Deliverer

Chapter 1

“There.” Jeff Truman nodded his head toward the private car that had just pulled up to the posh hotel across the street. A balding, sunburned man climbed out, pushing a pair of sunglasses up his nose. A gold chain glinted around his neck. Several body guards flanked him.

Claber lifted his camera and snapped a picture. “McAllister.”

“Maverick will be here soon.” Truman pulled on his fingers, relishing the sound that released tension with each crack. “You sure this is a good idea?”

Claber’s green eyes darted toward Truman before focusing on the beachfront hotel. “You mean, using them as bait to lure out the Carnicero?”

Bait. Truman gnawed his lower lip. Such a strong word. “They’re not bait.” Maybe they were. “If something goes wrong...” He let the sentence draw off.

“You’re doing a service. It benefits all of us if we can learn the Carnicero’s identity. You’re just the first person brave enough to risk catching him.”

Claber said the words with such conviction that Truman almost believed him. It was, essentially, the truth. Every crime lord on the planet tiptoed around for fear of the unknown vigilante discovering theim and destroying them.

And if Truman could provide that identity, his comrades might finally respect him. All it had taken was letting a few more details than necessary slip out to his associates as he discussed his upcoming meeting in Cancun. None of them would mean to betray him, but they would talk amongst themselves and to other people. With any luck, the Carnicero had ears to the ground.

“Maverick,” Claber said as a bearded red-head exited a cab. He did a quick scan of the area before entering the hotel.

He glanced at Claber, poised with his digital camera as he watched the traffic. “I better get inside before they wonder where I am.”

Claber frowned. “Wait. Where’s Cisnero?”

“Her flight was delayed. She’ll be here later. In the meantime, you take pictures of anyone going in or out of the hotel.”

“And what if it is the Carnicero?” Claber said. “I won’t know him. You won’t know him until he comes in, guns blazing.”

That was the problem with not knowing what a guy looked like. Perhaps including himself as bait hadn’t been the best idea. “Trust your gut. If you think someone looks suspicious, send me a message. I’ll get us out.”

“Will do.”

#

"You in or not, Truman?" Maverick, a large red-head who chewed his tobacco like an overgrown cow, smashed himself in front of Truman. His mouth smacked noisily and he gave a wide smile. "How about it? Can we convince you?"

Truman stared back at Maverick, taking in the glazed eyes and bovine expression. He half expected the idiot to moo. He lifted his gaze to peer out the windows behind Maverick. Sunshine reflected off the white sands of the Cancun beach, aqua waves rising and falling as if the ocean were sighing. For a moment, Truman imagined he wasn’t here to meet with criminals and thug lords. Instead he was on a leisure trip with his dog Barley, a big golden lab who would enjoy a change of scenery from the Canadian forest.

Maverick snapped his fingers, the amused look gone from his face. He settled back in a cushioned chair around the conference table. "You in or not, Truman?"

They had tried this before. Multiple times, in fact.

Truman checked his phone, worried he’d miss a warning from Claber. Nothing so far. He leaned forward, closing his fingers together and resting them on the glass tabletop. "Truth is, gentleman, I'm quite content with my life as it is. Smuggling jewels may not bring me as much money as weapons, but it's not as dangerous, either. And I have enough to live off."