Free The Jaguar by T. Jefferson Parker

him, and when they embraced, Owens looked over his shoulder into Erin’s eyes and raised a finger to her own red lips. Her wide sterling silver bracelets slid away and Erin saw the ropy scars that ringed her wrists. They unnerved her as they always had. Then Owens disengaged from Armenta, pecked him on the cheek, glanced at Erin, then settled on the other side of him. Erin watched him put a stout arm around her, lightly and with affection.
    Mike Finnegan’s “daughter,” Erin thought. The Finnegans. Vague, pointless people, in her opinion. They had materialized at one of their Los Angeles gigs one winter, listened to a set, then occasionally shown up to see her perform, club to club, ever since. Friendly enough, maybe too friendly. They always bought the drinks. She could tell their true interest was in Bradley and she distrusted them. Charlie Hood was searching the world for Mike, Erin knew, although she didn’t really know why. Or why Charlie was having such trouble finding him. Mike was always turning up, with his laughter-red face and lively blue eyes and his flagrant nosiness about all things.
    Saturnino’s face leaned near. “Strong men need beautiful women, like her,” he said just loud enough that she could hear him over the music. “To keep us strong. And generous. And filled with love.”
    “You’re quite a philosopher, Saturnino.”
    “You are this beautiful to me. I will be gentle with you.” He smiled and raised his hand toward her but stopped short, brushing his fingers in the air as if along the contours of her face. She felt revulsion and she saw the enjoyment of it in his smile.
“Very gentle.”
    “Don’t try it until after you’ve shot me.”
    “I hear this many times. Maybe I will not be gentle.”
    “I’d still rather die.”
    “I admire your pride and your courage. I will take them from you.”
    Saturnino turned to face the cages and Erin saw the black iron grates rise from the cat runs. Like a prison, she thought, everything automatic. Cheers went up from the crowd. Seconds later the cats appeared behind the grates. Erin wondered if they were drawn by the sound of the grates clanging up, or by the crowd. More cheers. Why would wild animals come close to all this noise? But the twelve predators paced in the half-light beyond the grates. A tiger snarled at a lioness and the lioness snapped back, her teeth flashing like yellow knives and ringing off the steel bars of the run.
    Two cartel gunmen led a man through the crowd. He wore dirty trousers and a torn shirt and a necktie. His face was swollen and bloody. The reporter, thought Erin: the traitor.
    The prison-bar door of the leopard cage rolled open. Erin heard the squeal of it through the beats of the ranchero song. A wave of nausea broke over her and her knees froze as she watched them push the man inside and knock him to the ground. They hovered over him until the door had almost closed then they scrambled, laughing, and squeezed out of the cage. The man struggled upright and faced the leopards waiting on the other side of the grate. The ranchero musicblared and the crowd jeered him and the videographer made an adjustment to his little camera.
    Erin rammed an elbow into Armenta’s arm. “You can’t do this!”
    He looked at her with a forlorn expression and she tried to ram him again but Armenta caught her elbow in a powerful hand that held her fast. “He is a reporter and a traitor. He writes about me in his newspaper. He tells lies because the Zetas threaten him. The newspaper reporter blames me for the heads in Monterey but these are done by the Zetas. I forgive him. The reporter blames me for the dead police in Guadalajara but these man are hanged by Zetas. From the bridge. I forgive again. He blames me for Gustavo. My own Gustavo. He blames his death, not on the Americans but on me. Enough. This is the highest disrespect. The newspaper writer is very bad for my reputation and my business. He heats the plaza. I will pay for