A third voice says, “Gimme some fuckin’ Advil or somethin’.”

“Acetaminophen,” I say aloud.

Another minute or so goes by of Cargill cursing and the other guy apparently trying to bandage the cut on his cheek. Any wound over half an inch ought to get real stitches. Cargill better hope his face doesn’t get all infected and puffy. Not that I care terribly much. But Cargill is clearly in a hurry, which is what I was counting on.

My stomach rumbles, and I look longingly at the RaceTrac and its convenience store. Aside from a protein bar that I grabbed this morning before Caesar picked me up, I’ve eaten nothing today. But I don’t know if I have time to grab any food. Good planning, Suzie. So I continue listening to Cargill mutter and bitch as the other man plays clumsy nursemaid.

Finally Cargill gets his two mechanics out of his office and I hear a door close. I keep my eyes trained on the garage down the street. No one steps in or out of the building. Then I hear Cargill speak.

“We got a problem.” Pause. “Yeah, I’m on a clean phone, I’m not an idiot. It’s Gavin Lester’s niece. She came in here and busted up the place, wanted to know where Tane Kamaka is.” Pause. “I don’t know. She knows you and your compadres want to set up shop here.” Pause. “She didn’t say shit about that.” Pause. “Hell, yes, I still—” Pause. “Tonight? Shit. Yeah, okay, it’s good. When?” Pause. “All right. Same place we talked about.” Pause. “Fucking wetback motherfuckers. George!” A thump like a drawer being closed, or someone bumping into the desk. Then footsteps. “George!” Cargill’s voice sounds farther away. “Call Lucas, we gotta move it up to tonight. No, I don’t …” Then his voice fades to background noise. He must have walked out of his office into the garage and out of range of the bug.

Rattling Brandon Cargill’s cage seems to be working. I open another app on my phone and see the tracking device I put on Cargill’s truck is blinking away. Now all I have to do is wait for him to lead me to wherever he’s going—hopefully to Bala, or one of the Sureños. Then maybe I can find out more about Tane.

First things first. I call Ethan, who picks up on the second ring. Uncle Gavin is still in surgery—over three hours and counting. Then Ethan tells me to hang on and the phone goes silent. A minute later he comes back on. “He’s out of surgery. Doc just told me. He’s okay. He made it.”

I let out a long, shuddering sigh. “God, I thought we might lose him. But he’s okay?”