“No, not in a gross or disgusting way. You know, in the way that people suddenly jump apart, clearing their throats, looking but not looking at each other.”
We had already finished what little “rutting” we were going to do by the time Wolf arrived with the shakes, so I dismissed him as wrong. “She’s all right. I’m not sticking around, though. Once this job is done, I’m out of here.”
“Why don’t you stick around? We have Slayer on retainer but he doesn’t live here. Not sure where he lives, actually. Such a man of mystery. Who do you work for, anyway?” I remained close-lipped. “Oh, that’s right. Privileged information. I get it.”
“I’m the man of mystery,” I asserted, and then Pedro was coming down the road in a trashed Corolla.
It was time for me to make a phone call.
The Ochoa men stood near a large pipe that went downhill to a lined evaporation pond. I sat on the pipe, up a bit from the three Ochoa narcos. I’d put on my slouch cap and shades, and replaced my bandanna over the bottom half of my face. Lytton had said to keep our IDs from the Ochoas, so I did. I held my Springfield to prevent them from getting any closer. But I held it casually, to let them know I was on their side—doing them a favor.
I said dramatically, “As you can see, those men you thought your guys killed are still alive. And they’re threatening to tell their whole story to the police unless you tell them why you sabotaged their truck.” I paused. “And give them two hundred large to replace the marijuana you burnt.” That last part was Wolf’s idea. Of course I didn’t really give a shit whether or not The Bare Bones were reimbursed for their loss. I was just carrying out Lytton’s—and Jones’—assignment.
Ruben Ochoa said thinly, “Vato, people get fucked in this neighborhood, they don’t go to the cops—they come to me.” His bandanna was worn like a hippie headband over his fade haircut. He was shorter than me, like most Mexicans were, but his goatee and suspenders marked him as a man of position. “I respect that you came to me first with this news. Manuel. Are those the guys you hit?”
Manuel lifted his shades and bent forward, as though that got him closer to the corpses two hundred yards away. He nodded.
I said, “Well, The Bare Bones has always had a good relationship with the Ochoas. They’d like to keep it that way. They just want to know why you’re burning their trucks.” I took another risk. “Sending men to spy on their pot farm.”
At this point, Wolf randomly waved one of the dead guy’s arms. We’d positioned the bodies as though they were taking a break, leaning back against the berm that ringed the entire pond. With shades and bandannas on, you couldn’t tell they’d been shot at all. All Wolf had to do was splay himself flat behind the berm to make the stiffs look lively.
“Joder!” spat Ruben. “I tell you—what did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t,” I said mysteriously. “But you can call me Zorro.” Which was, of course, “fox” in Spanish.
And Ruben didn’t laugh. “All right, Mister Zorro. I’ll be frank with you. The latest changes in marijuana reform law have led us to rethink our position as brothers in the trade. We don’t sell that much to your Pure and Easy dispensary to make much of a difference. We’re both racing to get the Gunhammer backing, or I’ve got several other sources of legit financing in mind. We both want to go straight, at least as far as marijuana goes.”
“We already are straight. You’re the one using all the pesticides and rerouting creeks to irrigate your roided-out plants.” This irritated Ruben. His mouth became a thin line, and he made a motion for the iron stuck in the back of his pants. “Once the inspectors start poking around your farm they’re going to find all kinds of violations. You’ll never go legit.”
Ruben pointed at me. “That’s why I wanted to find out how Lytton runs his farm. He won’t share trade secrets.”
“And why should he?”
“Because we’re brothers in arms! We’re all in this together. My man was just collecting intel, on a fact-finding mission. And suddenly he’s a ghost.”
“I wouldn’t know about that guy,” I said hurriedly, “I’m just a messenger.”
Wolf waved the other stiff’s arm now, and this time Ruben really did pull his piece. He wavered it between me and the other side of the evaporation pond. “We know someone buried him. Jorge would never leave and not come back.”
That was unfortunate that the pinche guey lurking around Lytton’s farm had been on a first name basis with Ruben. I held up my hands in surrender. “Look. Lytton’s worked hard to build his rep. He’s got a doctorate from MIT, and he’s been crossing hybrids for ten years. The only way you could hope to rival him with his innovative varieties is by following the same rigorous practices.”