He raised a brow but didn’t say anything to that. Esteban wasn’t new to the interrogation process, but still, I felt better not having him there.
I followed Borerro and Morales, with Diego behind me as always, down the hall and stairs to the basement. It was clean, dark, and cool down here, with a metal chair in the middle of the room and rope coiled underneath it. Two other chairs were stacked in the corner beside a sink and a storage chest. There was an arsenal of depravity in that chest; I had spent a full day here last time picking out the best means of torture and filling it up just so.
The closet that contained the hot water tank looked like any other, complete with a mop and bucket — crucial for washing away the blood — and you could barely fit inside it. But Borrero squeezed past the heater and pushed at the bricks on the wall behind it. A hidden door opened with a groan, the grating sound of bricks grinding against each other, and soon he disappeared.
We followed him — Diego grunting because his stomach could barely squeeze past the heater — and then we were in a long, dirt tunnel that stretched straight out for a few yards before curling around to the left. Faint lights lined the ceiling, and in the middle of the tunnel was Evaristo, hands and feet bound, tied with a metal leash to a chair. He had a ball-gag in his mouth, and his head was slumped over, his eyes closed.
In person he looked a lot younger than I had thought. Maybe everyone looked a bit younger when they had their eyes closed. Innocent, almost, though I knew the boy-man couldn’t be where he was with the federales and still maintain his innocence. They might have been fighting on the other side, but they were still capable of being as twisted and immoral as the cartels were. At least we had a code of conduct. They pretended they had one and called it justice.
Beside Evaristo on the ground were two buckets of water and a large metal toolbox. I wondered what my sicarios had selected for me and what they’d already used themselves.
As Diego closed the brick wall behind us, I went over to Evaristo and looked him over closely. One of his eyes and the corresponding cheekbone was black and blue, and there was a trail of dried blood beneath his nose. His dark hair was matted down, maybe with sweat, maybe with blood. Other than that though, he didn’t look half bad.
“He got a little frisky when we first took him,” Morales explained. “I roughed him up a bit, knocked him out.”
“He’s been out ever since?”
He shook his head and puffed on his cigarette, the smoke wafting down the tunnel, trying to find fresh air. “He came to but we put him back under. The more disoriented he is, the better. It’s been a few hours though since we last gave him a hit, so I’m sure you can wake him and get him talking.”
I was sure about the first part but not the second.
Before I did anything to wake him, I crouched down and inspected the tool box. At the top was a small battery pack and rod. It was the typical narco route for interrogations, but it was a staple because it worked so damn well.
I picked it up then nodded at Borrero and the bucket.
“Wake him.”
Borrero came over and tipped the water over Evaristo’s head. He immediately jerked in his seat, blue eyes wide and crazed, the gag sucked into his mouth as he inhaled hard. Now he looked older. This was good. I didn’t like the idea of having to torture a boy, even though I would do it to get what I needed.
As Evaristo jerked against the metal leash and fought against the bonds, I stooped over in front of him and looked him in the eye.
“Welcome,” I said to him. “I think you know who I am. And I know who you are. And we’re going to play a little game, you and I. I think you’re very good at playing games, aren’t you federale?”
Water streamed down Evaristo’s face. His eyes widened at first then narrowed as he seemed to recognize who I was. Of course he recognized me. I was their number one target, and it had just been his rotten luck that he was dispatched to go after the Tijuana cartel instead. Too much pressure from the DEAs in California. They wanted the drugs to stop appearing in their backyards but hadn’t quite figured out that all the drugs came from somewhere.
“Ah, you do know me,” I said, reaching out to brush his hair off his forehead. He flinched at my touch, as he should, and I was briefly, uncomfortably, reminded of Luisa. I swallowed that down and kept my focus on him. “So, the question is, how long do you want to play this game? You can make it really easy for yourself. You can talk right away and I won’t even have to use this.” I lifted the battery pack. He didn’t seem affected in the slightest, which was admirable considering he knew what it could do. “I also give you my word, and you should know my word is good. If you give me what I want, I will let you go. I won’t drive you up to the PFM building in Mexico City, but I will let you walk out of here alive. You understand?”
Evaristo didn’t nod but I could see in his eyes that he did understand. And he didn’t like it. He was already prepared to put up a front and he had no idea what I was going to ask of him.
“We’re not interested in your organization,” I told him. “We’re interested in your information. I want everything you have on Angel Hernandez. I know you know where he is, but you haven’t been given the bureaucratic authority to capture him yet. What a pain in the ass bureaucracy is, am I right? They couldn’t even save your own sorry little ass. You wanted Hernandez and you got me instead.” I put one hand on the ball gag and the other held the battery in view. “Are you ready to talk?”