things—to kill, get paid for it and fix. He most likely has a handler who transports him and brings him food, drugs and jobs.”
“And who the hell would handle a zombie like him?” Kaino asked.
“Someone just like him, but can still pass for human at first glance.”
“Jesus,” Savacool said. “That’s the most horrible life I can imagine.”
Bolan nodded. He and Kaino had smelled Cocosino, and if the assassin was really was addicted to krokodil, then some part of him probably relished the idea of being killed and ending his suffering. Savacool was also right about another thing. After a year of krokodil addiction and paying for it with murder, Cocosino was now more ghoul than man in more ways than one.
Now Bolan and Kaino were his prime targets.
“What now?” Kaino inquired. “The safehouse is trashed and definitely not safe. Unless you want to go back and let them take another swing at us.”
“I doubt they’d try it again, particularly since they saw us visit the FBI office. Then again, our enemies don’t know where we are at the moment, and I want to keep it that way. I have my people working up the info Sophie was kind enough to give us. I want to take the files on the Zetas you have and the info we got out of Salami and work up our next plan of attack. Like you said last night, we’re taking this up to the distributor level.”
“Ass-kickings to bust things loose?” Savacool mused.
“I offered you a spot on the team. First string.”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. The good news is I think I may be in a position to help you on the safehouse front. You have Cocosino after you, and he is as gutter level as it gets. On top of that you were attacked by some kind of very professional international hit squad. Whoever is pulling all this together has a pretty extensive reach.” Savacool grinned. “But I doubt they know about my great-aunt’s place in the suburbs.”
Kaino smiled happily. “She’s on the team!”
“Actually, after the tagging in the parking lot my superiors have ordered me to, and I quote, ‘wear you two like underwear.’ I’m your babysitter in Miami as of now and for the duration.” Savacool gave Bolan a very frank look. “Mr. Cooper, that was one fascinating phone number you gave us, I must admit. The Miami office’s cooperation with you has been given a very high sense of urgency. But I expect you to be honest with me at all times. You don’t pull any more James Bond shit without telling me first. We may have to cooperate with you, but that cooperation could quickly become...how shall I put it? Less than enthusiastic?”
“Agent Savacool, I understand the position of you and your office completely. I can’t tell you who I am or reveal most of my sources. But I can tell you this. We’re on the same team. You’re at every meeting. Your input on investigation and strategy is not only welcomed but encouraged. I have no authority over you. My only requirement is that in a combat situation you let me lead, and I say that simply because I have the most experience at it. The second you can’t hang with me or my methods, you can walk and report me to your superiors, no hard feelings.”
“He gave me the same deal,” Kaino affirmed.
“You know, I thought for sure you were going to get mad.”
“He doesn’t get mad.” Kaino resumed attacking his goat stew with gusto. “He gets all spooky and shit, and then he goes all Action Jackson.”
Bolan smiled. That was one way of putting it.
Savacool wrote an address on a napkin. “It’s on the edge of the Everglades. The roads get a little twisty and dark, but most map apps can find it.”
Kaino looked up from his plate. “You’re not coming with us?”
“I need to report in, and pick up a few things. I’ll meet up with you tonight.” Savacool turned to leave. “The key is under the gnome.”
Bolan and Kaino watched Savacool walk to her car. Kaino frowned. Bolan frowned in return. “I thought you liked her.”
“I do.”
“Then what up?”
Kaino was doing some kind of Puerto Rican mathematics as he watched Savacool’s chiseled calves. “She’s awfully damn skinny.”
“So?”
“So we’re spending the night.”
“And?”
Despite having mostly demolished a heaping plate of goat stew, the master sergeant’s right hand reflexively went to his belly. “You think she can cook?”
Miami Beach
S ALAMI POPPED MORE painkillers, washed them down with half a glass of wine and tried not to vomit at the stench pervading his beach house retreat. It radiated off the visitors sitting on his couch. Through his haze of pain, he was thinking he would have to have the sofa disinfected. He might just have to have the whole house fumigated. He might just have to move.
Salami’s guest of honor hid his features under a hoodie, hat, sunglasses and a bandanna. A woman who looked like a Latina vampire-stripper who had been buried alive for a hundred years sat beside him. From what little Salami had gleaned, she was Cocosino’s “handler,” and few steps farther from the grave than he was. She wore a black turtleneck sweater despite the heat.
Salami tossed back the rest of his glass and poured himself another. “So, you saw him? You saw El Hombre?”
The wraparound dark glasses focused on the amber prescription bottle on the coffee table. Cocosino’s voice was a tuberculotic rasp. “What’s that? Percocet?”
“Yeah, doctor’s orders.”
A horrible sound came out from under the bandanna that Salami realized was laughter. “I got something that will make you feel a lot better.”
Salami cringed in horror. “No, man, I’m good. El Hombre? You saw him?”
“Saw him. Tagged him. I like him.”
“You like him?”
“You know, people think I’m just a degenerate junkie.”
Salami withheld comment.
“And I am a degenerate junkie, but I am not just a degenerate junkie.”
The gangbanger wanted more wine and drugs, but he didn’t want to appear weak. “Oh?”
“I think about things. I have lots of time to think. I’ve read the newspapers. I watch TV and heard what they’re saying on the street. I’ve listened to what you and others have told me.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s an El Hombre who’s rampaged through Mexico on several occasions.”
“I’ve heard that.”
Cocosino cocked his masked, rotting head in question. “Did you know the first time I fixed
