Power Lawyer 3

by Dave Daren

  Chapter 14

  I didn’t have a phone number for Aranda, just a neighborhood where he was likely to be. The one place I knew he liked to hang out was closed now, so that left driving around Pico Rivera until I spotted a member of the Three-Eights. I had to hope that enough of the Three-Eights knew who I was that they wouldn’t kill me for asking about Aranda.

  I locked up the office once again, left a note on the door about a family affair and promising our imminent return, and then hopped in the Ford for the drive back to the far side of Los Angeles. Part of me hoped it was Aranda who had Sofia. It would make things much simpler and Aranda would probably be willing to negotiate. If it wasn’t Aranda, this could turn into something long and bloody, and the longer it dragged on, the less likely Sofia’s chances were of making it out alive.

  It felt like an eternity, but I finally found myself back on Slauson, near the spot where Aranda’s men had ushered me into Three-Eights territory. I made the left-hand turn once again and pulled up next to the curb in front of a cell-phone store offering great rates on calls to just about every country in Central and South America. I was debating where to go next when I spotted the old man who had tapped on my window.

  I stepped out of the car and jogged over to Aranda’s messenger. He was part of a group of older men who had turned an old steel drum into a table top. Two of the men, including the one I recognized, sat on old fruit crates while they played dominos. The rest stood around and watched, no doubt waiting for their turn.

  “I need to speak with Aranda,” I declared as I arrived at the group.

  The other men looked confused by my presence in Pico, but Aranda’s messenger took it in stride. He studied me for a moment, then placed one of his tiles. He said something in Spanish to one of the other men, then stood up slowly.

  “Wait here,” he instructed as he walked away.

  The man he’d spoken to took his spot at the game. The others stared at me for a few more moments, then resumed their banter as if I wasn’t there. I spent ten minutes fidgeting impatiently on the sidewalk while people carried on as if nothing was wrong in the world. I hadn’t spotted any Three-Eights jackets and I gave serious thought to getting back in the car to find a few when an old Thunderbird convertible pulled up to the curb.

  The old men went silent, then looked at me. The driver pointed at me and then the car.

  “That’s your ride,” one of the old men said. “You want to meet with Aranda, that’s how you’ll get there.”

  I didn’t like the idea of leaving myself with no easy way out of Aranda’s territory, but I didn’t have much choice. I crossed the sidewalk and slid into the seat when the driver opened the door. He pulled back into traffic and we drove sedately down the road, made a right, another right, and then a left. The T-bird pulled into a parking lot behind a long-abandoned drugstore and the driver made a shooing motion.

  I stepped out onto the tarmac and the T-bird drove away. The back door to the building opened and a burly man with orange hair waited impatiently for me to walk across the parking lot and step inside the surprisingly cool and well air-conditioned building.

  I went through the usual pat down and then was hustled up the stairs to the old offices. Aranda was in a windowless office that had probably belonged to the store’s manager. It still had a desk and the old safe, but the rest of the business furniture had been replaced with a small sofa, a large flat screen T.V. and a minibar. The woman with the luscious lips was there as well, though she left as soon as I stepped into the room.

  “What brings you to Pico Rivera on this fine day, Mr. Creed?” Aranda asked as he waved my escort from the room, leaving me alone with Aranda and his silent bodyguard.

  “Someone took Sofia,” I replied.

  Aranda shook his head sadly and heaved a regretful sighed.

  “I did warn you that people were getting impatient,” he said sadly.

  “It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have Burke, and I don’t know where he is,” I said angrily. “I need to know who took her.”

  “You know the most likely candidates,” Aranda replied.

  “And you could find out for sure,” I snapped.

  “Perhaps,” Aranda agreed. “But I don’t do these types of things out of the goodness of my heart.”

  “What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth. I realized my hands were balled into fists and I forced myself to relax.

  “What everyone wants,” Aranda replied. “Burke or my money. Or both.”

  “And how do you expect me to come up with that?” I demanded.

  “You’ve done remarkably well on this matter so far,” Aranda said with a shrug. “I’m sure you could find a way.”

  I shook my head in frustration.

  “No deals,” I insisted. “Just tell me who has Sofia.”

  “And you will do what with this information?” Aranda asked. “Launch your own rescue mission?”

  “If I have to,” I replied.

  It was Aranda’s turn to shake his head.

  “They’ll kill you before you get anywhere near the building, and then they’ll kill the girl,” Aranda sighed. “And then they’ll lavish their attention on Mrs. Burke and her daughter. You can not do this alone. I, on the other hand, have the means to secure your paralegal’s release.”

  “Because being caught in the middle of a gun fight between two gangs is so much safer,” I replied sarcastically.

  “At least there would be a chance,” Aranda said grimly. “It’s more than you have now.”

  “It’s not much of one,” I declared. “And it comes at a steep price.”

  “The life of a traitor?” Aranda said in surprise. “Why do you care what happens to Burke?”

  “I don’t,” I admitted. “But I won’t be a party to his murder.”

  “Ah,” Aranda mused. “Your morals would not tolerate such a thing. Morals, Mr. Creed, are a luxury, and one you can’t afford at the moment.”

  “We’re done here,” I declared. I started to turn around, but the thug stepped forward. I glared at Aranda, and after exchanging fierce stares, he waved at his man to step back.

  I clattered down the stairwell, almost certain that I would feel the sting of a bullet in my spine as I turned my back on Aranda and his offer. Aranda was in a generous mood, though, and I made it safely to the ground floor, where the orange-haired man still stood by the back door. He pointed me outside, then firmly closed the door behind me. The T-bird wasn’t there, nor any other signs of a ride.

  So maybe Aranda would let his gang kill me on the streets. Just another do-gooder killed while mucking around in the wrong neighborhood. I set my shoulders and started walking back towards my car. I drew a few looks as I walked along, but the streets remained quiet. There was no sudden pop of gunfire or threats hurled my way. The closest I came to being attacked was a group of kids playing with water guns.

  The walk was long and hot, but I made it back to Rosemead, covered in sweat, but otherwise unharmed. Two new players had taken over the dominos game, and someone had turned on a radio. The announcer said something in Spanish that set the old men laughing until they spotted me. They watched me warily until I unlocked the Fusion and slipped inside. As far as I could tell, nothing had been done to the car, though Sofia probably felt the same about her car. I envisioned the car blowing up in one final fireball, but I decided Aranda wouldn’t want that kind of damage in his territory.

  The car started up, and I pulled out of my parking spot. I turned back to Slausson, watching for any Three-Eights as I made my way out of their territory. I was half-way to Van Nuys when I decided I needed to pull over and catch my breath. I realized I’d been racing past every other car and I’d been lucky that the police hadn’t pulled me over. I took the next exit ramp and found a neighborhood diner that promised coffee and pie. I pulled into the parking lot and then forced myself to walk slowly and calmly towards the entrance.

  The place was busy, but not packed. I snagged a bo
oth with a view of the street and my car and glanced briefly at the menu. The waitress came by with a pot of hot coffee, and I accepted her offer of a fresh mug. I added a slice of cherry pie to my order and the waitress nodded her approval. When she left, I sipped my coffee and checked my phone. No more phone calls from unknown numbers had come in, but I saw that I had missed one from Shorty.

  “Hey, Shorty, it’s Vince,” I said when the detective answered my return call.

  “Hey, I wanted to give you guys an update,” Shorty said. “I tried to call Sofia, but she didn’t pick up.”

  “Someone grabbed her,” I said and I was amazed at how calm I sounded.

  “Did you just say that someone grabber her?” Shorty asked after a brief pause.

  “I think it’s either Perez or Jabba, but I’m not sure which,” I added.

  “Cripes,” Shorty exclaimed. “What the hell brought this on?”

  “The FBI thinks that some of the bigger gangs are looking to consolidate their territory,” I replied. “So everyone’s looking for cash.”

  “The cash Burke took,” Shorty suggested.

  “I guess I was taking too long to find him,” I agreed.

  “Damn,” Shorty cursed. “Wish I was there to help you.”

  “Tell me, who do you think would kidnap her?” I asked.

  “Probably Perez,” Shorty replied without hesitation. “Jabba’s more likely to kill her and leave her body somewhere as a warning to you.”

  “That makes sense,” I mused.

  “I’ll call a couple of guys I know,” Shorty announced. “They might be able to find out where she’s being held.”

  “That would be awesome,” I replied.

  “Maybe give you a hand as well,” Shorty added. “I’m guessing you didn’t go to the police.”

  “They found her car by the side of the road,” I replied, “and I arranged for patrol officers to be on the lookout for her, but I haven’t told them about the phone call or the fact that I know for sure that she’s being held captive.”

  “That’s okay then,” Shorty noted. “There’s still a chance we can get her back quickly before the Feds muck it up.”

  “Weren’t you a Fed?” I snickered.

  “So I know what I’m talking about,” Shorty laughed.

  “I’m so pissed right now,” I finally declared. “I went to Aranda to ask who had Sofia, and all I wanted to do while I was there was punch him in his smug face.”

  “Aranda has that effect on people,” Shorty agreed. “Let me guess, he wanted Burke in return.”

  “Yep,” I said sadly.

  “But you didn’t take the deal,” Shorty added.

  “Nope,” I agreed.

  “Well, I may be getting close to Burke,” Shorty declared as a note of excitement crept into his voice. “And I think I can link him to Dalton.”

  “That’s great,” I replied.

  “I just need a picture of Dalton to show around,” Shorty said.

  “I don’t have one,” I mused. “But I can get one.”

  “Send it to me as soon as you can,” Shorty urged. “I don’t want Burke to slip away, especially if we can use this information to get Sofia back.”

  “Agreed,” I replied.

  The waitress appeared with the pie as I ended the call with Shorty. I had something I could do now other than drive aimlessly around the city, and my need to get moving again meant I didn’t do justice to the tart confection she brought me. I wolfed it down, barely pausing between bites to enjoy the scrumptious flavor. I slugged back the coffee, tossed enough cash to cover the bill and the tip on the table, and then sprinted back to the car.

  I wasn’t that far from Studio City, and I pulled up in front of Gloria’s house only a few minutes later. As I suspected, Dalton’s car was there, pulled to one side of the driveway so Gloria would have enough room to back her own car out of the garage. I jogged up the walkway to the front door. I rapped hard on the wood and then leaned against the doorbell until the door was finally yanked open.

  “What?” Geoffrey demanded angrily as he glared at me. He was in a pair of running shorts and an old t-shirt and looked like he’d just wrapped up his workout. He had a smoothie in one hand and a damp hand towel draped over his shoulder.

  “It’s urgent,” I replied. “I need to ask you a few questions about your time in Mexico.”

  “My time in Mexico?” Geoffrey repeated. “What on earth for?”

  “Some leads the detective is following,” I replied.

  “Gloria will be back in about an hour,” Geoffrey said. “Can’t we take care of it then?”

  “No,” I insisted. “Things have happened. I need the answers now.”

  “What things?” Geoffrey asked with a spark of alarm. “Is Gloria all right?”

  “As far as I know, she’s fine,” I said. “But my paralegal is missing.”

  “Oh,” Geoffrey replied with a frown. “But what--?”

  “Trust me, this is all tied together,” I interrupted. “And I will talk to you now.”

  Geoffrey looked like he wanted to argue, and I felt my fist clench in response. Geoffrey saw that, and though he scowled, he did finally step back and let me inside. He led the way to the kitchen where the blender and several ingredients still sat on Gloria’s pristine counter.

  “You seem to have made yourself at home,” I noted.

  “It’s just until Gloria has the declaration,” Geoffrey replied.

  “Tell me about the Americans you met in Mexico,” I ordered as I switched gears.

  Geoffrey took a sip of his smoothie, but I could see him trying to formulate an answer to that.

  “Well, most of the people I met were in a small community of ex-pats,” Geoffrey finally said. “Mostly retirees who found their money went a lot further there than back home in the States.”

  “What were their names?” I pressed.

  “Names?” Geoffrey repeated.

  “I’m assuming you exchanged names with the people you met,” I noted.

  “The Schwimmer’s, the Parker’s, Mary Salvatore, Paul Nieman,” Geoffrey finally declared.

  “Have you ever seen a picture of Matthew Burke?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Geoffrey said as he tried to guess where I was going with my new line of questioning.

  “I think I have one,” I said as I pulled out my phone. I scrolled through my email and pulled up the pictures of Burke. I found the most recent one and showed it to Geoffrey.

  “Doesn’t look familiar,” Geoffrey said with a shake of his head.

  “Are you sure?” I pressed as I pretended to scroll through more pictures. In fact, I’d turned the camera on and was trying to come up with a way to snap a shot of Geoffrey.

  “If we met, I don’t remember it,” Geoffrey insisted.

  “You were both in the area around Guaymas around the same time,” I replied. I had no idea if that was true, but Geoffrey was definitely startled by that accusation. I could see him running his own calculations, and I knew my off-hand comment had hit a little too close to home. While Geoffrey was considering his options, I set my phone on the counter and quietly took a short video of him.

  “I wasn’t there long,” Geoffrey finally declared. “I didn’t meet very many people there. Not a lot of Americans know about it.”

  “How did you end up there?” I asked.

  “One of the businessmen I sometimes did work for said it was a great place to do some fishing and invited me along,” Geoffrey said after a long pause.

  “You like fishing as well?” I prodded.

  “Not really,” Geoffrey said with a shrug. “But it was a chance to enjoy some time at the beach, so I took it.”

  “So you didn’t spend anytime with Americans while you were there,” I clarified.

  Geoffrey shrugged.

  “And you just went there the one time to go fishing,” I added.

  “Maybe two or three times,” Geoffrey admitted. “I don’t really remem
ber.”

  “And you’re absolutely certain you never met Matthew Burke?”

  I picked up the phone and quickly pulled up the picture again. Geoffrey shook his head and took another sip of his smoothie without even glancing at the proffered image.

  “Maybe it would be easier if you sent me an email list with the names of your acquaintances in Mexico,” I said as I tucked my phone back into my pocket.

  “Why would you need that?” Geoffrey demanded. “I looked at the picture and I told you I didn’t recognize him.”

  “But someone else might,” I replied. “And they might be more willing to talk to us if we can say that we’ve already talked to you.”

  Geoffrey was thinking hard again and I could almost hear him running through the list of names, trying to decide who he could trust to say the right thing.

  “Do you really think this will help you find your paralegal?” Geoffrey finally asked.

  “Yes,” I declared.

  “Then I’ll put something together,” he replied. “I’ll email it to you today.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I was ready to leave, now that I had the video clip of Geoffrey and a lot more questions for Shorty to investigate about Geoffrey’s time in Mexico.

  Geoffrey walked me to the front door and held it open for me as I stepped outside.

  “I hope you find her,” he finally said, and I had to admit, he seemed perfectly sincere.

  “So do I,” I replied.

  Geoffrey nodded and opened his mouth as if he would say something else. Instead, he closed the door softly and I heard the snick of the lock.

  I jogged back to the car and sent the clip to Shorty. I was feeling antsy, though I had no idea what to do next. I needed to figure out where Sofia was being held, but I wasn’t entirely sure how to do that. Perez might have been stupid enough to take her to his headquarters, but that seemed unlikely. Perez wouldn’t want to risk one of the drugged-out kids wandering in by mistake. So where else did Perez own property?

  I was at the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, trying to decide where to go. I scanned the street out of habit and spotted two familiar mugs in an old Chevy. The Chuchos Locos who’d paid me a visit at Russo’s were parked nearby. They tried to hide their faces, but I’d already spotted them. It was tempting to vent some of my energy right there, but the locals would call the police and I would find myself back at the police station trying to explain my actions while Sofia was still out there somewhere.