too.”
He could tell she didn’t like it, but she let him put her in the back of the truck. Will got in back, too. He wasn’t sure why. He let Ortiz do the driving.
As they were heading north, the two older women collapsed in the corner, the girl asked him, “Are you really going to let us go in San Antonio?”
Will was about to give his standard lie, but her eyes stopped him. He wasn’t used to seeing such fight. Usually the young women were placid. They did what they were told. They were too terrified not to.
He said, “What’s your name?”
“Soledad.”
Loneliness.
He liked that name.
She had a single piece of jewelry—a silver Saint Anthony charm hanging on a necklace between her breasts. Will’s cargo rarely wore jewelry. They rarely had any left to wear, after they’d paid him. The medallion must have been important to her.
“You’re going to have to work in San Antonio,” he told her. “Work for men. Do you understand?”
Her eyes bored into him. He started to feel uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “You’re not going to let me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the fields,” she said. “You owe me a debt.”
“Sorry,” he said.
She slapped him across the face.
He was too surprised to react.
They sat there in silence, sweating in the heat and the smell of burnt sugar. Soledad ignored him, but Will kept looking at her, and the more he looked, the more he couldn’t stop looking.
In San Antonio, he let Dimebox Ortiz take the women to get cleaned up. Dimebox agreed that Soledad would fetch a good price. Will didn’t like the way Dimebox looked at her.
After three sleepless nights, Will showed up at the auction and paid Soledad’s price himself. He outbid his own clients. Five thousand dollars.
Something in her eyes told him that Soledad wasn’t surprised. She knew he would come. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the door, as if he was the one who had been purchased.
When he hesitated, she said, “Well? Are you scared of me?”
Will had paid for a lifetime with her. Soledad had lived just over a year.
For that, someone owed Will a debt.
There were now three cars in front of Erainya Manos.
Will could step outside, calmly walk over to her Audi. He could get in the back seat, press his gun against the kid’s spine, tell Erainya Manos to pull out of line and drive. That would work—simple and clean.
Two cars in front of her.
Will hated that Fred Barrow was dead. The fact this woman had shot Barrow didn’t make Will fond of her. On the contrary, she had cheated him. She had messed up his revenge.
The other PI, Sam Barrera—Will knew how to handle him. Barrera was a dealmaker. He would’ve gotten the video by now. He would follow instructions. He’d think he could control the situation without going to the police, and his overconfidence would kill him.
But Fred Barrow’s widow—she was a wild card. Will didn’t know her well enough. He couldn’t kill her until he was sure he would get what he needed.
One car left in the drop-off line.
He had sworn on Soledad’s memory that he would not hurt women or children. Never again. He would not become like his enemies.
He imagined Fred Barrow grinning from his little corner of hell, mocking Will’s resolve:
Think you’re better than me, asshole? Walk away.
Will watched Erainya’s boy get out of the Audi with his soccer gear.
The carpool attendant clapped the boy on the back. The boy went jogging off toward the building. Fred Barrow’s widow pulled away and was gone.
A security guard appeared at Will’s car window. Will hadn’t even seen him coming.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Will wanted to drive a switchblade into the young man’s throat.
Instead he said, “Supposed to get my son. I must’ve got it wrong. When’s pickup for soccer?”
“It hasn’t even started yet, sir. You probably read the drop-off time.”
“I probably did.”
“Pickup time is
He could tell she didn’t like it, but she let him put her in the back of the truck. Will got in back, too. He wasn’t sure why. He let Ortiz do the driving.
As they were heading north, the two older women collapsed in the corner, the girl asked him, “Are you really going to let us go in San Antonio?”
Will was about to give his standard lie, but her eyes stopped him. He wasn’t used to seeing such fight. Usually the young women were placid. They did what they were told. They were too terrified not to.
He said, “What’s your name?”
“Soledad.”
Loneliness.
He liked that name.
She had a single piece of jewelry—a silver Saint Anthony charm hanging on a necklace between her breasts. Will’s cargo rarely wore jewelry. They rarely had any left to wear, after they’d paid him. The medallion must have been important to her.
“You’re going to have to work in San Antonio,” he told her. “Work for men. Do you understand?”
Her eyes bored into him. He started to feel uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not,” she said. “You’re not going to let me.”
“Why is that?”
“Because of the fields,” she said. “You owe me a debt.”
“Sorry,” he said.
She slapped him across the face.
He was too surprised to react.
They sat there in silence, sweating in the heat and the smell of burnt sugar. Soledad ignored him, but Will kept looking at her, and the more he looked, the more he couldn’t stop looking.
In San Antonio, he let Dimebox Ortiz take the women to get cleaned up. Dimebox agreed that Soledad would fetch a good price. Will didn’t like the way Dimebox looked at her.
After three sleepless nights, Will showed up at the auction and paid Soledad’s price himself. He outbid his own clients. Five thousand dollars.
Something in her eyes told him that Soledad wasn’t surprised. She knew he would come. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the door, as if he was the one who had been purchased.
When he hesitated, she said, “Well? Are you scared of me?”
Will had paid for a lifetime with her. Soledad had lived just over a year.
For that, someone owed Will a debt.
There were now three cars in front of Erainya Manos.
Will could step outside, calmly walk over to her Audi. He could get in the back seat, press his gun against the kid’s spine, tell Erainya Manos to pull out of line and drive. That would work—simple and clean.
Two cars in front of her.
Will hated that Fred Barrow was dead. The fact this woman had shot Barrow didn’t make Will fond of her. On the contrary, she had cheated him. She had messed up his revenge.
The other PI, Sam Barrera—Will knew how to handle him. Barrera was a dealmaker. He would’ve gotten the video by now. He would follow instructions. He’d think he could control the situation without going to the police, and his overconfidence would kill him.
But Fred Barrow’s widow—she was a wild card. Will didn’t know her well enough. He couldn’t kill her until he was sure he would get what he needed.
One car left in the drop-off line.
He had sworn on Soledad’s memory that he would not hurt women or children. Never again. He would not become like his enemies.
He imagined Fred Barrow grinning from his little corner of hell, mocking Will’s resolve:
Think you’re better than me, asshole? Walk away.
Will watched Erainya’s boy get out of the Audi with his soccer gear.
The carpool attendant clapped the boy on the back. The boy went jogging off toward the building. Fred Barrow’s widow pulled away and was gone.
A security guard appeared at Will’s car window. Will hadn’t even seen him coming.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Will wanted to drive a switchblade into the young man’s throat.
Instead he said, “Supposed to get my son. I must’ve got it wrong. When’s pickup for soccer?”
“It hasn’t even started yet, sir. You probably read the drop-off time.”
“I probably did.”
“Pickup time is
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