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“Get a better memory, señores, or I shoot you,” he said in English. “Not to kill, but to wound.”
They looked uncertain, but then Gomez started to say, “I don’t—”
Cordova aimed at the front of the commandant’s left boot and fired. Gomez screamed, tried to get up, and fell to the floor, writhing in pain, grabbing at his boot, and screeching in Spanish.
“You’re next, Chief,” Cordova promised Fox above Gomez’s agony. “But I think I’ll aim higher with you. What do you want? The shin? Or the kneecap?”
The police chief had started to perspire. The sweat ran in rivulets down his face. “Por favor,” he began.
“Tell us something about Adelita,” Justine said.
Cordova ran the muzzle of the gun up the police chief’s right shin, across his kneecap and thigh, aimed it at his groin.
“You would not do such a thing!” Fox cried in horror.
“Try me,” Cordova said.
Fox looked down at Commandant Gomez, still writhing on the floor, his screams reduced to moans. Fox looked back to Justine. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
Cordova tucked the gun inside the duster. I threw a thumbs-up into the darkness, seeing that red light blink again.
“Tell me about Adelita,” Justine said.
“Adelita,” Chief Fox said. “She is Raoúl’s niece.”
“You son of a fucking pig!” Gomez yelled at him.
“Where is she?”
“Keep your mouth shut or you will die horribly, Arturo,” Gomez grunted.
“What makes you think you’re both not going to die horribly?” Cordova said. “Where is she?”
Commandant Gomez struggled up to his chair. “Take me to a doctor, maybe I tell you.”
“Where is Adelita Gomez?” Justine demanded again.
Chief Fox glanced at the blood seeping from his friend’s boot, said, “Recovering, I think.”
“From what?” Justine asked.
“Plastic surgery,” Commandant Gomez hissed, his face screwing up in rage. “After what the Harlows did to her, our beautiful Adelita could not stand the sight of her own beautiful face anymore.”
Chapter 119
“I’VE SEEN THE films,” Justine said softly. “A terrible thing to happen to someone you love, Commandant. Where is your niece?”
“I don’t know,” Gomez said sullenly.
“I think you do,” Justine pressed. “I think she is with your brother-in-law. Antonio de la Vega masterminded the abduction of the Harlows. He’s the one who had Leona Casa Madre killed.”
The state police commandant said nothing.
“Where are the Harlows?”
“Some things are better not known.”
“Where is your brother-in-law, then?” Cordova demanded.
