The man shoved the tiny woman onto the cement, just a few feet in front of Gentry. The leader of DLR’s enforcers pulled out a silver .45 automatic pistol and handed it to his patrón. Daniel de la Rocha took the weapon and pressed it into Laura’s black bob of hair.
“If you do not tell me, right now, where my forces can find Elena Gamboa, I will blow off this pretty head. I will not count to three; I will not threaten to wound her; I will simply kill her, right here, right now, unless the next words out of your mouth tell me where Major Gamboa’s widow is hiding.”
Laura shouted in the small room, “Don’t say—”
De la Rocha pounded the grip of the .45 into her head. Laura went down onto the filthy concrete. Dazed, she struggled back up to her knees.
Court’s head rose, and he looked at Daniel de la Rocha.
Slowly, very slowly, he nodded, and softly he spoke. “Okay. Okay. Listen very carefully.”
De la Rocha pulled the hammer back on the pistol, pressed it tighter against her head. “Oh, I am listening, amigo.”
Court nodded again. Then he shrugged. “Shoot the bitch. I don’t give a fuck.”
De la Rocha just stared, his mouth slightly open. He looked back to the Black Suit behind him. “He is a cold fucker, no, Spider? Reminds me of you.” Then back to Gentry. “It is a bluff. A very good bluff, but you are bluffing. You care about what happens to her.” He thought for a long moment; clearly, he had not expected this reaction from the American.
Gentry said, “I didn’t sign up for this shit. The old American guy, Cullen, paid me five grand to watch over his dead buddy’s family for a couple of days. Two large in advance, three more after we got back from Puerto Vallarta. He didn’t say anything about a goddamned cartel hit on them.”
Now de la Rocha’s dark eyebrows furrowed. He took in the English. Weighed the words carefully. “You are private security? A bodyguard?”
“I was. I just retired.”
DLR conferred with Spider for a moment. Court could not understand what they were saying. Then de la Rocha turned back, shook his head.
“No. No, señor. I do not believe you. It was a nice try, but my associate’s men tell him that you escaped the hacienda, and then went back, at great personal danger to yourself, to rescue la familia Gamboa. That does not sound like the actions of any hired gunman I have ever heard of.”
Court started to speak, but Daniel continued talking. He was not a man accustomed to being interrupted.
“You know what? Maybe I won’t kill her now. Maybe I’ll have my sickest, most fucked-up sicarios rape her puta culo until she dies. It will take a little longer, yes, but it will be more rewarding for my men. Maybe I’ll have el Carnicerito do it right now in front of you.”
Court looked over at the fat bald man in the leather apron. The torturer licked his lips.
A mobile phone rang. Emilio pulled it from the front pocket of his suit pants and looked down at it. He offered it to his boss. DLR took it, looked at the face, and with a sigh, he flipped it open. “Nestor, can it wait?” A short pause and then, “Está bien.” He took the pistol away from Laura’s head and replaced it with his foot. He pushed his Italian loafer hard on the back of her skull, shoving the tiny girl to the concrete floor. When she was down on the urine-soaked concrete, he turned and walked back into the stairwell.
The Little Butcher spoke with the Spider. Court tried to make eye contact with Laura, but she remained on her knees, her bound hands flat on the concrete in front of her, her head down. He wanted to speak, to tell her the only chance she had to survive was for him to act like he didn’t care whether she lived or died. It was a long shot, a hell of a long shot, but he’d seen no alternative.
He had to be cold as ice. He had to play like her life held no leverage with him.
Then she looked up at him from the ground, her eyes full of confusion and, yes, even heartbreak. Court had the impression she did not understand his ploy was for her benefit; she actually bought his bullshit about not caring about her.
Court turned away from her sad eyes and looked up to the narco lord across the room. He could hear snippets from DLR’s side of his phone conversation, but much of it was either too fast or spoken with too much Mexican slang for Gentry to understand. Still, he picked up some of the exchange.
“No deal. I need time to extract the information. Twenty-four hours—Okay, they can send one man to come look, but they cannot touch—Kill him? That’s fine ... Okay, but they only get the body when we have what we need from him. Make that clear.”
DLR hung up the phone and stepped back in the dungeon, conferred softly with Spider for a moment. There was even a brief argument between them, but it settled down quickly. He then spoke to his prisoners. “Change of plans. Someone is coming to identify this piece of mierda.”