by Bob McElwain
“Mexico. More than likely the stuff’s coming in from there and they’re using Overnite Air. Seems like something was in that C47 Sanchez was working on and it came from Mexico. Tuckman hauls from Mexico. And those narcs wanted to know what I was doing down there.”
“So?” Hank asked.
“So I’ll wander down that way and take a look.”
“For what?” Hank asked.
“People. I could get lucky.”
“Not lately,” he snorted. Then, grinning he said, “You could take some bread, get a new name and stay awhile. That’d help.”
Brad ignored the comment. “Neither of you’ll know where I am. I’ll call when I can and that’s it.”
“And about Judge Tofler?” Josie asked quietly.
Brad shook his head. “Not now.” He wanted to say more, something to ease the look of sadness on her face, but he couldn’t think of any words that had a chance of helping.
“And the bail money?” Josie asked.
“I’ll take Tuckman’s offer and pay Amanda back.”
“That won’t leave much for the people Walden is putting to work,” she said.
“Don’t give it a thought,” Hank said bluntly. “I got some stashed and Amanda’s good for more.”
“Seems like you’re spending a lot of my money,” Brad commented.
“Won’t go over a couple thou a day. Hell. You’ll never miss it when you get blown away.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but do you think any of that will help?”
Hank shrugged and turned to Josie who answered, “As I said earlier and often, probably not. Have you a better idea?”
“No.”
“Hell, it’s only money,” Hank said.
“Right. It’s only money.” Brad looked hard at Hank and reached for his hand. “Now get your butt out of here. Okay?”
“Done,” he replied. Brad could hear his quiet whistle until he started down the stairs. He wished he had left with Hank; he wasn’t at all sure he wanted to be alone with Josie just now. He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Amanda Pothmore.”
“Brad here.”
“I’m glad you called. I’ve been hearing a lot and all of it bad. Is it true?”
He told her all he knew.
“And now?” she asked, trying to cover her worry. But he knew her too well; he could feel it. He told her of his plans and what Hank and Josie would attempt.
“Then you’ll miss court on Monday, won’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Judge Tofler will be angry. It’s difficult to tell what he may do.”
“Take your money, for one thing. But I’ll get it back to you.”
“Posh. Don’t worry about the money. Use what you’ve got to pay the people Walden hires. That’s the sensible thing to do.”
“We’ll see.”
“For once in your life, Brad Ashton, do what I ask. Remember, if it weren’t for my grand plan, you wouldn’t be in all this trouble.”
“It had to happen. Better to put it behind us now than later.”
“Brad,” she said softly. He could almost see tears in her eyes. “I can’t tell you how dreadfully—”
“As you would say,” he interrupted, “posh. Nobody gives guarantees and those who do are mostly liars. We’ve just had bad luck, is all.”
“What about you and Josie?”
“Yes?”
“Are you and she . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Are we what?”
“Sometimes you can be so exasperating.”
“Say what you mean.”
“Are you involved?” she asked finally.
“Of course. She’s been working extra hard ever since I got back.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Expect so.”
“All right, you young whippersnapper. You listen to me. You take care and make absolutely sure she’s not hurt in any way. Is that clear enough?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“You’re impossible.” She hung up.
Brad turned to Josie and said, “I best be heading out.”
“You wait a minute. Have a beer or something. I want to clean up.” Then she was gone, leaving him open-mouthed at the beginning of a protest.
He had finished only half his beer when she returned wearing gray slacks, a matching jacket, and black high-heeled sandals. In her left hand, she carried his money belt.
At the hard look in his eyes, she said softly, “After all these years, I stumble into a good pair of arms. Almost an accident, you might say. Do you really think I’m going to let you walk out that door without me? Besides, Lambert & Banks can do better than I can.” She tossed him the money belt which he deftly picked out of the air. “Count out $9,000 for them. You’ll find some envelopes in the left-hand drawer in the kitchen.”
He found an envelope, counted out the money and sealed it. He strapped the belt around his waist. By the time he’d finished his beer, she was at the apartment door, a carry-all bag over her shoulder.
“I don’t think—”
“That’s best,” Josie interrupted with a grin. “Don’t think. First we’ll drop the money off, then find you some more clothes. We’ll eat at the airport. Okay?”
He walked toward her slowly. For all the facility of her words, her uncertainty was plain in her eyes. He bent and kissed her. She let the bag drop off her shoulder and gave all her attention to the embrace. It was later when she said huskily, “We’ll be terribly late, unless we leave now.”
He wasn’t sure what they’d be late for, but he released her, picked up her bag and followed her out the door.
* * *
The flight to Mexico City was smooth and uneventful. As the plane settled into final approach, the lights of the city, a dim glow through the haze, rapidly focused as if a giant microscope was being adjusted by unseen hands. Street lights, then the headlights of cars and finally the runway lights, rushed by them. Josie, dozing with her head against his shoulder, awoke when the wheels touched down. “You’ve a nice shoulder,” she said, smiling. She pulled a mirror from her purse and began making last minute adjustments to makeup and hair.
Mexico City, like most capital cities throughout the world, keeps a watchful eye on tourists; it is profitable to keep them happy and contented. Formalities were kept to a minimum. The rental car Josie had arranged for was ready. Thirty minutes later they were in their room at the posh El Presidente Hotel.
An hour later, she fell asleep in his arms. She had come to him naked and glowing in the bright moonlight through the great window. Subdued by their thoughts, they sought to lose themselves each in the needs of the other. Afterwards he held her closely until she slept, then gently disentangled himself, rubbing his right arm to restore circulation.
He moved gently on the bed so as not to disturb her. Propped against the headboard, he watched the lights of the city through the window. One by one, sometimes in bunches, they went out. As if controlled by a master director, the city grew darker.
CHAPTER 12
Monday
After breakfast in the hotel dining room, they made their way to the tourist information desk. With Josie’s Nikon camera draped over his shoulder and two extra lenses dangling, Brad looked the part of a well-heeled tourist. Their animated chatter with the suave young man behind the counter accented the image. They paid for two tours they would miss, included a sizable tip and left the hotel, her arm linked in his. No one could have guessed Brad was overdue in a Los Angeles courtroom. Josie hadn’t mentioned it, but he suspected her thoughts were as his, grim and dark.
There had been no hint anyone would seek them out, but Brad had insisted. Anyone looking for them today would be looking in Mexico City. Three hours later, they parked in front of the small Overnite Air cargo terminal in Puebla, ninety miles to the east.
In her dark gray skirt and tailored jacket, Josie was the lady in charge. Her press credentials gave her name as Ms.
Jane Quist, noted freelance writer and investigative reporter. Brad was her photographer.
Josie had explained on the plane that she knew Jane Quist well. She had occasionally passed on information that had led to published articles. In exchange, Ms. Quist had provided her with identification. There was even an editor in New York who could recognize a description of Josie.
The charming young secretary in the small office spoke only Spanish. Brad did the talking.
“Por favor,” he said. “Ms. Quist is preparing an article on airlines and the shipment of cargo by air. She has finished early with your competition.” Brad smiled, pointing across the crowded parking area toward the offices of Air Express. “She would like to talk with someone here, if it is convenient.”
Returning his smile, the young girl rose. With an envious look at the elegant Americano lady, she slipped into the inner office. Moments later, a tall portly man, neatly dressed in a pale blue suit, faced Josie politely. “Senora Quist?” he asked.
Josie nodded, flashing a dazzling smile.
“My name, it is Raul Perez.” He bowed slightly. “How can I help you, please?” His brown eyes were friendly and courteous. His English was heavily accented, but clear.
“I’m working on an article about air transport.” She waited to be certain she was understood. On his polite nod, she smiled again and continued, “We’d like to ask a few questions; perhaps take a few pictures. I would like to learn, for example, what advantages you may have over larger carriers. And other things of this sort you might like to mention. Would that be possible, Senor Perez?” Her smile was overwhelming; any man would find it difficult to ignore.
“Come in, please.” He gestured toward his office. “Unfortunately, I must call Mexico City. I, myself, would enjoy your company. But people of the press”—he shrugged—“sometimes the company has objection. I must call,” he ended apologetically.
“I quite understand,” Josie replied brightly. “It was rude of us to arrive without an appointment. We sincerely appreciate the time you have already given.”
Senor Perez was clearly delighted by the intrusion of the lovely lady. He seated them in the two most comfortable chairs in his small office.
When he hung up the phone, he was smiling even more broadly. “I had no thought you were so important. Senor Hildalgo says you are a very famous lady in your country. I am honored.” Again he bowed; he was as elegant seated as standing. “I am at your service. Where will we begin?”
“Perhaps you could show me what your people do.” She whipped out a small notebook and pencil. “And you can tell me something of the difficulties of the business. We can talk as we walk.” She stood up. Senor Perez was immediately by her side. His hand lightly on her arm, he directed her out of the office. Brad knew he wouldn’t be missed as he drifted to his left into the warehouse area.
Inside, he slipped the camera from its case and took a few pictures. The three men working showed polite interest. His offer to take their picture broke their reserve. He posed each man carefully, performing a difficult task. He caught the larger of the three, Juan, lifting a large crate, the muscles of his back and arms rippling broadly under the strain.
Leaning back against a crate, he asked polite questions of the three men seated around him. He asked the name of the mechanic he had glimpsed briefly through a hangar door across the narrow loading apron. “Alfredo Peron,” replied Juan. “He is a very important man. He is the head mechanic for all Mexico. Permit me to introduce you.” After a gracious, “Adios,” and a warm handshake with each of the other two men, Brad followed Juan across the apron.
In the hangar, Alfredo smiled as he was introduced to Brad; his dark eyes showed little. When Juan returned to his work, an amused look settled on Alfredo’s face. He declined to have his picture taken. As Brad listened, asking an occasional question, it became clear Alfredo Peron was a knowledgeable man; that his knowledge was not limited to aircraft.
He answered Brad’s questions politely, but the openness Brad had obtained with the three warehousemen was missing. Yes, he enjoyed his work. Yes, he traveled frequently when there was trouble with the planes. He often came to Puebla. Only last Wednesday, he’d solved a difficult problem here.
After a few pictures of the shop, a few more of the two planes on the apron, Brad tucked the camera back in its case. He returned toward the reception room to wait for Josie. As he passed by Juan and the other two workers, they returned his wave in friendly fashion. Brad thought of the warmth that had not been there while he had talked with Alfredo Peron.
When Josie returned, Senor Perez was in love. Brad smiled to himself; if there was anything the man knew that Josie wanted, she already had it. “But must you leave so soon?” Senor Perez asked.
She glanced at her watch, flashed a dazzling smile and motioned to Brad. “Unfortunately, we’re already late for another appointment. I’m extremely sorry,” she said, clasping his hand. “You’ve been most gracious, Senor Perez. I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”
“It was a fine pleasure, Senora Quist.” He bowed, touching his lips lightly to her hand.
Brad followed her from the office, noting the disappointment on Senor Perez’s face. Even his shoulders slumped slightly as he sighed and turned back to his office.
He fell in step beside her and said, “Another conquest. He’s in love with you.” He grinned.
“I like him,” she said. “He’s a gentleman. There’s something about that kind of man.”
“You want chivalry and the ERA amendment on the same ballot?”
“Chivalry’s dead,” she snapped. “If it ever existed.”
“So you’ll settle for ERA?
“I’ll settle for some food,” she said brightly.
“Mexican Mexican or American Mexican?”
“Mexican Mexican,” she answered. “But don’t poison me.”
* * *
“That was wonderful,” Josie said contentedly, as she sipped the wine. “But don’t tell me what was in it. You could spoil the whole effect.”
“Then talk to me.”
“I didn’t learn a thing. And from what you told me, I don’t think you did either.”
“How did you react to Alfredo Peron, the mechanic?”
“A competent man. Perhaps older than he looks. Dresses well, under those coveralls. Thinks he’s a winner with the ladies and probably is.” She thought back, trying to remember. “He had beautiful hands,” she added. “Did I miss anything?”
“He seemed almost formal; I didn’t get much of a response.”
“I didn’t notice that. Maybe it was because he was trying to see through my blouse.”
“Wasn’t he a little too neat, maybe too sharp for a mechanic?”
Josie frowned in thought.
“Talbert and Sanchez were mechanics,” he said pointedly. “And he was here last Wednesday, about when that C47 would have been loaded.”
“That’s not much to go on.”
“I’d like to talk with him privately,” Brad said with a touch of grimness in his tone.
“You want to walk in and bounce him around to see what falls out,” she translated sarcastically. “What if he’s not the man you want?”
“I just want to talk.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “There’s no writ of habeas corpus down here. The police lock you up first and talk later, much later.”
“I just want to follow him home and have a little chat.”
“We don’t have to follow him.” She sighed. “I got all the addresses when Senor Perez showed me a list of names so I could spell them correctly. He’s here just for the day on a special problem. He lives in Mexico City.”
* * *
Back in Mexico City, Brad drove slowly past the apartment complex. They were in a newer part of the city; the building was large. An inner courtyard of tile and young trees was surrounded by three floors of apartments on three sides. No parking area was visible. He found the alley behind the buil
ding. Parking was off of it. He drove past and pulled in behind a smaller building.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“We could miss him coming in.”
“Wait here.” He walked back up the alley toward the building. Despite his dark tan, his light skin set him apart from the occasional people he met. Since it was futile to try to blend in, he took the opposite tack; he smiled and nodded to those he met, speaking when it seemed appropriate.
Entering from the parking area, he strode purposefully up the stairs. Consulting a blank piece of paper, he looked left and then right. He moved to the door of the apartment next to Alfredo’s and knocked. He quickly constructed a bit of nonsense to account for his presence. But it was wasted effort; no one answered his knock. With a last glance at Alfredo’s door, he started back down the stairs to the parking area.
In the car, he backed out and drove on down the alley. “Any good with locks?” he asked.
“Not in Mexico.”
“We need to get in. We’d be noticed waiting outside.”
“I don’t think I like what you’re thinking.”
He stopped the car suddenly. Leaving the motor running, he picked up a wooden crate from beside a trash container. Its top was still nailed to one edge. He tucked it in the back seat of the car, then drove on.
* * *
An hour later, Brad struggled valiantly with the heavy crate. Sweat dripped from his forehead; it had soaked the back of his shirt. He carefully eased it to the walk in front of the manager’s apartment. His knock brought a quick response.
“Well?” She had been beautiful once. Age had treated her roughly. She studied the Norta Americano suspiciously.
“The crate.” He smiled. “It is for Alfredo Peron. And he is not here. Por favor?”
“I am not an innkeeper, senor. Leave it at his door.”
“Si, but it very valuable, the crate.” Brad consulted some papers. “Nine thousand pesos. Perhaps I could leave it with you?”
“It looks heavy.” She glanced at the crate, then back to Brad’s sweaty brow.
“Si. I would be happy to carry it to Senor Peron’s apartment. Perhaps you have a key?”
She placed a foot firmly against the crate and pushed. It did not move. She turned back inside, returning moments later with a key. She moved quickly across the courtyard. Brad struggled to keep up, wishing fervently he’d left out at least half of the sand.
