by R. A. McGee
Porter peeled some of Hector’s cash wad off to pay for the meal. The cashier’s eyes went wide as Porter pulled the big lump out of his pocket.
The two walked through the dining room until they saw Rivera, sitting at a table in the back.
“You brought a friend,” Rivera said.
“He’s my valet,” Porter said. “The term ‘manservant’ has fallen out of fashion lately.”
“I’m Ross, the manservant.” He extended his hand toward Rivera.
“Rivera, the detective,” she said as she shook his hand.
“I feel like I’ve heard a lot about you,” Ross said. “Seems like we’re both caught up trying to keep this big dummy alive and out of trouble.”
“Seems like it.”
“I’m standing right here.” Porter positioned his tray on the table and dropped both his and Hector’s phones next to it. “I feel like I should be offended at being called a dummy, but if that’s the consensus then I’ll take it.”
Porter sat across from Rivera, while Ross sat next to her. It was no move by Ross to be close to the attractive woman, but one born of necessity. He couldn’t sit next to Porter at a table and expect to have any elbow room.
“How did things go at the Acres?” Rivera said.
“Before I get into that, you want some of this? These people can’t make a sandwich. I got extra bread.”
“This is supposed to be the best in the city. You saying they don’t know what they’re doing?” Rivera said.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Porter said.
“He’s always been this way here. I couldn’t tell you why,” Ross said.
Rivera accepted one of Porter’s re-manufactured sandwiches.
“Hector told me what he did with Danny.”
Rivera stopped chewing and looked at Porter expectantly.
“He said he sold her,” Porter said.
“What? Where? To who?” Rivera said, setting her sandwich down.
“Some guy Hector called Candy Man.”
“Who the hell is that?” Rivera said.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Porter said.
“Really? Mind filling me in on your magic plan?” Rivera said.
“I have Hector’s cell phone,” Porter said. “I already told Candy Man I have another kid for him. I’m just waiting on him to get back to me with a location and time for the meeting.”
Rivera’s eyes lit up. “You’re going to meet this guy? This is big. Like, really big. This is a huge break.”
“It’s a huge break in a bunch of cases, not just Danny’s. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. Hector was small potatoes. If you can get a hold of the Candy Man, you’ll have a much richer stream to pull information from,” Porter said. “Who knows how far that can go?”
“How am I going to do that? I can’t do any of this illegal shit you’ve been doing. I can lose my job—or worse, taint the evidence so Candy Man gets off. Honestly, we shouldn’t even be talking about how you got this info.” Rivera motioned to Ross. “Especially in front of your friend here. No offense.”
“None taken,” Ross said. “Listen, I am a steel vault of secrets. I’d never tell anybody anything. Besides, I can’t talk even if I wanted to. Porter and I have attorney-client privilege.”
“Aren’t you an accountant?”
“Yes.”
“Attorney-client privilege doesn’t work like that,” Rivera said.
“How about best friend privilege?”
Porter’s phone rang. “It’s Steve, I need to take this. You two be nice to each other.” Porter stepped out a side door into the parking lot.
“Best friends, huh? How long have you known that guy?”
“Too long,” Ross said.
“He said he’s doing all of this because you asked him to. Is that true?”
“Pretty much. The only reason he stuck his nose into this was because of me. Usually it’s all about the money,” Ross said.
“That’s kind of heartless, isn’t it? Finding little kids for money?”
“If you have a skill, no reason you shouldn’t be paid for it. That just good business. Besides, every time he does one of these cases, it tears him up. He’d never admit it and you’d never tell, but I know him. Who wants to keep finding dead kids? I know I wouldn’t.”
“Then I suppose I should thank you for getting him involved. If this goes the way he says, I may get a promotion,” Rivera said.
“Now who’s being heartless?”
Rivera picked her sandwich back up. “That’s not fair.”
“I’m teasing you,” Ross said.
Porter stepped back into the dining room.
“What did Steven say?” Ross asked.
“Set me up for an interview on Friday afternoon with those douchey homicide detectives. He also said I’m clear to go back to my house.”
“Good. Now maybe you’ll get off my couch,” Ross said.
“You’ll miss me.” Porter bit into his sandwich. Just the right amount of meat. “Let’s game plan this Candy Man situation.”
“Good, I need a game plan,” Ross said.
“I was talking to Rivera,” Porter said. Before Ross could argue, he added, “We need to figure out how she fits in from the police angle. I know you’re in, Ross.”
“What do you mean ‘the police angle’? What do you have in mind?” Rivera said.
“Let’s assume Candy Man texts me back with the address of a place to meet. Hector said Candy Man met him in public. We can’t set up a trap for him, since we don’t know where he’s gonna be.”
“It would be helpful if I could talk to Hector. Get what info I can from him and maybe use it to get a warrant for Candy Man’s arrest,” Rivera said.
Porter tried to think of a tactful answer. “He said something about taking a trip. I think he didn’t want to be around while the situation was playing out. Besides, no judge is going to give you an arrest warrant based on the alleged story I got off a criminal.”
Rivera nodded her head. “Be nice if they did, wouldn’t it?”
“Then what can you do?” Ross asked.
“I think the best we can do is go to the meeting. Just the three of us. When he sees I’m not Hector Quintana, he may rabbit. If he does, we need to follow him.”
“Find out where he goes,” Rivera said. “It’s better than nothing, but it’s pretty thin.”
“I know,” Porter said, “but it’s something. If he’s at a hotel, we can see what name he’s staying under. Maybe we get lucky.”
Rivera looked at Porter. “We’re going to have to do better than that.”
Porter knew Rivera was right. He had promised her he could help grow her case and that’s what she expected. It wasn’t unreasonable, but there was a big difference between the way he normally did things, and the way things needed to be done to hold up in court. “Whoever Candy Man hips us to will have more info about this operation.”
“Maybe not,” Ross said with a shrug.
“Whose side are you on here?” Porter said, punching Ross in the arm. “The most important thing is that we know where Candy Man is after we meet with him. We can’t afford to let him rabbit; we might not have a chance to find him again.”
“For once, I agree,” Rivera said. “I’ll stay in my car when you go meet him. Let me know if he moves and I’ll follow.”
“Good. We have to play this out. Once we get to the meeti—”
The Hector-phone made a small noise. Everyone at the table looked at it. Porter pulled it to him and read it to Rivera and Ross.
8p bookstore Bruce B
Porter glanced at his watch. It was almost seven fifteen. “How many bookstores are on Bruce B Downs?”
“It has to be the one by campus. The big two-story job with the coffee shop in the bottom,” Rivera said. “No other one on that side of town is worth going to.”
Two bookstores in two days, Porter thought. It’s like the universe is telling
me I need to read more. “That’s forty-five minutes from now. Can we make that?”
“Of course we can,” Ross said.
“Detective?”
Rivera already had her things and was moving toward the door. She stopped long enough to say, “I’m waiting on you.”
Forty-Five
The group left their mess; Porter threw a twenty on the table to make it worth it for whoever had to bus that table. On the way to the parking lot, Porter put his hand on Ross’s shoulder.
“I’m gonna ride over with Rivera. Just follow and I’ll call you.”
“Got it. You guys need to talk about cop stuff.”
“You sure? Won't it be better to split us up?” Rivera said.
“It’s okay, I’ll need your help trying to spot him as he walks in.”
“Fine. Get in,” she said.
Rivera started the car and stomped the gas. She tore down Kennedy and then hooked a hard right onto Dale Mabry, heading north.
Weaving through the early evening traffic, Rivera took the requisite turns and made it to the bookstore in what must have been record time. They had long since lost Ross to a red light during the drive. Rivera paid no attention.
Porter gave Ross a quick call and told him to hang back in the parking lot of the bookstore, keep his eyes open, and wait for a call.
When they got near the bookstore, Porter told Rivera to park in the lot of the tire shop across the street. The lot was full with spillover parking for a nearby Mexican restaurant. No one would see them over there.
There were big, floor-to-ceiling windows which allowed them an unobstructed view into the bookstore. They could see the front door, as well as most of the lobby of the coffee place which dominated the first floor.
When Porter checked his watch again it was seven forty-one. Early. Now they had a chance to spot Candy Man before he realized he wasn’t going to be meeting with Hector.
“Can I ask you something?”
“You might as well. If I say no you’re just going to anyway.”
“Why do you say that? If you don’t want me to ask you a question, I won’t ask you a question,” Porter said.
“Why would you start listening to what I say now?”
“I listen to you,” Porter said.
“Since when? How many times have I asked you not to call me Tina?”
Porter laughed. “I just do it because it gets under your skin. True story? I called my friend Dave ‘Dickface’ for almost two years. No real reason, it just embarrassed him when we were in public.”
“How did that end up for you?”
“I was one of his groomsmen,” Porter said with a shrug.
“Well, I’m not Dickface Dave.”
“Fair enough. What’s the deal with that anyway? It’s just an abbreviated version of your name. Own it.”
Rivera reached across Porter’s lap to her glove box, pulling out a small pair of binoculars. She scanned the front of the building. “The deal is, I don’t like it, and I asked you not to call me that. Haven’t you ever had someone call you something you don’t like?”
Porter thought back to Trish calling him Telly-Porter. He hated it, because of why she did it. “Okay, detective, I’ll knock it off. But don’t leave me hanging. There has to be a story.”
“You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Sure, I’ll let it go. But think of how cathartic it will be to get it off your chest.”
Rivera exhaled in frustration but kept her eyes focused on the binoculars. “I started to have a problem with being called Tina when I was fourteen. Before that, it didn’t matter; it was just a name.”
“What happened when you were fourteen?” Porter said.
“Do you remember that movie, Napoleon Dynamite?”
“Of course.”
“Do you remember the llama?” Rivera said.
“Napoleon would feed it table food, right?”
“He would throw food at it and say, ‘Eat your dinner, you fat lard.’ So stupid,” Rivera said.
Porter laughed. “That’s right. Wait, the llama’s name was Tina, wasn’t it?”
Rivera pulled the binoculars down from her face. “Yes, the damn llama was named Tina. Who gives a llama a human name? All the kids at my school thought it was hilarious. They would walk by me and yell, ‘Tina, eat your dinner, you fat lard.’ It was so humiliating.”
“Were you fat?”
“What difference does that make?”
“It would be like if someone called me short. People can say what they want; if it’s not true, who cares?” Porter said.
“I cared. I was a teenage girl, Porter. We have hormones and periods and anxiety. We have crushes and when they walk by calling you a fat lard, it upsets you. You feel like everyone is ganging up on you, just to make fun of you.”
Porter stole a glimpse at Rivera, the dashboard lighting illuminating her enough that he could see she was red-faced.
“To make matters worse, everyone at my school started calling me and leaving me voicemails. Then they gave my number to kids at other high schools in town and they called me, too. Hundreds of voicemails. My phone was ringing non-stop. I had to change my number. Now every time I hear the name Tina, it makes me so mad.”
Porter couldn’t stifle his laugh. “It’s been fifteen years, right? You don’t think it’s a little funny?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Your call. When I was still in the feds, the shit talk was brutal. But I think that’s how we bonded, clowning on each other. I guess I miss it a little.”
“Well, I don’t have to worry about bonding with the other detectives,” Rivera said with a serious look on her face.
Porter let the comment hang in the air. He pointed to a man walking into the lobby of the bookstore. “Think that’s him?”
Rivera was already looking through the binoculars. “I don’t think so. Unless Hector thinks professors wear mullets.”
“Have you seen academia style lately?” Porter said with a laugh.
The location of the bookstore gave it a diverse mix of customers. It was in an older, not-so-great part of town. Half the people who walked in were blue-collar types: a guy with a high-visibility road crew vest, two young women in their fast-food uniforms, a man who hopped out of a plumbing truck. The bookstore was also close to campus, so there was a steady stream of young people easily identified as students, since they all carried bookbags and never looked up from their cell phones.
No one in the store could pass for a professor, even by Hector Quintana’s loose standards. Porter looked at the dash; the time was seven fifty-five.
“You never answered my question,” Porter said.
“What question?”
“The one I was going to ask before you hijacked it with your llama tale of woe.”
Rivera smiled in spite of herself. “You can ask, but I can’t promise I’ll answer.”
“That’s fair. How did you get stuck in the Long Term Missing Unit? Seems like it’ll kill your career,” Porter said.
“You don’t think I know that? Everyone who comes here is retired on duty. They’re a group of misfits from other departments who couldn’t get along. So they stick them here and no one expects them to ever make a case. Ever.”
“But how? You seem like a good investigator. If you worked for me, I’d have you doing real work. How’d you get stuck on the throwaway squad?”
Rivera sat her binoculars down. “You want another tale of woe? Fine. I got pregnant my sophomore year of college. Despite that, I graduated on time and on the dean’s list.”
“Much higher than I did. Where’s daddy?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. We are much better off, trust me.”
Porter didn’t say anything.
“Fresh out of college, I joined the sheriff’s office. I’m amazed they even hired me, the way the guy who interviewed me for the job was hitting on me. He wouldn’t take me seriously.”
“Maybe that’
s why they hired you,” Porter said.
“I thought that at first, so I made it a point to prove I belonged. I went to the academy and was my class president. I finished with top honors and even made the fitness wall of fame. Then I get to the real world. The three years I was on patrol, I was doing a damn good job. In the top ten percent of arrests made and tickets written. I was on my way to detective, no problem.”
“Rocketship to the top,” Porter said.
“That’s what I thought. Then the asshole who interviewed me became my sergeant. In the beginning, he tried to do favors for me. Better shifts, newer patrol cars, cushy duties for overtime.”
Porter knew local officers and sheriff’s deputies relied on overtime to get by. The job didn’t pay great, so most of them jumped at any chance for extra money. Things like working the local high school football games or sitting on the roadside during construction with the cruiser’s lights on.
“I wouldn’t let him give me special treatment. I’m not like that, it’s not fair to everyone else. Then he asked me out and when I told him no, everything changed. I couldn’t get an overtime assignment. I always got assigned to the shitty patrol car. You know, there’s always that one that just won’t run right.”
Porter nodded his head.
“I didn’t want to be treated better or worse than anyone else. I wanted my work to speak for itself. So I sucked it up. Drove the crappy car, dealt with no overtime. The whole while, he was saying grossly inappropriate things to me on a daily basis. I mean, everyone’s taken the sexual harassment training, people know what they can and can’t do. This guy acted like he was in an episode of Mad Men. I sucked that up too. I didn’t want to make waves. Then he started blocking my promotion to detective.”
“Doesn’t a board vote on that? How could he stop it?” Porter said.
“A board votes on it, but they won’t even vote if your last performance appraisal isn’t satisfactory or better. This guy gave me two bad appraisals in a row, so the board wouldn’t even look at my promotion packet. I decided enough was enough. I’d been keeping track of all the incidents, so I bundled all my evidence together and reported him to Internal Affairs and filed an EEOC complaint. Let me tell you, the Equal Opportunity Commission didn’t see things his way.”
