Ballistic(26)
Court turned around, found Cullen ten feet behind. He held a bottle of tequila in one hand, with thumb-sized plastic shot glasses over the bottle’s spout, and a pair of shiny green limes in his other hand.
“I don’t know.”
“Join me for a drink?” Cullen did not wait for an answer; he sat down at the small picnic table across from Court, put the bottle down in front of him. Cullen retrieved a pocketknife from his cargo shorts, sliced them each a wedge of one of the limes.
Court hesitated. “I’ve got to be going.”
“Where you headed, ace?”
“Uhhh. Back to Puerto Vall—”
“Not tonight, you aren’t, unless you want to blow a hundred bucks on a cab. Elena said you arrived by bus.”
“Well . . . I’ll find a hotel here.”
“I can give you a lift to PV.”
Court sat back down. Cullen poured thick clear liquid into two tiny cups, passed one to Gentry. Court sipped the tequila, bit down on his lime wedge, and changed the subject by turning the conversation away from himself. “How did you know Eddie?”
Cullen leaned back and smiled. Took off his USS Buchanan cap and held it up. His silver hair shone in the light from the torches burning throughout the yard.
“You met him on your boat?”
The Captain shook his head. “No, no. I never knew him in the Navy. I met him in PV, ’bout four years ago. I run on the beach every morning, used to anyway. It’s more of a walk now but faster than most of the old expat farts around here. Anyway, one morning, after my run, this tough-looking Mexican hombre saunters over to me on the boardwalk. I thought he was going to go for my wallet. But he pointed to my hat. Asked me about my service. We got to talking, and he said he was Navy, too. Of course I’m thinking Mexican navy. When I found out he was an ex-SEAL, you could have knocked me over with a feather.
“Eddie and I became friends. We used to go fishing on my boat whenever he was down in PV. I’ve been up here, sitting at this very table, many nights. Eddie sat right where you are now.”
Cullen sighed a little. He was old enough to have experienced much loss in his life. Still, Court could tell how wounded the man was by the death of his younger friend. “I spent a lot of hours getting to know that fine young man.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cullen put his cap back on and leaned forward. “I gotta tell ya, a stranger showing up at his house, right after he’s killed. How does that look to you?”
Gentry shrugged. “I’m just a guy who came to say good-bye. If I had my way, I wouldn’t even be here right now.”
Cullen nodded, sipped his tequila thoughtfully, and looked back over his shoulder to the house full of people. “It’s going to be tough for them now. Eddie is a villain to a lot of people around here. The press is portraying him as just another sicario.”
“Sicario?”
“An assassin. The general consensus is that he and his men were working for a cartel in competition with de la Rocha. After he died the federales and Nayarit state police came here, went through all his personal belongings, confiscated his computer and his guns. Even his pension has been held up pending an investigation. It’s bullshit: he died following orders to protect the people here, but they see him as another corrupt federale.”
“Why do they think that? I don’t understand any of what’s going on here.”
“No matter, ace. You’ll be gone tomorrow. No sense in learning the intricacies of the local conventional wisdom.”
Gentry knew he was being chided by the old man. Treated as if he was just some drifter passing by. It angered him. Court would die for Eddie Gamble. If there were still an Eddie Gamble to die for.
“Tell me.”
“Why?”
“Because I care. And because I suspect you have some opinions on the matter.” Court reached for the tequila bottle, poured two more shots.
Cullen nodded slowly and sliced off two more wedges of lime.
“Eddie led a team of eight men. His unit took orders directly from the attorney general in Mexico City, who’d been authorized by the president to eliminate the top cartel chiefs of Mexico.”
“Eliminate?”
Cullen nodded.
“A sanctioned hit squad?”
“Exactly.”
Court did not blink an eye. “Go on.”
“Eddie and his men were good. They assassinated the leaders of four of the top six cartels in the Mexican interior in the past six months. Daniel de la Rocha would have been number five.”
“But the entire team was wiped out in the process.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I don’t understand why he blew up the yacht.”