“Buenos dias, jefe.”

Kane sat up in his bed amid a creak of springs. He’d been staring at the ceiling, waiting for nine o clock so he could call Captain Fredericks and find out what the hell his problem was.

He swung his legs over the bed, raking fingers through his hair as he sat on the chair and nudged the laptop to face him.

Sound waves bounced over the laptop’s screen.

“Nah, I’m awake.”

Duncan. English.

Hispanic male, age 35-40, smoker

The guy from Zachary West’s safe house. One of his cartel members. High enough in rank to have direct access to the capo. Kane shook a cigarette free from the box and lit it as he turned up the laptop’s volume.

“When, tonight?”

God, this was infuriating. What was Zachary telling him?

Kane flipped open his notepad, dragging hard on his cigarette as he held his pencil poised to write.

“Yeah, I know it. It’s just off the interstate, ain’t it?”

Kane scribbled into his notebook.

“I’ll go over there soon as they open and pick something out. Should I get something specific?”

What the hell were they talking about? Kane’s hand trembled as he waited for Duncan to speak again.

“Well, if it’s Day of the Dead, would a skull work? Anything? Gotcha.”

It had to be a code. A pretty fucking good one, too. Luckily this was all recorded. He could go back once this call had ended and try and decipher their conversation.

“I’ll see what they have.”

Another hard drag. Kane found a half-empty can and drained it.

“Six-thirty. Got it. You expecting trouble?”

Kane drew a dot, and spiraled outward in concentric circles as he waited for something significant to be said.

He’d replaced the listening device with a fresh one a few days ago. It was sound activated, so it didn’t spend the entire day recording. But he might have to replace the battery sometime today.

It sounded like Duncan had an errand to run, which meant Kane could look around the safe house if Duncan would not be there.

“ECV? Whose party?”

Duncan laughed.

“That chica’s only twenty? Fuck, what were they thinking when they made her capo?”

Kane’s pencil stopped.

“Got it, jefe. See you tonight.”

The shark-tooth wave forms on his laptop’s monitor flat-lined. Kane waited, hoping Duncan would mutter, but that never happened. A few household sounds loud enough to activate the listening device — the slam of a trash can lid, a thump like someone stamping their feet in their boots, the squeal of a window being closed — and then quiet.

Duncan was on the move.

Kane opened an internet browser window, and logged into the portal that allowed him to track Duncan’s car.

It was a pity Zachary West hired such idiots to work for him. Then again, good help was scarce when you were hiring criminals.

The man’s garage door had been closed, but not locked and, the same night Kane had gone to replace the listening device, he’d also planted a tracker on Duncan’s car.

The man had gone nowhere of interest — MacDonald's didn’t count — since then. But now he headed in a different direction.

Duncan stopped a few minutes later. Kane looked up the address in Google Maps, and zoomed in to street view, rotating until he was facing the building where Duncan had parked.

A costume shop.

Strange and stranger.

Kane pulled the tab free and made it a little smaller, opening a new tab to the side so he could monitor the man’s movements while he browsed one of his favorite online stores. Spies-r-us was the most infantile name they could have come up with, but fuck did they have some decent equipment on their digital shelves.

It didn’t take Kane long to find what he was looking for. As always, the gadget shop’s vast selection of equipment impressed him.

He went to check out, and fumbled in the pocket of the jacket hanging over the back of his chair until he found the hooker’s credit card.

Mindy…had that been her name? The card belonged to M Decker, so it possible.

A hooker using her real name.

What a shame.

She had been pretty, if thick as a two-by-four. And he’d been right — she’d been waiting for her pimp to collect his money. There’d been over three grand on her, and two credit cards. This one looked brand new, so he hoped there was credit on it.

Kane placed his order, and smiled when it went through without a hitch. Same day delivery cost extra, but it was worth the ten bucks.

He had a birthday party to attend tonight. He wasn’t planning on arriving empty-handed.

Kane tipped his can of energy drink against his lips and took a long sip. He couldn’t taste the vodka inside it anymore, just like he couldn’t taste his cigarette when he dragged at it.

Life had lost its flavor again.

After placing the online order earlier today, he’d decided against calling Fredericks. After all, he might have even more compelling evidence in the next few days.

He’d expected the lengthy email he’d sent to Agent Fredericks at the Albuquerque office to trigger a response. Even if it was just to tell him to hand over his case file and get back to being suspended.

But nothing.

Sonofabitch hadn’t even bothered to read his mail. And he’d know; didn’t matter if Fredericks declined to send a read receipt — Kane used sales software that embedded a tiny, invisible image into the email that could be tracked when it was downloaded, which happened as soon as someone opened the email.

No…Fredericks had to be off sick (not that he knew the man to ever have gone off sick) or dead. Because who the fuck could have resisted his subject line of:

I’m bringing down the ECV Cartel. You want in?

Maybe he’d been too arrogant.

Kane took a drag of his cigarette, and scraped away the edges of the cherry against the butts in his ashtray until only the embers burned bright.

It had been spectacular, setting that poppy field alight. He’d kept his drone in sight of the plumes of pale smoke until he’d almost risked it not returning to him before the battery failed.

No one had investigated.

Perhaps there were other fields, but he doubted it; the one he’d razed had been vast.

Why hadn’t Fredericks responded to his request yet? He’d have liked two SWAT teams with him tonight when he followed Duncan to the party. If Fredericks responded in the next hour, he could have ECV—

Someone knocked at the door.

Kane glanced up, took a long drag from his cigarette, and wedged it between thirty of its fallen brethren.

He ducked his head to look through the peep hole, and smiled.

“DHL—” the delivery man began as Kane opened the door.

“Thanks, bro,” Kane said as he grinned at the delivery man. “That was fast.”

“Yeah,” the man said, sounding disgruntled. “Until they decide a drone could do my job better.” He handed Kane an electronic signing pad, and then a large, flat envelope that bumped up in the middle.

Kane’s smile lasted only as long as the door stayed open. Then it flashed into a thin line as he took the envelope back the motel room’s crowded table. He swept aside a few bottles of energy drink with the side of his arm, clearing a space large enough to set the envelope down.

Then he lit a fresh cigarette, drained the rest of his can, and carefully opened the package.

Inside was a wrapped box. He drew it out, unwrapped it, and levered open the lid. A black charm bracelet glittered like the scales of an ebony snake. Beside it, wedged into a foam cushion, was a charm.

The box was large — almost too large. But when he lifted the cushion out, he saw it had to be to accommodate the USB charger and the separate 8 gig memory card that sold with the bracelet.

He took the charm out, and laid it on his palm. A grinning skull stared back at him, tiny ruby eyes glistening. He hooked the charm onto the bracelet, and let the black chain slither through his fingers.

That technology had advanced so much that a tracker and a sound-activated listening device with a battery life of twenty-four hours could be no larger than a penny…he fucking loved it.

The skull was a little macabre, but most fitting.

The death penalty was still legal in both New Mexico and Texas.