Under the black hood Court perspired; all the muscles in his face and neck were tense, awaiting a shot to the head that he would never feel. He did not think of his own death, but only of Laura. He pictured her now, alone and afraid, and he pictured the men that would come to her when they did not need to keep her in one piece any longer.
He so wanted to help her.
He felt hands on his arms and back, pushing him forward into the mausoleum. There were shouts and orders barked behind him as he walked, and then the door slid shut behind him, and it was cool and dark.
His hood was removed. A man stood on either side of him, each with a pistol jabbed into his temple.
In front of him, from the light of a small, round stained glass window in the back of the crypt, he saw Madrigal, his son, and Serna.
Serna said, “Calvo is well protected.”
Court stuttered in fear. “I am well motivated.”
Madrigal spoke now. “You would say anything now to save your skin. I don’t believe you can deliver him.”
“How will you prove to Calvo that I’m dead?” Court asked in English, and Chingarito began a running translation.
Madrigal said, “I will tell him which crypt you are interred in here. He is planning on sending some men to see your body before the crypt is sealed.”
Court looked to Hector Serna. “Tell him you want to meet him in person here to show him my body.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He will have to do it, because he can’t tell DLR that the two of you made a deal. He will honor any reasonable request in order to keep this transaction quiet. And he’ll be intrigued, wanting to know what advantage he can obtain out of your meeting.”
Madrigal shook his head. “He won’t agree. It will be too dangerous for him.”
“You can tell him to bring whatever resources he wants. Tell him to bring one hundred gunmen to ensure this is no ambush. Tell him to send his men a day in advance to watch over the location.”
“You can get past one hundred gunmen?”
“Of course not, but he won’t bring that many. He is working in secret, without the knowledge of DLR, so he will want to keep these discussions off DLR’s radar. He’s not an idiot, he will bring security, but he won’t bring more than his usual close-protection detail. A manageable number so that word of the meeting does not get out around his organization.”
“And you can get through them?”
“I guess I’ll have to, won’t I?”
Madrigal said, “But when I get Calvo, how will that help you? I won’t trade him away for your little Gamboa puta.”
Chingarito translated. Gentry’s nostrils flared a bit, but he recovered. “Once I have Calvo, I will give him to you. But I will tell de la Rocha that I have him and that I’ll trade him for Laura. We’ll set up a time and a place for the trade. This will give you time to get what you need from Calvo before the Black Suits come looking, and it will give me a chance to get close to Laura, so I can get her back.”
Madrigal looked at Gentry a long time. Then he smiled. “You think like an outlaw. You scheme as well as anyone I’ve ever met, amigo.”
“Let’s just say this isn’t my first rodeo, señor.”
“I am intrigued by your offer, but there is one problem.”
Gentry knew what it was. “You are worried you have informers in your organization, working for DLR, who will tip Calvo off in advance to our plan.”
Madrigal nodded.
“I have a way to prevent that.”
“How can you pos—”
Before Madrigal’s eyes, the Gray Man transformed into a blur of movement. He dropped straight down, out of the line of fire of the two pistols. At the same time he spun on the balls of his feet; his hands came up and shot skyward, knocking the pistols out of the hands of the two men. He then caught one of the weapons as it twirled in the dim, dusty air. He spun back on the balls off his feet, returned to a standing position, and pointed the big revolver at Constantino Madrigal’s chest.
All this took place in under one second. The disarmed men around him stepped back; Madrigal, Chingarito and Serna just stood and stared in confusion and shock.
After five seconds of silence, Court let the revolver roll backwards on his finger; it hung upside down from the trigger guard.
He stepped forward and held it out to Constantino Madrigal. “Here you go. Shoot me with it, or allow me to solve your problems with de la Rocha. If you don’t trust anyone here, shoot them, and then the threat of a leak will be gone. I’ll stay in here; you can tell everyone they were killed in a fight with me but you finished me off.”
Madrigal’s mouth remained open in astonishment. He looked to his son to await the translation, but Chingarito’s own mouth hung agape. His father nudged him, and then the boy spoke. While his boy repeated Gentry’s words in Spanish, Madrigal looked around at the others in the mausoleum with him, as if to see if they had seen the same incredible act by the American.