“You are interested in Arturo Pavón?”
My God. Milla swallowed hard to contain the sharp rise of excitement. Please, please let this be some real information and not another false lead, she prayed. “Yes, I am.”
“He will be in Ciudad Juarez tonight. At the Blue Pig Cantina.”
“What time?” she asked, but the caller had already hung up. She checked Caller ID; it said, “Unavailable.”
Desperately she called Diaz’s cell phone again. After three rings the canned voice said the customer was not in a service area.
She checked the time: four-thirty. Because this past week had been so busy, the office staff was scattered over the country. Brian was in Tennessee. Joann was in Arizona. Debra Schmale and Olivia were both sick with a vicious stomach virus.
She knew better than to go alone. She didn’t know what kind of place the Blue Pig was, if it was a regular cantina, in which case she wouldn’t be welcome in there, or if it was a club where women were allowed without it automatically being assumed they were prostitutes. She couldn’t see Pavón going into any of the more exclusive clubs; no, if he was there, then this was a regular cantina. For her to step foot inside one of them was to invite big trouble.
She racked her brain, trying to think of someone who was both available and capable.
Only one name surfaced.
Diaz had told her to stay away from True Gallagher, and she assumed he had a good reason other than just being territorial. He’d said that before they became lovers, as more of a warning than anything else. She should have asked specifically why he mistrusted True. But other than Diaz and Brian, he was the only man she could think of who would be capable in a situation like this.
She realized that it didn’t matter. Diaz wouldn’t have said what he had without reason, so she had to trust him. Just as soon as she saw him she’d find out exactly what he had against True, but until then she had to rely on her own sense of trust, and that lay with Diaz.
There had to be someone else. The problem with concentrating on work and on her quest to find Justin was that her social life was limited; she knew a lot of people, but none intimately, and in circumstances like this she needed someone she knew she could rely on.
Then she drew a quick breath of relief. There was one other, if she could just get in touch with him: Rip Kosper. Quickly she looked up his office number; of course he didn’t see patients in the office, since he was an anesthesiologist, but he and his partner had an office for handling the paperwork and billing, and taking messages.
He hadn’t yet left the hospital, the woman who answered said. Milla said it was urgent, gave her name and number, and the woman promised to page him. While she waited for him to return her call, Milla ran upstairs and changed into jeans and sneakers.
More than an hour passed before Rip called. In that time Milla paced, tried Diaz’s cell phone three more times, and forced herself to eat a sandwich. The caller hadn’t given a time, so this could well be an all-nighter.
“Milla?” Rip sounded concerned when he finally called. “What’s wrong?”
“I need someone to go with me into Juarez tonight,” she said. “My regular crew is either gone or sick, and this isn’t something I can do by myself. Can you go with me? I know this is way out in left field, but you’re the only friend I can think of.”
“Sure, no problem. Where and what time?”
She told him which bridge to meet her at, and when. “You’ll need to change clothes, if you can. The cantina we’re going to will probably be on the rough side.”
“All riiight,” he said with relish. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any cantina crawling.”
“Oh, one more thing: I have no idea how long this will take. It could be all night.”
“I have a light schedule tomorrow anyway. Nothing until almost noon. I’m good.”
“Thanks, Rip. You’re a doll.”
“I know,” he said smugly.
An hour later they walked across into Juarez. Milla had previously used Chela’s services only if they were leaving the border zone, but under no circumstances would she ever willingly be near Pavón without being armed, so she had placed a call to the arms dealer and arranged to meet her. “Do you know how to use a pistol?” she asked Rip when they were on the Juarez side.
“Never have. I’ve hunted, but with a rifle. Haven’t hit anything yet.” He gave her a concerned look. “You really think we’ll need guns?”
“I know I’d rather have them and not need them, than vice versa. I didn’t tell you, but the man who took Justin is supposed to be at this cantina tonight. If he is, you can bet he’ll be armed.”
Rip stopped in his tracks, an uneasy expression crossing his face. “Don’t you think you should call the cops? The PJF or the PJE, whichever would handle things like this.”
“And tell them what? I think he’s the man I saw very briefly ten years ago?” She didn’t want to deal with either the state or the federal judicial police. Both were highly unpopular in Mexico.
“You took out his eye. That makes him easy to identify.”
“Unless I think all one-eyed men could be the same man. I don’t even know that he’ll be here. I had an anonymous call that said he would be. Do you know how many other calls I’ve had over the years? Take a guess how many of them have actually been worth anything.”
“I’m guessing not any,” he said, relaxing.
“One, actually.”