The Black Ice (hb-2)

even know was across from Zorrillo’s ranch until Corvo told him, was part of the black ice pipeline. He told Corvo the rest of his theory: that Fernal Gutierrez-Llosa was a day laborer who either hired on as a mule and didn’t make the grade or had worked at the bug breeding plant and seen something he should not have seen or done something he should not have done. Either way, he was beaten to death, his body put in one of the white environment boxes and taken with a shipment of fruit flies to Los Angeles. His body was then dumped in Hollywood and reported by Moore, who probably handled everything on this end.
    “They had to get the body out of there because they couldn’t bring an investigation into the plant. There is something there. At least, something that was worth killing an old man for.”
    Corvo had his arm up on the bar and his face in the palm of his hand. He said, “What did he see?”
    “I don’t know. I do know that EnviroBreed has a deal with the feds not to have their shipments across the border bothered with. Opening those boxes could damage the goods.”
    “Who have you told this to?”
    “Nobody.”
    “Nobody? You have told no one about EnviroBreed?”
    “I’ve made some inquiries. I haven’t told anyone the story I just told you.”
    “Who have you made inquiries with? You called the SJP?”
    “Yeah. They put out a letter to the consulate on the old man. That’s how I put it together. I still have to make a formal ID of the body when I’m down there.”
    “Yeah, but did you bring up EnviroBreed?”
    “I asked if they ever heard of him working at EnviroBreed.”
    Corvo spun back toward the bar with an exasperated sigh.
    “Who did you talk to there?”
    “A captain named Grena.”
    “I don’t know him. But you’ve probably spoiled your lead. You just don’t go to the locals with this sort of thing. They pick up the phone, tell Zorrillo what you just said and then pick up a bonus at the end of the month.”
    “Maybe it’s spoiled, maybe it isn’t. Grena brushed me off and may think that’s it. At least I didn’t go walking into the bug place and ask to set up a weather station.”
    Neither spoke. Each one thinking about what the other had said so far.
    “I’m going to get down on this right away,” Corvo said after a while. “You have to promise me you won’t go fucking around with it when you get down there.”
    “I’m not promising anything. And so far I’ve done all the giving here. You haven’t said shit.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “About Zorrillo.”
    “All you really gotta know is that we’ve wanted his ass for a long time.”
    This time Bosch signaled for two more beers. He lit a cigarette and saw the smoke blur his reflection in the mirror.
    “Only thing you have to know about Zorrillo is that he is one smart fucker and, like I said, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he already knows you’re coming. Fuckin’ SJP. We only deal with the
federales
. Even them you can trust about as much as an ex-wife.”
    Bosch nodded meaningfully, just hoping Corvo would continue.
    “If he doesn’t know now, he’ll know before you get there. So you’ve got to watch your ass. And the best way of doing that is not to go. With you, I know, that isn’t an option. The second best way is to skip the SJP altogether. You can’t trust ’em. The pope has people inside there. Okay?”
    Bosch nodded at him in the mirror. He decided to stop nodding all the time.
    “Now, I know everything I just said went in your ears and out your asshole,” Corvo said. “So what I’m willing to do is put you with a guy down there, work it from there. Name’s Ramos. You go down, say your howdy-dos with the local SJPs, act like everything is nice, and then hook up with Ramos.”
    “If this EnviroBreed thing pans out and you make a move on Zorrillo, I want to be there.”
    “You will. Just hang with Ramos. Okay?”
    Bosch thought it over a few moments and said, “Yeah. Now tell me about Zorrillo. You keep going off on other shit.”
    “Zorrillo’s been around a long time. We’ve got intelligence on him going back to the seventies at least. A career doper. One of the bounces on the trampoline, I’d guess you’d call him.”
    Bosch had heard the term before but was confident Corvo would get around to explaining it anyway.
    “Black ice is just his latest thing. He was a
marijuanito
when he was a kid. Pulled out of the barrio by someone like himself today. He