The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (9 page)

W
illy Flint was
waiting for
her at the station in a rusty, brown, 70s-era Pinto—more rust than brown. The interior made up for what the car lacked in exterior pizazz with a multitude of incandescent shades painted in swirls across the dash and bright, strangely clashing covers on both of the bucket seats. An acid green blanket covered the back.

You don’t see that every day,
Leine thought.

Which was probably a good thing.

She pulled up next to him and parked. Willy held out a bag of lime-flavored tortilla chips. Leine shook her head. The spots were getting worse.
Maintain, Leine.

He shrugged. “Your loss. These are really good.”

“What’s the doctor’s address?” she asked, way past caring about food, or Willy, or fucking Mexico in general. The pain from the gunshot wound had intensified to full-on agonizing while she drove. Combined with having wasted her time offing Otero’s thugs, dealing with the increasingly hot afternoon, and fighting to stay conscious, the morning’s events had put her in a supremely foul mood.

“You know our agreement. Ya gotta pay to play.” Oblivious to Leine’s disposition and avoiding eye contact, Willy Flint peered inside his bag of chips, acutely interested in its contents. She caught the acrid scent of
cannabis sativa
wafting her way from the interior of Willy’s car.

Fuck it. I don’t have time for this.
Leine dug into her bag and counted out two hundred dollars, which she wadded up and lobbed through his window. Willy tracked the bills as they arced past him and leaned over to retrieve them from the passenger seat. A couple of seconds later he was back, head down and lips moving as he counted the money. A slow grin spread across his face. He held a slip of paper with an address out the window and tried to hand it to her.

“Tell Doctor Ramirez I sent you. He’ll treat you right.”

Leine glanced at the paper, memorizing the information.

“Thanks. Get in.”

Startled, Willy looked up from his snack chips. “Get in?”

Leine had been tracking the two customers getting gas at the Pemex. She and Willy were parked far enough away that they weren’t attracting attention.

“Get. In,” she said through gritted teeth. She looked pointedly at the gun she held out of sight behind the side mirror. Willy blanched, reminding Leine of an extra from her daughter’s favorite television show,
The Walking Dead
.

“Get your ass in the car. Show me where this Doctor Ramirez is and bring me in the back door. Now,” she added, in case he hadn’t quite gotten the message.

Willy looked back at the station attendants as though they might be able to save him from the scary woman with a gun.

“Now, Willy.”

Willy Flint slowly opened his door, eyes riveted on the nine millimeter.

“And lose the chips.”

Willy dropped the bag of chips onto the front seat, closed the door to the Pinto, and walked around to the passenger side of Leine’s vehicle. For a second, Leine thought he might bolt, but he got in and closed the door.

“Holy shit. You’ve been shot,” he said, staring at the blood on her arm. He leaned closer to get a better look.

Leine shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking lot. Spots continued to float in and out of her peripheral vision and she was getting lightheaded. “You’re a master of deduction, Willy. Which way?”

“Left,” he said, pointing east. Leine turned onto the busy boulevard. Willy sniffed at the air like a golden retriever. He turned toward her and was about to say something, but decided against it and leaned back in his seat.

“You know the smell,” Leine said.

Willy cleared his throat and shrugged.

“You’re the guy, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“C’mon, Willy. It’s obvious you’re the one who drove the Porsche off the cliff.” Leine waited for him to either accept or reject her assumption, but he stayed mute. “You’re better off being straight with me now rather than later. I’m not the forgiving type.”

Willy watched the scenery stream past his window while he sucked his cheeks in and out a handful of times.

“That’s a really annoying habit you have, you know that?” Leine said.

“I do it when I’m nervous.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“You.”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you followed me into the alley.” So he was scared of her. She could work with scared.

Ten minutes later they pulled up to a pleasant-looking stucco building in an older residential area. A black metal fence surrounded the perimeter of the manicured grounds with a pair of palm trees growing out of the middle of a lush yard. Leine and Willy waited until a car drove past before they got out and crossed the street, following the sidewalk to the back. Willy reached over the fence and unhooked the latch. He held it open for Leine as she walked through and closed it behind them.

“Wait here. I should probably give him a heads-up. Then I’ll come and get you.”

“Fine. But be quick, okay? And Willy?”

He turned.

“Keep things on the low down. No names, no stories about what I’m doing in Tijuana. Got it?”

Willy nodded. “Got it.” He paused. “What should I call you, then? You have a code name or something?”

Seriously?
“Anything you want, Willy. Just get the fucking doctor, will you?”

Willy nodded again and disappeared. Leine heaved a sigh of relief.

She walked unsteadily over to a wrought iron garden bench positioned beneath a large tree and dropped down onto it, grateful for the shade. Now that she had a minute to think she closed her eyes against the pain, took a deep breath, and began to sift through what she’d learned.

Elise had been inside the car as Brittany suggested, and was probably with Josh when he drove to the housing development, looking for the party. The carjacking theory had come off the table as soon as Leine located the Porsche. And, she was ninety-nine percent sure it was Josh’s body in the car’s trunk.

She was also fairly certain, contrary to what Willy claimed, that Willy Flint was the guy who did side jobs for the “businessmen” in town and had been the one to drive the Porsche off the cliff. Which meant he knew more than he let on. Leine intended to find out what he was hiding.

What she didn’t know was why Otero’s thugs were so worried about her finding out about the Porsche. Worried enough to track her down and try to kill her. She wondered how they found her, unless someone tipped them off. Which suggested either Willy was playing both ends, hoping for a payout from whoever came out on top, or someone else was in the mix and knew Willy was her source. That meant Willy’s life and the life of the friend on the local police force—if the so-called friend even existed—could be in danger. The press of the semiautomatic against her stomach reminded her she needed to stay alert. That meant no pain meds, at least until she was out of Mexico.

Not a pleasant thought.

Another thought kept nagging at her: the Russian guy who talked to Josh and Elise at the bar. His presence could have been an aberration—some random stoner out to party—but Leine didn’t think so. Especially after Agent Herrera mentioned the rumors about increasing crime in the area not fitting the M.O. of the local crew.

Willy poked his head around the corner and motioned to Leine. She held her breath as she stood, then let it go, ignoring the nausea, and followed him through a pair of French doors into a cool, dimly lit living area. Decorated in bright, colorful fabrics, the space boasted a tile fireplace at one end and a wooden dining room set large enough to seat twelve at the other. A massive wrought iron chandelier hung from the ceiling in the middle of the room, with various matching candlesticks and candelabras throughout. Lush plants spilled from even more colorful pots placed at various intervals on the floor and bookshelves.

The cooler temperature inside was a relief from the blistering hot afternoon, and Leine felt her bad mood shift into less lethal territory. The exterior of the home hadn’t suggested the comfortable and spacious interior, and Leine relaxed a bit when she saw medical books on the bookshelves they passed, as well as a framed diploma in the hallway from a well-known medical school in Mexico City.

“He’s in his office,” Willy said as he led her down the tiled hall past a sweeping stairway. They continued to a room at the back of the home, which turned out to be the doctor’s office. Inside the room were a large desk, a floor lamp, a three-panel screen, and an examination table. A gray-haired man sat crouched over the desk.

“Doctor Ramirez,” Willy said.

The man swiveled to face them. Leine pegged him to be somewhere in his seventies. His brown eyes unnaturally large behind thick lenses, the doctor wore a loose, short-sleeved shirt, a pair of pressed chinos, and a weary expression on his face. His gaze traveled to Leine’s arm and back again.

“William told me you had been injured.” He motioned for Leine to come forward. “Let me see.”

“I’m—ah—I’m just going to go now, if that’s all right…” Willy said, and started to back out of the room. Leine shot him a glance and he froze.

Doctor Ramirez studied her arm for a moment and gingerly turned it to look at the back side. “Ah,” he said, probing the area surrounding the wound. Leine winced but said nothing, shutting down the pain.

“The bullet exited here,” he explained, lightly touching the back of her upper arm. “It does not look as though it came into contact with bone or an artery. This is extremely fortunate. I will need to clean the wound before I bandage it.” He opened a lower drawer and pulled out a pale blue, short-sleeved hospital gown. “Only remove your shirt. You may use the screen.” He nodded at the three-panel divider.

Leine took the gown and walked to the other side of the screen, behind which was a door she assumed led to a bathroom. She tried the knob, but it was locked.

“You should go into the hall,” Doctor Ramirez said to Willy. “This won’t take long.”

“You need to stay here, Willy,” Leine called through the screen.

Careful not to touch the injury, Leine maneuvered the T-shirt over the wound and pulled the rest over her head. She slipped the gown on and returned to the examination table.

“Where’s Willy?” Leine asked. The extortionist was nowhere to be found.

“He had to use the restroom,” Ramirez replied. “He said he’d be right back.”

The doctor rolled his chair to a cabinet next to the table, slid open a drawer, and retrieved a roll of gauze, antiseptic swabs, a pair of scissors, and two large bandages, which he lined up neatly on the counter. Ramirez instructed her to sit while he proceeded to tie a clean tourniquet around her arm, removing the old one and tossing it into a nearby wastebasket.

“I can give you something for the pain, if you like.”

“As long as it’s in a form I can take later.”

Doctor Ramirez rummaged through a cupboard until he found what he was looking for, and handed her a blister pack of pills. Leine put it in her back pocket.

“Thanks.”

Leine stared at the wall, trying to ignore the pain as Ramirez disinfected the entry wound and discarded the blood-soaked material. As he worked his way to the back of her arm he cocked his head to the side. “How is it that a beautiful woman comes to me with a bullet wound in her arm?” When Leine didn’t answer, he frowned. “Unless this beautiful woman has been doing something she should not have been.”

“That is no concern of yours, Doctor.”

Doctor Ramirez sighed. “So they tell me,” he said.

They?
Leine narrowed her eyes.
Where was Willy? There’d been plenty of time to relieve himself.

“Doctor Ramirez, would you mind calling Willy back inside?”

Ramirez gave her a quizzical look but nodded. “Of course. William?” he called. He continued to tend to her wound, wrapping several layers of gauze around the two pads, one at the front of her arm and one at the back. When Willy didn’t respond, Leine stood up.

“But I’m not finished,” the doctor protested.

Leine tucked the loose end of the gauze into the rest of the bandage to secure it. “I am.” Drawing her gun, she moved toward the door and cracked it open. Muffled voices from another room floated toward her. She turned to the doctor.

“Who else is here?” she asked.

D
octor Ramirez opened
his mouth, his eyes wide as he looked at the gun.

“There is no one else. I live alone except for my housekeeper, Esmeralda, but she has the day off today.”

“I’m going to ask you a question and you need to answer me truthfully,” Leine said, watching the hallway from behind the door.

“Of course.”

“Who do you work for?”

“It is only me. Why do you ask?”

Leine turned her head. “You misunderstand my question. Who do you
work
for?” The voices in the hall grew louder. Her heart thudded in her chest.

Ramirez glanced at the floor. Shaking his head, he raised his eyes to meet Leine’s. “I assumed you knew. William told me you were one of them.”

Otero.
Leine eased the door closed, making sure to lock it, and strode to the window next to the desk. Vertical iron bars blocked the opening.

“Where is the nearest exit?” she asked, her body thrumming with tension.

“There are only two ways into or out of the house, unless you are on the second floor. The windows there have no bars.”

Leine briefly considered holding a gun to Ramirez’s head and using him to evacuate the building, but hostage-taking rarely ended well, for the hostage or the hostage-taker. If she managed to maneuver them both to the SUV, getting into the vehicle put her at high risk; one step to the left and Ramirez was out of danger, leaving her wide open.

“What about that door?” She nodded at the three-sided screen.

“It leads to a supply room with a toilet. There is a small window, but bars cover it, as well.”

The doorknob jiggled, followed by knocking.

“Doctor Ramirez? It’s Willy. Have you finished?”

Leine crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the doctor by the front of the shirt, and dragged him behind the screen.

“Tell them to wait.”

“One minute,” Ramirez called.

“Unlock the door,” she said in a low voice, aiming her gun at his midsection. Ramirez reached inside his front pants pocket and produced a key ring with several keys. His hand shook as he fumbled for the correct one. Leine stepped back to give him room, fighting to remain calm.

Finally, Ramirez found the correct key, inserted it into the lock and opened the door. Leine snatched the key ring from his hand on her way into the room. She turned and held a finger to her lips as she silently closed and locked the door behind her.

The room was small, about five feet wide by eight long. A toilet stood against the back wall with a deep laundry sink beside it. A recessed window was to her right, the shadow of vertical bars visible through the glass. Stainless shelves stood next to the window. Medical paraphernalia filled the top three tiers, and cleaning supplies took up space on the two lower ones. A plastic bucket with wheels and a mop skulked in the corner.

Muffled voices floated toward her through the door. Doctor Ramirez could be heard arguing. Leine couldn’t hear Willy’s voice and didn’t recognize the other two.

The handle rattled. “Unlock the door, now,” a male voice demanded in heavily accented Spanish. Only the accent wasn’t Spanish.

Doctor Ramirez responded with something unintelligible. Leine glanced at the bank of fluorescent lights above her. She slid her gun into her waistband and stepped onto the lower shelf. Grabbing hold of an upper rack with her good arm, she boosted herself high enough to latch on to the light fixture. Several shots rang out and the door handle jerked convulsively.

She climbed up one more rung and, still holding on to the light fixture, stepped across to the windowsill. Bracing herself, she let go of the light and slid her gun free. The door burst open. A spray of bullets slammed into the far wall, shattering the toilet as the lead gunman emerged.

Water gushed across the floor as Leine returned fire. Surprised by her elevated position, the gunman didn’t move in time, and the bullets found their mark, shattering the right side of his face. With a scream of pain, he grabbed at his head and staggered from the room, blood pouring from the gaping hole. She continued firing through the open door as a second gunman threw himself against a wall, out of the line of fire. Ears ringing, Leine leapt to the floor and kicked the door closed. Jarred by the impact, agonizing pain coursed through the left side of her body, stealing her breath and clouding her vision. She leaned against the wall, gasping.

The broken handle quivered. Moments later, the door burst open and the body of the first man lurched through, the second gunman shooting from behind as he muscled the corpse into the room. Leine broke from behind the door and fired. The bullet burrowed into the shooter’s side and he cried out, clutching his waist. Unable to handle the weight of the dead gunman, he collapsed to his knees, the corpse sagging on top of him. With a grunt, he shoved the body onto its side.

“Drop it,” Leine ordered, her gun aimed at his temple.

The gunman closed his eyes and shook his head, his breath coming in short bursts. His gun wavered as though the weapon had grown too heavy. Without a word, he raised the barrel.

She fired.

Ramirez was speaking rapidly into his cell phone when Leine stepped over the two bodies and into the examination room. He placed the phone on the desk when he saw her and backed away.

“Please don’t shoot. I—I have more medicine. Here—” He yanked open a drawer and ripped through its contents until he found a box of painkillers, which he held out to her. His hand trembled.

Her mind racing, Leine strode past him toward the door. Satisfied no one else was coming down the hall, she walked back to the desk and grabbed the phone to see who called.
William Flint
. She held it to her ear. Dead air. She placed it back on the desk as she turned to Ramirez, the gun aimed at his head. Sweat rolled down the side of his face. The painkillers lay scattered at the doctor’s feet.

“Your shirt,” she said, pointing the gun at his chest.

“What?”

“Give me your shirt,” she repeated.

Ramirez quickly unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and held it out to her.

“On the desk.”

He laid it on top of the desk and stepped back.

“Bandages. Antibiotics,” she managed. She was losing it. Dark spots floated in and out of her vision and her knees trembled. She had to get to the SUV.

The doctor scrambled for more bandages and gauze, placing them inside a plastic bag, which he put on the desk next to the shirt. Then he reached into a drawer for a bottle of pills, adding them to the bag. “Antibiotics,” he offered.

Nodding, Leine picked up the bag and shirt and tucked them under her arm. “You never saw me,” she said.

“But they will know you were here.” Ramirez glanced at the two corpses lying on the floor. “What do I say when they ask what happened?”

“Whatever you tell them, lie. Give them a different hair color, ethnicity, age, different clothing, whatever. If they find me, it will be on your head.” She backed toward the door and glanced into the hallway before turning to the doctor. “You don’t want Esmeralda to have to look for another employer.”

Ramirez blinked, licking his lips. “I understand.”

“Tell Willy I’ll find him,” she said, and slipped out the door.