Court’s eyes rose at the price and the slur. “There are four in the family.”
“Sixty g’s, then.”
“How ’bout a volume discount?”
Jerry laughed, clapped once. Then he cocked his head. After a few seconds he nodded thoughtfully. Court had given him a threatening stare; Court had no idea if it would have any value.
“What the hell? Fifty k.”
Ten grand worth of stare. Not bad. Court wondered if brandishing his pistol would have shaved off another five large. “We can come up with that. How does this work?”
“I need everybody’s photo IDs. I’ll take that info and generate everything you need.”
Court reached into the backpack and retrieved the stack of identity cards for the Gamboa family. Court remembered Ernesto’s driver’s license was still in there. He fished around and pulled it out, stuck it in his pocket with a slight grimace.
He handed the cards to Pfleger. “How long?”
Pfleger looked them over, and Court watched him carefully. He knew it was likely the American would realize he was dealing with members of one of the families targeted at the rally in Puerto Vallarta. But if he did recognize the Gamboa surname, he showed no evidence of it. “Overnight. I can have these to you at lunch tomorrow. Mexican lunch, that is. Two p.m. Same time, same place.”
“That’ll work.”
“You got a phone? I may need to call you for more info.”
Gentry was reluctant. “What info?”
“Dude, trust me, there is always something missing on IDs that I don’t want to just fudge. These people will be stuck with these identities in the States. They have to have all the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted.”
Court pulled out his new mobile. Read the number out to Jerry Pfleger.
“Okay,” Jerry said. “I need a down payment. Fifty percent.”
Court pulled the bag of money from his backpack and pulled out twenty-five thousand dollars. Handed it over to the young American, who counted it out himself. He jammed it into his pocket.
Two boys came into the bathroom, walked immediately up to the urinals without regarding the two Americans.
The men separated with a nod. Court left first, and Jerry went back to the mirror to work on his blackhead.
Court almost panicked when Laura was not in the food court upon his return. His head moved on a swivel, and he scanned the lunchtime crowd and began pushing his way back to the escalator.
He grabbed his phone and began to call her, but he saw a tiny girl with a short bob of black hair in line at the cash register of a men’s store. She waved to him and smiled a little. When she came out, she said, “I got us both some new clothes. I hope you like them.”
He wanted to chastise her, but he realized instantly that she had used her time wisely. They would need new clothes. Little Laura had done well, and he told her so.
She smiled at him, and then together they walked sleepily towards the exit of the mall.
The hotel Gentry picked out was on Donceles Street, just a block north of the National Cathedral in el Centro Histórico, the historic city-center neighborhood. The building was small and recessed from the main street by a guarded gate; there was a tiny hidden parking lot for his stolen motorcycle. The desk clerk took cash and gave them keys to a room on the third floor with two twin beds; Court had asked for a view of the street and was satisfied with his sight line out the window.
As exhausted as she was, Laura was thrilled by the location of the hotel, as it stood directly across the street from la Iglesia de Nuestra Señora del Pilar, a narrow but ornate 250-year-old baroque church and former girls’ school. As soon as they were in their room, she told Court she wanted to go across the street and pray. He rolled his eyes and started to follow her, but she suggested he stay in the room and rest. He grabbed the pistol he’d just pulled from his pants, stuck it right back into his waistband, covered it with his shirt, and followed her out the door.
“We stick together, Laura.”
“Good. Will you pray with me?”
Gentry shrugged as they reached the staircase. “You pray for us both. I’ll stand watch.”
They crossed the busy road and entered the church; Court sat in a pew while Laura knelt next to him and bowed her head. Court kept his tired eyes open and darting in all directions, though there were only a few other people in the sanctuary and they were clearly more interested in their salvation than deleting Court or the girl with him.
The altar was high and gilded; the walls on either side of the sanctuary were similarly gilded and adorned by statues. Soft music played through speakers, and the cool air was dim, illuminated by natural light coming through the stained glass and reflecting off the golden walls and ornamentation.