Free The Jaguar by T. Jefferson Parker Page A

my own crimes, but not the crimes of others. This writer is now mine and he will write no more words against me or my family.”
    Armenta dropped her elbow and took a step forward, raising his hand into the air and snapping his fingers. Erin saw Owens looking at her, an unreadable expression on her face.
    Then the grate began to retract into the concrete floor and when it was low enough the male leopard launched himself onto the reporter. He screamed and lashed out with his fists but the cat closed its mouth over his face and the scream echoed thickly. The man collapsed onto his back and the leopard raked open his stomach with its hind claws as the female crushed his groin in her jaws and together they carried him out of the cage and past the grate and into the jungle beyond. In their grasp the reporter appeared to weigh little more than the clothes he wore and yet he struggled as he vanished into the darkness.
    Erin fainted and was caught by Owens.

9
    H OOD SAT IN HIS E XPEDITION in the parking lot of the Jai Alai palace in Tijuana. The air was hot and smoggy and smelled of exhaust and burning trash. In the asphalt divots stood rainwater from the summer storm.
    He looked out at the stately old neoclassical building and remembered coming here with his family for the jai alai games, which his mother in particular had enjoyed. They had made modest bets and cheered loudly and Hood still remembered the resounding smack of the hard, heavy ball rocketing off the walls of the court.
    Now the games were gone and the palace was used for concerts and shows. A sign announced the upcoming events: Lila Downs, a farmer’s market, the Exxxpo Erotica.
    The prepaid phone rang at three o’clock. Hood flipped it open and said nothing.
    “Drive toward Revolucion. Park far in the lot where there are no cars. Stay in your vehicle with your hands on the steering wheel. The hands must be on it.”
    Hood drove far into the mostly empty parking lot and took a parking place in the open. A moment later two Tijuana police cars swung in from opposite directions and stopped on either side of him. No sirens, no lights. Hood kept his hands on the wheel. Two more prowl cars came in and blocked him front and back. One uniformedofficer got out of the passenger seat of each car but the drivers stayed.
    Through his side window Hood watched a stocky man approach and wave him from the car. The officer’s hand rested on the grip of his sidearm, a large revolver. He wore sunglasses and his forehead was beaded with sweat. His nameplate said “Sgt. I. Rescendez” and his badge and uniform looked authentic.
    Hood nodded and opened the door and got out. Rescendez pointed him toward his own vehicle, then reached over and hit the unlock bar of Hood’s Expedition. Hood heard the liftgate pop open, then the faint pneumatic hiss of the door risers and the sound of the suitcase bumping on the rear floor. The zipper whined three times. The back seats blocked most of his view but over the headrests Hood saw three men looking down into the rolling case. Two wore the peaked hats of municipal officers and Hood thought that if they were impersonating cops they’d done a good enough job of it. The alternative was even worse.
    One of the men said something and the other two laughed. Hood could hear them rummaging through the bundles for dye packs and transmitters. A mumbled comment, and a moment later the zipper sounded three more times and the liftgate thumped down. The men returned to their cars.
    “Give me the phone,” said Rescendez.
    Hood pulled the phone from his pocket and surrendered it. The cop handed him another one, a different make and model, a car charger wrapped tightly around it.
    “You are loitering in a public place,” Rescendez. “This is a fine of two hundred dollars. You can pay now or appear in court.”
    “At least I know you’re real TJ cops,” said Hood.
    The man laughed quietly, then pulled a satellite phone off his duty belt. He powered it up