Free The Border Lords by T. Jefferson Parker Page A

tell him what they were.
    “My bones ache. My balls ache. I feel like biting people. I still hear mice walking two rooms away and I can hardly gag down a glass of clean water. Ever since I met you I’ve been falling apart, Joe.”
    Leftwich nipped, then offered the flask, and Sean drank again. “But coming together, too, wouldn’t you say? Strong as a horse and your eyesight is keen and you’re accomplishing something meaningful in your life. And I’ll bet you and Seliah are making some very powerful love.”
    “You don’t talk about her.”
    “I happen to be very fond of her.”
    “She wasn’t too happy about you drinking me under the table in Costa Rica.”
    “ You drank you under the table in Costa Rica.”
    Ozburn glanced at the padre. Joe wore his usual black shirt and the stiff white collar. He wondered how the man could stay comfortable in those clothes all day, every day, in the border heat and dust. “You coming to Mulege or not?”
    “No, thank you, Sean. The Lord’s work awaits me in L.A.”

    Five hours later Ozburn climbed the stairs to the Mulege apartment with one young gunman ahead of him and one behind. The narcos seem to get younger every year , he thought. He carried a briefcase that had already been inspected by the lead boy, who had also thoroughly searched him for weapons. Ozburn was giddy with anticipation as he took the next step on his dark journey. Just a few days ago he had sent word out through one of his best informants to Benjamin Armenta, word that there were to be new machine pistols for sale, machine pistols with very special powers. And the Gulf Cartel had responded quickly to the news.
    The gunman knocked, and the door opened a moment later and Ozburn stepped inside. The apartment was poorly lit and smelled of cigarette smoke and chorizo and coffee. Ozburn thought it wasn’t much of a place for a powerful crime clan. Hard times in the narco trade.
    Seated at a small kitchen table was a large man wearing a white guayabera shirt, jeans, boots and sunglasses. His face was pitted.
    “My name is Paco.”
    “Gravas.”
    The gunmen joined a third young man and now the three of them stood with their backs to the door. Kids , thought Ozburn. Sixty years of life between them. This is their future.
    Paco motioned to him. Ozburn set the briefcase on the table and opened it and turned it to face the big man like a jeweler displaying a watch in a case. Paco appeared to be staring at the Love 32, though Ozburn couldn’t see his eyes. Ozburn had already converted it to full automatic fire, inserted the fifty-shot magazine, extended the telescoping butt rods and screwed the noise suppressor onto the end of the barrel. You only get to make one first impression , he thought.
    “This is the Love Thirty-two, Paco.”
    The man lifted the gun in his big dark hand. His finger looked tight within the trigger guard and Ozburn wondered why they had to send a bear to test-fire a handgun.
    “You won’t be disappointed. Those four boxes of ACP ammo are my gift to you. If you decide not to buy these guns, I trust that you’ll get this one back to me. They run seventeen fifty a copy. Seventeen fifty.”
    “We are not thieves.”
    “No. You are some of the finest businessmen in all of Mexico.”
    Paco racked the gun and aimed it at Ozburn and pulled the trigger. “Armenta will judge.”
    “Fine with me. I’ll await his decision. By the way, we can’t make these things overnight. If he wants them soon, he’ll have to let me know soon. And it’s strictly American dollars, half up front and half when we’re done. We don’t deliver. You pick them up when and where we tell you to. You transport them. That’s how it works in the gun biz.”
    “I know how it works.”
    “Nice meeting you.”
    Ozburn turned and walked out, his heart beating fast and an ache in his throat.
     
     
    He flew back low, north across the sparkling Gulf of California, Betty casting her small, slow shadow upon the vast