by Dave Daren
We moved onto the meat course, and I finally realized what the smell from the kitchen had been. Roasted suckling pig, so tender it fell apart on the plate, served with gravy and fire-roasted potatoes. As if I needed more proof of the chef’s talents, the pig had been basted with Spanish olive oil, giving it a fruitier, meatier taste. Perez nodded in approval after his first bite, and I nodded in agreement with him.
“What did Burke do for you?” I finally asked when we’d finished our pork. Perez was leaning back in his chair, which I took as a sign it was okay to ask questions again.
“Burke was someone we were told we could trust,” Perez snarled. “He came highly recommended.”
“By Varona,” I guessed.
Perez shrugged and took a long sip of his wine. The plates were cleared and our place settings quickly tidied. Still, Perez didn’t move, which I took as a sign that dessert was on the menu as well.
“Mr. Burke was charged with investing our funds,” Perez finally said. “After all, revolutions do not come cheap.”
“So you needed the money to grow your army,” I replied.
“Yes,” Perez agreed. “In the beginning, we saw a very steady return. I was quite satisfied with his work, and I entrusted more money with him.”
“How much did you lose, if you don’t mind me asking?” I prodded.
“Eight million,” Perez replied.
“That’s a lot of soldiers,” I noted.
“It is,” Perez agreed. “So you see why I want to recover the money.”
“I’m not sure there is any money to recover,” I replied. “If he hid it somewhere, no one’s been able to find it, not even the FBI.”
“Mr. Burke is a smart man,” Perez declared. “He would know how to hide the money so the FBI would not find it.”
“I gather you’ve been searching as well,” I remarked. “How has your search gone?”
“We found some crumbs in the Caymans,” Perez admitted. “The trail went cold after that.”
That was interesting. No one else had been able to trace Burke’s transactions, so I wondered how Perez had found any leads to accounts in the Caymans.
“What happened to the money in the Caymans?” I asked.
“We are not sure,” Perez replied with yet another frown. “We have talked to some of the bank officials there, but no one understands how the money was moved.”
“Sounds like someone hacked the account,” I mused. No one had said anything about Burke having any sort of computer skills, and no one I’d encountered so far struck me as a hacker. Still, it would be easy enough to find someone to do it for the right price.
Our dessert arrived and we were each presented with a bowl of peaches in a red wine sauce. It was another perfect dish, with peaches that were soft but not mushy, a hint of cinnamon to balance the burst of bright peach flavor, and a sauce that was just thick enough without crossing over into syrup territory.
“Well done,” Perez declared as he scraped up the last of the sauce with his spoon.
“Excellent,” I added.
“Now we can discuss business,” Perez replied as he held up his left hand for a moment. The servers scurried forward and quickly collected everything but our wine and water glasses. Perez had a contented look on his face as he slouched down in his chair.
“What business is that?” I finally asked.
“We have mutual interests,” Perez repeated, “therefore we should work together.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” I said.
“We could provide you assistance,” he suggested.
“I think I have all of the assistance I need,” I replied.
“In your world, perhaps,” he said. “But in this world, you have no one.”
“Strange, but I’ve had that same offer,” I mused. “Not in those same words, perhaps, but something similar at least.”
“Do not accept these other offers,” Perez warned. “You cannot trust them.”
“Also something I’ve heard about you,” I replied.
“You insult me,” Perez said sharply.
The vibe in the room shifted as soon as Perez said that. The man sitting on his other side froze for a moment, then looked slowly towards the five men at the long table. Perez glared at me, then turned his stare towards one of the portraits. He whispered something in Spanish that I didn’t quite catch while the men at the other table stood up.
“I should go,” I said as I stood up as well. “I have another client meeting this afternoon.”
“I will not be insulted,” Perez declared. “Especially in my own home.”
“I meant no insult,” I insisted. “I was merely relaying what others have said about you.”
“Manuel,” Perez barked and one of the men stepped forward.
“Teach this dog some manners,” Perez demanded.
I jumped off the stage and made a dash for the exit. Manuel turned out to be a speedy bugger despite his bulk and he dropped me to the concrete floor with a flying tackle. One large arm wrapped around my neck and Manuel yanked me to my knees with a swift jerk.
My vision started to tunnel, and I could see small stars at the edges. My breath rasped as I struggled to draw in more air, but I couldn’t dislodge the headlock. I finally grabbed one of the fingers that was clenched around my neck and started to pull it back with the strength I had left.
The finger finally popped and Manuel let fly a long string of curse words. His grip loosened just enough that I could suck in a lungful of air as I flopped to the floor and rolled over onto my back. Manuel’s fist was back and he’d just started the forward motion when I aimed a kick at his groin and then rolled out of the way of his fist.
Manuel tumbled forward, and I leapt to my feet. I brought my knee against his face with a satisfying crunch and then hit him with a quick one-two to the back. Manuel went down with a heavy thud and a loud ‘oof’.
I ignored the rapid-fire Spanish that erupted with Manuel’s defeat and ran towards the door. I darted through and charged down the hallway, past a pair of pasty teens who were kissing outside one of the rooms.
The three dicers were only just registering that something was wrong when I appeared in the main entry hall. One was moving towards me, but he glanced back down the hallway where angry voices could be heard. I lowered my head and plowed forward while he was still looking behind me. I smashed into him, driving my shoulder up and under his chin. He sailed backwards and bounced off the door, landing in a heap on the floor.
I didn’t even bother to look for the other two men. I yanked the door open and charged down the steps while the guards on duty looked on in surprise. One of them started laughing and the others joined in. I was almost to the Walgreen’s before I heard the flood of angry Spanish as some of my fellow diners arrived at the steps and started yelling at the guys who were supposed to be on security detail. I glanced back and saw two of the men start chasing after me, but the other two darted around the edge of the building.
I pushed myself harder and nearly toppled over the hood of my car I was moving so fast. I threw myself into the driver’s seat and backed out of the spot with the door still open. The two guys were just at the edge of the lot and one of them stopped at the exit, apparently thinking I wouldn’t run him over. He drew a revolver from his waistband and I hit the gas. He fired a shot that shattered the windshield on the passenger side, and then I was past him and on the street.
I was weaving in and out of cars as I tried to figure out the quickest way back to the interstate. I checked the rearview mirror and saw a familiar purple lowrider giving chase. It didn’t have the maneuverability of my Honda, but that didn’t really matter since the guys were using it like a battering ram to knock everyone else out of their way.
I thought about calling Theo but I had no idea where he was at the moment. He could be five minutes away or fifty minutes away. Actually, he could even still be asleep, since he usually worked the night shift.
Where, I wondered, were the police when I really need
ed them? Or even the FBI.
I made a hard left just as the lowrider finally made it to my tail. The tires smoked as I made the sudden turn, but it was too much for the lowrider. He skidded wide and smacked against the curb while I barreled down the street. I’d lost track of which street I was on, but this one was a lot busier and packed with pedestrians. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the lowrider was rumbling after me again as well. I checked the street signs, then turned down one I knew was home to a heavy industrial area where there would be few pedestrians and mostly just trucks on the road.
Sure enough, a slow moving box truck was ambling along in my lane while a semi was closing in from the other direction. I glanced in the mirror again, saw the lowrider closing the distance, and decided the Honda could just make it. I shot forward and then darted into the other lane to go around the box truck.
The driver in the semi honked several times and then the truck started to slow down. I peeled back into my lane, ahead of the box truck, with about a foot to spare. The lowrider was stuck behind the box truck as the driver slowed down even further.
My phone rang, and I ignored it. Whoever it was hung up, but then it rang again immediately. After the third time, I answered the call as I pulled my car into a parking lot I was pretty sure connected back with the main boulevard.
“Kind of busy,” I shouted at the phone.
“Mr. Creed,” Aranda’s voice said soothingly. “I understand you had a spot of trouble with the false King.”
“Christ,” I muttered, “are you guys watching each other?”
“Of course,” he replied. “May I suggest you head towards Pico Rivera? I have some men who will meet you along the way.”
“I think I’ll just head back to the office thanks,” I said as I scanned the boulevard. No sign of the lowrider so I pulled out into traffic.
“And do what, Mr. Creed? Lock the door and hope they go away?” The bastard actually laughed as he said this. “Poor Sofia will be caught in the middle again.”
Damn, he was right of course.
“Why is heading to Pico any safer?” I asked.
“Because Perez will know you’re under my protection and leave you alone,” he replied.
“I didn’t accept your offer,” I snapped. A blue Buick sedan was rolling up fast behind me and I hit the gas again, narrowly missing an old GMC pickup.
“You won’t find a better one,” Aranda replied.
A bright yellow Explorer heading the opposite way suddenly veered into my lane, trying to cut me off. I turned the Honda into his lane and nearly hit the car that had been behind him. I had my two left wheels on the sidewalk and I drove several feet that way before I could get the Honda back onto the road and back into my lane.
“I’m turning onto Slauson,” I finally yelled out. “I’m heading your way.”
“Very good, Mr. Creed,” Aranda noted. He hung up and it was just me again, driving down a major thoroughfare, running red lights and stop signs and praying I didn’t get myself killed before I reached Pico Rivera. I chanced another look behind me and spotted the Buick, the SUV, and another lowrider following behind me.
They must have realized where I was heading because the SUV suddenly jolted forward, trying to close the distance between us. It was a flat out race now, and I put the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
I got lucky with a green light at Garfield, and then we were rolling under Interstate Five and closing in on Rosemead. I could finally hear police sirens, but they were still too far away. I was cursing myself for a fool for trusting Aranda when the phone rang again.
“What?” I yelled when I answered the call.
“Turn left on Rosemead, Mr. Creed,” Aranda replied. “Once you’re through, we will block the road.”
He hung up again and I checked the view behind me. The SUV was ever so slowly closing the distance and I tried to nudge just a little more speed from the Honda.
I saw Rosemead just ahead and realized that the intersection was surprisingly empty. Two guys with semi-automatics held traffic at bay while a third guy was pointing me towards the left. I took the turn at full speed, clipping an old station wagon that was parked on the street. I brought the Honda to a screeching halt halfway down the block and looked back in time to see the driver of the yellow SUV arguing with one of the guys with a gun. Two cars had blocked off the turn as soon as I was through, and the drivers of those cars were joining their fellow Three-Eights.
Shots rang out, and I realized that one of the Three-Eights had fired his gun into the air. The Buick and the lowrider pulled to a stop behind the SUV and another round of shots was fired, this time just in front of the SUV. The sirens were drawing closer and the two gangs exchanged a few more angry words before the Reyes Dorados finally turned onto Lakewood and tore off towards Downey instead.
The Three-Eights quickly cleared the road and traffic was flowing again in no time. I let out a sigh of relief and was about to drive away when an older guy rapped on the passenger window. I rolled the window down and the man nodded at me.
“Aranda sends his regards,” the man said, “and reminds you that our services aren’t free.”
“Send my thanks,” I replied, “I’m sure he’ll contact me when he’s ready to collect his payment.”
The man nodded again and then sauntered away down the sidewalk. I made a quick left on Rex and followed the back streets to the interstate. I checked the traffic report as I drove along, carefully obeying every street sign and stop light. The early reports declared that a gang dispute had erupted into a car chase, but police were on the scene and investigating. Anyone with any information should call the hotline. The odds of that happening were practically nil, but I still needed to do something about the windshield.
“Hey, Theo,” I said when I got his voicemail. “I somehow insulted Perez today. I’m good but I was hoping you could pick up the Honda tonight and take it to your friend again. The windshield on the passenger side got cracked.”
An understatement, but easier than explaining what really happened. That could wait until I at least had a chance to let my heart rate return to normal.
Chapter 11
“How was lunch?” Sofia asked as I stepped into the office.
“Exciting,” I replied. “By the way, if Theo calls, tell him the Honda’s in the parking lot at the far end. I’m hoping no one will notice it there.”
Sofia gave me a hard stare for several seconds but I didn’t say anything else.
“You have to tell me what happened,” she finally insisted.
“Perez made his own offer to help,” I replied.
“But?” she prodded.
“Somehow I insulted him,” I confessed. “He said I couldn’t trust the others and I said they’d told me the same thing about him.”
“Oh, Vince,” Sofia said sadly with a shake of her head.
“I didn’t say that I believed it,” I protested.
“Are you hurt?” she asked.
“I made it out of there,” I said, deciding to skip the part about the fight. “But they followed me when I left.”
Sofia shot a worried glance at the door.
“They didn’t follow me back here,” I said quickly. “I went to Pico Rivera first.”
“Pico… Aranda’s territory?” she asked.
“He called during the middle of the chase,” I explained. “I didn’t have much choice. They outnumbered me and I couldn’t just come back here.”
“Oh, Vince,” she said sadly.
“I know,” I sighed. “But we’ll sort this out.”
“I hope so,” she murmured. She still looked a little scared, and I couldn’t blame her for that, but she also looked disappointed.
“Sofia, I swear to you, I will make this right.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she replied. “Well, while you were out chasing around town with the Three-Eights and the Reyes Dorados, I was busy tracking down one Geoffrey Dalton.”
�
�Do tell,” I instructed as I stepped into my office.
Sofia followed me inside and took her favorite spot. She flipped through her steno pad until she found the page she wanted. I knew this was more for show. Sofia didn’t forget important details.
“I can’t find anything on Geoffrey Dalton beyond seven years ago,” she said. “There’s no work history and no family either. I managed to get a copy of the resume he sent to the college when he applied as an adjunct, and it’s all a bunch of lies.”
“Didn’t they check it?” I asked.
“He knew his stuff, and they were desperate for a new business teacher,” she replied. “They basically just hired him on the spot when he walked in off the street to ask if they were still looking.”
“So what did you find out about him?”
“Most of what I have is from Mexico,” she said.
She smiled when she saw me sit up straighter and lean forward.
“Mexico, again,” I mused.
“He first pops up there at a border crossing,” she continued. “He crossed from Mexico back into the U.S. for a few days, then returned to Mexico.”
“But nothing on how he got to Mexico in the first place?” I asked.
“Nada,” she confirmed. “After that crossing, it looks like he stayed in Mexico until about a year ago. I found a couple of small companies that he did some accounting work for. They had to file with the IRS but none of their regular accountants knew much about the new rules. I don’t how they found Dalton or if he found them. Of course, his work was all unofficial, so he was paid under the table.”
“I think I need to talk to Geoffrey Dalton,” I noted.
“Do you really think he’s part of this somehow?” she asked.
“It’s an awfully big coincidence if he isn’t?” I replied.
“Maybe,” she said. “But there are a lot of Americans living in Mexico, and Dalton was there for at least a year before Burke disappeared.”
“But Burke made a lot of visits to Mexico, as did Gloria,” I pointed out. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they all met in Mexico.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Sofia said with a smirk. “If you’re willing to call her and ask her more questions.”
