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Poma jerked awake and raised his head. The moment he saw Karasu, his eyes widened, and he started to talk, his voice muffled by the gag. Karasu pulled it out. “I don’t like it when someone who owes me doesn’t answer my calls. Why were you ducking me, Mario?”
“You’re trouble and I don’t need it.”
“Too bad. I need information and you’re going to provide it or—” She looked at Gonchaya and he pulled a big ass knife out of a sheath concealed beneath his coat.
The blood drained from the guy’s face. “Okay. Okay. No need to get threatening. What do you want?”
“Information about any kind of building out in the jungle.”
His eyes flashed and he swallowed hard. “I don’t know anything about that.”
Gonchaya set the knife against his throat as Karasu leaned down, her eyes as dark, cold, and black as the depths of hell.
“Don’t lie to me, Mario.”
He closed his eyes. “He’s going to kill me for this.”
“Don’t worry about him. Just give me a name.”
“Hugo Suarez, but he’s going to be hard to find. He’s gone underground. Rumor is it the guys he worked for tried to have him whacked.”
“That so? What kind of trouble did he get into?”
“He’s a killer for hire, and he snuffed a bunch of construction workers, including the owner out in that jungle. His employer wanted it kept completely secret, but when they came after him, all bets were off.”
“Who would know where this guy is?”
“His woman. Qocha Herrera.” He rattled off an address. Gonchaya left the room. Twenty minutes passed as Poma sweated and they waited. Finally, Karasu’s phone rang, and she answered. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth compressed. “Got it.”
“Ms. Herrera isn’t home and there’s no sign of her. But then I think your landlady wasn’t going to be much help anyway.”
His brows rose and he looked around like a trapped cat. “How did you know?”
“I do my homework, Mario, thoroughly.”
“Then where is your attack dog?”
Poma met Karasu’s gaze, and all Preacher saw there was cold determination. “He’s standing outside your home where your wife and daughter are just sitting down to dinner. You better have another name for me.”
He held her gaze, his eyes glossy, and he threw his shoulders back and let out a breath. “I need to use the phone.”
“At the very least, Mario, you are a decent father.”
Karasu pulled a knife and released his hands. They shook as he reached into his pocket and got out his phone, pressing in a number. He spoke in rapid Spanish, then hung up. “That’s a forger I know. He said he gave Hugo a new name. It’s Pablo Rodriguez. He works at a bar not far from here. Red 84 Discoteca. He’s the bouncer.”
“Description?”
He showed her the screen of his phone. “Got this from my forger. Sent it to your phone.”
Preacher looked down at the picture over her shoulder. Hugo was a big man, military-cut black hair, black stubble, and very broad shoulders. He was attractive, but there was something lacking in his dark eyes.
Karasu tucked her phone away, bent down and released his ankles. When he stood, she brushed off the shoulders of his suit coat. “You’re free to go. I don’t have to remind you to never speak of this to anyone,” she said, then tapped him twice on the back. Preacher saw a flash of metal before her hand dropped.
The man wasted no time in getting out of the room. Karasu looked at him and said, “Time to go run this guy to ground. I think he’s got the answers we need.”
“He’s not going to last the night. Is he?”
She stopped and turned toward him, her eyes hooded. “Who? Suarez?”
