“Tequila?”
“Yes, please.”
Ozburn poured drinks into plastic bathroom glasses while Paco set the briefcase on the bed and opened it. Ozburn handed him a drink and Paco handed him a small digital postage scale. Ozburn set the scale on the tabletop and turned it on and reset it. When the weight settled to zero he set the stacks of hundred-dollar bills on it and read the readout: one pound, eight ounces. Ozburn tapped his calculator. Seventy two thousand dollars. Then he weighed the twenties and the fives. There were eighty-seven thousand, five hundred dollars—one-half of the total.
“The first ten are almost ready,” said Ozburn.
“The sample gun is very good. Is quiet. We are ready for the first ten.”
Paco placed the money back in the briefcase and shut it. He slipped the scale into the pocket of his sport jacket. They touched plastic cups.
“I want to trust you,” said Paco.
“As I trust you.”
“But you now have eighty-seven thousand and five hundred of our dollars and we have nothing. You know that the Gulf Cartel can’t be in the business of loaning money to strangers.”
“You have my word and you will have the guns. Someone has to trust someone for things like this to work, Paco.”
“We have something even better than trust. Come see.”
Ozburn followed Paco outside to the parking spaces where a new Escalade waited. The windows were darkened but Ozburn saw movement inside. Then a rear door opened and a man in a green military uniform stepped out. He had a machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He looked at Paco and Oz, then reached back into the vehicle and brought Silvia out by the hand.
There was no sign of her having been severely stung by the scorpion but the girl was plainly terrified.
“We have friends in Agua Blanca
.”
“There’s no reason to bring her into this.”
“We want no reason to hurt her. She is our guarantee that our money and our good friend Sean Gravas will not disappear. She guarantees that the guns will be delivered to us.”
“You people have no rules anymore.”
“You saved her life. Now her life depends on you, again.”
Ozburn turned and walked back into his room.
Time to call an old friend
,
he thought. He unwrapped one of his several new preloaded phones. He drank more tequila, then lay back on the bed and called Charlie Hood.
“Charlie, Gravas here.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Do I sound like me?”
“You do.”
“I looked in the mirror a second ago and I thought, man, what happened to you?”
“Something did happen to you and we can find out what it is.”
“If I’ll come in and surrender. Not yet.”
“Seliah’s falling apart without you. If you can’t come back for you, come back for her.”
“Charlie. You dear old friend. You square. You cop. You Boy Scout.”
“That’s what you were, too.”
“But it doesn’t apply to this.”
“What
is
this? Define your mission.”
Ozburn thought for a moment. “Perform good acts and defeat evil.”
“That’s not good enough, Sean. Try again. Why did you gun down the safe house assassins?”
“Disgust. We provide a home for them, so they can murder? No. No more living off the fat of the American land for those killers. Herredia is the mother rattlesnake and they are all his living children.”
“It was an experiment. We were working them. We were getting some good intel out of it.”
“All our plots and plans. All our manpower and money. It’s all useless, Charlie. It’s a jobs program for people like us. It’s make-work. Like digging a hole and filling it up again. Over and over. Don’t you ever feel the need for clean and clear action? For defined and attainable goals? Something simple with the pure ring of accomplishment in it? Don’t you just want to take a really high-quality, well-built gun, and feel the balance and weight of it in your hand, and kill somebody who deserves it?”
“I’ve felt that.”
“These Love Thirty-twos are awesome, Charlie. You put your hands on one yet?”
“The one you left in the Buenavista house. I haven’t fired it.”
Ozburn looked down at his filthy jeans and his dusty boots and the big gnarled hand resting across his dirty poncho. “It builds up, Charlie. Over the years. I guess the undercover did me in. I couldn’t take it anymore. Then Sel took me down to Costa Rica and somehow I got better. Then I got a whole lot worse. I’m not sure I’m me anymore. That make sense?”
“I don’t doubt you, Sean. I know who you are.”
“You don’t doubt me or yourself, because you’re simple.”
“If you say so.”
“Simple is good. It must be like having a flashlight with batteries that never wear out. You can depend on it and it will show you whatever you want to see, whenever you want to see it. I was like that, but now I’m not. When I shine the light I see dark.”
“I’ll come get you. Right now. We can figure a way to make things work, Sean.”
“I’ve got something better.”
“Explain.”
“The Love Thirty-twos? They’re being made in TJ now, in a secret factory run by Ron Pace and protected by Carlos Herredia.”
“Pace Arms is operating out of
Mexico
?”
“That’s the word. And if you think it through, it makes sense. Global economy, man. So, how would you like to nail some Gulf Cartel men with a hundred of those guns and one hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Right there in L.A.?”
“Quite a bit.”
“Good, because Sean Gravas is the dealer. With a little help from me, the guns, the men and the money will all be yours. It’ll be the biggest deal I ever did for ATF.”
“You murdered three men, Sean. That kind of puts you on the outs at ATF.”
“Murders? Why? They land me right where I need to be, don’t they? According to the new cartel rules?”
Hood said nothing for a long beat. Ozburn chuckled. “I’m still ATF, Charlie. In my little wooden heart. You don’t think I’m out here just having fun, do you? I’m on to something big. I’m going to accomplish it. And when I deliver the guns to my buyers, you can be there. I’ll surrender to you. But not before. I’m not coming in until I have something to show for all this.”
“When?”
“I’ll be in touch.”
Ozburn hung up and dropped the cell phone to the bed. He sat at the table and set up his laptop and wrote.
Dear Seliah,
I MISS you terribly, like a phantom limb, like a piece of my heart. We’ll be together soon in a better place and we’ll begin again.
I’ve lost something. FAITH. The words to express faith. Everything I thought was TRUE. But you know something? I feel okay with that. I feel that I am enough and that my days here on EARTH are to be of value.
I’m so TIRED right now, body and mind.
I hunger for your touch.
Sean
He took the bottle and cup outside to the small deck and sat on a plastic chair and watched the cars on the interstate. Daisy sat beside him. He felt the spasm of his throat muscles. The supplements and tequila seemed to be somewhat of a palliative but when the spasms became cramps, there was little he could do but fold to his knees and press his forehead to the ground and shudder with pain. He drank. He thought of Hood. He thought of Seliah.
Then he imagined he was looking down on himself sitting on this tiny deck beside the raging interstate in this great, dry, Southwestern desert, and he tried to account for his presence here, tried to establish a reasonable explanation for it, to see it in some perspective. But as he worked chronologically forward through his adult life he could get no further than Costa Rica and the Arenal Volcano and the resort in the trees where they had stayed. And what had he found there? Well, some cool frogs and birds. A boy and his pet monkey. Other tourists. Father Joe, who became a friend. Some nice hours with his wife. Arenal Volcano smoking and rumbling in the distance. So what was it? Why, when he looked back to that time—three months ago now, if that—was everything a strange, descending, darkening blur?
Fuck if I know
, he thought.
I wish I did. I wish I did.
He half filled the cup and drank again. The bottle was half-gone.
Suddenly he was on his back on the deck. He could see the pinpoints of stars high up above the lights, and these stars were racing back and forth across his vision and Ozburn realized his head was snapping violently side to side. He couldn’t move his arms. He felt his fingers trying to dig into the deck and his boot heels thumping on it. He could hear the guttural rumble of his breathing and the crunching of his head as it rocked side to side while the stars raced back and forth in opposite sprints. Then it was over and he lay panting but more or less still. His heart pounded and his fingertips burned and his legs were rubbery but he was still at last and the stars were fixed again as they were supposed to be. His sunglasses had flown off. He lay there for a long time. He saw Daisy’s head blot out the stars and felt her tongue on his cheek.
He worked his way up and got his sunglasses on and went back to his plastic chair. Daisy wriggled up close and rooted her cold wet nose under one of his hands. The tequila bottle had been knocked over but it was capped and unbroken.
Ozburn stared at the cars on the highway, blinking. They streamed in and out of his vision.
“Our what, who art in what, hallowed be thy what . . .”
But he couldn’t finish the prayer, gutted and useless as it was. He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his face to his hands. The only thing he could think of that was any comfort at all was to remind himself what he was doing here. What he was trying to accomplish. Because, unsure as he was of the paths and the powers that had led him to this place, he was still clear on what he needed to do.
Perform good acts and defeat evil.
He repeated this short sentence over and over until he felt his mind begin to calm and his muscles begin to relax. He went back to his laptop but he couldn’t bring himself to write Seliah again.
Later he called out for a large pizza and family salad and ate it all, repeating the sentence in his mind as he ate. He finished the tequila and climbed into the shower in the darkened bathroom and washed himself with his eyes closed because the sight of water revolted him and against the revulsion he muttered the sentence again and again and again. Then he lay down on the bed and with the sentence still ringing through his head he took the long, dark fall into sleep.
21
Hood and Janet Bly walked into
Seliah Ozburn’s darkened home just after nine the next morning. She stood back to let them pass and smiled briefly at Hood, then looked down as he came by her.
They sat in the living room and Hood saw that the sun blinds were down and the curtains were pulled closed also. The air conditioner started up. Seliah sat on the couch with her laptop on the coffee table before her. She looked tan and fit as always. She wore a simple black shift and her straight platinum hair was newly trimmed. Her nails were painted red.
“I’ve been thinking about this since we decided to do it,” she said. “I thought it would be easy but I don’t know what to say to him. Maybe I’m afraid he won’t want to see me. Maybe I don’t want to betray him.”
“It’s the only way to save his life,” said Bly. “We’re trying to get him back alive from wherever it is he’s gone. He’s clearly losing his reason.”
“I know. I see that.”
“But he’s passionate about one thing—you,” said Bly. “Can you be passionate back?”
Seliah looked at Bly and nodded and lowered her hands to the keyboard. “Let me see. How about this? ‘Dear Sean, let’s meet in Las Vegas and hump ’til we’re cross-eyed. Hugs, Sel.’ ”
A silent moment.
“Not bad,” said Bly. “Maybe something a little more romantic.”
“What do
you
know about romance, you dried-up cunt?”
Bly stood. “I’ll get some fresh air. Call me if she stops hissing.”
Seliah looked up at Hood with anger in her eyes. “You can’t make me do this.”
The front door slammed.
Hood sat in a chair across the coffee table from her. Seliah hugged herself against the chill from the air conditioner. Then her cheeks flushed and Hood saw the sheen of moisture appear on her forehead and shoulders. She was still glaring at him. Slowly the glare softened and she took a deep breath and let out a wavering sigh.
“I’ve vanished, Charlie,” she said softly. “I don’t know where I went.”
“Sean’s there.”
“I don’t know where he’s gone, either.”
“Think.”
“Think what, Charlie? All I do is think about what went wrong.”
“Any progress?”
“Costa Rica. That was the beginning.”
“On the volcano.”
“The Arenal Volcano.”
“In the hotel in the jungle.”
“Yeah. There. I’m so ashamed of what I said to Janet. I don’t do that. I’m just not me anymore.”
“Forget what you said, Seliah.”
“I have thoughts I can’t control.”
“All of us do.”
“But I have actions I can’t control.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Flu. Stress. High blood pressure. Depression. Take your pick.”
“Tell me about the volcano. Where this all started.”
She closed her eyes and nodded and a small smile appeared on her lips. Her skin glowed damply and the AC fan stirred her hair. “The frogs were so loud at night you could hardly sleep. The hotel rooms were built up onto the branches of the trees. The rooms all had screens instead of windows. Like a big tree house in the jungle. There were geckos and macaws and toucans and a green boa constrictor. They got more bugs and beetles than you could believe, ones with horns and pinchers and stripes and dots. Ones that make noises, ones that smell good and ones that stink. I always liked that kind of stuff. Nature’s pure weirdness. Nature’s extravagance. Sean, too. Down in the lobby the hotel owner’s son had a tiny baby monkey in a birdcage. Sean held it. It was about the size of a pear, eyes like silver buttons. And Sean stared at that little thing for a while and he looked up at me smiling and he said, ‘Sel, can you even believe this thing? Who designed it? Whose
idea
was this?’ And of course Sean tried to give him twenty bucks for it and I said, ‘Hey handsome, come up to the bar with me and I’ll buy you a drink and we’ll talk about this monkey. Because
I
can give you something you’d like even more.’ That was when it hit me. When I knew I was ready for a baby. Took me twenty-eight long years to get to that point but, well, there I was. So. I talked him out of the monkey.”