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When his phone rang, he stared at the number, an El Paso area code.
“Yeah.”
“Fuentes here. You’ve got a meet set with Sutton for tonight at nine. His home is on Cypress, not far from the Whataburger.”
“The what-a-what?” frowned East.
“Dude,” laughed Fuentes, “it’s a burger joint. Famous in Texas. Try one. Don’t worry, it won’t destroy your girly figure, and you’ll die happy for having one. Seriously, just try one, and you’ll be addicted.”
“I try not to put that shit in my body,” said East. “Who’s my contact?”
“They’ll find you. Sutton just wants to make sure you’re the man for the job.”
“What job?”
“I don’t know. That’s what you’re going to find out. He’s got all of Ramos’s contacts, his drugs, and at least some of his money. He’s been sitting in this town for more than thirty-five years. He lives in a modest little house. Drives an average-priced mid-sized SUV. Doesn’t wear any fancy watches. He’s a man that knows how to fly under the radar.”
“And sell his daughter,” frowned East.
“She something to you?” asked Fuentes.
“No. But she’s something to someone I know. That makes it all the more important to me.”
“Understood. But if I were you, and I am admittedly not, I would not bring her up in conversation. My informant tells me that since the death of Ramos, Sutton wants to know what happened to his daughter, and none of Ramos’s men can tell him.”
“Got it.”
Fuentes laughed, trying not to be offended by the man’s inability to share information or even give him a hint of what he might be thinking.
“Look, he’s throwing a barbeque tonight. Don’t be surprised if he offers drugs or women. Up to you what you want to take, but I’d avoid the drugs at all costs.”
“And the women?” frowned East.
“Wrap that shit up.”
It nauseated East to even think about touching a woman whom he knew was probably there against her will. If he was forced to pick someone, it would be someone older and preferably not there against her will.
He showered and dressed, taking his time to head toward Sutton’s home. Not sure what the man was looking for, he decided to leave the cowboy hat in his room.
As he drove along CanAm Highway, he could see small groups of immigrants camped beneath the overpasses. A little further down, he noticed young men trading drugs openly on the streets. It was as if the police had just given up. He’d yet to see an El Paso city police car or a state trooper.
When he turned the corner onto Sutton’s street, there were cars lining both sides, many with men standing outside them, just watching.
“Nothing suspicious about that,” he murmured to himself.
Finding a spot to park, he secured the car and implemented the shock shell that G.R.I.P. had installed on all the VG vehicles. If anyone touched it, they were going to leave with one helluva headache and burned fingers.
As he walked up the driveway of Sutton’s home, all eyes turned to stare at the big man daring to come onto their property.
“What’s up, amigo?” said one of the men.
“I have an appointment with Señor Sutton. My name is East.”
“East?” he smirked. “Like east, west, north, and south? Where are the other three?” The men chuckled, staring at him.
“Around.” The smile was wiped off their faces, and one of the men started to step forward. East didn’t even look his way when the front door of the house opened.
“Step back!” yelled an older man. “He’s my guest.”
