Page 113

CHAPTER 111

THE NARROW STREET in Monterrey, Mexico, was lined with colorful stucco housing and small businesses with large signs. Walking away from the police station, Joe Molinari, wearing his own clothes, looked around for FBI agents Dougherty and Ruiz.

If they weren’t there to pick him up, he was screwed. He had no money, a phone with no service, no friends in Monterrey.

A car honked behind him and Joe turned his head. That dusty gray Buick from the 1960s might be them. He stood with his back to a wall as a man on a scooter blew past him. Then he picked out the car again. Was it them …?

Yes. Dougherty was driving. Ruiz was in the passenger seat. Dougherty waved and Ruiz called out to him.

“Hey, jailbird. Get in the car.”

Joe called out, “Hang on. Can I borrow a phone? I’ve got to make a call.”

Ruiz called back, “Asshole. Get in the car.”

I was home in bed when the phone rang.

I didn’t recognize the number or the area code. It seemed like it was international. Maybe it was Mexico.

I answered with one tentative word and a question mark.

“Joe?”

“Hi, sweetie. How are you, my dear wife?”

I was flooded with emotion, love, anger, relief.

But I said, “Much better now.”

Joe said, “My ride is here. Dougherty has lent me his phone. They’re taking me to the airport.”

I started asking him questions. Was he all right? When would he be arriving in San Francisco? Then I heard a shot.

Then another.

I was yelling, “ JOE! ? JOE! ?”

He didn’t answer. I heard a car and street noises and that was all. Then—thank you, God—Joe’s voice came over my phone again.

“Lindsay, my partners put down some bad guys. We have to get out of here fast …”

Another voice came over the phone.

“Lindsay, this is Agent Ruiz. I’m one of the good guys. Stand by for a happy ending. Here ya’ go, Joe.”

Joe said to the quivering mess of me: “I’m here, Blondie. I’m good. I love you very much. And I’m coming home.”