Ballistic(89)

With no front windshield, the cool air in the truck was almost unbearable, especially for Laura behind the wheel. Her small-muscled arms were covered in goose bumps visible even in the low light, and by the time they found the salvage yard, she was shivering.

Shivering and crying. Her father’s death was just one more heinous punishment to her heart. Court felt terrible for her, wanted to reach out and touch her, to hold her hand while she drove, to tell her it would be okay.

But he did not.

He did not because he did not know how to touch the sad, beautiful girl.

And he did not because he did not really believe everything would be okay.





The four family members stood along the side of the road and waited while Gentry climbed a fence and dropped into the salvage yard. Luz Gamboa rubbed her daughter’s arms to warm her, and Elena shifted from one swollen foot to the other, held her full belly to take pressure off her back. Diego stood watch with his hands on his hips. Dogs began barking behind the fence as the family prayed together.

Ten minutes later an engine started and a sheet-metal gate slid open with pushes and grunts. An old pea soup green Volkswagen bus appeared, its headlights off; it pulled into the street, and then Court jumped out, and Diego shut the gate behind it.

Court jogged back to the armored car for a moment, returned with a pair of 9 mm pistols and an extra magazine for each. He passed one weapon to Laura and slid the other in the waistband of his pants.

He looked at Diego. “It doesn’t look like much, but the engine turned right over. I put some plates on it, so you shouldn’t have any problems from the highway cops. Head north, just keep going all the way to the border. Sleep in shifts. One sleeps, two awake. When you get to Tijuana, go to a hotel and wait for us. Two days from today, go to the border crossing at ten a.m. Wait thirty minutes. If we aren’t there, leave and come back at three p.m. If we still aren’t there, do it again the next day. We won’t be able to communicate. No phones, no contact. If we get captured, I want it to look like we have no idea where you are or how to get in touch with you.”

The young boy nodded. Court could see that Diego understood that he was now the man of the family, and he shouldered the responsibility in a way Gentry appreciated. The shock and sadness would come later, Court knew, but that was only if they survived until later.

“Laura and I will make contact with Ramses. Assuming he is still alive and he’s gotten in touch with the American at the embassy, we will go to Mexico City to pick up the money and the papers.”

Elena asked, “If you do not show up in Tijuana in two or three days?”

“You’ll have to try to make it over the border on your own.”

Everyone just looked at him. He shrugged. “It’s all I’ve got. I didn’t say it was a good plan.”

Elena wiped tears from her eyes, stepped forward, and hugged him tightly; he felt the baby, his old friend’s baby, kick against him. His eyes widened.

Elena whispered into his ear. “You have done so much for us, Jose. Eduardo would be proud to know he has a friend such as you.”

Luz hugged him as well, and she said some sort of prayer. He could not understand it, and while she spoke to him, he could not look into her eyes. The tragedy that had befallen this old woman in the past two weeks was unimaginable, even for a man with a history like Court Gentry.

Everyone hugged Laura; of course there were tears, and needless to say there was another prayer. Then the family drew close together. Court watched from ten feet away.

“Perfect. Another goddamned group hug,” he muttered under his breath as they embraced and held one another.

Eventually, the VW bus rattled off. Court hoped like hell it would make the journey, but at this point, it was time to start worrying about his own operation.





By one thirty in the morning they were on the road to Mexico City. Court had stolen a motorcycle out of a shed in a residential area a few blocks from the salvage yard. Laura had wanted to leave an anonymous note saying how terribly sorry she was and promising to send money to this address just as soon as she could, but Court would not allow it. Instead she made a mental note of the little home and told Gentry she would find a way to repay the occupants.

They were 325 miles from Mexico City. It would take a minimum of six hours of hard riding, but with luck they could be there by the time her bank opened at ten. Once they were a few miles clear of the suburbs of Guadalajara, Court pulled over in the darkness and called Ramses with the phone he’d left them. Laura had wrapped herself in a dirty blanket Luz had found in the back of the VW, and she fell asleep in the grass while Court made the call.