CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Boomer fought his way through the thick, cloying clouds of semiconsciousness. Back to the real world, where their current situation loomed more frightening than anything he’d faced in the past, because this time it wasn’t only his life that hung in the balance.
Turning his head, he brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Helped about as much as wishing a hangover away. It was dark and no moonlight streamed in from above. He vaguely remembered being moved, of sliding in and out of consciousness.
At the far end of the tent, he could make out the opening, a shadowed figure sitting in a chair at the entrance. Asleep or awake, Boomer couldn’t tell.
Breathing still hurt like hell, but broken ribs were like that. His abdomen was sore, but manageable. The swelling in his right eye had diminished enough for him to see out of it, nothing lost except a bit of his peripheral vision. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth—superglued. The queasiness in his stomach had subsided enough that he could probably keep water down, maybe a little bit of food if he was careful.
Sidney lay at his side—the cause of his left arm numbness—her head on his shoulder and her leg thrown haphazardly over his. He reached his arm across and cupped her head tight to his chest. He didn’t deserve her.
“Hey,” she whispered and stirred. “Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” he croaked out, sounding like a bullfrog with a head cold.
She retrieved a jug of water and propped him up in her lap so he could drink. He tried to drink slowly, to allow his body and stomach time to adjust, but he was so thirsty, so dehydrated. He gulped, the water dripping out the corners of his mouth and down his neck, soaking the makeshift binding around his chest.
Sidney pulled the jug away before he had his fill. “Slow down, you’re gonna make yourself sick.”
He sucked in air, and pain radiated across his chest as it rose and fell while he caught his breath. The water sloshed and rumbled in his belly, but at least it didn’t come back up.
He could barely make out her face, and that her hair stuck out at all these crazy angles from her head. He reached up and cupped her cheek. “Did I ever finish my list?” he whispered. The long list of things he wanted to do to her.
Sidney made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Are you back?”
Was he back? He was lucid, even if his brain was foggier than a July morning in Dutch Harbor and he probably needed a searchlight and a foghorn to navigate a serious conversation, but there was a stillness in his body that he hadn’t felt since he’d deployed. Maybe he was back. Possibly even back for good, even if, with their present situation, that might be short-lived.
He laid back down and she settled next to him.
“For now,” was the most he could commit to. “How are you?”
“Better now that you’re coherent.”
There was no accusation or recrimination in her words, but Boomer felt it all the same. “Why are we here?”
“You were hallucinating. Talking about the package. El Jefe wanted you monitored in case you revealed any vital information.”
His stomach contracted, causing the water to tidal wave in his gut. Almost afraid to hear the truth. “What did I say?”
“Nothing important.”
He swiped a hand down his face. “Any sign of El Verdugo?”
“No. But there has been a lot of activity around the camp today. Maybe they are preparing for his arrival. A helicopter passed overhead this morning.”
“Mac and Hank could have sent someone to look for us.”
“That’s what I thought. If we could buy ourselves enough time for them to find us, then—”
He glanced at the sitting guard. He hadn’t budged. Asleep then. “We can’t depend on them finding us. If they already passed overhead, the chance of them finding us is slim. They’d have marked this area off the search grid. Our original plan stays in place. If we can get out of here on our own, we do. If you can go without me, you do that.”
“I’m not leaving you behind.”
“You prom—”
“If I escape, they could kill you.”
“If you escape, you could save me.”
She growled her frustration.
“I’m not in any condition to walk out of here.”
“You could ride.”
“Maybe,” he conceded, “but there’s no way we’re sneaking out of here with a couple horses without being seen. You have the knife?”
She nodded and he felt it against his chest.
“If you can, cut a hole into the bottom of the tent near the side. Just large enough for you to slip out if you get the chance.”
She didn’t agree, but she didn’t argue, so that was a positive.
“You have any food left?”
She reached around and came up with a couple of stale tortillas. He’d take it. He ripped off a corner and slipped it into his mouth. His stomach flopped at his audacity, but he choked it down anyway. It sent him into a coughing fit. When he recovered, Sidney helped him sit up and held the water up to his lips. This time he was able to prop himself up to drink. His arm shook with the exertion, but the increased strength was an improvement.
“You wake,” the guard said as he shook off the sleep and stepped closer to them.
Boomer didn’t recognize the voice, so he merely grunted then carefully lay back down, feigning more weakness than he felt. As the water absorbed into his system, his strength began to return. But if El Jefe saw that Boomer had improved, Boomer feared he and Sidney would be locked back in the shed, where Sidney’s chance of escape took a freefall from limited possibility to completely fucked.
* * * *
Lying motionless in El Jefe’s tent, Boomer didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Sidney slept, but fitfully. Right after dawn, one of the donkeys brayed and then the horses called out. In the distance, other horses returned the call.
The guard stiffened, and for a second the hustle and bustle in camp screeched to a halt. Slowly, person by person, the routine noises of camp returned. About ten minutes later, someone called out a greeting to the newcomers.
El Verdugo?
Boomer rolled to his hands and knees, caught his breath until the pain subsided to more tolerable levels, then heaved himself to his feet. Or rather foot, since it seemed his prosthetic never made the trip up to the tent with them. He swayed and took a bad hop and almost tumbled, then Sidney popped up and shoved a steady shoulder under his arm.
“I need to take a piss,” he said, as Dee, whose real name was Mario, according to Sidney, pushed aside the flap and stepped past the man on guard duty.
“I take you to El Verdugo.”
El Verdugo certainly didn’t waste any time. He probably hadn’t been in camp five minutes before Boomer had been summoned. Well, the bastard would be damned if he thought Boomer was going to face him without his leg.
“My leg and my shirt.” Boomer said with a tone of authority that implied they’d have to drag him to El Verdugo without his leg and he’d make their life a living hell in the process. At least as much of a living hell as a half dead US Marine could.
And because his bladder was nine kinds of pissed at him, he added, “She’s taking me to the tree.”
He hopped along with Sidney’s help and no one tried to stop them—it was obvious in his condition he couldn’t exactly make a run for it. At the closest tree, he unzipped his pants and fertilized the ground. His urine was dark and so concentrated it burned as it came out. Christ, he needed to get more fluids in before his kidneys decided to hang out a “Closed” sign and go on strike.
When someone returned with his leg, Mario rushed him through the process of putting it on. Apparently, El Verdugo wasn’t known for his patience. Tough shit. Boomer would face his adversary under his own power.
He tugged the blanket strips from around his chest. As loose as they’d become, they weren’t doing him any good. With Sidney’s help, he managed to put his arms in the sleeves of his shirt and pull it over his head.
When he finished, he sucked down the last of the water and followed Mario out. The going was tortuously slow and painful, and Boomer wanted nothing more than to drown in a bathtub full of analgesics. They followed a trail downhill, and each step jarred his ribs and gobbled up what little strength he had not to follow his momentum and tumble down the hill.
At El Jefe’s tent, he and Mario stopped, but one of the men continued down the hill with Sidney. “Hey! She stays with me,” he yelled between short, searing breaths. His head spun, lightheaded with fatigue—the short walk sapping all his reserves. He was as far from his training days and the twenty klick hikes in full gear than he’d ever been. All that training got you fit. It also showed you what you could accomplish when your body wanted to quit and your mind wouldn’t let it.
“It’s okay, Bry,” Sidney assured him.
El Jefe came through the tent flaps and said, “This is no place for a woman, no?”
Boomer would have argued, but there was nothing he could do to stop them from taking her away. She glanced back over her shoulder at him, and her expression showed no fear. Instead, a fierce tenacity hardened her features. With that one look, his heart swelled with pride and thumped a steady, strong rhythm against his chest.
Then he tore his gaze from her and stepped into the tent.
When he saw El Verdugo, he stifled a chuckle. Boomer glanced around, waiting for the Punked camera crew to jump out of the corners. For a man feared by so many, if Boomer had seen him on the street he would have dismissed him as an improbable threat.
El Verdugo wasn’t little, he was diminutive. Hell, he made Sidney seem large. But the Desert Eagle strapped to his hip was no joke. Especially if he knew how to use it. Which, considering the man’s reputation, Boomer suspected he did.
Like some of the other men in camp, he wore full fatigues, though Boomer would be damned if he knew where you could buy them in kids’ sizes. El Verdugo’s hair was thick and curly on top and dyed jet-black to hide his age, but the wrinkles by his eyes and the jowls around his jawline gave him away.
A strong hand pushed Boomer into the same chair he’d sat in before when he’d talked with El Jefe. Boomer didn’t fight it. He welcomed it. He’d had to lock his knees against the fatigue to keep from collapsing on the ground.
El Verdugo made a waving motion with his hand and the tent cleared out except for Mario and El Jefe, both of whom shrank into the corners behind Boomer.
“The package,” El Verdugo said without preamble.
He didn’t waste time getting to the point. All good leaders knew how to take command of a situation. Then again, Boomer knew a thing or two about strategy and advantages, and even though he was the prisoner, in a way he had the advantage because he had information El Verdugo wanted. Very badly, if the man was willing to travel all that way to make sure he got it.
Boomer chucked with self-assurance. “Not so fast.”
His captor’s eyes narrowed, but instead of saying anything right away, the man steepled his fingers and thoughtfully said, “Go on.”
“I have a business proposition for you,” Boomer said.
El Verdugo flinched, clearly not expecting those words to come out of Boomer’s mouth. “You’re my prisoner and you want to make a deal with me?” Unlike El Jefe, the man had a thick Mexican accent.
Boomer inclined his head, acknowledging the temerity of his words. In truth, his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and aside from his main objective of making sure Sidney was safe, all he wanted to do was buy himself some time to get his thoughts and the rest of his shit together.
“First,” Boomer said, “you let the girl go.”
“I can’t take that risk.”
“Life is full of calculated risks. The girl for the information. Take it or leave it.”
El Verdugo appraised him, taking in his prosthetic, his bruises, and his unwavering resolution. “You are a soldier, yes?”
Boomer shrugged noncommittally.
“You American soldiers are very much alike. Sometimes it takes a soldier to know another soldier.”
Boomer smiled Mac’s favorite smile. The one that called people out on their bullshit. “You’re no soldier. You’re a criminal.”
“But my life—”
“Or death.”
“Or death,” El Verdugo conceded, “is of my own choosing.”
As it was, it was all he could do to stay upright and not have his eyes slam closed. What little reserve Boomer had was draining out of him as fast as blood through a sliced femoral artery.
Boomer hitched himself higher into the chair. “The girl for the information. Yes or no.”
Again the steepled fingers, like El Verdugo was freaking Mr. Spock. “You love her.”
Boomer stared at him. Scratch Mr. Spock. This dude was the Dr. Phil of drug cartels. “Like you said, I’m a soldier. Women and children first.”
“You are a good liar, Mr…?”
“Wilcox.”
“Mr. Wilco—”
Holy shit, Boomer couldn’t shut the man up. “Yes or no.”
El Verdugo shrugged like it was no big deal, but the blood vessel pounding at his temple gave him away. “Yes.”
* * * *
Sidney and Bryan were down at the horse corrals. Rivulets of horse urine drained downhill. The stench of the fetlock-deep manure was making her nose sting. Angel and Eli were both there, but that fact hardly registered. Sidney still couldn’t believe El Verdugo had agreed to let her go. She should be happy, but leaving Bryan behind made her chest heavy as her heart filled with a sense of betrayal. How could she leave when they were in this together?
“Don’t argue,” Bryan said as he tightened Rio’s girth for her. “You promised me you wouldn’t argue if I got the chance to get you out of here.”
“I promised I would go. I never promised not to argue.”
“Irish…”
Sidney closed her eyes and leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest. She didn’t know which was worse: having to promise to put a bullet in his head or knowing she wouldn’t be there to do it for him if he needed her to.
“There’s gotta be another way, Bry.”
“You go. You get help. Right now, that’s our best option, and I’ll keep them going until you can bring help.”
“They’re already breaking down camp. Even if I can find my way back, even if I can bring help, chances are you won’t even be here when we get back.”
He cupped her cheeks and raised her face to his. “I’ll be fine.”
Though he leaned against Rio instead of standing up all on his own, his eyes were clearer now, though she suspected if pushed much farther he’d collapse from exhaustion. She wouldn’t have liked the idea of leaving him alone even if he had been perfectly healthy. And he was several beatings and a stint of withdrawal away from perfect health.
El Jefe stopped at the corral. “If she doesn’t leave now, she’s not going.”
Behind her, Eli paced and bit the butts of the other horses, trying to get close to her. He shook his head at a skinny gelding that tried to block him from the fence, then turned his butt at him and fired a couple hooves at the horse’s ribs to make him move.
She didn’t even get a chance to pet him before having to climb into the saddle and gather the reins. Bending down, she kissed Boomer on the lips. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted him to know about how she felt about him, but she was afraid to say all that, because that made her leaving, and the possibility of never seeing him again, all too real. As she brushed the tender kiss across his lips, she hoped and prayed it conveyed all that was in her heart.
Then she leaned farther out of the saddle until her lips were by his ear and said, “If you don’t come back to me, I’m gonna hire that medium, Theresa Caputo, and haunt you for the rest of your afterlife.”
He chuckled and gave her thigh a squeeze, his voice thick when he said, “They promised you a three-hour head start. Ride hard, ride fast, give Rio his head. Trust him to get you home.”
Bryan didn’t even give her a chance to respond before clucking and urging Rio forward. At first the horse refused to go. He didn’t want to leave the rest of the herd and Donkey, but she put her heels to his sides and walked him off, then trotted up the hillside once they were past all the people. Donkey about lost his little mind, braying and hee-hawing as she and Rio climbed the hill. Rio called out, but he kept going, kept plodding up the mountain as it got steeper and steeper. Eli’s calls were equally frantic.
As for Sidney, she didn’t call out, she didn’t even look back—if she had, there was no way she’d have been able to go on without Bryan. As it was, the trail was blurry as tears welled in her eyes and fell unchecked down her cheeks. Now there was one goal, one mission. Find help, and find it fast.
* * * *
Even though the trail was faint, now that Sidney and Rio were headed toward home, Rio’s eagerness to get back to the barn kept him going. Once they’d crossed the ridge and were on the long way down on the other side, she held him back and slowed him down at times to make sure he didn’t put a step wrong on the steep, rocky path and chance him going down to his knee and coming up lame or worse, breaking a leg.
Bryan had said she had a three-hour head start. She didn’t exactly know what that meant. Did it mean they were coming after her?
The details didn’t matter right now. What mattered was getting down fast and finding help. Bryan needed her, and she wasn’t going to let him down.
The farther away she got, the harder it was to keep going. Practical Sidney listed all the ways she was doing the right thing by getting help, and that by leaving she was helping Bryan concentrate on what he was doing, because his mind would be clearer without the worry of her safety weighing on his mind.
Except his mind wasn’t clear.
No way his thoughts could be totally coherent less than twenty-four hours from a seizure, from acute symptoms of withdrawal and dehydration and food deprivation. Not to mention the level of agony he suffered. That alone would be enough to make anyone’s thinking more than a bubble or two off, their judgment off kilter. Despite his Marine training, he was probably the farthest from capable as he’d ever been in his life.
Impractical Sidney called bullshit on the whole thing.
“I promised him I’d get help. He’s counting on me,” Sidney said aloud, as if that would make her alter egos listen better.
Impractical Sidney put her hand up like a big fat stop sign. It was like Rio had seen it too, because he stopped on the downhill and looked back over his shoulder at the way they’d come.
Whoa. Impractical Sidney chimed in. You can’t abandon the man you love—
Who said anything about love? Practical Sidney asked.
“Gah!” Sidney dropped the reins and clamped her hands over her temples and squeezed. “Everybody shut the fuck up a minute.”
But you do love him. Otherwise your stomach wouldn’t be flopping around in your belly like a Marlin on a fishing line, and your heart wouldn’t be lying at the bottom of your chest like it had been steamrolled.
Sidney glanced back up the trail from the direction they’d come. She loved Boomer, despite his flaws or because of them, she didn’t know. What she did know was that she couldn’t bury her head in the sand like she had with her parents. This was something to face head-on, right or wrong, good or bad.
So, what’re you going to do about it?
Sidney groaned, fighting her indecision while Rio jigged in place, feeding off her tension and internal strife.
Then Rio called out, his whinny so high-pitched it made her ears ring. His body shook with the call as he spun around. Caught off guard, Sidney lost a stirrup and grabbed on to the saddle horn to keep from being thrown. She glanced up in time to see the dot of a rider drop over a ridge a couple of miles away.
Her breath caught and her heart puffed back up in her chest and slammed against her ribs like it wanted to jump out of her chest and chase the riders down. Sidney had a better idea. She reached down into her boot and grabbed the Glock. With her other hand, she grabbed the horn, having never fired a gun off a horse before.
She fired into the air—a loud crack—the report of the shot bouncing off the ridges around her. Rio spooked and bolted up the hill. Sidney juggled the gun in her hand as she tightened her grip while reining Rio back down. By the time she got him stopped and could look over her shoulder at the ridge, two riders galloped into view headed straight for her.
She didn’t go to them or wait for them to come to her. She didn’t have that kind of time to waste.
Sidney slipped the gun back into her boot.
She had one bullet left.
The bullet she’d promised to Bryan.
He’d sacrificed himself for her. He had to have known the chances of him getting out of there alive were minuscule.
She couldn’t let them kill him.
She couldn’t let him hang.
* * * *
Alone in El Jefe’s tent, waiting for Sidney’s three-hour head start to be up, with Mario standing guard outside the flaps, Boomer gnawed on a tough piece of cold meat someone had brought him that was probably left over from the night before. It sat heavy in his stomach, along with three tortillas and spicy beans. Then he sucked down more water against his stomach’s best advice.
A mental battle required as much fuel as a physical one, and his body had been on empty and sucking fumes for too long.
He glanced at his watch. Sidney had been gone more than two and a half hours, and as much as it didn’t sit well with him, he’d trusted that they hadn’t sent anyone out after her. Knowing that El Verdugo was having the camp packed up to move to another location gave him reason to believe that was true. Thirty more minutes until El Verdugo returned and Boomer would have to fulfill his end of the bargain.
Pepita slipped into the tent to clean up after his meal.
“They leave,” she said, her voice hushed so the words didn’t travel. “I stay.”
Stay? For once, Boomer had the opportunity to really look at her. Her clothes were too small and in tatters. The dirt was ground into her skin like she hadn’t washed in weeks. Her dark hair was hacked short above her shoulders, as if she’d gotten tired of it being tangled and had taken a knife to it. A girl her age should be worrying about nothing more than which horse she wanted to ride or whose slumber party she wanted to go to.
“Stay?” He didn’t understand what she’d meant.
The girl put her hand to her chest then placed it on his. “Stay.”
With him? He didn’t have the heart to tell her that, in all likelihood, he was riding the bullet train to hell. But that brave little girl risked everything to help him and Sidney. She deserved to have a little hope in her life. He nodded once, his throat too tight to speak.
She beamed up at him, and it hit him like a bear hug to his heart and he hoped like hell he wouldn’t let her down.
“Pepita.” Mario barked out the name like a drill instructor after a bad day.
The little girl startled, and the smile tumbled from her face as Mario ducked back into the tent and jerked his head toward the entrance, telling her to get out. As she scrambled to leave, she bumped into El Verdugo as he strode in. She was knocked to the ground. The bowl and utensils went flying. She scrambled to pick them up as Mario grabbed her roughly by the forearm.
Boomer leaped from his seat, ignoring the angry protest from his ribs. “Get your hands—”
He didn’t get more than a step before El Jefe clamped a hand on his shoulder and forced him back into the chair. Pepita scurried out.
Mario and El Jefe stood behind him in opposite corners of the tent, making the hair on the back of his neck raise. He didn’t like not being able to see his adversaries.
“So, what is this deal?” El Verdugo sat in the seat across from him, leaning back, his arms crossed over his chest.
Because Boomer’s brain was backfiring like an old jalopy in dire need of a tune-up, Boomer decided to keep the negotiations as simple as possible. “I want in.”
“Everybody wants in.” El Verdugo’s smile revealed teeth that practically glowed, as if he had an addiction to teeth whitening strips.
“Not everyone can add value.” When El Verdugo didn’t comment, Boomer continued. “If your route to the highway is the way I think it is, I can cut off two days of travel by granting you access through our ranch.”
El Verdugo flicked his eyes over Boomer’s left shoulder and then El Jefe spoke, though he sounded reluctant. “He says he’s from the Lazy S. A safe route through his land would decrease our exposure and travel time.”
“A ranch means more people, more chance someone will talk,” El Verdugo said.
“Not my crew,” Boomer said with forced utter conviction. “They’re loyal to me. Something I’m sure you’re familiar with.”
Boomer’s head bobbed in El Jefe’s direction for emphasis.
“Why would you do this?”
“Money,” Boomer replied without hesitation. “I’m a Marine. I gave my leg and almost my life for my country and how do I get repaid? A medal and a medical discharge. So much for standing up for the greater good. Now it’s time to look out for myself.”
His voice cracked at the end. Not because he felt abandoned by his country as he’d stated, but because he’d do it all over again if he was asked. And yeah, he was trying to save his ass, but if he caught this guy in the process, if he could make this world that much safer by taking him out, he’d sleep a little better at night.
“One percent,” El Verdugo offered.
Boomer smiled, slow and purposeful, full of teeth and fangs and vitriol. “I’m going to assume you didn’t mean to insult me.”
“You have a number in mind?”
“Ten percent.”
“You are loco, no?” El Verdugo didn’t look the least bit amused. “Two.”
“Seven.” Boomer glanced over his shoulder at El Jefe. The discontent wafted off the man in dark, resentful waves, as if Boomer were sticking his foot in a door that El Jefe wanted closed and nailed shut.
“Three.”
“Five, or I keep the package and, with or without me, my crew lives happily ever after.”
Instead of agreeing, El Verdugo said, “How would we get the deliveries across your ranch?”
“We set up a drop location off ranch property. You drop off, we deliver on the other side. Cash on delivery.”
Stepping forward, El Jefe’s features were taut, his face flushed and that vessel pounded at his temple. “You can’t do that.”
El Verdugo stood, and even though he had to look up to meet El Jefe’s eye, he cut him a look that clearly said “step back and shut up.”
With his hands raised, El Jefe backed away a couple of steps, then pointed to Boomer and said, “You don’t know this man. How do we know he’s who he says he is? He could be a cop for all we know.”
“You a cop?” El Verdugo looked Boomer up and down.
“I look like a cop?” Boomer sneered. “You think if I was a cop, my backup would have allowed you to beat the crap out of me and do nothing? You think they would allow you to kidnap a civilian and not come to her rescue?”
“He could be deep undercover.” El Jefe refused to let the idea drop, not, Boomer thought, because El Jefe really believed Boomer was law enforcement, but because he didn’t want anyone else in on the split.
“I trust him,” El Verdugo said.
Blood turned to ice in Boomer’s veins and the half-digested beef kicked around in his stomach. Something was way off. No way would a man in El Verdugo’s position trust an outsider that fast. El Verdugo flicked his eyes at Boomer. Before El Verdugo banked it, Boomer recognized the flash of deceit.
“You trust him? We know nothing of this man, except that he stole what was yours and now he wants a cut. You’re an idiot if you’d trust a stranger with the diamonds.”
The vibe in the tent ratcheted to DEFCON 5, and Boomer half expected the Men in Black to sweep in with the nuclear launch codes briefcase handcuffed to their wrists.
With his right hand firmly on the grip of the .50 caliber Desert Eagle strapped to his thigh, El Verdugo said, “How you know what was in the package? The package you said he steal?”
“Boss?” Mario said.
Craning his neck, Boomer looked behind him.
El Jefe chanced a glance at his number one, but he quickly turned his attention back to El Verdugo and the Eagle. His Adam’s apple bobbled up and down. It looked painful. He didn’t acknowledge Mario with any type of explanation.
“I knew I had a rat,” El Verdugo said. “I no expect to catch you with the cheese.”
El Jefe drew Boomer’s Glock and had it aimed at El Verdugo before the man could react, but that didn’t stop El Verdugo from leveling his own weapon between El Jefe’s eyes. A .50 cal round shot between the eyes at near point-blank range would scatter brain matter from there to the next mountain range. Mario drew his weapon, swinging it wildly between El Jefe and El Verdugo. Clearly, he had loyalties to his immediate boss, but you could see him struggle to calculate which man he had the best odds of surviving with.
Verdugo called out. Four men rushed into the tent, all with pistols drawn. Mario quickly decided El Verdugo’s side was the winning one and aimed at his boss. After a series of orders, El Jefe was relieved of Boomer’s gun and hustled out of the tent, along with Mario. The guard Sidney had called Cue Ball replaced Mario in the tent.
Cue Ball was twitchy, and Boomer had been more at ease with five or six trigger-happy people in the room with their weapons pointed in all directions than one armed Cue Ball.
Then El Verdugo turned all his attention and rage on Boomer. He held the gun by his side, but with his emotions heightened his hand shook, and his finger was tight against the trigger. The Desert Eagle had an extra thick grip to accommodate the large rounds, and Boomer hoped between that and the recoil, a man of El Verdugo’s size might have difficulty maintaining his grip with any level of accuracy. Plus, the safety was still on. That might give Boomer that fraction of a second to drop his ass on the ground if El Verdugo looked like he was about to shoot.
El Verdugo paced the tent, tapping the weapon against his leg absentmindedly, and Boomer took the opportunity to take control of the meeting.
“My offer still stands,” Boomer said. “Five percent for clear passage across our land.”
“You lied. To my face.”
There was no denying that, so he didn’t demean himself by trying. “That doesn’t make it a bad deal. I’m taking a lot of risk getting the diamonds clear passage out of the mountains. Five percent cost is a small price to pay. It’s an easy decision.”
El Verdugo stopped his pacing, using his gun hand as a deadly pointing device. “The decision is: Do I should shoot you or hang you? Shooting is faster, but no day is a bad day for hanging.”
Being told he was about to die didn’t chill Boomer as much as the cold, calculating way El Verdugo had said it, like deciding which restaurant he wanted to eat at that night, Chinese or Italian, Mexican or Indian? Decisions, decisions.
El Verdugo waggled his gun at him, indicating for him to stand. He stood, relieved his legs didn’t shake with the effort. He glanced around the tent, looking for weapons or options, because he wasn’t going down without a fight, and he sure as hell didn’t want to hang.
But if he had to die, at least he’d die knowing Sidney was safe.