They Called Her Indigo

by Sam Lee Jackson

  “I was swimming,” I said. “Eddie thought I was in trouble.”

  “It was goddam lightning,” Eddie said. “You don’t screw around with lightning.”

  “I appreciate a good friend thinking of me,” I said.

  “Well, give your good friend a drink, goddammit.”

  “Make it three,” Pete said. So I poured three.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I’ve got a problem, and I need a solution.”

  “The first part of solving a problem is realizing you have a problem.”

  “Well, thank you, Tony fucking Robbins,” Eddie said, knocking his drink back.

  “I wish you wouldn’t cuss in front of the children,” Pete said.

  Eddie’s eyebrows went up. He looked behind him. “That little girl isn’t here, is she?”

  “I was talking about Jackson,” Pete said. “Tell us what the problem is.”

  So I did.

  37

  Pete had followed me back downtown to the El Patron. The band was practicing for the evening gig. We were at the bar with Blackhawk, Nacho and Indigo. Jimmy was behind the bar, serving. He served us each a beer. Except Blackhawk. He had club soda and tonic.

  “As usual, Pete had a good idea.”

  “Idea for what?” Nacho said.

  “We pretty well nailed down where we think Ashley’s mother is. Where she’s being held. It’s in a horse property out Dynamite Road, between Scottsdale and Rio Verde. But the trick is to figure out if she is really there, without tipping those guys off.”

  “Surveillance?” Indigo said.

  “The problem there is how long do we have to do that? They could keep her in there for a month. Keep her inside, out of sight.”

  “So what did you come up with?” Blackhawk said, looking at Pete.

  “Send in a package she has to sign for.”

  “They could just ignore it,” Indigo said.

  “Yeah, we thought of that,” I said. “So we send a package from Newman with his Vegas address as the return address. She has to come to the door to sign for it. If she’s not there, they’ll tell us.”

  “Might work,” Nacho said.

  “Then what?” Indigo said. “We find out she’s there, then what? Just bust the door down and go in and get her? She could get hurt.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” I said.

  “And?” Blackhawk said.

  “And, we need to communicate with her. We want her beside a door, or window of our choosing, at a certain time. Middle of the night, probably. We crack the window, or the door and take her out before they can react.”

  “How do we communicate?” Blackhawk said.

  “This is the brilliant part,” Pete said. He looked at me. “Jackson’s idea. Tell them.”

  “Jesus, that’ll go to his head,” Blackhawk said.

  I ignored him. “We can figure her guards will open the package and look it over. So what it will be is a very feminine bottle of perfume or lotion. It will have a cap on it.”

  Indigo laughed. “Perfume. The first thing a woman does is spray her wrist for a smell. There’s not a guy alive that would do that.”

  “We shrink wrap it with the label on the outside, so they can see exactly what it is and who’s sending it. The message…..”

  “Is in the cap,” Indigo said.

  We were all smiling.

  Blackhawk sent Nacho to find a cheap magnetic sign that turned the band van into a delivery van. Pete volunteered to be the delivery boy. We bought a uniform, down to the cap, brown shorts, black socks and black shoes. We fixed up a clip-board with the right paper work. Indigo and I went perfume shopping. I thought we should go to Scottsdale Fashion Square, maybe to Nordstrom’s or something upscale like that. She took me to Walmart.

  “We need a bottle with a big lid,” she explained. I’m not sure how Walmart went with big lids, but I went along. Sure enough, we found what we needed. Back at the nightclub I fashioned the note. I cut a strip of paper that was less wide than the lid. I wrote, “Mark a window with soap that you can be beside, and ready to go, at 2AM,- Jackson”. I wound it inside the lid. Then we shrink-wrapped the bottle and attached the label.

  We waited till late afternoon. We had looked at the property with satellite imaging from Google Earth. It was just past 141st Street, off Dynamite Road by almost a hundred yards. It was large with a meandering dirt drive that ended up in front. It was surrounded by a wall that went around the entire property. In the back there was a large grass expanse inside the wall. Behind the grass was the area with corrals, and a barn. Immediately behind the main house was a large pool, shaped to be more lagoon like than a swimming pool rectangle. There was a neighbor quite a way back from the south wall, but other than that, it was pretty isolated.

  Blackhawk and I went first. 141st Street was dirt. I drove a hundred yards up it and pulled off. Taking the Nikon ten-power binoculars, we found a spot where we were hidden, but had a clear view of the front door. I looked at my watch. We had fifteen minutes. Pete was due at 6 pm. If we got lucky they would be eating or getting ready to eat. I was figuring none of these guys could boil water, so they would probably have Lindy do the cooking. I knew she could make mac and cheese because Ashley told me so.

  Pete was on time. He brought a cloud of dust with him. He pulled up to the area in front of the house. I call it area, because it was just a wide patch of dirt. He was smart enough to park as far back as he could, to lessen the scrutiny of the van from the front door.

  I adjusted the binoculars as he carried the package up to the front door. We had placed the address and return address label on the clear shrink wrap. There was no question as to who it was from. This was key. I watched as he rang the doorbell. He waited. He rang again.

  “What if they don’t answer?” Blackhawk said.

  “Then we go to plan B.”

  “What’s plan B?

  “I don’t know,” I said as the door opened. I watched the pantomime as Pete explained he needed Lindy’s signature. The guy reached for the package. Pete stepped back. He held out the clipboard, explaining he needed her signature. We had rehearsed this part, figuring they’d give him a hard time. I could see him shaking his head. He couldn’t relinquish the package without her signature.

  The goon looked disgusted, but he disappeared inside. Pete was good. He didn’t look across the desert to where he knew we would be. It was a long moment. I began to worry. Then the door opened, and Lindy stepped out. Bingo!

  She signed for the package. Pete said something to her and turned and went back to the truck. This was rehearsed also. He was to say, his wife thought that stuff was the best smelling stuff in the world. We wanted her to be sure to open it. She stepped inside and closed the door. Pete fired the truck up and backed out the drive, then turned back toward Scottsdale.

  At one forty-five in the morning, Blackhawk and I were lucky. Lindy had followed instructions and had marked a window on the west side of the house. She had been liberal with the soap and the X was large and prominent. The room behind the window was dark. The drapes were drawn. Now I was hoping Lindy was just on the other side of the window. We didn’t want to have to go in and get her. We were dressed alike, in dark clothes, dark watch caps and rubber-soled shoes. We were armed, and I carried a ten-pound hammer. I felt like Thor, God of Thunder. Aaargh.

  Indigo was pissed we hadn’t included her. I carefully explained that the Mustang had the most muscle of any of our vehicles. If we had to run, I wanted to run fast. And the Mustang was barely big enough for three. I carefully explained, it wasn’t big enough for four. She didn’t care, she was still pissed.

  Waiting for five minutes to pass can be excruciating. Finally, the illuminated hands on my watch showed two o’clock, straight up. Blackhawk threw the master breaker switch and in three massive swings I took the window out. Despite the breaker, an alarm started screeching. I reached inside, grabbed a handful of drape and pulled it loose. I yanked it through the wind
ow, leaving enough to cover the broken glass on the sill.

  “Lindy?” I said.

  “I’m here,” her voice came from the dark inside.

  “Let’s go,” I said, holding a hand out, into the dark room. She took my hand and clambered out the window. I could hear shouting inside the house. Blackhawk was back with us, and we turned and ran toward the Mustang. Because of the scrub brush and cactus, we had planned the route ahead. It wasn’t a straight line. Even with the planning, it was tough. Plants grabbing at our legs in the dark. Lindy stumbled and went to one knee. We both pulled her up and got her going again. We went over the wall and reached the Mustang just as the emergency floodlights lit up. Luckily, they illuminated the property inside the wall, not outside.

  Blackhawk shoved Lindy into the back seat.

  “Stay down on the floor board,” he said as he climbed in.

  I fired her up. I blew dirt and dust behind me, as I roared toward the street. I fish-tailed onto Dynamite Road, and the tires grabbed purchase with a long ear-splitting squeal. Blackhawk was turned in the seat.

  “You’re going the wrong way,” he said.

  “I’m going to Rio Verde. If they didn’t see us they’ll think I went to Scottsdale.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “Except they saw you, and here they come.”

  Sure enough, I watched the lights pop out behind me. I goosed it. There are no streetlights out here, and it was like I was driving in a tunnel. I could feel Lindy sit up behind me.

  “Where’s Ashley?” she said.

  “She’s safe.”

  She was quiet a moment, then, “Who the hell are you guys?”

  38

  “Lindy, this is Blackhawk. Blackhawk, Lindy.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Blackhawk said.

  “Blackhawk? What kind of name is Blackhawk? You an Indian or something?”

  “Oh, he’s something,” I said.

  “Are you sure Ashley’s okay?”

  “You explain kemo sabe, me drive,” I said to Blackhawk.

  I was really concentrating on the ribbon of road. I knew up ahead was a sharp right-hand turn and I wanted to make sure we made it.

  “Ashley is with our people,” Blackhawk said above the roar of the engine. “She is very safe.” He glanced over at me. “When you didn’t come back to Jackson’s boat, he enlisted our help in taking care of Ashley. She is a very bright little girl,” he said.

  “Who’s your help?”

  “Friends of Jackson. Very competent friends. Your friend, Mr. Newman, sent his people to collect Ashley, and Jackson objected, not sure if that was your wishes.”

  “He objected?”

  “Very strongly.”

  “He isn’t my friend. Newman, I mean. I was working for him when I got pregnant. He didn’t want anything to do with me or the baby after that. Then things changed, and he did.”

  “No doubt Newman is the father?”

  “Oh yes, there is doubt.”

  “Did you do a DNA test?”

  She shook her head, but I didn’t see it. “Nope. Didn’t want to.”

  “Because you might find out he is the father?”

  She was silent for a long moment, then she evidently had turned to look out the back window. “Those guys are getting closer,” she said.

  I glanced in the rear view and she was right. Up ahead the high beams hit the yellow sign with the black arrow, and then we were sliding into the curve. As the rear tires caught traction again, I hit the accelerator. Lindy was bouncing around in the back.

  “Buckle up,” Blackhawk said to Lindy.

  Rio Verde is a sleepy little golf course burg. Far enough away to avoid the hustle and bustle. People moved here to play golf. They arose in the morning, drank their orange juice and whatever healthy buzzard puke green stuff they had concocted in their blenders, then went to make their tee times. After the game they played cards in the clubhouse, sometimes dined there, then went to the latest cocktail party. Next morning, they started all over again.

  The main drag is on the east side and goes the entire length of the town, which is to say a couple of miles. There are stoplights, but not at this time of the night. I blew through them, reaching up to eighty miles per hour. Off toward the darkness on the east, the Verde River trickles along. On the south side of town, the road does another right hand and the winding highway takes you to Fountain Hills. I went through the entire town of Rio Verde in about thirty seconds.

  The road to Fountain Hills is twisty and I put the Mustang through her paces. This is why you have a vehicle like the Mustang. This is where it’s fun. The headlights behind me had disappeared.

  Finally, from the dark of the back seat, Lindy said, “I don’t get it. Why?”

  “Why what?” Blackhawk said.

  “Why didn’t you just give Ashley to Newman?” she said to me.

  “Wasn’t mine to give,” I said.

  “What’s that mean?”

  Blackhawk hitched around. “You asked Jackson to watch her while you were gone. You had not given permission to hand her to anyone,” he said. “Jackson plays to his own set of rules. Sometimes, I don’t even get it. But you can count on the fact that he will never waver from his set of rules. You hadn’t given him permission to give her to anyone.”

  “So you would keep her forever?”

  “Not forever,” I said. “But I would make sure she would be safe and happy. How much do you know about his business dealings?” I said, to change the subject.

  “Not much,” she said. “Why?”

  “You ever hear of a company named Sussex Financial?”

  She was silent, thinking. “No, doesn’t ring a bell. Newman was involved with a lot of companies. I was the real estate girl, so if they weren’t developers, I probably wouldn’t know them.”

  “Newman ever involved with sex trafficking that you knew of?”

  “No, why do you ask that?”

  “We did some research on Newman. That’s how we found you. One of the companies he’s involved with owns that house you were in.”

  “I was wondering about that.”

  “We found he was on the board of another company, Sussex Financial. Another guy we knew was involved with Sussex Financial. That guy was heavy into the sex trade.”

  “Ugh,” she said. We rode in silence for a long time.

  Then she said, “I told you about those parties I would go to with him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “There was a creep that came to those. Don treated him like a big shot. He always brought a half-dozen young girls with him and he always had a half dozen tough looking guys with him.”

  “Tough like Don’s guys?”

  “Oh no, tougher than that. Mostly Hispanics, gang looking. Tattoos, like that.”

  “What was the guy’s name?”

  She thought a minute. “I don’t remember.”

  The lights of Fountain Hills came into sight.

  She was silent for a long time. Finally, she said, “You guys don’t know Don Newman. He can be ruthless. He could just have you killed. He wouldn’t blink an eye.”

  “You have never met anyone harder to kill,” Blackhawk said.

  39

  I pulled into a resort in Scottsdale that had a parking garage. It was early in the morning and Lindy had dozed off in the back seat. Every time I had glanced at Blackhawk, he was wide awake. Talk about a set of personal rules.

  I dropped Blackhawk and Lindy at the front and found a place to park in the garage. I had picked the place at random. I was confident we wouldn’t be found. If the sleepy desk clerk found it odd we had no luggage, she didn’t show it. Our room was on the second floor. We raided the vending machine in the hallway. We had two king beds. Blackhawk and I stretched out on one, Lindy on the other. With the lights out, it was pitch black. We were asleep in seconds.

  When I opened my eyes, light was struggling to come in around the black-out curtains. I looked at my watch. It was 8:30. Blackhawk and I sat
up at the same time. Lindy was still down. She was on her side, her blonde hair lying across her face.

  “She needs to see Ashley,” I said.

  “We can get something to eat and a shower at my place,” Blackhawk said.

  I slipped my shoes on, then reached over and gently shook Lindy’s shoulder. She muttered something. I shook her again.

  “Time to go, honey,” I said.

  She stretched out and opened her eyes. “Ashley?” she said.

  “Time to wake up. We are going to see Ashley.”

  Without a word, she sat up, then stood, then went into the bathroom. In a moment she came back out, Her face damp. Blackhawk took his turn, then I did mine. They were sitting on the beds waiting when I came out. We went down and I paid for the room in cash. This time the clerk gave us the eye. Like, what did those two perverts do to that poor little girl?

  After some maneuvers to insure we weren’t followed, and thirty minutes later I was parking behind the El Patron.

  We went in through the back storeroom. We went across the bar and up the steps. The apartment was quiet. After a night of performing, Elena usually slept until eleven. Indigo heard us and came out of the bedroom she shared with Ashley. I introduced her.

  “You’re the Mama?” she said. She nodded toward the closed door. “She’s still sleeping. She had trouble getting to sleep last night. You can go in and wake her. She’s your baby.”

  “I have to see her,” Lindy said softly.

  Indigo quietly opened the door and Lindy went in. Ashley was lying face down in a tangle of covers. Lindy moved to the bed and sat beside her. She began to stroke her hair. After a while, Ashley stirred. It took her a few moments to open her eyes. When she did, they got wide.

  “Mama!”

  “Hey baby, I’m back.”

  Ashley threw her arms around Lindy’s neck and Lindy began to cry. Indigo quietly shut the door.

  We went into the living room. “I’m famished,” I said.

  Indigo looked at me. “I ain’t your little woman. Do your own cooking.”

  “Hey, calm down, turbo. I’m not asking you to cook. You still pissed about last night?”