We watched him bleed.
“No sense delaying the inevitable,” I said.
69
It was May and the days were getting warmer. There truly was not a cloud in the sky. Perfect chamber of commerce weather. I was sitting topside drinking beer with Eddie. We had concluded a long and tough negotiation. It had taken several beers. He insisted he owed me money for helping get Billy cleared. I had insisted that nothing I did directly led to getting Billy cleared. The amount he offered was ridiculously large. I countered with the idea that maybe he could help me dry dock the Tiger Lily and scrape and paint her hull.
“Done,” he said, tapping my beer can with his.
We both heard the metal gate at the end of the dock clang. Eddie leaned forward and peered down its length.
“You have company,” he said. He struggled up out of his comfortable chair.
I pushed myself up out of the chaise lounge and went to the bow. Coming toward me was a huge bald head atop a massive body. Behind Emil was Emilio Garza. They both wore sunglasses, shorts and Hawaiian styled shirts. Emil wore flip flops while Garza wore brown shoes and black socks. His legs were uncommonly white for a Mexican. He also carried a bag that looked familiar.
Eddy moved up beside me.
“You want I should stick around?”
I shook my head, “It’s okay. They’re friendlies.”
Eddie grinned at me and shook his head. “Strange bedfellows.”
He set his empty beer can down, and moved to the ladder. “Let me know when you want to take her out of the water.” He went down to the stern. He had come over in his skiff, which was tied off the stern. He stepped over the railing and into the boat. The motor started on one pull. He had spent the morning tinkering with it.
“Purrs like a tomcat in the dairy,” he grinned up at me. I waved. I walked back to the bow, and the two men were below me.
“If you are trying to blend in, it’s not working,” I said.
Emil indicated the beer in my hand. “You got another one of those?”
“Come on aboard.”
I came down to the lounge, and opened the sliding door. Emil came in and made himself comfortable, sitting on the oversized couch. Garza stood by the door looking uncomfortable. I went to the galley and extracted two beers from the locker. I handed one to Emil, and offered the other to Garza. He held his hand up to decline.
Emil popped the beer and drank half of it in one motion. He looked at Garza. “Mr. Garza asked me to bring him out here.”
I looked at Garza. Garza held the bag out. “We began thinking that maybe we had not expressed our appreciation for the return of our money. This is that appreciation.”
I looked at the bag. “This is not necessary.”
“It is a matter of honor,” Garza said. “I would appreciate it if you would accept it.”
“If you don’t take it,” Emil said, standing, “Mr. Garza will have trouble at home.”
“In that case,” I smiled, “I accept.”
“Thought you would,” Emil said, tipping the can and swallowing the rest of the beer. “I swear, you are the luckiest bastard I know. Seems people give you money all the time.” He emitted a low belch and set the beer can on the end table. “We are off. Thanks for the beer.”
“My pleasure,” I said, setting the bag on the couch.
They moved outside and without looking back, they moved down the dock. I stood watching them, and Dahlia came through the gate and started toward me. The two men stood aside for her, with Garza turning to watch her with appreciation. Emil said something and Garza said something and they both grinned. Dahlia was in a bright blouse, shorts and stylish boat shoes. She carried a small bag. It had been a while since I had seen her.
When she reached me, I said, “This is truly my lucky day.”
She grinned at me. “I thought I’d come see you.”
“Wonderful. I was just drinking beers with Eddie. Would you care for one?”
“Love it,” she said as I helped her on board. She followed me into the lounge.
“Just happen to be in the neighborhood?”
“No,” she said. “I came to see you.”
“Great, where’s Megan?”
“She’s spending the weekend with Aunt Betty.”
She handed me the bag she was carrying.
“What’s this?”
“A present.”
“What is it?”
“My overnight bag,” she said, then smiled a smile of infinite promise.
Following is an excerpt of
the next exciting Jackson Blackhawk novel
THE BAG LADY, THE BARFLY AND THE WEST SIDE KING
by Sam Lee Jackson
Available at samleejackson.com
The, dirty, emaciated, bad smelling, bag lady winked at me.
I was sitting on my favorite barstool at El Patron. It was mid-afternoon and there were no customers. Nacho sat across from me reading a newspaper. Jimmy was behind the bar. Blackhawk and Elena were upstairs. She had a show tonight.
The bag lady had slipped through the door into the main saloon. El Patron had three saloons, two of which spun off either side of the wide, long hallway that led from the main entrance to the big double doors of the third saloon. Each had its own dance floor, but this one was by far the largest. This was where Elena performed. Packing them in. Jimmy saw the bag lady and moved toward me to intercept her.
“Ma’am,” he said. “If you go back outside, and go around to the back I’ll bring you some food.”
That’s when she winked at me.
With a jolt, I realized it was Detective First Grade Boyce.
Boyce was a mess. Just a mess. Clothes all raggedy, smudges under her eyes. Hair all greasy and uncombed. On top of that hair was a ragged cloth stocking hat. For an instant I thought my eyes were playing tricks. Fastidious Boyce. Looking rode hard, and put away wet. There was even a slight, disturbing odor.
I could do nothing but stare. She moved up to me and slipped up on the next barstool. She slid the arms of her dirty jacket up to her elbows and leaned on them. She cocked her head and looked at me. With that damned knowing smile of hers. Her arms had angry little tracks on them. The tracks of an addict.
I guess I was speechless, so she said, “Looking for a good time, sailor?”
I reached a finger and rubbed one of the spots on her arm. It rubbed off.
“Early for Halloween,” I said.
Jimmy was confused.
“Ma’am,” he said. “If you’ll go back outside, I’ll get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry, Jimmy,” Boyce said.
Jimmy frowned, then leaned closer, “Oh my God."
Boyce laughed. She looked at Nacho, “How you doin’, Nacho?”
He was smiling, “Just fine Ma’am. I like your outfit.”
She grinned at him, “Why thanks Nacho. That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he said. “But, not the nicest thing I’ve ever said about you.”
Her face lit up, “Always the sweet talker, Nacho. Always the sweet talker.”
“Can I get you something?” Jimmy asked, not sure what was going on. Me too.
“No thanks.” She looked at me, “I want you to come outside with me.” She slid off her stool. She started away, not looking back. I looked at Nacho. He grinned, shook his head and shrugged. I slid off my stool and followed.
Like I wouldn’t.
The sun was dropping in the west. The big parking lot was mostly empty. It wouldn’t be for long. This part of the world knew Elena and her big Salsa band were playing tonight, and soon the place would be jammed. Across the lot, by the street, was something I recognized. An unmarked police vehicle. I followed Boyce toward it. There were men inside. I recognized one. Captain Mendoza, Phoenix PD. Mendoza was the head of the city of Phoenix’s gang division. Or, he had been the last time I saw him. Maybe, he was the police king by now.
Mendoza was in
the front passenger seat. I didn’t recognize the other man, but he had cop written all over him. Boyce moved around to the other side, signaling me to follow. I did. She opened the back door and waved me in. I slid in. She shut the door and moved back around and stood at the curb. Mendoza slid his back against the door and put his left arm up on the seatback, so he could look at me.
“Detective Armstead, why don’t you join Detective Boyce outside?”
Armstead looked at him, then turned his head to look back at me. “You sure, Sir?”
Mendoza just looked at him.
Armstead looked hard at me, then slid out and shut the door a little too forcefully.
“Temper, temper,” I said.
Mendoza studied me.
“Boyce knows why we’re here. Armstead doesn’t.”
That didn’t require a response.
He looked out the window, like he needed something to look at. “How’s the foot?” he said.
“Still gone,” I said.
He almost smiled, but didn’t.
He studied me some more. Making up his mind, I guess. I waited. I knew he would get to it. He did.
“Ever heard of guy name of Cicero Paz?”
That took me aback. “Can’t say I have.”
“Runs the drug trade out of Maryvale. Controls all the meth, heroin, whatever sales throughout most of west and south metro area. Ruthless son of a bitch. Destroys a lot of lives.”
“If not him, someone else. He doesn’t make them buy it. Why would I know who he is?”
Now he did smile, “No reason. But, yes, you’re right, he’s the guy now, and I want to take him down.”
I looked out the window. Boyce had started smoking again. I shook my head. “You have the full resource of law enforcement.”
“And, the key word is law. Something we have to observe.”
I laughed out loud. “You need someone to break the law?”
He shook his head, like he was tired. “Let’s not play games. We both know who you are, and what you are capable of doing, and, I might add, have taken matters into your own hands more than once.”
“Boyce is undercover. You tellin’ me that undercover cops never bend or even break the laws?”
“Not something I would choose,” he said. “But, it’s more than that.”
I didn’t say anything.
“I’ve got Boyce deep under, and Cicero is a psychopath. She’s there alone and these are some very bad guys. I can put someone else under, but I don’t think I have anyone that could go to the lengths that might be necessary to protect her.”
“And, I would?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
I looked at him. The son of a bitch.
“You playing that card?”
He didn’t say anything.
“You think because she took a bullet for me. You think because we had a relationship. That I’ll do this thing for you?”
He didn’t say anything.
I studied him. Like looking at a wall.
I leaned back in the seat. “You think your guy will get himself killed. And, if I get myself killed, nobody knows who I am. Just a dead body in an alley.”
“I think you are better trained than my guys,” he said.
I looked at him for a long time. He didn’t waiver.
“She in danger?”
He glanced outside at Boyce. “Oh, yeah. If Paz found her out, she’d be raven bait in the river bottom.”
I looked back out at Boyce. She was standing next to Armstead, her back to me. She flipped her cigarette butt into the parking lot. This irritated the shit out of me. Blackhawk would have to have the cleaners come out and pick it up. Yes, he is that fastidious.
“If there is anyone that can take care of themselves, it’s Boyce.”
He nodded, “Yes, but I still want someone to watch her back. I won’t say, you owe her.”
“I do owe her,” I said.
In this very parking lot, Boyce had shoved me out of the way of an oncoming bullet, and had taken one herself for her efforts.
“Okay,” I said. “Tell me specifics?”
He looked at me then ran his window down. “Boyce,” he said. She turned to look at us, came around, and opened the back door. She slid in beside me.
“He in?” Boyce asked Mendoza.
Mendoza looked at me, “You in?”
“Tell me about it.”
“Cicero Paz operates out of the neighborhood he grew up in. He’s like a good old fashion Mafia Don. He controls everything on the west side. Nobody spits that he doesn’t get a piece of it. He controls everyone. And, that’s because he does a lot of favors. You own a small business and you’re having trouble with a vendor. The trouble goes away. You got gangs chasing away your customers, suddenly the gangs go away. You get in a bind and can’t pay the mortgage on your shop. He gives you the money, and he doesn’t screw you on the vig.”
“Sounds like a regular Robin Hood.”
“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”
“But?”
“But, if he’s done you a favor, then you can bet the time will come when you will do him a favor. And, there is no choice in the matter. You are going to do it. No matter what it is. You accept his help, and he owns you.”
I looked at Boyce, “What’s your role?”
“I’ve established as a homeless bag lady on the block by the bar he operates out of. I watch the activity and report it back to Mendoza.”
“But not inside?”
“That would be you.”
I looked back to Mendoza, “How are we going to do that?”
Mendoza almost smiled, “Boyce says you have a tactical side to you. You’ll figure a way.”
I looked at Boyce.
“Jesus, Boyce. You stink to high heaven.”
She grinned and pulled a baggie out of her pocket. I looked at it. It looked nasty.
“Old, raw, chicken skin,” she said. “Keeps the bad guys away better than a suit of armor.”
This time Mendoza did smile.
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