him favors here and there,” he went on. “So you won’t have problems getting in and out, if you know what I mean.”
I knew what he meant. But the whole operation sounded a little too good to be believable. Just cruise into Mexico, break into a major Mexican prison, steal the damsel in distress, escape to the border, fly off into the sunset, run the credits and the closing music. Just one big easy. If Tony weren’t my friend, I’d swear he and Barnes were feeding me directly to the dogs. Or, in this case, coyotes.
“What about your wife, Mr. Barnes?” I said. “I don’t know anything about her other than what I’ve read in the papers or seen on TV.”
Barnes reached down to the floor, picked up his briefcase, set it on the edge of the desk. He took out a manila folder. “In there you’ll find all you need to know about Renata. Photos, bios, and a copy of her novel.”
He set the package on his desk.
“ Godchild .” I volunteered.
“Yes,” a suddenly morose Barnes said, as if the very mention of the novel caused the plug to be pulled on his heart. “ Godchild . ”
He closed up his briefcase. “Well, if there’s nothing else…” He let it dangle.
He forced a smile and held out his right hand. I took it, shook it loosely.
“I trust the money would be to your satisfaction.”
“So long as it’s okay with Tony,” I said.
I took my hand back. It felt cold and wet.
“You won’t speak with me again,” Barnes said. “You can give your answer to Mr. Angelino. He, in turn, will relay your decision to me.”
He took his case and left, leaving me along with Tony.
I turned to him, after a time.
“Well,” he said, holding out his hands. “Yes or no?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“When will you know?” he said.
“Can you give me until tomorrow morning?” I asked.
He nodded. “Okay, sleep on it. But I can’t wait much longer than that. Renata doesn’t have that kind of time.”
I glanced at the Internet article on his desk. He was right.
“I’ll let you know first thing,” I said. “Now, how’s about a ride back to my motel?”
Chapter 8
The windowless cell measures about five feet by five feet. Almost a perfect square, with a tile floor and drain in the center.
There is a steel-framed bunk that supports a thin mattress pushed up against the concrete wall to her right. When she looks out the vertical iron bars that make up the door to the cell, she can see a gray concrete wall.
The cell is lit with only one exposed overhead lightbulb.
All around her come the moans and groans of the inmates. Sleeping the restless sleep of the drugged.
She zips up the front of her jumper, as if this makes her more secure, and moves toward the front of the cell.
“Hello,” she whispers out across the iron bars. “Is anyone out there who can hear me?” A deep, stale breath. In and out. “Hello…anybody?”
After a short time she hears a mans voice. “Hello,” comes the whisper.
She feels herself smiling, the muscles in her face tightening up, a shot of warmth and security shooting up her spine. “My name is Renata,” she says. “Where am I?”
“Beautiful Monterrey Prison,” he says in a heavy, throaty voice like the voice of an old man, although Renata has no way of knowing for sure.
She wishes she had her reporter’s notebooks, a pad of paper, a scrap, anything to write on. And something to write with. But she has nothing. They stripped her of everything when they dragged her in with that blindfold on.
‘‘Where in the prison?” she asks.
“Basement isolation” the man says. “Consider yourself lucky. Upstairs you have to share a box with ten or twelve people. Don’t take this the wrong way, but a woman like you…well, you wouldn’t last long.”
She wants to tell him he has no idea who he’s dealing with. But she lets it go.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Roberto”
“Why are you here, Roberto?”
“They say I murdered my wife’s
I knew what he meant. But the whole operation sounded a little too good to be believable. Just cruise into Mexico, break into a major Mexican prison, steal the damsel in distress, escape to the border, fly off into the sunset, run the credits and the closing music. Just one big easy. If Tony weren’t my friend, I’d swear he and Barnes were feeding me directly to the dogs. Or, in this case, coyotes.
“What about your wife, Mr. Barnes?” I said. “I don’t know anything about her other than what I’ve read in the papers or seen on TV.”
Barnes reached down to the floor, picked up his briefcase, set it on the edge of the desk. He took out a manila folder. “In there you’ll find all you need to know about Renata. Photos, bios, and a copy of her novel.”
He set the package on his desk.
“ Godchild .” I volunteered.
“Yes,” a suddenly morose Barnes said, as if the very mention of the novel caused the plug to be pulled on his heart. “ Godchild . ”
He closed up his briefcase. “Well, if there’s nothing else…” He let it dangle.
He forced a smile and held out his right hand. I took it, shook it loosely.
“I trust the money would be to your satisfaction.”
“So long as it’s okay with Tony,” I said.
I took my hand back. It felt cold and wet.
“You won’t speak with me again,” Barnes said. “You can give your answer to Mr. Angelino. He, in turn, will relay your decision to me.”
He took his case and left, leaving me along with Tony.
I turned to him, after a time.
“Well,” he said, holding out his hands. “Yes or no?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“When will you know?” he said.
“Can you give me until tomorrow morning?” I asked.
He nodded. “Okay, sleep on it. But I can’t wait much longer than that. Renata doesn’t have that kind of time.”
I glanced at the Internet article on his desk. He was right.
“I’ll let you know first thing,” I said. “Now, how’s about a ride back to my motel?”
Chapter 8
The windowless cell measures about five feet by five feet. Almost a perfect square, with a tile floor and drain in the center.
There is a steel-framed bunk that supports a thin mattress pushed up against the concrete wall to her right. When she looks out the vertical iron bars that make up the door to the cell, she can see a gray concrete wall.
The cell is lit with only one exposed overhead lightbulb.
All around her come the moans and groans of the inmates. Sleeping the restless sleep of the drugged.
She zips up the front of her jumper, as if this makes her more secure, and moves toward the front of the cell.
“Hello,” she whispers out across the iron bars. “Is anyone out there who can hear me?” A deep, stale breath. In and out. “Hello…anybody?”
After a short time she hears a mans voice. “Hello,” comes the whisper.
She feels herself smiling, the muscles in her face tightening up, a shot of warmth and security shooting up her spine. “My name is Renata,” she says. “Where am I?”
“Beautiful Monterrey Prison,” he says in a heavy, throaty voice like the voice of an old man, although Renata has no way of knowing for sure.
She wishes she had her reporter’s notebooks, a pad of paper, a scrap, anything to write on. And something to write with. But she has nothing. They stripped her of everything when they dragged her in with that blindfold on.
‘‘Where in the prison?” she asks.
“Basement isolation” the man says. “Consider yourself lucky. Upstairs you have to share a box with ten or twelve people. Don’t take this the wrong way, but a woman like you…well, you wouldn’t last long.”
She wants to tell him he has no idea who he’s dealing with. But she lets it go.
“What’s your name?” she asks.
“Roberto”
“Why are you here, Roberto?”
“They say I murdered my wife’s
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