He got out, stretched, and walked casually past the truck, where he saw two men in dirty T-shirts hauling bags of what looked like flour or maize into the market. He proceeded to the end of the building and stopped. Just as he was about to circle around to the front, he saw the taxi headlights flash twice.
He hurried back to the car and asked, “What’s up?”
Tré reported, “Manny said four dudes just got out of an SUV and entered.”
“Tell him to stay out front until he hears from us.”
“Sure thing.”
Looking at Cucho sitting in the back, Crocker asked Tré, “You bring the tape with you?”
“Affirmative, chief.”
“Tape her mouth, wrists, and ankles, then leave her on the floor.”
“My pleasure.”
Randal elected to stay behind. Crocker figured he’d probably call Nesmith and tell him what was going on. Not that it mattered. They didn’t have time to stop him now.
He led the way purposefully across the rear lot, past the truck to the loading dock where the two workers were stacking bags against a wall. Crocker hoisted one of the sacks on his shoulder and climbed a set of concrete steps to a storage area with rows of cardboard boxes. Behind him, Tré carried another sack.
Crocker’s senses were on high alert. To his right he saw an office. Light spilled out the open door onto the stained concrete floor, and he heard men talking inside.
He motioned to Tré to wait behind the boxes, then took three steps toward the office door. A mustached guard holding a submachine gun stepped out. He waved the gun in front of Crocker’s face. “Quién es?”
“Paco,” Crocker grunted.
“No aquí. Afuera!” (Not here. Outside!)
Crocker nodded and stumbled, pretending to be drunk.
Two men leaned out of the office and looked his way. One appeared to be Middle Eastern. The other held two Doberman pinschers on metal chain leashes. The dogs bared their teeth and growled at him. The stocky man holding them pulled the dogs back, and the two men walked down a hallway and out of sight. Crocker felt a chill shoot up his spine.
He wanted to go after the two men, but the guard with the Uzi stood in his way. Instead of searching him, the guard called over his shoulder, turned, and hurried after the others. Crocker was about to drop his sack and follow when a fourth man, shorter, older, and wearing a blue apron, emerged from inside. Seeing Crocker, he waved his arms and cursed in Spanish.
Crocker didn’t understand everything, but knew he was being called an idiot and a drunk, and was being told to leave the bag at the loading dock. When he didn’t move, the man took a walkie-talkie from his apron and started to lift it to his mouth.
Crocker had just decided to drop the bag and charge when he saw Tré spring from behind the man and grab him in a headlock. The walkie-talkie clattered across the concrete floor. Tré covered the man’s mouth with his free hand.
“Drag him into the office,” Crocker whispered, picking up the walkie-talkie and hearing men speaking urgently in Spanish. Inside, in one of the desk drawers, he found twine and a rag, which they used to gag him, bind his wrists and ankles, and tie him to a chair.
“Ready?” Crocker whispered.
“I’m cool.”
“Follow me.”
He led the way down the dark hallway and entered a large storage room stacked with boxes. At the far end was another door that he opened carefully to reveal a room filled with white fluorescent light. Some sort of generator or large refrigeration unit occupied the left side of the room. The rest of it was filled with mops, brooms, buckets, ladders, and other supplies.
From his vantage point, Crocker couldn’t see past the generator. But he heard a door creak open, then two men laughing. He and Tré crouched behind the generator, and Crocker flashed hand signals to indicate that he’d take out the first man.
The dogs picked up their scent and started barking. One of the Dobermans poked his sleek head around the side of the big machine and lunged, snapping at Crocker’s wrist and missing, but locking its jaw around the pistol in his hand. Still, Crocker managed to squeeze off two rounds, one of which tore into the lead man’s thigh.
As the man’s screams reverberated in the small room, Crocker sprung into his midsection and slammed his body against the opposite wall. The man went down, and the dogs attacked the back of Crocker’s legs. The pain was immediate and intense, causing his muscles to clench.
He tried kicking them off, and to his left, glimpsed Tré wrestling a submachine gun away from the mustached guard, who was bleeding from his nose. Crocker reached around, grabbed hold of one of the dogs by the head, ripped it away from his thigh, and flung the dog into the wall. He heard ribs snap and the thud the animal made when it hit the floor.