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Hector made a disgusting sound as he gathered mucous and spat out the open window. “Are you sure Vanessa’s in this Podunk place?”
Manuel wrinkled his nose in distaste. He hated Hector’s personal habits, was tempted to roll up the window so he couldn’t spit again. But the cool seventy-degree air was beginning to revive him, and men like Hector served a purpose. “I’m sure,” he said. “We’re only a day behind her. From what I could tell on the phone, Preston has business in this town. I think he and Vanessa are planning to stay a while.”
Tapping his fingers on the armrest, Hector rocked in his seat—another habit Manuel found annoying. But at least it was one Hector couldn’t help. The twitching came from the drugs. “What kind of business is it?”
Manuel’s eyes constantly scanned the street, in case he got a glimpse of Vanessa. “I have no idea. And I don’t care because he’ll never get the chance to do it.”
Hector pulled out the bag of cocaine he carried with him. Setting a hand mirror on the armrest between them, he poured the white powder onto the mirror and used a razor to cut himself a line.
“Watch it,” Manuel growled. “We just passed the police station.”
“So who’s gonna arrest me in this town? Barney Fife?” Hector laughed, then snorted the white powder and leaned back.
Manuel knew he was experiencing that first, thrilling rush. He also knew Hector would snort another line in a minute. Hector lived for dope, had built up a significant resistance. Which made his habit very expensive. Expensive enough that he’d do just about anything for his next fix. In that way, Manuel supposed Hector’s dependence was a good thing; it made him very cooperative.
Manuel, on the other hand, wasn’t stupid enough to let himself get addicted to the product that was making him rich. He liked a little cocaine occasionally, when he was in Mexico and had a houseful of beautiful women willing to entertain his most sordid fantasies. Other than that, he preferred a clear head.
“We’ll start by searching all the motels, like we did in Ely,” he said.
Hector blinked at him, his eyes glassy, his pupils fully dilated. “For Preston’s name? Or the name Vanessa used in Ely?” He looked baffled for a moment. “What was the name she used?”
“That stuff’s eating your brain,” Manuel said. “Emma Wright. We’ll check for both. This town isn’t that big. It shouldn’t take long.”
Hector cackled, an overloud sound inspired by the high he was experiencing. “Man, this Preston fellow isn’t gonna know what hit him.”
“Don’t touch Vanessa or Dominick,” Manuel said. “I’ll take care of them myself.”
“But Preston’s mine, right? You want me to do him like you did Juanita.” He formed his fingers into the shape of a gun and pointed it out the window at some old lady walking down the street. “Bang!” he yelled, and she just about fell off her wobbly high heels.
Hector laughed uproariously, but Manuel didn’t even smile. He didn’t like being reminded of Juanita. When he wasn’t living his “other life” with Vanessa and Dominick, he dealt in a nasty, dark world. But until Juanita, he’d never killed anyone. He saved the dirty work for addicts like Hector.
“Only if I don’t get to him first,” he said. Maybe killing Juanita hadn’t appeased his anger, but it’d be different with Preston. All he had to do was imagine Preston in Vanessa’s bed and the blood thirst became so great he could hardly contain it. He wanted to slit his throat in front of her.
“How are you gonna kill him?”
“As slow and painfully as possible.”
Hector snorted another line, waited for the rush, then gave him a spacey grin. “You should cut the bastard’s dick off.”
WHILE SHE DROVE, Emma glanced at the inside of the 1986 Monte Carlo she’d just bought. The seats were torn, the dash was cracked, and the outside wasn’t in great shape. Rust had corroded the metal along the bottom. There was a large dent on the left-rear panel. The sun had bleached the maroon paint, especially on the hood. But it had cost only $3100, and it ran. The man who’d sold it to her had originally bought it for his son and daughter-in-law, so they’d have a second car. They’d owned it for nearly twelve years before upgrading and, judging by the service records, had taken excellent care of the engine. She’d gotten a bargain, really. Someday soon, she’d pawn her earrings and the ring Manuel had given her for Christmas and use the money to pay Preston back. But she knew he wasn’t in any hurry to be reimbursed or he wouldn’t have left the money as carelessly as he did. She should concentrate instead on finding work before worrying about the debt. Work, then a house.
Stopping at a traffic light, she turned her attention to the city around her. At a population of 120,000, Cedar Rapids was a little bigger than the place she’d imagined living. But it had plenty of schools and businesses. She thought she’d be safer here and have a better chance of finding a job. And, despite her earlier feelings on the subject, she didn’t want to move anywhere else if Preston was going to be nearby.
“Can we go back to the motel and go swimming again?” Max asked as she pulled into the post office and stopped at the drive-through mail drop.
Emma decided she could watch him while reading the want ads. “In a little while,” she said, and struggled to roll down her window. She hadn’t seen a car with a hand crank for a number of years, and this one was jammed. Finally, when she couldn’t get the window to budge more than two inches, she gave up and simply opened her door.
“What are you doing?” Max asked.
“Mailing something.”
“What?”
“A letter.” Emma stared down at the address of the Drug Enforcement Agency, which she’d looked up on the Internet at the public library, then gazed from the envelope to Juanita’s list of names and numbers. Would the list be enough to put Manuel behind bars? She wasn’t sure. She’d put this errand off as long as possible because turning those names and numbers over to the authorities frightened her. To protect herself and Max, she’d made a copy and was sending the list anonymously, with a typed explanation that she’d also prepared at the library. But there were ways of tracking things she didn’t understand, which meant there could still be a severe backlash, one that could cost her years and years of running, her life, or even Max.
