button to turn it on, but the battery was dead. The words
Elise’s phone
were prominently displayed in gold on the back.

Elise had been inside the car. Brittany’s story was beginning to look a lot more likely.

L
eine began the
long, slow climb up the face of the cliff. When she reached the top, she took a moment to rest before unhooking the rope from the tree. The area around her rib throbbed with each breath, like someone was jabbing her lungs with a hot poker and enjoying it. Pissed off, she ignored the pain and untied the harness, removed the pulley and clips, and coiled the rope. 

When she walked to the back of the SUV she noticed a rank odor waft toward her from somewhere nearby. Unable to locate anything in the surrounding area, she sniffed her shirt, grimacing at the cloying scent of the dead.

She’d have to change. She refused to smell like a corpse all the way back to LA. She slipped her phone out of her back pocket and called Lou, but got voicemail.

“Hi, Lou. It’s Leine. I found the car—somebody drove it off a cliff into a ravine. I think we can rule out carjacking on this one. Looks like Josh was murdered—a white male matching his description was inside the trunk with his face blown off. I have photos for Gunderson and Nabokov. I haven’t located Elise, but I found her phone. She was more than likely in the car when Josh drove up to Vista del Mar.”

She paused, thinking. “You should probably know I’ve had a run-in with a couple of local heavies but the situation’s under control. I’m planning to be at the border in the next couple of hours and should be home by tonight. I’ll give you a call when I get back.”

She disconnected and opened the door to the cargo area where she began to stow the equipment. The sound of an approaching vehicle caught her attention, and she covered the rope with the floor mat before turning to see who it was.

The dark blue Suburban slowed, coming to a stop several yards away. Leine pulled the door to the cargo bay closed, the machete still in her hand and concealed behind her leg. This time Ignacio and his driver immediately exited the vehicle. Neither looked happy.

“You’re pretty stupid for a
gringa
.” His eyes glittered as he walked toward her. “Didn’t you get my message?”

The driver stayed a step behind Ignacio. His look mirrored his companion’s. Ignacio stopped abruptly and waved at his nose.

“What the fuck?” He glanced over his shoulder, searching for the source of the rank odor. Sidekick mimicked him, looking left and right. Unable to pinpoint where it was coming from, Ignacio took a step toward Leine and stopped. Comprehension lit his face. Clearly, he recognized the smell of a decaying corpse. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly shook his head, making a
tsking
sound with his tongue. “You’ve been a bad
gringa
.”

“I was just leaving.” Leine kept her expression neutral but her body was strung tight, thrumming in anticipation of his next move.

“Too late. You should have left when I told you to.” He stepped back and nodded at Sidekick. “Teach her how things are done in Tijuana.”

Sidekick lifted his shirt and went for his gun. Events slowed in the haze of adrenaline as Leine swung the machete. The blade sliced into Sidekick’s right arm, blocked from severing it when metal hit bone. Eyes bulging, he screamed and gripped the gaping wound. The gold-plated nine millimeter clattered to the ground as the first spurt of blood from an artery soaked Ignacio’s expensive black boots. Leine flipped the machete and swept it back, carving into the soft flesh of Sidekick’s belly.

The shocked look on Sidekick’s face as he collapsed to the ground paled in comparison to Ignacio’s. His eyes wide, he fumbled for his gun while Leine pivoted forward, bringing the blade with her. Unable to get a grip on his weapon, he threw himself backward with a cry as the machete bit air.

Ignacio recovered and pulled his gun free, but Leine kept coming, throwing him off balance, not giving him time to set up, sweeping the machete in wide arcs as she advanced. He managed to squeeze off a round, but the shot went wide.

Leine ignored the pulsing ache from her recent rib injury and kept the blade moving, advancing toward Ignacio with laser-like focus. He stumbled backward, regained his footing, and raised his gun. Leine heard the gun fire several times, felt an acid-like burn in her left arm and ignored that, too, the adrenaline spurring her on as she brought the blade across and down.

He’d apparently miscalculated the length of time it would take her to cover the distance between them, and Leine scored a direct hit, slicing through tendon and muscle and the smaller bones in his wrist. Ignacio cried out as the gun fell from his now useless hand.

Clutching his forearm, Ignacio backed away but pulled up short, his way blocked by the mesquite. He leaned against the tree, raising his arm in order to slow the bleeding. Leine stepped over the gun and walked toward him, her gaze never leaving his sweat-soaked face.

“Who the fuck
are
you?” he choked out the words and doubled over, gasping from the pain.

“The woman your mother warned you about.” Leine brought the machete back and took aim.

A smirk flashed across Ignacio’s face. “She never warned me about women
.
” His good hand snaked toward his ankle, but he was too late. Leine let the machete fly.

Ignacio’s eyes bulged as the blade cleaved through his skull. Blood spurted from the rupture, arcing through the air. He stood for a moment, wavering. A river of red coursed down the center of his face before his eyes dulled and he tumbled backward into the ravine.

“Maybe she should have,” Leine said.

The caustic pain in her upper arm roared back and she glanced down. Blood flowed from a gunshot wound. The force of the adrenaline evaporated and she started to shake. She applied pressure to slow the bleeding as she made herself walk to the edge of the cliff. A large shrub had blocked Ignacio’s descent. He’d landed face up, his leg bent at an unnatural angle beneath him, the machete no longer attached to his skull. Leine scanned the cliff face and found it, several yards up and to his left. She briefly considered what would happen if authorities retrieved the murder weapon and were able to pull latents off it, but remembered what Herrera had said about evidence collection by the local police and decided it wouldn’t be necessary. She’d be long gone by the time they found it.

The blood loss had left her weak. Carefully stepping over both of the dead men’s guns on her way back to her vehicle she repeated the mantra,
Everything’s fine, Leine. You’re going to be fine.

Close to blacking out from the searing pain in her arm and shaking from the fading adrenaline, she noted with the odd detachment of someone going into shock that at least the bleeding had slowed somewhat. With a grimace, she opened the cargo door and sat on the tailgate, bending her leg to release the knife sheathed to her calf. The sharp blade made quick work of the bottom of her shirt, which she used to fashion a tourniquet. She pulled the knot tight with her teeth above the wound. It would have to do until she located medical supplies.

In a sort of daze, she closed the back and walked to the driver’s side. Before getting in, she reached into her back pocket, slid out her phone, and punched in Lou’s number. Then she got in, started the engine and pulled away from what was left of Ignacio, Sidekick, the Porsche, and Josh.

The call went to Lou’s voicemail again. She decided against leaving a message. She’d tell him what happened when she saw him.

That was, if she made it across the border.

She needed to address the injury before she started for home. She wasn’t going to spend hours in line waiting to cross with a gunshot wound in her arm, especially without painkillers. A phone call to Herrera flitted through her mind, but his request to not make his life any harder stopped her from contacting the DEA agent. She’d just killed two local criminals. No point in stirring up more trouble.

She’d undoubtedly raise a few eyebrows if she walked into a store for bandages. Yes, she had a change of clothes, but the long-sleeved shirt in her bag would soon be soaked with blood if she wore it without a bandage. She needed to keep the fabric clean so as not to raise suspicion at the border. Another factor to consider: it wouldn’t be long before someone discovered the bodies near the ravine and raised the alarm. She had to find a doctor, and soon.

There was only one other option.

I need to talk to him anyway
. Resigned to her next move, she slid out the piece of paper with the map to Vista del Mar. She braced her knee against the steering wheel to keep the rental on the road and punched in Willy’s phone number.

“Willy Flint.”

“Willy. It’s Lana Turner.” She held the phone between her ear and shoulder, driving with her right hand.

Silence. Leine frowned at the windshield.

“The woman in the alley?” she prompted.

“Sorry. I’m just surprised you called.” Willy’s voice sounded like he was holding his breath. A moment later he exhaled. “Did you find the car? Because, you know, if you did, then you owe me. It’s only fair, right?”

Leine rolled her eyes. Evidently, Willy never stopped partying. How much help would the guy be stoned?

“Yes, Willy. I did.” She started to say something else, but Willy beat her to it.

“Where do you want to meet? I can be anywhere in no time. Just say the word.”

“Willy, listen to me. I’m going to need a favor. A big favor.” A pulse of excruciating pain rocketed up her arm and into her shoulder, taking her breath away. She glanced at the wound, which had begun to bleed again.

“Seems to me I already did you a solid. Big favors cost big money.”

“I assumed that,” she said, gritting her teeth to stop herself from making a sarcastic comment. The combination of pain, crashing adrenaline, and having to ask Willy Flint for a favor grated mightily on her nerves. She was in no mood to play games.
Fuck.
She hated asking the guy for anything. She knew the type. Flint was the kind of person who would make you pay dearly for a favor. And pay.

And pay.

“Okay, okay. You looking for something in particular? Drugs? Available males?” He paused. “Females?”

“No, Willy. I don’t…” Leine bit her tongue, again. She was beginning to feel light headed. “I need the address of a competent doctor. Someone who doesn’t ask too many questions. Preferably one who works outcall.”

“Uh, well. Let me think a minute.” Willy paused. “Yeah. I know someone.” He lowered his voice. “Why do you need a doctor?”

“What’s the address?” she asked, ignoring his question.

“How dumb do you think I am? We meet first. You pay me. Then I give it to you.”

“Whatever, Willy. Meet me at the Pemex near the junction of Agua Caliente and Hermosillo Street.”

“I’ll be there in five.”

You can do this, Leine. Just keep driving, stay conscious.

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” Leine replied and ended the call.