Read Online The Border Lords by T. Jefferson Parker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: T. Jefferson Parker
Ads: Link
heavyweights so often came. Mateo was somewhere in his late forties—old in his profession. At the mention of a leak within his North Baja Cartel, Mateo’s dark eyes took on a sleepy peacefulness that Sean recognized as pre-homicidal. Pride ran deep in these men, he thought. Savages all.
Ozburn finished another Pacifico and banged the bottle on the tabletop for more. The German who ran the place looked at him and nodded.
“ Y carne para de perro! ” he called.
And meat for the dog.
The German brought two more beers and a tortilla topped with machaca scraps for Daisy. She stood wagging her tail and waited for Ozburn to set the tortilla on the floor before snorting up the food. The owner disappeared into the darker confines of the dining room and came back a moment later with dinner.
They talked of fútbol and the Mexican soap operas they both enjoyed, of Calderón and Obama. They drank three beers each and most of a bottle of good reposado . Mateo wore one of the short-sleeved plaid shirts of the mountain vaqueros, and a belt with a large oval slab of silver for a buckle , which made him look more like a cowboy than a narco. His hair was cut short and artlessly. But his boots were ostrich and he wore a Rolex with diamonds and a snazzy GPS unit clipped on his belt next to the gigantic buckle, and his sidearm was a gold-plated .45 with etchings of the narco saint Malverde on the grips.
When the dishes were cleared Mateo lit an American Camel and spoke in Spanish.
—Carlos is worried about his houses in San Ysidro and Yuma, Mateo hissed softly.
— My houses.
—He is worried that there was no message from the Zetas. No warning to abandon our hold on Buenavista. No mutilation. Why would the Gulf Cartel assassinate three of our sicarios and not take credit for it?
—Now I am supposed to answer for the Zetas?
—You answer me.
—I’ll answer you: The Gulf Cartel has someone inside your organization. That’s the only explanation. It’s the trouble with any organization. That’s why I wasn’t so sure about this whole thing when you people first came after me.
Mateo’s face was a dark, angular mask, too fixed to read. Ozburn knew that Mateo “El Gordo” Leya had just last week made the United States’s Kingpins list, which put a government price on his head. This of course was a matter of pride among the higher narcos. Maybe it’s gone to his head , thought Ozburn: Mateo did seem a bit more scornful than usual.
—We need to know that your houses are safe for our people.
—I need to know that your people are safe for my houses. I paid over two hundred grand each for those dumps!
—Carlos needs to know.
—Mateo, you guys figure it out. And I’ll tell you both this: If my houses in San Ysidro or Yuma get hit, I’m out of this business. And you guys have one bigass problem.
—We are not the problem, Mateo said with a tone of finality. He sat back and gave Ozburn that sleepy look again.
Ozburn’s anger spiked fast. He’d always had a temper, but for the last couple of months it had been growing steadily worse. The more he tried to contain it, the faster and harder it hit. And the more fun it was to just let it rip.
He looked out at the heaving, gray Pacific and waited for the anger to pass before he spoke again. He had bigger fish to fry than three dead sicarios and a re-grout job on the bloody travertine.
—I want to buy some of those Love 32s your people carry.
Mateo gave him a glassy smile.
—Only Carlos has the Love 32s, he said.
—You told me he’d think about selling me some. Tell him I’m ready. I want one hundred of them.
—Very expensive.
—I’ve got a lot of money.
—Only Carlos has those guns.
—I heard that he has them made right here in Mexico.
Mateo stared at him blankly.
—By an American gunmaker. Can you imagine that, Mateo? An American gunmaker operating a secret factory south of the border? A factory protected by the North Baja Cartel? I’m in the business
Ozburn finished another Pacifico and banged the bottle on the tabletop for more. The German who ran the place looked at him and nodded.
“ Y carne para de perro! ” he called.
And meat for the dog.
The German brought two more beers and a tortilla topped with machaca scraps for Daisy. She stood wagging her tail and waited for Ozburn to set the tortilla on the floor before snorting up the food. The owner disappeared into the darker confines of the dining room and came back a moment later with dinner.
They talked of fútbol and the Mexican soap operas they both enjoyed, of Calderón and Obama. They drank three beers each and most of a bottle of good reposado . Mateo wore one of the short-sleeved plaid shirts of the mountain vaqueros, and a belt with a large oval slab of silver for a buckle , which made him look more like a cowboy than a narco. His hair was cut short and artlessly. But his boots were ostrich and he wore a Rolex with diamonds and a snazzy GPS unit clipped on his belt next to the gigantic buckle, and his sidearm was a gold-plated .45 with etchings of the narco saint Malverde on the grips.
When the dishes were cleared Mateo lit an American Camel and spoke in Spanish.
—Carlos is worried about his houses in San Ysidro and Yuma, Mateo hissed softly.
— My houses.
—He is worried that there was no message from the Zetas. No warning to abandon our hold on Buenavista. No mutilation. Why would the Gulf Cartel assassinate three of our sicarios and not take credit for it?
—Now I am supposed to answer for the Zetas?
—You answer me.
—I’ll answer you: The Gulf Cartel has someone inside your organization. That’s the only explanation. It’s the trouble with any organization. That’s why I wasn’t so sure about this whole thing when you people first came after me.
Mateo’s face was a dark, angular mask, too fixed to read. Ozburn knew that Mateo “El Gordo” Leya had just last week made the United States’s Kingpins list, which put a government price on his head. This of course was a matter of pride among the higher narcos. Maybe it’s gone to his head , thought Ozburn: Mateo did seem a bit more scornful than usual.
—We need to know that your houses are safe for our people.
—I need to know that your people are safe for my houses. I paid over two hundred grand each for those dumps!
—Carlos needs to know.
—Mateo, you guys figure it out. And I’ll tell you both this: If my houses in San Ysidro or Yuma get hit, I’m out of this business. And you guys have one bigass problem.
—We are not the problem, Mateo said with a tone of finality. He sat back and gave Ozburn that sleepy look again.
Ozburn’s anger spiked fast. He’d always had a temper, but for the last couple of months it had been growing steadily worse. The more he tried to contain it, the faster and harder it hit. And the more fun it was to just let it rip.
He looked out at the heaving, gray Pacific and waited for the anger to pass before he spoke again. He had bigger fish to fry than three dead sicarios and a re-grout job on the bloody travertine.
—I want to buy some of those Love 32s your people carry.
Mateo gave him a glassy smile.
—Only Carlos has the Love 32s, he said.
—You told me he’d think about selling me some. Tell him I’m ready. I want one hundred of them.
—Very expensive.
—I’ve got a lot of money.
—Only Carlos has those guns.
—I heard that he has them made right here in Mexico.
Mateo stared at him blankly.
—By an American gunmaker. Can you imagine that, Mateo? An American gunmaker operating a secret factory south of the border? A factory protected by the North Baja Cartel? I’m in the business
Similar Books
