Chapter 9 of Shiva’s Messenger

A Nifty Twist on the NAFTA

After enjoying a meal in the Via Rail dining car, he went back to his seat. The young traveler reclined and watched the scenery for a few minutes. The tracks went through industrial sections of urban areas but between centers, he could watch the rugged Canadian landscape slipping by. With a berth to sleep in, this was definitely better than driving. As Sam had predicted, he arrived in Winnipeg well rested.

Shiva’s Messenger took a taxi to an address only one block from the car lot. Renting a stretched limo and putting Mexican flags on the hood had been an option that he’d considered briefly but he didn’t want quite that much attention.

“Hello Garcia Monterey,” the impeccably dressed man viewed his reflection in a shop window as he walked by. Garcia adopted a swagger in his step that only prestige can purchase or practice may imitate. With an air of aristocracy, he strode onto the lot and stood still in the exact center. Taking out his video camera, he began to pan it about, while providing a Spanish commentary.

After only a few seconds, a grinning salesman emerged from the office. His step was lively and his polyester suit flapped as he walked. Garcia gave the man a disparaging look from head to toe and didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I do not deal with underlings.” Garcia turned curtly away to dismiss the salesman entirely.
He remained in place and continued to view the cars. It only took another brief moment before Garcia heard a heavy shuffle of feet coming up behind him. Turning, he saw a grossly obese man approaching him in a waddle. His ensemble was better made than his salesman’s was. To find something off-the-rack to encircle his expansive girth, the man would’ve been in a tent and awning shop as opposed to a big and tall men’s wear one.

“You are the owner of these automobiles?” Garcia asked with only a slight trace of a Mexican accent. He had also dropped the contractions in his speech. A man of Monterey’s noble breeding and classical education would not use them.

“I do. In fact, I own the whole lot.”

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…

Garcia Monterey phoned Frost’s car lot on Friday morning. “Are the transfer documents ready?”

“I’m really glad you called.” Andrew puffed slightly like picking up the phone had put him out of breath. “I was just about to call your embassy in Ottawa.”

“They would have just patched you through to me here.” Garcia was fortunate this was a phone call. His hugely relieved reaction might have shown in person. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I’m just calling to set up a time for our meeting.” Andrew seemed to forget that he hadn’t been the one that dialed. “I also wanted to ensure that you had the exact figure to put on the check.”

“How about eight thirty?” Garcia then jotted down the amount.

Garcia Monterey hung up the phone. Then after a quick glance at the wall mirror, Roger Connors picked it up again to dial Darcy’s cell phone. “Have you read the file yet?”

“Yes.” The lawyer then went on to excitedly report her finding something bemusing. Audrey had sold the cars to different people, but the same sales lot had filled out all the paperwork. “I expect I’ll have an interesting discussion with the owner.

“That intriguing.” Roger feigned surprise. “You might consider getting a search warrant first or he’ll have an opportunity to destroy any evidence.”

“Please, Mr. Connors,” she chuckled at his presumption of her nonexistent naïveté, “I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”

Shiva’s Messenger keyed in the numbers and an imprinter Sam had provided cranked out a perfect check. He minutely examined the finished product under the desk light. From the intricate logo of an import & export company to the embossed dollar amount and certified stamps, the forgery was a masterful piece of work. Of course it had to be, Sam Levi was a peerless craftsman. Tossing away the other beautiful blanks was almost a dirty shame. Still, having too many was always better than not quite enough.

He donned the same slightly oversized suit jacket that Romero had worn and strapped on the same shoulder holster. The identical Ruger model to the one from Creston was again the right weapon for the task. It was quiet and deadly. Again the fit was invisible and he practiced his draw a few times until the motions were engrained into his muscle memory. He looked in his mirror.

“Hey there Garcia. Why don’t we go and put a new clause into the North American Free Trade Agreement.”

…

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