This stopped the woman dead in her tracks. “Not Immigration? Who then?”
Charlie didn’t answer directly, but instead offered one further piece of advice. “It won’t take long to finish your business in Farmington. If, you are heading for Nogales and the border, you’ll have to pass back through here. I might have additional information for you by then. I can only tell you there are people interested in your wellbeing. They may be able to help if you’ll let them.” Charlie touched her arm as he opened the door. “Make no mistake, Tressa, both your and Abraham’s lives may be in danger. You should be very careful from here on out.”
Charlie and Thomas followed the pair through the outer office—Abraham casting cautious glances back at Thomas Begay who remained inscrutable and menacing as ever, at least in Little Abe’s reckoning of the man.
The two Diné moved to the front window where they watched as the pair got in their old truck and headed out of the parking lot. Thomas grimaced, “They’ll play hell getting to Mexico in that rig.” He mentally sorted through the probabilities, and then amended the statement. “I expect they’ll be damn lucky to make it to Farmington and back.”
Charlie shrugged and watched as the couple started toward the larger town. “I’m afraid they have more to worry about than that.”
Back in his office the investigator made a call that went to an unlisted answering service, and then sat back in his seat as he watched Thomas Begay doze off in the chair across from him. He never ceased to be amazed how easy it was for the man to fall asleep at the slightest opportunity and in most any surroundings. He’d actually seen him nod off while standing up, leaning against a haystack. He’d occasionally thought the man might be afflicted with some form of narcolepsy.
Not more than ten minutes passed before his phone lit up and he answered to hear the voice of Bob Freeman. “What’s up, Charlie?”
Still uncertain how he should approach the matter, Charlie cursed silently under his breath and decided to come clean with the agent. “Tressa Tarango and Abraham Garza were just in here, Bob. They’re on their way to the Coroner’s Office in Farmington and then to the funeral home to pick up her husband’s ashes. After that, I guess its Mexico. I figured it might make things easier if I talked to them first… maybe put in a good word for you. I get the feeling she trusts me to some extent. There are no warrants out for either of them at present…I checked.”
Bob seemed to consider this; “We already have a deal in mind for Abraham Garza, Charlie.” He again hesitated. “I doubt he’ll turn it down when he hears what’s become of his father in Sinaloa. As far as the woman goes, we have no real interest in her at this point.” Again, the agent paused as though calculating some unforeseen odds. “I can’t promise you anything, Charlie. But, I can tell you right now; we can’t let Abe Garza leave the country. I’m afraid the situation has changed drastically over the last few hours.”
Charlie glanced over at Thomas, now wide awake, and taking in the one-sided conversation with obvious interest.
The investigator nodded grimly at Thomas. “What happened, Bob?”
The agent didn’t hesitate. “Several hours ago our people found Hector Espinosa and his nephew, Carlos, dead in a burned out pickup at a rural residence in Colorado.” The agent paused. “Well, actually, the fire department found them after getting a call from a neighbor who said it sounded like a small war going on up there and then reported the fire. We don’t have a positive identification on the two bodies as yet, but the truck belonged to Hector Espinosa, and what’s left of them seems to match their descriptions. We’re not sure who killed them. They found an old man inside the house, barely alive. The medics did what they could—staunched the bleeding as well as they could and loaded him up with pain-killers—but they doubt he’ll last very long. His name is Sancho Mariano; we think he’s one of the head people in the Sonora family. Both of his sons are major players down there. We know the younger one is in the states right now, Chewy Mariano. He has connections all over the southwest. He’s known to be a very bad boy, probably the equal of, or worse, than the people out of Sinaloa.”
“Chewy Mariano, huh? What’s the other son’s name?” Charlie was making notes.
“He’s known as El Gato, or just Gato to his friends. His father sent him to school here in the states. He’s the educated one, but I wouldn’t discount either of them when it comes to street smarts. Chewy’s been the front man for the Sonora family for several years now. The old man told our investigators that his son had been there earlier, but left before the attack. He was able to tell us the assassins were from Sinaloa and was certain they would have interrogated Hector and Carlos before killing them. We figure Sancho had the same thing planned for the pair but was waiting for his son to get back.”
“Sounds like the Sinaloa people had their hands full?”
“He must of put up a hell of a fight; there were shell casings everywhere, windows shot out, and plenty of bullet holes. The old man told agents he was hit once right off, but still managed to wound one of his attackers…as least he thought he did.”
Charlie interrupted. “Damn, Bob, how many of them were there?”
“The old man wasn’t really sure…maybe only three…but they were well armed and knew what they were doing. He said he was still returning fire when he was hit the second time and went down—he played dead when they came in, but thinks it was the fire sirens that saved him.”
“I’m surprised he said as much as he did?”
“The medics had him flying high by the time we got to the hospital. I doubt he’d have talked to us at all without the drugs. The old man was convinced he was dying but was even more worried about his son and wanted us to warn him. Chewy apparently left before daylight to contact someone higher up—not very long before the shooting started—probably sometime just before dawn. It’s several miles to the nearest public phone.” Charlie could hear Bob cover the mouthpiece and say something to someone else in the room. “I’m at the hospital, Charlie. The Doc just said Sancho might have a fighting chance. They have the bullets out and the bleeding is mostly stopped.”
Bob paused to take a breath and Charlie Yazzie did the same. Charlie spoke first, “He must have got the drop on them from the start.”
“As I was saying… When the Sinaloa people showed up, Sancho, afraid his son might return and try to help him, didn’t even try to negotiate—he just opened up on them. He says they will be after Chewy now no matter what. Sancho Mariano’s a tough old bird, Charlie. Chances are he won’t make it though. If he does, he might prove a valuable source, especially if anything happens to his son—he’s hellbent on revenge at this point, and will do anything to stop the other side from getting to Chewy.”
For a moment Charlie was at a loss and held up a hand to warn Thomas who seemed about to say something.
“Local law enforcement is afraid the two factions are headed for a blood bath. They are convinced now is the time to move in and clean things up. They might be right from their vantage, but it could put our investigation in jeopardy. Our goal is to strike at the highest level and that’s in Sinaloa. We need to act now, Charlie, and it looks like you might be in a position to help.”
“How about protective custody for Tressa and Abe? Maybe the FBI could handle it for you, Bob.”
“I don’t think so, Charlie. If the FBI gets in the middle of this, it’s going to cost us. That whole process—even assuming we could win them over and build some sort of trust, which I doubt, would just take too long. In our people’s estimation Sinaloa and Sonora are going to the mats no matter what, and soon. That means we need to take our best shot right now.” The agent cleared his throat, obviously undecided how he should broach his next thought.
“I don’t know, Bob, I may never see these people again.”
“Charlie, there may be more in this for you than you think. The stakes are far greater than before, and I might mention, so are the rewards.” Once again Bob Freeman covered the mouthpiece and
listened to someone else in the room. “Charlie, I’ll have to get back to you on this—just think about what I’ve said. And Charlie, please don’t let these people get away from you. At least stay with them until we can get someone out there, we have a plane warming up as we speak.” The phone clicked off without waiting for a reply.
Charlie was momentarily taken aback by the intense and forceful exchange—one-sided though it was. Bob Freeman certainly didn’t seem to be holding anything back. Charlie pondered what he now considered to be his only options. He still couldn’t fathom what Freeman meant when he mentioned “rewards.” Was he alluding to the DEA, to him, or both working as a team?
11
Blood Ties
Chewy Mariano slowed the truck and pulled to the side of the road into a scatter of trees. Shutting off the engine, he rolled down the window to listen. He should never have left his father. On the rise toward town blue and red pinpoints of light flickered in the dark as a soft orange glow suffused the hillside to his left. He listened to the distant sirens, barely discernable over the sound of the pumpers already grinding up the road to the house. That was his Papá’s house on fire. It was clear what had taken place…but too late to fix it now. The realization brought no outward sign. Chewy had learned over the years that emotion was the direct enemy of decision-making. Even in the worst of times, he was able to rise above the sort of mind numbing anguish that might immobilize another man. His own father had cautioned: “Never commit yourself to a lost cause.” It was something he’d been taught as a child.
Chewy had warned his father these men would be coming. The old man knew it, too, but insisted. “There is still time to take care of these Espinosas ourselves and not leave them to someone else’s justice. If it comes down to it, we’ll make the Sinaloa people a present of Hector and his nephew.” He’d chuckled at his little joke. “You go make the telephone call. I’ll watch these two. Your brother needs to know little Tressa and her ‘friend’ are on their way.” Sancho Mariano had survived many a dangerous encounter and thought he was still capable of handling this one himself.
Chewy, lost in thought, was about to start the engine again when he noticed the glint of parking lights, almost hidden, as they made their way through the underbrush headed for the highway. Those people must have been warned by the sound of the fire engines, Chewy thought, and only escaped by leaving just ahead of the bombaderos. They came by way of the overgrown track behind the house. Chewy was fond of keeping his own vehicle parked there and for just such a reason. He wondered now if the assassins might even have watched him leave before moving in? A glimmer of teeth, his only sign of a now deadly resolve. God is watching over me after all, he thought, and crossed himself with a quick, Gracious a Dios. Releasing the brake, he let the truck roll backwards a bit to be hidden by the trees.
His Papa was dead, he was almost sure of that, but was just as certain the old man would have sold himself at a terrible price. His father would not have given up no matter the odds or threat of torture.
The law would be there any minute and there was nothing left to do but make sure his Papá didn’t make this last cold journey without the warm shroud of revenge. He would not let his Papá down this time. The full wrath of the Sonora family would soon be upon the killers, and that would include anyone who might get in their way. He waited and watched as the vehicle worked its way off the hill and onto the highway. These men would be the best the Sinaloa people had to offer, there was little doubt of that. Their Familia was known to be meticulous in its choice of specialists and was, therefore, almost never disappointed. None of this deterred Chewy Mariano, he was of a like breed, and not without his own set of skills. He gave the black four-wheel drive a reasonable lead, knowing full well where they were headed. Carlos Espinosa would have cracked like an egg, blubbered anything he could think of that might lead to the capture of the woman and Abraham Garza. But that would not have saved Carlos—any slight revenge he had taken on the pair was most likely short lived. The Sinaloa Cartel would not stand for being compromised and the Espinosas, and everyone connected with them, would now be considered a serious liability.
Chewy had no real reason to feel protective of Tressa Tarango, or Abraham Garza either for that matter, but his Papá had been adamant they should be allowed to reach Mexico and wanted them safely across the border. His Papá had plans for young Garza but had neglected to let Chewy in on what those plans might be. Possibly his older brother, Gato, knew, and that might be the reason the old man had been so determined that Gato be informed the pair were on their way. His brother would be in charge down in Sonora now, and Chewy the one responsible for moving forward with business in the States. Taking over the Espinosas’ holdings would be just one step along the way and this was Chewy’s domain. First, however, these jackals out of Sinaloa must be dealt with, and in such a way as to prevent further incursions.
12
Insurrection
Charlie had to wait for Billy Red Clay to come on the line and while waiting, tried to envision some rational way in which Robert Ashki might have come into possession of the Tribal file on Luca Tarango. He couldn’t help wondering, again, if Billy Red Clay might know more than he was saying. Someone damn sure did.
“Billy? Charlie Yazzie here; I just got off the phone with Bob Freeman and wanted to be sure you were in the loop. I imagine you’ve already heard about the death of Robert Ashki…and, about your missing file being found?”
“Yes, I have, Charlie, but only about an hour ago. Fred Smith gave me a courtesy call and again, wanted to know if I had any leads on how the file might have wound up in the hands of Robert Ashki. He thinks he might have a murder on his hands down there.”
“I think he might be right, Billy. So, do you have any idea how Ashki got ahold of it?”
“Not a damn clue, Charlie.”
Billy’s voice was pained and the Legal Investigator felt the policeman had already gone over what little he had with a fine-tooth comb.
“You wouldn’t be calling with some possibility we haven’t already discussed would you, Charlie?” Billy was only half-joking.
“Well, we already know it had to be an inside job. I’m thinking it’s someone right under your nose.” Charlie hadn’t meant to sound facetious but was instantly sure Billy took it that way.
“I’m pretty much aware of that, Counselor.” Billy hadn’t missed the inference in Charlie’s tone and wanted him to know it. “Captain Beyale and I just spent the last hour in a heated discussion about that very thing.”
Charlie waited for him to go on, but after a pause grew antsy and asked, “…And?”
“And nothing, Charlie. I’m on my way out to Emma Bittsii’s place north of town. She retired here several months ago but before that was the office manager with full access to the file room. She was the one responsible for checking the files in and out.”
“You say she’s been gone a while now?”
“Yes, but that file could have been taken any time in the last year or two.” The policeman lowered his voice almost to a whisper, “I may have told you before… the Captain feels she’s beyond reproach. She’d been here for over twenty years, in one job or the other, and now I know why.”
Charlie could hear some sort of commotion going on in the background and Billy stopped talking. “…Uh…so why, Billy?”
“We’ll have to talk later, Charlie, there’s people running around all over the place out there, something must be going on…I’d better see what’s up.”
Charlie looked at his phone as though it might be the cause of the commotion. He frowned and hit the intercom button for the front desk. “Gwen? Has Dispatch heard anything about an emergency over at Tribal?”
Gwen glanced over at the cubbyhole housing the Dispatch Operator, put her hand over the receiver and called over, “Hey, Carla, anything going on over at Tribal?” It was Carla’s duty to monitor Tribal as well as handle Dispatch traffic for Legal Services.
Gwen had been asked no
t to yell across the office on several occasions but the concept of confidential messaging seemed beyond her grasp.
“She says nothing’s come across that’s out of the ordinary.” Gwen’s voice was uncommonly loud, as though she might have only the one volume available. Now, everyone in the office was alerted and made aware something might be going on over at Tribal.
Charlie sighed, shook his head, and wondered what it might be like to work in a downtown office like Fred Smith’s. More sophisticated FBI digs—with polished furniture, waxed tile floors, and refined office personnel. Government service might not be so bad. Maybe he should have applied for something like that right after graduation. Of course, then he might not have met Sue and that would be sad. Maybe it’s not too late…I’m not so old after all, there might be something else out there for me yet. Then, too, there was that thing still lingering at the back of his mind about the “rewards” Bob Freeman mentioned in their earlier talk. As he sat staring out at those gathering around the water cooler, he watched the animated conversations and couldn’t help considering he might have chosen the wrong career path after all. He’d enjoyed his studies at UNM and after a certain adjustment period, even became used to living in Albuquerque. Sue had initially mentioned it might be nice to take a look at opportunities in the city. She had no real experience with that sort of living, but Charlie thought her to be the type of person capable of thriving almost anywhere. Certainly, the children were young enough to assimilate into a more diverse culture, and would no doubt gain from the more progressive educational advantages.
His phone buzzed and Charlie picked it up before Gwen could catch it. He saw her snap her fingers in frustration, and frown at the intercom lights.
Day of the Dead Page 12
