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“Because I killed El Verdugo in Juarez a year ago.”
“Oh, my God.” She cupped her face in her hands. “Then, who…”
“Let’s get something straight.” Peralta’s tone was harsh. “What we’re about to tell you is off the record. You can never tell anyone.” He stared at me.
I struggled to keep my anger in check—all the lies they had casually told us, when Robin’s life was at risk. I slowly nodded.
“El Verdugo was alone when I caught up with him,” Antonio said. “He drew, I was faster. Adios, chingaso. We buried him in Juarez in an unmarked grave, kept the information from the other cops. His buddies never knew, either. So we hijacked his identity.”
Antonio gently set the cigar in a large glass ashtray. “We made it seem like he’d disappeared and gone rogue. Every now and again, I’d get to a killing first—an easy thing in my country—and use that snake’s-head ring on the victim. Just to keep the stories and rumors coming. Sinaloa went crazy. Their man was killing them. But the Gulf boys had no comfort. El Verdugo was killing them, too. And killing Los Zetas.”
“But not really,” Robin said. “You were just faking it.”
“Precisely.” Antonio said. “But it was useful. Sow chaos. This was a very closely held secret, especially among my colleagues, but even with my friends the Americans, who have shown they have a weakness for cartel bribes, too.”
“Three months ago,” Peralta said, “we picked up intel that a subject in Phoenix was shopping for a hit man. He met with an undercover officer, but wouldn’t bite. He wanted the best. He wanted El Verdugo. Asked for him by name.”
“Who was this party?” I asked.
Peralta pursed his lips. “Barney. At the Jesus Is Lord Pawn Shop.”
I softly said, “Guns, knives, ammunition.”
Antonio said, “ATF inserted a deep undercover agent to pose as El Verdugo. He was one of their best. I gave him the snake’s head ring. You knew him by his real name, Jax Delgado.”
I heard Robin’s throat catch. My stomach burned. “You’ve known this all along? Damn you to hell, Mike.”
“The A.G. wouldn’t let me tell you.” Peralta folded his arms. “And ATF sure as hell wouldn’t. Amy Preston went nuts after you showed up at her house asking about the gun shop.”
“Why are you telling us now?”
“It just seems right,” Peralta said. “With this arrest, I think we’re going to be able to close the case. These guys somehow picked up Delgado’s trail and killed him. Maybe it was because they thought he was the real Verdugo and this was payback time. Maybe they sniffed out his cover.” He noticed my expression. “When they were torturing him, maybe he talked about Robin. Or maybe they followed him and knew where she lived.”
“The autopsy on Delgado said he’d been tased,” Antonio said. “That may have been how they initially took him down. These guys had a Taser. We’re going to show their photos to the staff at the FedEx shop where his head was shipped from.” His tone made it sound like so much freight. “See if anybody can pick them out.”
I said, “What about last night?”
“Because La Fam is working with the Gulf cartel to move arms,” Antonio said, “the Sinaloans also took out Mero Mero and his crew. They probably followed you last night. This hit squad was up here on serious business. My guess is Barney would have been the next patient on the torture table, for doing business with the Gulf cartel and La Fam. Maybe he’d get off easy. Lose a finger or an ear and have to keep supplying Sinaloa.”
“Slow down,” I said. “Jax made contact with Barney?”
Peralta nodded. “No Arizona jury is going to convict a licensed gun dealer for selling firearms, no matter how many people they kill in Mexico. With Jax, we had Barney on hiring a hit man. We thought we could get more. Evidence that he was selling firearms in bulk to the Gulf cartel. We could shut him down forever.”
Robin clasped her arms tightly around her chest. “Does this mean we’re safe?”
Both men said “yes” simultaneously.
“They ought to just legalize drugs,” Robin whispered. “All this death, and for what?”
Antonio said, “This isn’t about drugs anymore. This is about power.”
I was drowning in the bucket of information they had just dumped on us. “If he was on the job, why would he tell us his real name?”
Peralta shrugged. “Maybe he met somebody he cared about.”
Robin abruptly stood and strode out across the ancient linoleum.
I had many questions, but followed her out. She fell into my arms by the car and sobbed hard, her tears soaking through my shirt while a freight train trundled past, steel slamming upon steel.
