by Robert Ward
As he pulled into Santa Fe and stopped at a light he saw the first sign of the kind of thing he'd been told about. There, in a little park just off the highway, was a group of older people being led by a white-haired man. They were all dressed in dark blue jumpsuits with a Blue Wolf Lodge logo embroidered across the front pocket. Jack had done a little research on Santa Fe on the plane and knew that Blue Wolf was an exclusive lodge with a very wealthy clientele. The group he was watching now was elderly. Several of them must have been in their seventies. The white-haired man may have been even older. Yet they were all working out with incredible grace. They were doing what Jack knew were Tai Chi moves. He watched as they made graceful parabolas with their arms and hands. He smiled sympathetically as one of the older men kicked his left leg high into the air and came down on tiptoes, like a stork or a crane.
The white-haired man went around correcting their postures. There was one woman—a short, squat Mexican—who was having trouble holding her form. Jack watched as the older man worked with her. He was very patient.
She seemed to be explaining that her shoulder was frozen, or in pain. The older man nodded and rubbed it, and she tried again.
But the woman gave him a pained expression and it looked as though she was starting to get mad. She pointed at her shoulder again, as if she was saying, “This exercise is too much for me.” Her teacher spoke to her in what looked like a kindly way, though Jack could hear nothing of what was said.
Jack found the little soap opera fascinating but was frustrated that he wouldn't be able to find out the outcome because the traffic light had changed.
Whatever the problem the woman was having Jack found himself impressed with the little band of old folks. It would be easy to laugh at them, but what the hell. . . they looked like they were dealing with old age in a graceful, and—dare he think it—healthy way. They weren't overweight like his dad, and they would probably live to a ripe old age. Jack had always had a sentimental love of the ravers and wild men, but he'd already known three federal agents who had died within a few years of their retirement. Why? Because they had nothing to do, no sense of community except the bar. He worried about his dad for the same reason. Maybe it would benefit the old man if he had a group that looked after one another, worked out together, though he strongly doubted that he would ever see Wade doing Tai Chi in the local park.
But it was kind of cool to see the old folks doing their thing. Maybe he was going to like Santa Fe after all.
And maybe he would find Jennifer Wu right away and he could hang out and do a little sightseeing while he was here.
He and his hot, illicit girlfriend, Michelle Wu.
He met her in La Plazuela, the restaurant on the ground floor of La Fonda. It was a stunning room full of turquoise-colored windowsills, latilla ceilings, and handcrafted chandeliers with birds, snakes and lizards painted on them. The floor was dark brown tile and at the end of the room was a brightly burning fireplace. The restaurant was filled with tourists, but when Jack saw Michelle Wu the room seemed to fade into a misty background.
Dressed in a white lace dress, her black hair radiantly pulled back, Michelle looked like a goddess. Jack blinked as he walked toward her.
He realized he'd never seen her dressed like this before. Usually she was under a car working on the brakes or fixing a leak in the oil pan. Her daily costume was a skintight Lakers T-shirt and even tighter black Levi's.
“Jackie,” she said, smiling. “I can't believe you're here.”
She threw her arms around him. Jack wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her. But he did the proper thing instead, pecking her lightly on the cheek.
He sat down across from her and looked into her green eyes.
“I wasn't sure you'd come, Jack.”
“I said I would, didn't I?”
“Yes, you did, baby. But I thought you might blow me off I know the bureau doesn't love you hanging out with me.”
Depends, Jack said.
“On what?”
“On why I'm hanging out. Why don't you fill me in?”
She nodded, but before she started a waitress arrived at their table. She laid down two menus for them, but Jack shook his head.
“Just coffee for me, thanks,” he said. “At this altitude if I eat lunch I'll be sacked out in my room, asleep in no time.”
Michelle ordered some guacamole and chips for them.
I promise not to compromise you in any way, baby, Michelle said, reaching across the table and twisting her fingers through his.
Jack felt his neck tingle. Jesus, she was tough enough to ignore when she was dressed like a grease monkey but made up like this, in that lacy, form-fitting dress, it was next to impossible.
Michelle, come on. No romance, he said, sounding like a parent talking to an unruly but adored child.
“Sorry, baby. I'm just so relieved to see you. I've barely slept a wink since Jennifer disappeared.”
A couple of tears came to Michelle's eyes.
“Take it easy,” he said. “And tell me what happened.”
“For a long time I felt my sister and I were getting further and further apart. Of course, I understood that it was my fault, most of it anyway, leading the life that I do. Jen has always been a good girl. She was the one who went to UCLA, the one who had straight A’s.”
“And she was the baby you took care of when your parents split up, when your father went to San Quentin.”
Michelle looked at Jack in a grateful way.
“That's right,” she said. “But I'm no angel, huh, Jack?”
Jack didn't answer, only smiled. And thought, But, man, do you look like one.
“Anyway, I didn't want to lose touch with Jen altogether, so I thought I'd come down here to visit her. She's lived in Santa Fe for seven years. She's a nurse at the Blue Wolf Lodge. It's just outside town and it's an amazing place. They have every kind of therapy there, and there's a hospital, too. They do terrific things with older people. Anyway, the idea was for both of us to take some time off from work and just hang around—shop, maybe ride horses, see the sights. Just be sisters together, you know? That's what we were doing yesterday up at the Indian village in Taos. And look what happens.”
Jack took his coffee from the waitress and sighed.
“That was the whole reason you chose to come here?”
“Yes, it was. And what does that mean? That's a real cop question. Like I had something to do with my sister being kidnapped.”
Jack took a sip of his coffee and stared at her.
“Why do you think she was kidnapped?”
Michelle bit her lower lip and turned her head away from him.
“What else could it be? She says she'll meet me down at the kiva, and I fall asleep for just fifteen minutes and when I get there, she's gone.”
“Were you and Jennifer having some kind of fight?”
“No way.”
The way she said it, the anger in her denial, made Jack think that Michelle was lying.
“Not even a little disagreement?”
Michelle hesitated, and waited as the waitress came and made the guacamole for them. Jack ate a chip, trying to keep things relaxed. There was something hinky going on. She wouldn't have called him here if she didn't want help. But there was something she wasn't revealing, something she didn't think she could tell him. He was sure of it.
“Why would you say that? I call you here to help me—I mean, I thought you'd want to go up to Taos to see where Jen disappeared.”
Jack took another sip of his coffee, waited, then said, “I am going to do that. But I'm talking about you, now. It occurs to me that you aren't the kind of person who takes vacations.”
Michelle snorted her disgust at this statement.
“What does that mean? That's absurd, Jackie. Maybe I should have called—”
“What that means is you're type A,” he smiled. “With you, everything is about work. This is a wonderful place, obviously a cool town for people to ki
ck back and relax, shop, get a nice massage ... all that stuff. But none of that is you, Michelle. You wouldn't come here, or anywhere else, unless there was a deal to be made.”
Michelle was on him, fast.
“Is that what you think of me, Jackie? You come all this way to insult me?”
“Don't make this about me,” Jack said. “I know you.”
“You know me? You think you know me? You come all this way to insult me?”
Jack smiled at her.
“You're good, Michelle. The best ever. But like I said, I know you. Here's what I'm guessing. I think you told me the truth about your sister. You did want to get together with her, so you called her up and arranged a visit.”
“Yeah,” Michelle said. “And?”
“And that was all very nice, because not only could you go to New Mexico and see your sister but you could also get some business done. Maybe there's a chop shop down here and maybe you could expand your network while you were here. But something went wrong and you had a disagreement with your business partners. I don't know what it was, maybe they were pissed because you out-hustled them. So, possibly, they took your sister to show you how you can't just come in here and make them look like fools. How am I doing?”
“You think I'm just a hustler and a liar?” she asked.
Not just a hustler and a liar, Jack said.
“You sit there acting so superior, so smug. I should scratch your eyes out, Jackie.”
“But you won't,” Jack said. “Because you need me to find your sister, and unless you tell me the truth, you know I can't deliver. Or maybe I can, but not in time.”
She bit her lower lip again, and then shut her eyes.
“Can I rely on you, Jackie?”
“Come on Michelle . . .”
“All right,” she said. “Then let's get out of here and take a walk.”
Jack and Michelle strolled across the wind-whipped plaza.
It's starting to get cold, she said.
Yes, it is.
They sat down on a blue bench with a colorful lantern hanging over it. Nearby a father played catch with his daughter. Michelle sighed heavily.
“Well, you're right, smart guy. I did think it was okay to mix a little business with pleasure. See, up north a few miles is this old motel named El Coyote. A few years ago when I was riding my bike out there, I ran into this Mexican dude, Lucky Avila. He bought the motel and fixed it up. Built a kind of communal living place up there. Very interesting guy. Kind of an outlaw but also a philosopher. And I think at one time he was an actor. Ran a street-theater group in Europe and New York. Very smart, and has this sort of following of bikers, runaways, and women. He dabbles in a lot of things, which I never asked about. It's possible, Jackie, that he makes meth. But I've never seen any cooking going on out there. One of his businesses is cars and choppers. He gets deals on a lot of stuff from the biker world. So I just do a little business with him when I come to town. Car parts, engines, skirts, lifters ... all very legal.”
“Right,” Jack said. “I would expect nothing else from you. And what was your business this time?”
“Nothing much. He let me use the two choppers and when he comes to LA next month I was going to introduce him to some friends of mine who specialize in quality car parts. That was it. Nothing more.”
Michelle Wu smiled at him in her warm/wicked way, and Jack felt his breath shorten.
“Anyway, Lucky and I always got along real well. We did some business, he was always a gentleman.”
“Really?” Jack asked, feeling a pang of jealousy.
“Really,” Michelle said. “You got nothing to worry about, Jack. You know you're always number one in my book.”
Jack found his voice and laughed.
“Yeah, we'd make a hell of a couple, he said. I can just see us tripping down the prison aisle together as I lock you up in your wedding dress. So tell me what happened.”
“I don't know,” Michelle said. “But if I had to take a guess I'd say that Lucky was using some of his own product.”
“Meth? That's bad. That can screw you up real fast.”
“I know. He used to be muy guapo but now he looks kind of haggard, older. And his temper is terrible. Plus, in the past he hit on me a couple of times but when I said ‘No way,’ he was cool about it. This time, man, he was different.”
She shivered as they stood up and began walking across the plaza, heading for the St. Francis Cathedral, outside of which was a thirty-foot-tall Christmas tree. Next to the tree was a huge statue of St. Francis of Assisi feeding flocks of steel birds. Michelle crossed herself as they went inside.
They took a pew in the back, and looked out at the vast, silent church and the statue of Christ behind the pulpit.
“I didn't know you were religious, Michelle.”
“There is so much you don't know about me, Jackie. But now maybe you'll learn more. ‘Cause I am very loyal and I will do anything to save my sister.”
“Tell me what happened.”
She nodded and took a deep breath.
“Lucky was angry, too. Very angry, and paranoid.”
“Sounds exactly like meth.”
“Yeah, and so was his sex jones. Before he was cool, now he was all over me. Saying he wanted to do me right there in his shop. Then he started in about Jennifer.”
“She was with you?”
“Yes. Lucky took one look at Jen and started making all these insinuations. Said he wanted to have a threesome right there. I told him to chill. He got angry, said we were just trying to play with him. Then he got into this other fixation. Said he heard I was planning to offer my engine parts to this rival gang of bikers, the Jesters. He accused me of trying to get a bidding war going between them, of betraying his friendship. I asked him how he could say that. I barely know those guys. But he said I was lying, you know? He came at me with a wrench, I couldn't believe it.”
“What did you do?”
“I dodged out of his way, and took out a blade I keep in my pocket.”
Michelle pointed to a small zippered pocket on her elegant white dress. Jack had to smile. He had seen that same pocket in every piece of clothing she owned.
“He lunged at me and I dodged the wrench by a hair, and then—it was just an instinctual move, Jackie—I sliced out at him and caught his right ear. I took off maybe a little piece of his earlobe. He began bleeding really bad and I didn't wait around to help him bandage it up. But as Jen and I were leaving, I heard him scream, ‘I'll get you and your sister for this, Michelle.’”
Jack nodded and watched as a priest in a white robe lit the votive candles. On the altar in between the two pulpits were red carnations.
“So you think that's what happened? He grabbed Jennifer to pay you back?”
“Maybe. You've got to get a look at his place, Jack. He could have her imprisoned out there.”
“And that's all you know? Really?”
“Yes, for God's sake, Jack. I don't know what you really think of me, but I wouldn't endanger my own sister.”
Jack looked at her and nodded as though he believed her. And held her cold, beautiful hand.
“All right, Michelle,” he said. “I'll get into it. Right now.”
Chapter Six
After a highly successful West Coast swing ripping people off, Johnny Zaprado had come back to his old hang, Santa Fe. He'd done well in sunny Cali, oh, yes. He'd robbed four women's clothing stores, a retirement community in Long Beach, one in Newport Beach (big dough there), and one in Huntington Beach. Not to mention a gay bar called The Tunnel in West Hollywood.
He'd scored a lot of dough out there, and it had been a good time. But now he was back home at his ex-girlfriend's pad in Santa Fe and he was jonesing for some narcotics.
Which was easy enough to deal with. As soon as he'd taken a shower and changed into his black jeans and Metallica T-shirt, he went bopping down to the square, cruised by the Navajo and Ute Indians selling their “authentic tribal jewelry”
(which they had shipped in from kid slave laborers in Hong Kong), cut down the alley behind the Historic Trading Post (replete with real Spanish artifacts made in a factory in Hoboken), and arrived at the office of his doc, Mike Franco.
Dr. Mike was away on vacation in Las Vegas, which meant that his mail—and the many free samples of narcotic painkillers—was dropped in the mail slot in his outer door. Which meant all Johnny had to do was stick his nail file in between the lock and the catch, jiggle it once or twice, and presto, he was inside the foyer and piling all the free sample goodies into his backpack.
He looked down at the nifty flat mailers.
There on the floor were three boxes of Vicodin and three boxes of Percocet, and then the pièce de résistance itself, the double big package of Oxy. Yes, Oxycontin, the very finest example of drugstore heroin.
All of these were headed for patients, most of them old-timers, with their cracked and withered limbs, but—sorry, geezer gang—these were going to the man his own self, none other than Johnny Z.
He strapped on his backpack, gently shut the door, and headed off down the alley.
A few minutes later, Johnny Boy was sipping a beer in the Turtle Bar and Grill with the out-of-work locals and five or six of the local independent villains, all of whom were his sometimes-friendly rivals. There was Lil Roger, the black hustler from Vegas who specialized in break-ins; Tommy Butler, the short-con artist; Violet and Luvleen Mc-Ghee, the twins who specialized in selling fake insurance; and Badass Billy Drexler, who was basically a stick-up artist. Though each of these fine citizens was an equal-opportunity bandit, they all liked working in Santa Fe because the people at the Blue Wolf Lodge and the River Rock Casino were mostly old folks who wouldn't give them any trouble.
After listening to his fellow criminals rave on about their latest conquests for a while, Johnny swallowed two Vikes and drank two shots of single-malt scotch. In no time he was feeling his heels lift off the Turtle floor and he was sailing above his fellow cons and thugs.
