The sooner this meeting was over and he could buy her a proper drink and get to know her, the better. Surely it wouldn’t go on too long. These guys were assholes.
“Twenty-five,” Arturo said, folding his arms.
“Twenty is our last offer,” Hudson said. “More than that and it won’t be worth our effort.”
“It’ll take at least five to get an officer at border control to look the other way.” Teddy tugged on his thick beard. His intense gaze was stuck on Arturo. “And we pick the wrong dude, could be ten years behind bars for two of us.”
Arturo sighed and looked up at Goatee. “Sit, will you?”
“This is shit,” Goatee said with a heavy accent. He sat.
“We can do twenty if you pick it up within three days.” Arturo nodded, his lips a thin straight line.
Hudson and Rigor shared a look. Rigor scratched his ear.
“Deal,” Hudson said.
“And cash, when you come for it. Dollars,” Arturo added.
“Naturally.” Hudson nodded.
“We’re done,” Goatee said, scowling. “Adios.”
Wyatt chuckled. Goatee clearly wasn’t happy, but it wasn’t his call. He wasn’t president.
“Wait.” Carter pulled a folded-up piece of paper from his cut pocket. “Got something else for you.”
“Oh yeah?” Arturo raised his eyebrows.
“Yeah. This guy. Dale Devin.” Carter unfolded the paper to reveal a mug shot of a skinny bald guy with a scar slicing his right eyebrow in half.
“What about him?” Arturo asked.
“I shared a cell with him for a year,” Carter said. “Time wasn’t enough for this asswipe. He’s a sick pervert.”
“So why didn’t you do something about him?” Arturo asked.
“He wasn’t worth doubling my sentence.”
Goatee stood. He put his hands on his hips, revealing his gun.
“And what’s that got to do with us?” Arturo asked, glancing at Hudson, Rigor, then back to Carter.
“Asshole has a kink for kids.”
“Go on.” Arturo scowled.
“Kept two Mexican girls in his basement for months for his own warped pleasure.” Carter paused and shuddered. “Ten and nine years old.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Teddy muttered and banged his palm into his fist. “Sick fuck.”
“And now he’s living in Mexico, near Tijuana as it happens.” Carter tapped the photo.
“He should never have seen the light of day,” Wyatt said, beating down the red-hot anger that always gripped him whenever he heard about kids or animals being hurt. “Should have rotted behind bars then thrown out for the dogs.”
“I agree,” Carter said. “But that hasn’t happened. He’s a free fucking man. Free to do it again.”
“You know where in Tijuana?” Goatee asked, tilting his chin.