by Dave Daren
As with most things involving cars in Los Angeles, my trip to the observatory didn’t go quite as well as I had hoped. Traffic was backed up for miles even though the morning rush was long over. I never saw any reason why; there was no accident scene to clear, no overturned truck, and no sign of the usual morning car chase. I’d left the office early, and yet I was still five minutes late.
Fortunately, I found a parking spot quickly and while I didn’t exactly jog to the sundial, I did a fast walk to the designated meeting place. Agent Smart arrived at the same time and she gave me a small nod and a rueful smile.
“Let’s walk,” she suggested as she started towards the nearby hiking trail.
I walked next to her, neither of us saying anything until we started down the slope away from the observatory.
“So what’s your big news?” I asked.
“White collar revisited a lot of Burke’s accounts after you filed,” she replied. “They decided to take a longer look at some of the offshore accounts.”
“Meaning what?” I inquired as I dodged an unleashed dog bounding up the path, his owner running frantically behind.
“Meaning they were trying to track where the money went from some of the more suspicious accounts,” she explained.
“Like accounts in the Caymans,” I guessed as I remembered Pickering’s claims. Not to mention the ghost accounts that Perez had found.
“Exactly,” she said. “The money simply disappeared from there. The banks were unable or unwilling to produce any evidence of a wire transfer to another account, and yet the accounts were empty.”
“So white collar took another crack at it,” I mused. “And they found something.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “They started with Mexico, and any accounts they could find that belonged to Americans.”
“Seriously?” I asked in amazement. I couldn’t even imagine how many hours it had taken to plow through that amount of information. It was rather terrifying to realize that the government could do exactly that.
“Well, with a lot of parameters,” she amended. “Date restrictions on when the accounts were established, geographic limitations, that kind of thing.”
“Didn’t the banks in Mexico have to agree to help?” I prodded.
Agent Smart shrugged.
“I didn’t ask,” she finally said when I glared at her.
“Jesus,” I murmured. “Are you telling me the FBI hacked a bunch of banks in Mexico?”
“No,” she snapped. “I am not telling you that. A lot of this information is already available in certain databases that our governments share as part of our tax treaties.”
“Remind me never to set up any bank accounts in Mexico,” I declared.
“It’s part of our mutual effort to track drug smugglers and tax cheats,” she huffed.
“Fine,” I said with an eye roll. “How come they didn’t do this before?”
“D.C. wasn’t willing to sign off on this before,” she conceded.
“What changed?” I asked.
“There’s been a lot of chatter,” she replied. “Among the gangs, that is. We think something’s about to go down, which is why the money has become so important.”
I thought about the three characters I had met. Jabba with his retirement fund and his determination to escape the gang life. Perez and his revolution. Aranda and his… well, ongoing war on capitalism. Any one of those actions could start a whole new turf war among the gangs that currently ruled the SoCal area.
“Are any of the gangs involved with Burke the instigators, or are they just looking to protect themselves before the shit starts to fly?” I demanded.
“As far as we can tell, they’re just positioning themselves in the upcoming war between other gangs,” she replied. “But the money could really help.”
“So this is really just bad timing on Gloria’s part,” I mused. “Or really good.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“If she hadn’t filed anything, the FBI probably wouldn’t have been so focused on the case,” I pointed out. “The gangs would have felt less inhibited, if you will.”
“Has your client suggested that she was being watched?” she prodded.
“She insists that she wasn’t,” I replied. “At least, not that she noticed.”
“You sound doubtful,” she noted with a small smile.
“A lot of strange things have happened on this case,” I sighed. “I’m not sure who I believe any more.”
We walked along in silence for a few moments, just two office drones out for an early lunch break.
“So tell me what white collar found,” I finally demanded.
“An account that received a large amount of funds from an unidentified account in the Caymans,” she said.
“That can’t be unusual,” I replied.
“Monthly payments were sent to an account here in the U.S.,” she added.
“Why do I think I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me?” I asked.
“The U.S. account belongs to the daughter,” she said.
I nodded.
“You don’t seem surprised,” she noted.
“Perrin told me that she believed her father was alive because she was getting monthly payments, starting about a month after he disappeared,” I replied. “She never told anyone because she was afraid she’d lose that link to her father.”
“You could have saved us some work if you’d told us that before,” she griped.
“I just learned about it myself,” I admitted. “Even Gloria doesn’t know about it.”
“In any case, the Mexican authorities are putting together a warrant so we can seize the account,” she huffed.
“What do you know about the account?” I asked.
“Not much,” she conceded. “The locals have already told the police that the account was used by an anglo up until about a year ago, but nobody’s seen him since.”
“Have you gotten a sketch yet?” I queried.
“Not yet,” she sighed. “Apparently, the locals are getting different versions of what the guy looked like.”
“That’s not unusual,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but there’s nothing that the witnesses all agree on, other than his height,” she explained. “Round chin, cleft in chin, scar, no scar. There’s no consistency.”
“So maybe more than one person was using the account,” I suggested.
“Who else but Matthew Burke would be using the account?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” I replied. “But at this point, I wouldn’t rule anything out.”
“What about your investigation?” she inquired. “Has Shorty learned anything?”
“You know about Shorty?” I asked.
“Everybody knows about Shorty,” she said with a small smile. “Asking your fellow ex-DEA agents for a copy of the photos taken at the dock is hardly conducive to a secret investigation.”
I laughed, and, after a moment, Agent Smart joined in.
“He agrees the photo is definitely of Burke,” I finally said. “He was following the trail north, towards Guaymas and Baja.”
“That’s good,” she mused.
“I also have him looking for anything on Dalton,” I added.
“The new boyfriend,” Smart said in surprise. “Why?”
“His real name is Peter McCaffery,” I explained. “He claims he fled an abusive ex-wife and moved to Mexico where he took on the identity of Geoffrey Dalton.”
“And you’re wondering if he and Burke ever met up,” she said.
“He says they didn’t,” I replied. “But if they did, maybe he learned about the money from Burke.”
“But why come looking for Gloria?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Though everyone seems convinced that Gloria knows where the money is. Maybe Dalton believed that as well. Or maybe Burke simply told him how much money was sitting in that trust fund. Either way, Gloria’s the key to a lot of
money.”
“We haven’t really paid much attention to Dalton,” she stated. “Maybe it’s time we took a closer look.”
“Maybe I can ask around as well, see what the chatter is about,” I added.
We had made the circuit around the observatory and were back at the top again. The air was clear today and the view of downtown Los Angeles was spectacular. We both stopped and looked at the city skyline for a moment.
“I guess this means we’re back on speaking terms,” Agent Smart finally said.
“Good,” I declared. “I really don’t like being on your bad side.”
She smiled, briefly, and turned to face me.
“I’m still pissed about the lawsuit,” she replied. “And I really shouldn’t be out here today.”
“Why are you here?” I asked curiously.
She turned back to the view and I could see her debating how to answer that.
“The head of white collar is a prick,” she finally offered. “Even bigger than you when you’re at your worst.”
“That’s pretty big,” I admitted as I tried to smother my smile.
“The fat bastard actually asked me why I was working RICO and not some more womanly division,” she added.
“Womanly division?” I repeated.
“You know, sex crimes, human trafficking, something where a woman’s touch could be useful,” she fumed.
“Ouch,” I sympathized.
“So you lucked out, Creed,” she continued, “but only because he’s being a bigger asshole than you.”
“I take my luck wherever I can find it,” I replied. “And I think you do just fine in RICO.”
“Just don’t make me get another warrant,” she warned.
“Scout’s honor,” I agreed.
She gave me a quick nod and then strolled back to her vehicle. I waited until I saw her start down the curving drive to the roads below before I moved back to the Fusion. I checked my watch and decided it wasn’t too early to stop for a pepper steak at Giamela’s. Located just outside Griffith Park, Giamela’s is an old neighborhood Italian place that makes some of the best sandwiches in L.A.
I just made it in ahead of the lunch crowd and was already at my seat and munching on my all-time favorite by the time the line started to form. The pepper steak is flavored to perfection and served piping hot inside an Italian roll that has just the right amount of crunch in the crust and softness on the inside, to help soak up all the juice. It’s topped off with a diced tomato, pickles and onion mix and lots of gooey cheese. Add some of the red bell pepper mayo and you’ve got a sandwich that will make your taste buds stand up and salute.
Happily sated, I ambled back to the parking lot and crawled into the car. I started back to Van Nuys and was happy to see that some of the traffic had cleared. Forty-five minutes later, I pulled into a spot near the burrito joint and climbed back upstairs to my own office. Sofia was nibbling on a salad when I appeared and she held it up with a questioning look when I strolled in.
“I ate,” I assured her as I held up a hand.
“Good,” she replied, “because the cook sounded unhappy about something and I think he was taking it on the food. Muriel put this together for me and sent me on my way. What did Special Agent Smart have to say?”
“We may have another piece of the puzzle,” I replied. “Seems that there’s a lot of chatter among the various gangs right now and the FBI believes a turf war may be brewing. It’s probably why Jabba, Perez and Aranda want their money back so badly.”
“So they can leave town or pay for protection,” Sofia guessed.
“Exactly,” I agreed. “Gloria’s motion was probably the last straw, and their last chance to find the money before things go bad.”
“Poor Gloria,” Sofia sighed. “Imagine having all these people hanging around, hoping you’ll lead them to the money.”
“I’d consider moving,” I replied.
“You?” Sofia teased. “Never. You’d probably set up an octagon and invite them to take their best shot.”
I laughed and shook my head.
“I did get one other piece of information,” I finally said. “The FBI thinks they’ve found one of Burke’s accounts in Mexico. He was using it to send money to Perrin every month.”
“So someone’s finally identified Burke,” she declared.
“Well, not exactly,” I replied. “None of the bank employees can seem to agree on what he looked like. The Mexican authorities are working on a warrant, so I assume at some point they’ll be able to pull footage from the security cameras. Although Agent Smart said it’s been a year since anyone touched the account, so there may not be any video left.”
“I knew it was too easy,” Sofia pouted. “Well, I have some information for you as well.”
“I’m all ears,” I declared.
“You just don’t want to deal with any more paperwork,” she laughed. “But Shorty and I have been coordinating our efforts on Dalton. I can tell you that there is a person named Peter McCaffery from Arizona, who lost his first wife, Clara, to cancer and divorced his second wife, Wendy. After the divorce, he moved around town a few times until the incident at the bowling alley. He moved into a gated apartment complex not long after that and seemed to be recovering finally.”
“But?” I prodded.
“Wendy went off her medication and went drinking instead,” Sofia continued. “She rammed the gate to the complex and drove to Peter’s apartment while the rent-a-cop was still dialing 9-1-1. She had a rifle with her and she used it to break the sliding glass door and let herself into his apartment, where he was enjoying the company of a young female friend.”
“Oh, boy,” I said as I shook my head.
“Wendy opened fire, leaving a lovely hole in the refrigerator and some shrapnel in Peter,” she added. “The police arrived and tased Wendy. She was arrested and Peter was taken to the hospital. Shortly after that, Peter disappeared, at least officially. I was able to track him as he moved across the Southwest and it looks like he just kept moving. He always took jobs that paid cash only and never stayed anywhere for long. Eventually, he crossed into Mexico.”
“That matches with what he said the other night,” I mused.
“Shorty picked up his trail in Mexico,” Sofia affirmed. “McCaffery followed the same routine there, always moving on and always taking jobs that paid in cash. McCaffery eventually ended up on the Pacific Coast, in a community of ex-pat Americans. Shorty went and talked to some of them who remember Peter. Apparently, they all thought he was really nice, but a little guarded. They were really surprised when he left because he seemed really happy there.”
“Okay,” I pondered as I heard a carhorn honk in the parking lot.
“But here’s the thing,” Sofia continued with a gleam in her eye. “That was almost two years ago.”
“So before McCaffery came here,” I said. “So what was he doing for a year?”
“Shorty’s still checking on that,” she replied. “But so far, it looks like he just vanished.”
“Damn it,” I cursed. “Just when this thing is starting to make sense, some new bit of news screws everything up.”
The horn honked again and I ventured over to the window. I peeked between the slats on the blind and saw a bright orange Toyota Supra in the lot, complete with non-factory rear spoiler, neon green undercar lights and plenty of chrome. A teenager in a Three-Eights jacket was standing by the passenger side door, and I could just make out the head of the driver.
“I’ll be right back,” I said to Sofia as I moved towards the door.
“See?” she declared. “Right into the fight.”
I gave her a grin and stepped outside. I waved to the kid standing next to the Supra, and he motioned for me to come downstairs. I hesitated as I considered how lucky I had been so far when it came to taking on gangbangers, but of the three leaders I was dealing with, Aranda was the one I thought I could trust the most. Which wasn’t saying much, since I trusted him a
bout as much as I trusted a rattlesnake in the grass.
The kid signalled again and I finally got my feet moving. I tried not to look too hurried as I moved along the walkway and down the stairs, but I also didn’t want these guys hanging around here too long.
“You Creed?” the kid asked when I stopped just short of the car.
“I am,” I agreed. “You’re a little out of your usual neighborhood, aren’t you?”
“Aranda wants to meet with you again,” the kid said with a shrug. “Tonight, at the Cabo Club. You know where that is?”
“Near Beverly Boulevard,” I replied as I tried to remember. Cabo Club was a popular place for college kids to enjoy a night of Latin pop music, dancing and drinking, as well as an impressive burlesque show that included sword eaters and flamenco. That was the downstairs portion. The upstairs portion was permanently reserved for certain high rollers, which apparently included Aranda.
“Si,” the kid agreed. “Near the park. Aranda said to be there at ten.”
“Great,” I sighed as the kid hopped back into the Toyota. The driver cranked the music back up as they pulled out of the lot, and Mexican rap followed them down the street.
I sauntered back upstairs as I tried to puzzle out what Aranda could possibly want. I gave up and decided I would find out at ten tonight.
“What did that shrimp want?” Sofia asked as I stepped back into the office. She was standing by the window, her cell phone in one hand and the bat in the other.
“Aranda wants a meeting tonight,” I replied.
“Vince,” she sighed.
“I know, I know,” I agreed. “But I’m curious to hear what he’s going to say.”
“Don’t do anything that will just add to your debt with them,” she warned me.
“I promise I’ll behave,” I replied.
“Do you want Theo to go with you?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I think Aranda just wants to talk.”
Sofia tsked but returned to her desk without further comment. I tried to give her a reassuring smile and returned to my own desk, where the dreaded stack of paperwork awaited my attention.
