And Court imagined half of the red, yellow, and blue blooming flowers in Sinaloa were used here at this cemetery.
The Chrysler pulled to a stop in front of a smaller crypt. This structure looked new, and a dozen armed men stood around it. Madrigal himself was there, with his teenage son Chingarito standing by his side. The Cowboy wore a red shirt and blue jeans, a straw cowboy hat and tennis shoes. A gold belt buckle of a horse’s head was the only frill Gentry could find on the man’s body other than the simple cross around his neck.
The Cowboy met Court as he climbed out of the car, shook his hand with a smile partially hidden under his mustache.
As he spoke, Chingarito translated. “Seven days, amigo. One week ago exactly I met you, and you promised to make trouble for Los Trajes Negros. I have to say . . . I thought you would kill a few Black Suits, destroy some product, and then die yourself. You have proven to me that you are a warrior.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you positive you were not born in Sinaloa?”
Court did not answer. The “little fucker” had nothing to translate.
Madrigal continued. “You have earned my respect. What you have done in seven days, these miserable idiots have not done in seven years.” He waved at the men standing around, and Chingarito laughed while he translated.
Gentry said, “And I’m just getting started. Another few days and he will be—”
Madrigal interrupted. “That is why I brought you here.” Chingarito struggled to keep up with the translations.
“Nine of my sicarios were butchered last night in Puerto Vallarta. Five Jalisco state police on my pay disappeared in Guadalajara yesterday. No doubt they will be found dead on a road within the next few days with their dicks in their mouths. The day before yesterday, twelve of my men were murdered, and a shipment of product was hijacked.”
Gentry stared back a moment. “I don’t give a shit if your assassins get killed, and I would only insult your intelligence by pretending like I do.”
Chingarito translated. Madrigal answered back.
“DLR had it done. He suspects you are working with me. He is punishing me for this relationship. I told you this would only work if we could conceal that we were working together.”
“You had to have known there was a chance you would be blamed for my actions. I’m sure you have more hit men and drugs, right?”
“Of course. I could go on like this for years. You are hurting him worse than he is hurting me. But there has been a change in plans. We will not be continuing our war.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your benefit to me has ended. I have made a deal. In return for handing your body over to the Black Suits, I can make this war stop, plus I have been promised some other things in payment. I have agreed to this deal.”
“You made that deal with Nestor Calvo.” Gentry said it confidently. He knew DLR was not the type of man to agree to a compact with Madrigal, his archenemy. He would fight and he would threaten—he would not acquiesce.
Madrigal shrugged. Chingarito translated. “Yes. Nestor Calvo Macias is the center of Los Trajes Negros. He is more powerful than even de la Rocha because of all that he knows. He has offered up one of their remaining foco super labs. A gift worth, over time, billions of dollars.” Madrigal smiled. “You should be proud of your market value.”
“Right.”
The Cowboy shrugged. “I’m sorry, my friend, but I will have to kill you now. I will honor your service with this beautiful crypt you see here.”
The men around began moving closer. Court looked around frantically for Serna. He found the intelligence chief in the crowd. He did not look happy about this arrangement, but he said nothing.
Gentry looked at Chingarito. “I can do more for him than Calvo can. Tell him that!”
Chigarito translated.
Madrigal replied. “You are giving me what I want. I want that super lab.”
From behind, a bag was placed over Gentry’s head.
“Mátalo,” Madrigal said, and this Chingarito did not translate. Court knew it was the town of Madrigal’s birth, but it was also a command.
Kill him.
He heard a pistol cocking close behind his head.
Court shouted one word.
And then Madrigal said, “¡Espere!” Wait. And then, “¿Qué dijiste?” What did you say?
In Spanish Court replied. “I said Calvo. I can get you Nestor Calvo. Having him in your custody would end Daniel de la Rocha and the Black Suits, and you know it.” Court could not see Hector Serna, but he called out to him. “Hector, wouldn’t you like to pick through Calvo’s brain? To find out everything he knows?”