Free The House of Wolfe by James Carlos Blake Page B

girlfriend jabbed an ice pick through his eye. By then the plan was all set—the car assignments, the hold house crews, the street surveillance duties—and Galán ordered him to get a replacement fast. Espanto made inquiries around town, eliciting recommendations, and ended up with the Apache, whom Galán approved after an interview of less than two minutes. The other men seemed to have accepted him well enough, but there is something about him that makes Espanto uneasy. Then again, if the Apache had in any way proved troublesome tonight, Rubio would have said something about it, and he didn’t.
    He calls the Beta crew leader, Barbarosa, whose hold house is in the far northwest fringe of the city, and hears the same report—they’re on their way—and Espanto tells him the same thing he told Rubio.
    Now he phones Galán and reports that the cargo shipments are in fine condition and en route to the ports. I’m about to attend to the remaining security matter, Espanto says, and then I’ll check to ensure the cargo’s arrived.
    Galán praises him for his good work. If there’s any problem, call me, he says. If all is well, go home and get some rest. We’ll talk again in the morning.
    Until then, Espanto says.
    The two Huerta men from the house appear at the mouth of the driveway. They see the Town Car and come toward it.
    One of the men steps around to Espanto’s window and says, Where’s Huerta?
    I don’t know. He called and said pick up you two, then another guy, take you all to the Sosa place. Let’s go.
    What other guy? Who the fuck’re you ?
    I’m the guy Huerta sent to get you. You coming or not? Makes no difference to me. He asks me, I’ll tell him you said he could go fuck himself.
    Hey, man, we been trying to get him on the phone for an hour but he doesn’t answer. And Belmonte looking at us just now like we got two heads. What’s going on?
    Hell if I know, Espanto says. I just do what I’m told, same as you. Come on, let’s go.
    The men get in, one in the front one in the back. They continue complaining about the way Huerta’s always changing plans but never telling them about it until way later.
    Tell me about it, Espanto says. Fucking bosses. All the same.
    They arrive in a run-down neighborhood cast in misty vapor lighting and Espanto follows an isolate road to the gate of an auto junkyard.
    Jesus Christ, the man in the backseat says. Who we getting here ?
    I don’t know, some guy, Espanto says.
    The watchman recognizes him and unlocks the gate to let him pass. He drives deep into the shadowy yard and parks in front of a garage building whose bay door is open wide and its interior brightly lighted. Not far from the garage door a large trash barrel is flaming high.
    Before the two Angeles men can register what’s happening, Espanto turns in his seat and raises the silencer-fitted Glock and shoots each of them in the head—the reports loud in the enclosed car, THONK, THONK —first the man beside him and then the one in back, spraying a raw paste of bloody brains on the door pillar and on a section of rear window cobwebbed by the bullet. In the enclosed confines of the car, the reports hurt Espanto’s ears—only in the movies are silencer gunshots whisper quiet and without flash—and he curses himself for not having brought ear plugs and inserted them after coming through the gate.
    He reaches under the seat and extracts the ragbags and plastic bags containing all other confiscated items, detaches the silencer from his pistol and puts it in the gun bag. He strips the two men of their possessions, adding their weapons to the gun bag, all else to one of the other bags, then gets out of the car and goes to the burning trash barrel and drops all the bags into it except the one with the guns. They will be added to the gang’s weapons cache.
    He enters the garage where the other three Town Cars