Chapter 33 - The ImpalaThe garage was pitch black, save for a single, flickering fluorescent bulb hanging over the central hydraulic lift.
The digital clock on the wall read 11:45 PM.
Carlos had gone home hours ago. Mateo had stayed, telling his boss he had a backlog of transmission work to finish. He sat on a metal stool, a heavy steel tire iron resting across his knees, waiting.
At exactly midnight, the low, throaty rumble of a massive V8 engine vibrated through the thin metal walls of the garage.
Headlights swept across the frosted glass windows. The heavy rolling door rattled as someone knocked heavily from the outside.
Mateo stood up, gripping the tire iron, and hit the electronic switch to raise the bay door.
The 1968 Chevrolet Impala rolled inside. It was painted a deep, midnight black, the chrome bumpers gleaming flawlessly under the harsh light.
The stranger in the linen suit stepped out of the driver's side.
"Punctual," the stranger noted, looking around the empty garage. "I appreciate a man who respects time."
"What do you want?" Mateo demanded, stepping forward, making sure the stranger saw the heavy iron in his hands.
"As I said this morning," the man replied, leaning against the hood of the car. "My employer's late brother, Arturo Vargas, used this vehicle for personal errands. Before his unfortunate death, Arturo hid something inside the structural framework of this car. The Vargas family wants it back."
"Why come to me? You have mechanics in Querétaro."
"Because Arturo was paranoid," the stranger explained. "He rigged the compartment with a localized incendiary device. If we try to pry it open forcefully, whatever is inside will burn. You have a reputation, Mateo. You dismantled the security systems at Arturo’s warehouse six months ago. You know his wiring."
Mateo stared at the car.
"And if I refuse?"
The stranger sighed, adjusting his cuffs.
"My name is Hector Vargas. Arturo was my younger brother. He was a fool, and his death was his own fault. But I am not a fool, Mateo. If you do not open that compartment, I will send my men to your house, and I will burn it to the ground with your family inside. Do we understand each other?"
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Mateo’s jaw locked. He looked at the Impala, a monument to the violence he thought he had escaped.
"Give me the keys," Mateo said.
