Triple Crossing by Sebastian Rotella Read Free Book Online Page B

quietly. “What, somebody planted twenty-five Chinese in his house when he wasn’t
     looking?”
    Fernández Rochetti arched his eyebrows. Losada said, “Well, the principal issue, Licenciado, is that we want to thank you
     for the courtesy of coming to see us. And we’d like to discuss keeping De Rosa out of custody. Perhaps a house arrest…”
    “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Méndez answered. “We have already turned the case over to the federal prosecutor. The best
     I can do is put him in the Eighth Street Jail.”
    The argument about custody arrangements went in circles. Acell phone rang. Losada fished in his trench coat, produced the phone and answered it. Fernández Rochetti turned expectantly.
     The prosecutor’s stutter-stepping intensified.
    “Yessir. Yes, thank you. Well, you should really talk to him, he happens to be right here.” Losada pressed a hand over the
     phone and made an apologetic face at Méndez. “This lawyer has been pestering me all day. A pain in the neck. Best if he talks
     to you, Licenciado. It’s a federal matter.”
    Losada handed the phone to Méndez, who exchanged a glance with Athos.
    “Hello?” Méndez said into the phone.
    “Licenciado, how are you?” The voice was resonant and mannered. “This is Licenciado Castrejón greeting you, from the law office
     of Castrejón and Sáenz? At your service. What a pleasure to hear your voice. You and the family are well, I hope? I’m so lucky
     to have found you there.”
    “Yes.”
    “Listen, Licenciado Méndez,” the lawyer said. “It turns out that I’ve been engaged by certain parties on behalf of certain
     parties in this business of these foreigners from China. I have a matter I’d like to take up with you.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “A delicate, complicated situation, Licenciado. The best way I can express myself is as follows: I would be very grateful
     if we could work out some kind of arrangement by which you could release Officer De Rosa and the Chinese gentleman, Mr., eh,
     Chen.”
    “An arrangement.”
    “Exactly.” The lawyer gathered momentum, the words devoid of genuine expression, as if he were reading from a script. “Let
     me phrase it like this, if you permit me: Certain parties would be interested, if we could secure the release of these two
     gentlemen, in making a generous contribution to the Special Unit which you command.”
    “A contribution.” Now Méndez looked at Fernández Rochetti, who was savoring his cigar. Sons of bitches, Méndez thought. They’re
     just doing it to see my reaction.
    “Yes sir, maybe ‘donation’ would be the best word. The Diogenes Group is doing such admirable work. What a difficult battle
     it is, you have my deepest respect in that regard. I read a newspaper story explaining how you have to make do with old cars
     and radios, secondhand bulletproof vests from the San Diego Police. A real shame. So we were thinking along the lines of a
     donation: say three new cars and some vests, radios and other equipment. In exchange for the liberty of Mr. Chen and Detective
     De Rosa. If that sounds agreeable. After all, we know your real concern is drug smuggling, not a few extra migrants.”
    Méndez lowered the phone for a moment, the disembodied voice droning in his hand. He contemplated throwing the phone at Fernández
     Rochetti or the prosecutor. Athos sat forward with his forearms on his thighs. Méndez collected himself. Athos had told him
     that it was best to respond to the mafia in kind. If they are indirect and flowery, you be indirect and flowery. If they curse
     and threaten, you curse and threaten. Energy for energy.
    “Licenciado Castrejón,” Méndez said into the phone. “I appreciate the offer, of course. Of course we could always use new
     equipment at the Diogenes Group. Lamentably, I can’t accept it in this context. And let me say, in anticipation of another
     offer, that I like money. Who doesn’t? I probably like money almost as much as