One Last Job

Guero found it hard to concentrate the rest of the night. Despite his warnings, the revelations about Rachel had thrown Leigh. Dinner proved to be a stilted affair, with Leigh sneaking glances into the envelope, and Sylvie making insinuating comments to Guero. It wasn’t until they retired on the terrace that Cavanaugh brought up their next assignment.

“Now, put that away,” he said, nodding at Leigh as she clutched the folder.

Guero took it from her, annoyed. Did she ever listen? He asked her to be dispassionate, calculating. This was not the image he wanted to portray.

If Cavanaugh picked up on this tension, he didn’t show his hand. Perhaps Guero had been too quick to dismiss him. If he had been in Cancun this long without interruption, it meant he had some serious backers. Bosses who didn’t take kindly to people leaving the business.

Cavanaugh had stopped drinking some time ago. He stared at Guero now with the eyes of a sober, calculating opponent.

“You wanted a challenge—I’ve got one for you. Sylvie!” Cavanaugh clapped his hands.

Rising, Sylvie placed her tablet before them.

“What, no binder?” Leigh asked sarcastically, as Cavanaugh chuckled.

“Sylvie is encouraging me to embrace technology,” he said, the bags under his eyes prominent in the fading light as he pulled up a photograph.

The man staring back at him had the look of a Mayan native—dressed head-to-toe in designer wear. Guero recognized him immediately—he was a prominent feature on the Cancun party scene. The photo had been cropped—Guero could see a discombobulated leg to the right of the man. For some reason, this raised alarm bells.

“The man you see before you is an informant. He works for several cartels. With him eliminated, the government can rest assured that no vital information is being passed along to their enemies.”

“This guy? He’s a DJ. Plays all over Cancun,” Leigh said, frowning. “What’s his name? DJ Chac or something.”

“What does that mean?” Sylvie asked. She had several glasses of wine with dinner and was now nursing another cocktail.

“It’s a Mayan reference,” Guero responded. “Chac is the god of thunder. This man is well-liked,” he said, gesturing at the tablet. “By many down here—people we know,” Guero continued suggestively.

“Aren’t we getting too low on the food chain here?” Leigh added.

“I won’t entertain questions on how I select the hits,” Cavanaugh said defensively. “If you want to see your sister, you do this job.” He let the statement linger, eying them closely. “He’s playing Cancun tonight, at Señor Sapos. It’s a popular place in the party district. Wet t-shirt contests—that kind of thing. If you’re looking for a golden opportunity—I’d look no further.”

Guero knew a sales pitch when he heard one. He grew worried at Leigh’s trance-like state. There was no way her mind was right for a hit—especially on a night where DJ Chac was playing publicly. The entry and exit would be a nightmare. No, it could not happen. Guero reached this conclusion in a matter of seconds as the reason for the fussy dinner and endless drinks became apparent.

“We have our own process, but thanks for the information,” Guero said firmly.

“But . . . ” Leigh began.

“Let’s go,” Guero said, rising as he took her hand.

She hardly ever contradicted him when he used that tone, and besides, she was far too drunk to put up much of a fight.

“He’s flying to Paris tomorrow,” Cavanaugh continued, as Guero hustled Leigh from the terrace. “Won’t be back for a few months.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Guero stated, towing Leigh along.

“I’ll arrange a meeting with Rachel afterwards,” Cavanaugh called out, his eyes dark in the twilight.

Leigh became deadweight, looking imploringly at Guero, who let his anger flare.

“You won’t arrange the meeting unless we kill him, is that it?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to insist on it,” Cavanaugh said, shrugging. “After all, you’re the ones leaving the Improve Group. Consider it an exit fee,” he said, toasting them with his empty glass.

“To new beginnings.”

*

Leigh used the entirety of the car ride to try and convince Guero to do the job. She knew she was inebriated and not making any sense, which only frustrated her more.

“We have to,” she urged.

“I’ve already given you my answer,” Guero said firmly, easing the car past the resort gates.

“But . . . ”

“You’ve had enough of a shock for one day. You can’t work in this state.”

“Excuse you—I’ve done jobs in far worse situations.”

The second Guero put the car in park, Leigh exited—slamming the door for good measure. Guero wouldn’t drop it. Catching up to her, he took her hand.

“Maybe one day you’ll realize it’s better to confirm a few things before rushing headlong into a job.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child. How long has it been since you’ve done a job, anyway? I should be the one calling the shots.”

Leigh pulled away from him, feeling her anger flare. He released his hold, moving to open the door with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m not going to fight about this, Leigh. We aren’t going.”

Instead of responding, Leigh walked straight into the bedroom. Slamming the door behind her, she paced the room—fuming.

Even though she felt exactly sixteen years old, she couldn’t stop herself. Throwing herself on the bed, she texted Eva.

Cavanaugh said he found Rachel in witness protection. What do you think?

Leigh hit the send button, waiting for a response. It didn’t take long for her phone to ring.

“Well?” Leigh said.

“Do you think it’s really her?” Eva asked, her tone hushed.

“It must be! This guy has close ties to the government. He said she is in witness protection. I mean, maybe she saw something . . . ”

Leigh heard the clanking of pots. Eva was likely washing up after dinner. She frowned, worried about imposing on her friend. It wasn’t like this in the old days. When had they grown up?

“This whole thing seems really sudden,” Eva cautioned, as Leigh heard the faucet turn on. “Let me check on it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me have Chad confirm a few things; he’ll be able to tell if there is a remote chance it could be Rachel.”

“You’d do that?”

“Girl, please. After what we’ve been through—it’s the least I can do. Chad can . . . ”

Leigh felt a wave of nausea. Straightening, she took a deep breath. She usually held her liquor better than this. Maybe it was the tequila—she felt like her head was floating.

She rose, pouring herself a glass of water. Drinking it down greedily, she felt slightly better, but the room was still spinning. Steadying herself, she sat down on the bed as Eva finished.

“Okay, when can you ask him?”

“Not until tomorrow. He got called out tonight—someone found a body in the desert.”

“How often does that happen?”

“Around here? More than you think. I guess it’s a really old case, all that was left was a bunch of bones.”

“Okay, so when he comes back, you’ll ask?”

Leigh felt illicit—as if she were doing something behind Guero’s back.

“Of course.” Leigh sighed with pleasure as her friend continued. “And Leigh?”

“What?”

“Be careful.”

Leigh hung up the phone, tossing it on the coverlet. Turning off the lamp, she eased into bed, studying the line of light underneath the door. She didn’t expect Guero to come into the bedroom. He usually avoided her drama like the plague. No, he would stay up for a few more hours before passing out on the couch.

She could sneak out later, go to Señor Sapos, kill DJ Chac, and get back before he woke up. Then she would tell him. He would be mad, but so what? If she did it tonight, maybe she could see her sister as early as next week. The idea was so intriguing that Leigh lay wide-awake, thinking about the impending reunion.

After a time, Leigh glanced at the clock—it was just after midnight. Guero would be asleep by now.

Sitting up, Leigh listened carefully for any sounds from the living room. Hearing nothing, she moved to the dresser and felt around for her gun. Gripping the cool metal, she slipped it into her purse.

Tucking her bag under her arm, she bent down to the floor. Feeling along the carpet, she located her discarded heels. Gripping them in one hand, she walked over to the door. Easing it open, she glanced around the room. Guero had left a lamp on, and the light cast shadows on his sleeping form.

He had stripped naked, as he was wont to do. The sight of his unadorned body gave Leigh a little lift, but she held fast. She crept past him to where his keys sat on the side table.

Guero would be furious with her actions, but this wasn’t about him. Leigh had to see her sister again. It was the missing piece in her life. Maybe the uneasy feelings she had, the aches and pains, would all disappear. Leigh wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip from her grasp.

She paused by the door, staring at him one last time, his features relaxed in repose. She felt it then, the yearning in her heart. The thing she had hoped their partnership would ease. It hadn’t, and Leigh didn’t want to admit that until now.

It was this ache—the rift that occurred in her heart when Rachel left that truly needed to be filled. Guero couldn’t help her with that—only she could.

Opening the door, Leigh stepped outside—the humid air a welcome contrast from the air-conditioned suite.

Walking quickly to where Guero parked his Mercedes, Leigh felt like she was skipping school. After months of cautious hits, her hasty actions made her feel alive again.

She got into the car, opening the vanity mirror. Her makeup was just the right side of slutty. She would fit right in at Señor Sapos. It was almost too easy. Why did Guero think it was a risk?

She slid on her heels, placing them precariously on the pedals. Bringing the engine to life, she paused. If she were going to do this properly, she would use another car—someone might spot Guero’s. But Leigh didn’t have time to organize that. She would bank on the element of surprise. Reaching for her cell phone, she texted Sylvie.

Game on, send me the photos.

Leigh tapped her nails on the steering wheel, annoyed she didn’t get an immediate response. Thinking through her actions, she added another text.

Don’t tell Guero