Read Online Devil's Harbor by Alex Gilly - Free Book Online Page A

System—and it worked like this: the truck traveled slowly alongside a row of inbound containers lined up along the dock. A hydraulic arm attached to the top of the truck scanned a gamma-ray gun through the containers, feeding images into the computer and ruining Finn’s life. He spent three hours staring at one X-ray image after another of container-loads of athletic shoes, iPods, automotive parts, flat-packed furniture, guitars, motorcycles, roof tiles, LED tubes, soft toys, and, above all, clothing. At lunchtime, he shut down the machine, pulled out his cell, and dialed a number in Mexico City.
    â€œPolicia Federal Ministerial, digame,” said the voice that answered the phone.
    â€œVega? It’s Finn.”
    â€œFinn. How’s it going?”
    â€œI need to track a name. You think you could run it through your database for me?”
    There was a slight pause on the line. “You know we just elected a new president, right?”
    â€œCongratulations.”
    â€œSo things have changed. We’re supposed to do everything through official channels now. You got a request for information from us, then you gotta send a form to the National Drug Intelligence Center, who’s gotta liaise with—”
    â€œI don’t have time for official channels, Vega. I got twenty-four hours, tops.”
    â€œI don’t know, Finn. Things are different. Everything’s gotta be by the book.”
    â€œI won’t say where it came from. And I’ll owe you.”
    Another pause. Then: “ Cabron . Give me the name.”
    He’d only just clicked off the call when his cell rang.
    Mona.
    â€œI found someone you should talk to,” she said.
    â€œWhere?”
    â€œThe Self Help.”
    Finn stepped out of the VACIS control room, squinted in the bright sunshine, and stretched his back.
    â€œI’m on my way.”
    He’d be damned if he was getting back in that airless coffin.
    *   *   *
    The Self Help was a two-story building that took up half a block on East Chavez. It had a curved portal painted sky blue, same as the corner blocks. The ground-floor wall was inlaid with shiny stones. The upper wall was earth-colored. A big sign, SELF HELP GRAPHICS AND ART written in fancy letters, hung beneath the second-story windows. A store in the mini-mall across the street advertised itself in two languages: “hardware” and “ferreteria . ” On the wall enclosing the adjacent block, someone had painted a vast mural.
    At the center of the mural was the Virgin swathed in pastel robes, her hands clasped in prayer. She gazed with gentle eyes upon a motley crowd of Mexican archetypes—mustachioed revolutionaries with bandoliers across their torsos, indigenous women in head scarves carrying infants, factory workers in blue overalls, peasants under giant sombreros, a couple dancing, musicians strumming guitars—all of them striding toward an oversize, monstrous Aztec sun god with a grotesque face, cruel eyes, a mouth wide open, and a big pink tongue spilling out over sharp teeth.
    Finn parked at the curb and stared at the work through the windshield. An uncanny sensation came over him, and for a moment he felt as though he was being drawn to the same place as the striding Mexicans, being sucked into the same devouring mouth.
    He shook off the feeling, entered the building, and followed the signs up the stairs and down a corridor to the Immigrant Legal Resource Center. The young woman at the reception counter had half her hair shaved, the other half long, a long-stemmed rose tattooed up her neck, and a metal bar through her eyebrow. She scowled at Finn as though he were smoldering sulfur.
    Mona appeared from a door behind the counter and rolled her eyes.
    â€œJesus, Nick, you should’ve changed out of your uniform. You’ll freak everybody out.”
    He followed her down the corridor.
    â€œYou think I’m the freak? Where do you find