by Steve Brewer
"That can be arranged. I can call certain people."
"That might make him even angrier."
"I don't care. He can't touch me. What are they gonna do? Fire me?"
A pause, then she said, "I heard you're not a marshal anymore. Because of your knee. I'm sorry about that."
"You're not the one who shot me."
"No, but it was my fault."
"I thought we settled that, the day you came to see me in the hospital."
Another pause. He wondered if she was remembering that moment in the hospital room, when she leaned over his bed and kissed him good-bye. The best kiss of his life. Then she'd been whisked away into WitSec, and he'd thought he'd never see her again. How many nights since then had he lain awake, thinking about that kiss?
Romeo coughed into the phone, pulling himself together.
"Anyhow," he said, "I'd be happy to help, if you need it."
"It's not just McGuire. I've stumbled into something since I got here."
"Something dangerous?"
"I'm not sure yet. It's too complicated to get into over the phone, but I thought if you had time for lunch later—"
"Lunch would be great," he blurted.
She laughed. "You know Lalo's on East Central?"
"Best fried tacos in town."
"That's the place. Little before noon to beat the rush?"
"Sounds good."
Romeo realized he was smiling like an idiot, standing there at his coffeemaker in his robe. He needed to get moving. He needed a shower and a shave. Did he have time to get a haircut before lunch?
"It's good to hear from you, Jackie."
"I'm glad you feel that way."
Another pause, neither of them ready to hang up.
"Two things," she said.
"What's that?"
"One, you have to come to lunch alone. Don't get any ideas about calling in McGuire's supervisors or the local cops or whatever."
"No, no. Just lunch. The two of us."
"Okay. And secondly, you can't laugh at my hair."
"Your hair?"
"I cut my own hair this morning," she said. "It looks like it was chewed off by wild animals."
He laughed, then said solemnly, "I promise not to laugh."
"I'll see you there."
The call disconnected.
"I'll be damned," Romeo said as he slipped the phone into the pocket of his robe.
He'd never really expected to hear from Jackie Nolan again. He'd assumed he'd always have a Jackie-sized hole in his life, and he'd just learn to live with it. But here she was, back in Albuquerque, needing help. And Romeo was the person she'd thought to call.
He felt energized, for the first time in weeks. He topped off his coffee cup and hurried to the shower.
Chapter 19
Jackie took the battery out of her phone and put both away in her overnight bag. She was behind the wheel of the pickup, parked in a crowded lot at the University of New Mexico, the morning sun angling through the windows. Safe for now, she took a moment to savor the phone conversation.
Romeo Sandoval had sounded just the same. Earnest, caring, funny. They'd spent only a few hours in each other's company before Jackie disappeared into WitSec, but she'd really liked him. There had definitely been a sexual spark there, too, denied only by circumstance. Would it still be there when they met for lunch?
Jackie tried to tamp down her excitement. She still had things to do.
She had backed into the parking slot, the rear bumper brushing a leafy hedge that separated the lot from bustling Central Avenue. This lot was reserved for students and staff with an "A" sticker on their vehicles, as several signs reminded. The parking lot was nearly full, and she considered every empty vehicle to be part of her camouflage.
So far, no traffic cops had shown up, checking parking permits. And the landscaped lot had mature trees and lots of shrubbery around its perimeter, enough to give a person some cover if she wanted to, say, steal a license plate.
Jackie took a Leatherman all-in-one tool out of the glove compartment and got out of the truck. She carried it to the back of the truck, where she squatted amongst the leaves of the hedge. She removed the two screws that held her Colorado license plate in place and took the plate off. She removed the front plate, too, and tucked them both inside the cab, behind the passenger seat.
A quick look around, then she went to the vehicle in the next parking slot, a silver Land Rover. Nice, clean New Mexico plate, sunshine yellow with a red Zia sun symbol in the center. She removed the plate and put it on the back of her own truck.
The entire operation took about two minutes, and that's how long it kept her mind off Romeo Sandoval.
Would he look different? She certainly did. She'd put on a few pounds over the past two years, not that she'd been a supermodel before, and the stress of her parents' illnesses and deaths had left faint lines on her face. Oh, and let's not forget: her hair was a disaster.
Checkout time at her motel wasn't until 11 a.m. She could go back there and spruce up a little, put on some makeup. She could at least make a small effort at femininity. For a change.
She cranked up the truck and eased out of the parking lot onto Redondo Avenue, a street that encircles much of the UNM main campus. A morning exercise class was stretching and jogging on the grassy expanse of Johnson Field, and the crosswalks were busy with sleepy-looking students hurrying from dorms to classrooms.
Driving through the campus always made Jackie wonder how she might've been different if she'd gone to college. Would she have found a profession, a calling beyond office paperwork? Maybe she would've met some nice college boy and been happy making babies with him. But no, she'd married right out of high school, rushing into it, happy to land the football hero coveted by all the girls. Sadly, it turned out his best moments had been on the playing field. His life was all downhill from there, as he failed at one job after another, and it had been easier for him to blame Jackie than to face the truth of his own incompetence.
What if she had waited? Maybe she would've met a more mature man, one who knew how to talk to a woman, one who knew how to listen.
A man like Romeo Sandoval.
She turned left, headed for Central again. There was a Walgreen's nearby. She could buy hair gel there. Some mascara. And a lipstick.
Chapter 20
Grant Sheridan longed for the days when a man could hang up a phone with great force. Sometimes, when he was pissed off, it would be a splendid catharsis to slam down the phone. Now was one of those times, but he delicately set the high-tech receiver back on its charging bracket. No pleasure in that at all.
Just as well. He tried to keep such outbursts in check when he was in view of his employees.
Joe Dog sat across from him, watching him from behind his mirrored sunglasses, which still had a tiny bit of orange price-tag stuck to the left lens. He was waiting for news of the woman, some scent he could pursue, but Grant had nothing to share but frustration.
"There's hardly anything available on this Gwen Rogers," he told Joe Dog. "It's like she just appeared in Montrose, Colorado, a couple of years ago. Before that, nothing."
"She must've changed her name."
"The truck is registered to that name. But there's no one at the address listed."
"Are you sure you got the right woman? She didn't seem like a Gwen to me."
Grant cocked an eyebrow, waiting.
"'Gwen' sounds sort of soft and feminine," Joe Dog said. "This woman was hard. Tough."
"I can see that from what she did to your face."
"Even before, when I was just talking to her, she made it clear she'd take no shit off me."
"Some women are like that."
"It's fucking scary."
"I know."
"Next time, I won't let her talk," Joe Dog said. "I'll just pop a cap in her and call it good."
"We have to find her first."
"We've got a name, we've got the truck. She'll turn up. S
ooner or later."
"Let's make it sooner," Grant said tightly. "While there's still some hope of getting my hundred grand back."
"Right, boss."
Joe Dog stood, weaving a little before he turned to the door.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go cruise around, check out some motel parking lots. Call me if you get anything new."
The door closed behind him with a hiss. Another thing you can't slam in the quiet of a modern office.
"Maybe I'll just bang my head against the wall," Grant said aloud.
He picked up the phone, trying to think who else to call, who else might know how to locate a transient woman in a city of six hundred thousand people. Finally, he dialed Omar West.
Someone answered the phone with a grunt.
"Omar? Is that you?"
"Yeah, who's this?"
"Grant Sheridan. Did I wake you?"
"I'm having breakfast. Pawnshop doesn't open for another hour, so I like to eat a big greasy breakfast to get me through the day."
Grant thinking: It shows. But he said, "Listen, you got any way to locate somebody here in Albuquerque who doesn't want to be found?"
"I know a couple of guys who are good at turning up people. Who are we looking for?"
Grant told him about Gwen Rogers of Montrose, Colorado, and her red pickup truck and how she seemed to be sticking her nose in his business.
"She's a friend of the woman who ran off with your money?"
"Apparently, though we haven't found the connection yet. Maybe Nancy called her and told her about the money. Maybe this Gwen Rogers is looking for it, too."
"Hell, let's all look for it," Omar said. "Be more profitable than chasing down some woman from Colorado, who might have nothing to do with it."
"She's the only lead I've got right now," Grant said. "So put out the word, will you?"
"You'll owe me," Omar said. "If my people find her, I'll want a cut of whatever money is recovered."
"Naturally."
"All right then. I'll see what I can do."
Omar hung up without saying good-bye.
Grant wondered whether he'd made a deal with the devil. He'd just gotten out of debt to Omar West. Be better not to deal with him ever again. But Grant couldn't just kiss off that missing money, either.
The more people looking for Gwen Rogers, the better.
Chapter 21
Lalo's Family Restaurant was a Route 66 institution, a fifty-year-old diner painted in turquoise and tan, with a steeply pitched roof and a neon coffee cup on a pole by the street. Huge windows, blue vinyl booths, and a lurid mural of hot-air balloons made the place such a colorful artifact, it was often used as a set for movies and TV shows.
Lalo's usually had a line of people waiting for tables during the lunch rush, but Jackie got there at a quarter to twelve and sailed right in.
Romeo Sandoval was already there, beaming at her from a narrow booth. The wall above him was decorated with a dozen small paintings of colorful birds, so it appeared they were swarming around his head. He was dressed in jeans and sneakers and a blue Hawaiian shirt. She noted the way he sat with his left leg straight out, babying the ruined knee.
He scooted out of the booth and got up, over her protests. He gently grasped her shoulders and leaned in, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He said in her ear, "It's good to see you."
Her rising internal heat threatened to take her breath away, but Jackie managed to say, "You, too. How's the knee?"
"It's okay, except when the weather changes. Which, in New Mexico, is about every fifteen minutes."
They squeezed into the booth facing each other, their legs touching under the table. Oversized menus were open on the tabletop, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from Romeo.
"Your hair's shorter," she said.
"I got it cut on the way here," he admitted.
"Just for me?"
"I thought we weren't supposed to talk about hair."
Her hands went to her spiky hairdo, but she forced them back to her lap.
"It's my disguise," she said. "Pretty horrible, huh?"
"I kinda like it. It's like the hair on a movie star."
"A movie star."
"Yeah, one of those Muppets. Like Bert or Ernie."
She kicked him in the shin.
"You promised," she said.
"I'm not laughing."
"Only because you're holding it in. You're getting red in the face. Go ahead, laugh, before you hurt yourself."
He shook his head. "I keep my promises."
"Always?"
"So far."
"That's encouraging."
"It should be. That's why we're here."
"Because I can trust you?"
"You can."
She was getting lost in those big brown eyes. She shook her head to break the spell, and looked around for a waitress.
The waitresses were dressed in turquoise-colored blouses, in keeping with the overall New Mexico tourism motif, and they seemed very busy. One bustled up to their table, pen poised.
Jackie and Romeo said simultaneously, "Taco platter."
The waitress laughed. "Everybody's favorite. Anything to drink? Just water? Okay, coming right up."
She hurried off toward the kitchen.
"Smells good in here," Jackie said.
"I'm starving. I haven't eaten today.
"Sleeping late?"
"I'm semi-retired." He patted the damaged knee. "Permanent disability."
"What's the 'semi' part?"
"I'm the live-in manager at an apartment building over by UNM."
"Really? What's that like?"
"Not too bad. Most of the tenants are okay. There's this one boozer who's been giving me trouble. I may have to evict him."
"That sounds like tons of fun."
"The landlords pay off-duty uniformed officers to handle the actual physical eviction," he said. "I'm just the guy who delivers the bad news."
"The one who gets the blame."
He shrugged. "Somebody's gotta do it. I try to be kind about it."
"You would. That's the type of guy you are."
"Think so?"
"I don't know you that well, but that's the way it seems to me."
"Is that what we're doing now?" he said. "Getting to know each other better?"
"It's a start."
She took a sip of her water. Should she launch into it now? Or should she wait until after their food arrives?
The question answered itself. The breathless waitress arrived, setting steaming plates before them.
"Wow," Romeo said. "That was fast."
"You timed it right," the waitress said, smiling. "In a few minutes, we'll be swamped."
Jackie looked back over her shoulder. Sure enough, a line was forming near the cash register, a half-dozen people standing together while they waited for tables, keeping their elbows close to their bodies so as not to jostle.
Now was no time to talk. The tacos took precedence. Jackie and Romeo crunched into them while the fresh corn tortillas were still hot from the fryer.
"Oh, my God," Jackie said through a mouthful. "I'd forgotten just how good these are."
"Mm-hm."
She took another bite. A perfect balance of meat and grease and lettuce and cheese and onions and salsa.
"Good God," she whispered.
"I didn't know you were so religious."
"I'm not, but I'm having a religious experience with these tacos."
"You should start a church," he said. "The Church of the Holy Tacos. People would turn out for that on Sunday."
"Think so?"
"If you were serving these, I'd be there every week."
They didn't talk for a few minutes, both shoveling in the tacos and beans and rice. By the time they came up for air, their plates were half-empty.
"I've got to slow down," she said. "I'm wolfing my food."
"I'm already getting full."
"You ready to get to it?"
"Maybe one more bite first."
She took a big bite of her second taco and closed her eyes with pleasure as she chewed. Once she swallowed, she opened her eyes and found him watching her, that smile still on his face.
"I like a woman who enjoys her food."
"That's how you get hips like these," she said.
"You look good to me."
"Loose shirt. That's the secret."
"You're stalling."
"Okay." She looked around the noisy restaurant, but it was clear nobody could listen in. "I told you about Marshal McGuire,"
"He's a creep."
"Right. So I run home to Albuquerque. But before I can get here, on the highway out west of Bernalillo, I find a car burning."
"Burning."
"On the shoulder of the road. Like somebody set it on fire and zoomed away. But there was nobody around, and I could see for miles."
"I hate to ask," he said, "but was this car empty?"
She shook her head.
He made a face and set down his taco.
"Sorry."
"That's okay," he said. "Go ahead."
She told him about finding Nancy Ames' purse in the weeds nearby.
"So we think she's the dead person?"
"That's been my assumption. I went by her house, and there's nobody there. No car. Mail sticking up out of the mailbox. I get the impression she left in a hurry, like she might've been running away from something."
"Yikes."
"It gets worse. I used one of her credit cards to get gas at a convenience store in Bernalillo. Mostly just to see if I could get away it."
"I'm compelled to say that's a felony."
"I think it tipped off somebody that Nancy's credit cards were still in circulation."
"Which meant someone had her purse."
"Right."
"A potential witness."
She nodded.
"Someone who then started poking around in Nancy's life."
"I had this idea that I might be able to slip into her life, become Nancy Ames, at least for a little while. But I had to check her out first."
She told him about going to Nancy Ames' house and her encounter with the Apache-looking man who pretended to be a cop.
