The Jaguar by T Jefferson Parker

Author:T Jefferson Parker [Parker, T Jefferson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 0525952578
Publisher: Dutton Adult
Published: 2012-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

Hood memorized the words then refolded the paper and slipped it into the freezer bag with the pictures of Finnegan.

An hour later he sat in the back of a Bell 204 twisting off the roof of the Palacio Municipal and into the spent subtropic sky.

22

BRADLEY LOOKED THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD at the Campeche lowlands. They had ridden out Ivana in the Sierra Madre de Chiapas and he was thankful to be off the precarious mountain roads and making good time on Highway 186.

It was Sunday afternoon on the seventh day after the kidnapping and they were one hundred miles from Erin. Crisp shafts of sunlight came down through the trees. Bradley felt edgy and impatient. A day and a half was plenty of time to travel a hundred miles by truck, he thought, so why was he stuffed with anxiety and dread? Did at least one of the pigeons make it through the hurricane? One, he thought: we only need one. He fidgeted inside the antiballistic vest. The vests were hot and sweat-inducing and they pinched the flesh and itched incessantly where it was hard to scratch. His palm was still open from Mike’s knife. The wound would neither heal nor fester but rather remained half-closed and half-open, prone to painful accidents. He bummed another cigarette off Cleary and with his thumbnail flicked the wooden Mexican match to life.

They stopped in Las Flores for gas and cold drinks but the mercado shelves were practically bare. They found a few cases of bottled fruit punch and discounted packs of old tortillas, along with spicy corn chips and bananas. There were still cases of frijoles so they bought three of these and Caroline got the last ten gallons of bottled water and Cleary bought a carton of Mexican Marlboros. Young Omar tried to buy tequila but Fidel ordered him not to.

Bradley sipped the warm punch and tried to scratch his back against the gas pump while he watched the numbers race and the 1500 suck up almost a hundred liters of Pemex supreme. Fidel joined him, leaning against the SUV. He seemed cool and comfortable and impervious to the vests.

“Two more days, amigo.”

“I know what day it is,” said Bradley.

“Are you afraid to think about it?”

“I’m more afraid not to.”

“You’ve done what you can. It’s now up to her.”

Bradley thought of Fidel walking into the warehouse where his wife and family hung dead. He couldn’t imagine Erin in such a way and he wanted to say something to Fidel but there were few words he knew that were adequate and not overworn.

“I hope you get your vengeance. I’ll help you if I can.”

“Your soul is not black enough for that.”

“You might be surprised.”

Bradley looked at the village. The streets were dirt and the buildings had once been gaily painted but now the blues and yellows and cinnamon colors were long faded. Windows were broken or boarded. In the zocalo there were concrete benches arranged in a circle around a cracked concrete patio. The square was empty except for thin dogs watching them with suspicion and distant hope.

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