Decker smoothed his mustache. “I am concerned about Brett Harriman. You should have seen the look in Alejandro Brand’s eyes when he talked about him.”
“He’s behind bars,” Oliver said. “He’s got other things to worry about.”
“He’s a Bodega Twelver,” Marge said. “He knows people on the outside.”
“Exactly,” Decker said. “I’ve talked to a few of the jailers in County. They’ll keep their ears open. But someone needs to talk to Harriman, tell him to be careful.”
“He can’t exactly look over his shoulder,” Oliver said. “Well, he could, but it wouldn’t do him any good.”
“Maybe he has his own way of discerning if someone is around him. In the meantime, he shouldn’t be out and alone until we get a better handle on Brand.”
“I’ve got some news about the Saturn, but don’t get excited.” Marge flipped a couple of pages of her notepad. “The lead was a bust. The Saturn was used and sold to a rental car service called Cheap Deals. It was rented to Alyssa Mendel and on the day that Harriman showed up at your house, Mendel was visiting her eighty-five-year-old aunt Gwen. She lives across the street and a few doors down from you.”
“Well, that’s good for me, but bad for the case.” Decker paused. “Rina’s going to have a field day when she finds out that the Saturn was nothing. I bought all this security equipment because I was so nervous.” A beat. “I might as well install it. I’m still a cop, Brand is still a Bodega Twelver, and I still got two nasty homicides.”
“I have three locks on my condo,” Marge said. “If I ever have a heart attack, no way the paramedics will be able to get in.”
“What are you doing to the house?” Oliver asked Decker.
“Updating the alarm, adding a couple extra horns, video cameras, motion sensors, rekeying the locks, checking the window locks…basic stuff that couldn’t stop a professional, but it might give pause to an amateur.” Decker flipped through his notes. “Oh yeah…this may be important. When I mentioned the name Rondo Martin, Brand appeared as if he didn’t have a clue who he was.”
“He could have been lying,” Oliver said.
“In my opin—” Decker smiled. “IMHO, Brand wasn’t faking.”
Marge said, “That doesn’t say anything about Martin’s involvement. Maybe Martin’s involvement wasn’t common knowledge—in contrast to Joe Pine or José Pinon.”
“Exactly. Brand admitted knowing Pinon and said Pinon was a former Bodega 12th member who apparently went through rehabilitation at a place called Go-carts. I had Wang look up community centers for gangbangers and there’s a government and privately funded community service group called GOCOTS.”
“Get Our Children Off the Streets,” Marge said. “When I was looking for Jervis Wenderhole on the Bennett Little case, I came across the name.”
“Guy Kaffey was on the board of directors. I had Wang go down the list of personal bodyguards as well as company security guards. Guy hired quite a few ex-Bodega 12th members.”
Oliver said, “He might as well have given Pinon a gun. Oh, wait. He did give Pinon a gun.”
Decker said, “Brand told me that Pinon was not only involved but that El Patrón was pissed because Pinon had fucked up by not finishing off Gil Kaffey.”
“So what do we think about Gil Kaffey?” Oliver asked. “Suspect or victim?”
“My first thought was victim. But then he went missing and I was shot at. That could have been a setup on Grant’s part. Or on Gil’s part. Or on Resseur’s part. Or none of the above.” Decker blew out air. “When we find Gil and Resseur, hopefully we get some answers.”
“I just thought of something,” Marge said. “Brand told you that El Patrón deals drugs.”
“Gotta deal drugs if you’re El Patrón,” Oliver said.
“Yeah, it does sound like a lie, but hear me out. Rondo Martin policed an agricultural community. I bet there are some sneaky-ass farmers who might plant some…marginal crops.”
Decker thought about it. “Martin developed contacts with marijuana growers and took the business to L.A.?”
“Just a thought.”
“Did you get any indication that illegal stuff was being grown in Ponceville?” Decker asked.
“No, but we’re not going to get that kind of information from talking to the sheriff. Maybe Willy Brubeck’s father would know about things like that.”
“More likely someone in the ciudads knows about those kinds of things,” Oliver said.
“We’re off to Ponceville tomorrow at ten,” Decker told them. “I’ll not only inquire about Rondo Martin the shooter, I’ll also ask questions about Rondo Martin the dealer.”
“Be careful, Pete,” Marge told him. “A dealer who’s good with a gun is a formidable enemy.”
RINA REGARDED THE video camera set under the roof of the porch and aimed at the door. “It’s beginning to look like a fortress.”
Decker was up on a ladder, adding a few finishing screws. “You can’t even see it from the street.”
“So how does it act as a deterrent if you can’t see it?”
“The point of the camera is to give you a bird’s-eye view of what’s going on out there.”
“So I can see my neighbor’s niece drive away?”
“The Saturn turned out to be harmless, but it was a wake-up call to update our security. Why are you giving me a hard time when all I want to do is protect my family?”
“You’re right.”
Decker stopped hammering. “What did you say?”
Rina smiled. “You heard me.” She regarded the sunset—a stunning display of golds and violets. The day had been hot, but the evening was balmy. She had changed into a short-sleeved white blouse and a denim skirt. Her black hair was covered by a colorful silk scarf that hung down her back. “Can I help out to speed things along?”
He readjusted the arm on the camera. “No, thanks. I’m good…almost done.”
Hannah walked out. She had put on her pajamas and wore fuzzy slippers. “When are we eating?”
“As soon as your father’s done.”
“In about fifteen minutes,” Decker said.
She huffed and stormed back into the house.
“We’re hungry,” Rina said.
“I want to do this right. Why don’t you set up the table and by that time, I’ll be done.”
“I’ve already set up the table.”
“Then drink a glass of wine or something.”
“The wine will mellow me out, but it will do nothing for our progeny.”
“Give her a snack.”
“She doesn’t like to eat snacks right before dinner.”
Decker looked down at his wife. “Just start without me. I’m a fast eater anyway. Besides, the less time I spend with her, the better she likes me.”
“She loves you.”
“So you keep saying. Cindy was always nice to me.”
“Cindy didn’t live with you.”
Silence. Decker hammered away for a few more minutes, then climbed down the ladder. “Done.” As the two of them walked into the house, he said, “I’m going to shower first. Start eating and I’ll be there in a little bit.”
It seemed like a good idea. Hannah was already at the table, eyeing the chicken in predator/prey fashion. Rina poured herself a half glass of Herzog petite sirah. “You can start.”
“Finally.” She grabbed the two drumsticks, then heaped her plate with a mound of broccoli and a half-baked potato. “Why is he so paranoid all of a sudden? It’s not like he suddenly joined the police squad.”
“The case involves members of the Bodega 12th Street gang. One of them is in jail and I identified him. Your father’s a little nervous.”
“But you didn’t put that guy in jail.”
“I don’t even think he knows I exist, but your father is just being cautious.”
“It’s really inconvenient staying at Oma and Opa’s. I have to wake up a half hour earlier.”
“It’s only
for a few days.”
“Yeah, but it has to be the day before I take my SATs. And no, I don’t want to sleep over at a friend’s house.”
Rina reached over and squeezed her daughter’s arm. “You’re very smart. You’ll do fine.”
Hannah speared a piece of broccoli and chewed vigorously. There were tears in her eyes. Decker showed up a minute later, his wet hair slicked back.
“You look like Dracula,” Hannah told him.
Decker started to laugh. “I suppose that’s a compliment. He was a count.”
Hannah giggled. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
“SATs,” Rina said.
“When are you taking them?” Decker asked.
“Tomorrow, as I have previously told you.”
“I’m old. I forget things. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He paused. “You’ll certainly do better than I did. If they hadn’t given me points for filling in my name, my score would have been negative. Not that it mattered. I never intended to go to college.”
Hannah stopped eating and studied her father. “Why’s that? You’re so smart.”
“Thank you,” Decker said with sincerity. “Education didn’t matter much to my parents. I’m sure that sounds pretty good to you now.” That got a smile out of Hannah. “Grandpa worked with his hands. I figured I’d do the same.”
“Yet you chose something that requires a lot of brain work.”
“It was all serendipitous. After I came out of the army, the police academy was looking for people. Gainesville was…is a college town and I detested all the protesters because they were my age and having too much fun. The police hated the students as much as I did. My enemy’s enemy is my friend.”
Hannah appeared thoughtful. “You could have quit.”
“It turned out to be a good fit.” He chewed thoughtfully. “I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for almost thirty-five years.”
“I hope I find something I’m passionate about. The only thing I love besides you guys and boys is listening to music.”
“So be a music critic,” Decker said.
“Yeah, you’d love that.”
“Why would I care? As long as you live it honestly, do what you want.”
“Abba, you can’t make a living out of that.”
“Pumpkin, if you work hard enough and do what you love, you’ll make a living. You may not make a lot of money. You may have to do without certain things. But there’s nothing better than doing work that you like. I don’t like my job every day, but I wouldn’t consider anything else.” Decker poured himself a glass of wine and toasted with Rina. “You can’t put a price tag on everything.”
“You really wouldn’t care if I became a music critic?”
“No. Why should I? It’s your life.”
“So I should forget about college and pursue my dreams?”
“Excuse me?” Rina said.
Decker laughed. “I’d like you to finish college to keep your options open. Other than that, I have no expectations.”
Hannah pushed her plate away. “I’ve got to go pack for Oma’s.”
“Hannah?” Rina said. “If it’s important to you, we can sleep here. The Saturn turned out to be nothing.”
“Now you’re telling me?”
“I didn’t want to cancel on my parents. They seemed excited to have us over. But that’s thinking about them and not you. I’ll call them up.”
“No, no,” Hannah said. “I have my own room over there and my computer’s transportable. It’s fine, Eema. Honestly, I won’t sleep much anyway.” She got up from the table and hugged her father. “Thank you for talking to me. It really helped.”
She skipped off to her room.
“Good job, Abba,” Rina said. “Pat yourself on the back.”
Decker had a smile on his face. “Once in a while, I get it right.”
“C’mon, Decker, give yourself some credit. That was incredibly sensitive.”
“Wasn’t trying to be. I meant every word. I’m no shining star. I’m just a government employee.”
“You’re my shining star,” Rina told him. “You’ve always been a hero to me.”
Decker looked down at his chicken. “Thank you. You’re my hero, too.” He kissed her hand and held it for a moment before letting go to pick up his wineglass. After all this time, he still had trouble expressing himself: how nice his daughter’s words had made him feel and how lovely Rina’s comment was. Instead he toasted with Rina again while basking in the moment.
It was great to feel adored.
THIRTY
THE LANDSCAPE OF channels and furrows brought back memories of childhood, when Decker was a kid and the family used to drive to visit his grandparents in Iowa. They did it twice a year—Easter and Christmas—traveling from Florida through miles of flat, endless terrain. Christmastime presented an ocean of brown or white, but Easter was a time of renewal: verdant fields glistening with morning dew and the perfume of blossoming trees. The trips were indelibly etched because of the promise at the end of the rainbow. Family reunions and gargantuan feasts, lights, decorations and pageantry, cousins to play with, and of course, presents. No matter how big or small, it was a thrill to open a wrapped package. Traveling through the fields, Decker knew it was a very different time for a very different reason, but the scenery evoked a primal excitement.
Perhaps they’d catch a break.
Brubeck drove like a native, whipping through the agrarian countryside. The dirt roads were uneven, and the lumpy topography gave the rental’s axle a run for its money. One rut sent them flying off the ground, coming down with a spine-breaking thud.
“Sorry about that, boss.” Brubeck reduced his speed. “Damn roads. You’d think after all this time, the town would do something about the potholes.”
“We can’t change the roads, but we can slow down. A couple of minutes saved isn’t worth paralysis.”
“Damn roads,” Brubeck muttered again. He wore a short-sleeved navy shirt and a black pair of jeans, his gut peeking over his belt. Decker had opted for a brown polo shirt and denims. Sneakers rounded out the look.
Decker pulled out the partial list of northern ciudad families, given to him by Brubeck courtesy of his father-in-law, Marcus Merry. There were over a dozen surnames. “Did you contact your father-in-law?”
“Daisy would kill me if I didn’t drop in for a visit. I told him we’d meet him for lunch around two…which is more like dinner for him. The man is in bed by eight.” Brubeck paused. “Dad isn’t comfortable with us doing police work and T not knowing about it. He has to work here, and Lord knows he’s already at a disadvantage.”
“I thought about that,” Decker said. “Despite what Oliver said, I called T up and left him a message that we were coming.”
Brubeck turned his head in Decker’s direction while he was driving. “You did?”
“Eyes on the road, Brubeck.”
“I can see. Why’d you call him up?”
“So your father-in-law wouldn’t take any heat if T got mad. Also, if we got into a fix, we’ll need his help.”
The car skipped over a dip, landed like a clumsy dancer. Brubeck said, “You think T’s trustworthy?”
“I don’t know, but it makes sense to have the local law on your side.”
“If he’s on our side.”
“That’s why I told him that we’d be here in the afternoon and we’d meet up in town at around four. That way we can go about our business without him.”
“What if we run into him at the ciudads?”
“I’ll tell him that we managed to get an earlier flight, tried to call him, but he wasn’t in.”
“Makes sense. And if he does show up at the ciudads, that’ll tell us something.”
“Exactly. Have you ever been out there before?”
“Just in passing. Never been any reason for me to stop.”
“How’s your Spanish?”
“Not great, but I can follow a simple conversation,” Brubeck sa
id. “I’ll do the driving, if you do the talking.”
“Sounds good. Just get us there in one piece.”
MIGRANT FARM WORKERS were a fact of life in California. They came over on work permits and were allowed to live and toil doing very specific labor for a very specific amount of time. The temporariness—along with the smothering poverty—was reflected in the living conditions. It wasn’t shantytown because there were some wooden houses with stucco walls, but there was no permanence to the areas. The houses were meant to be erected in a day’s time and razed with the single push of a Bobcat.
“Every so often that happens,” Brubeck told Decker. “Some social activist raises a hue and a cry about workers’ rights and then the area’s leveled. Next week, it starts all over again. It’s not like the old days when the hands would live on the ranches. Not enough money to feed a staff and pay them wages. Something had to go.”
Decker noticed electric lines jerry-rigged to the houses so at least some of the places could sustain a modern convenience or two. Most of the structures shared walls, making them look like tenements. A cheerless and depressing chunk of nothing; the only exuberance was the paint color on the exteriors—bright yellows, electrifying oranges, deep purples, kelly greens, and rose reds. Instead of address numerals, the units were identified by letters, and in the northern district the rooms were A through P. The Mendez families lived in H, I, and J. As Brubeck approached the huts, Decker noticed a recently washed twenty-year-old Suburban parked outside.
“Stop the car, Willy.” As Brubeck braked, tires churned up the loose gravel. Decker said, “Any idea who drives the Suburban?”
“No, but it’s a visitor. The car’s old, but it’s too clean to belong to one of the tenants.”
Decker opened the rental’s door. “Let’s take a peek.”
Quietly, they slipped out and tiptoed up to the Suburban. Inside was a leather jacket, a paper cup of coffee, a cop’s radio and mike, and an empty shotgun rack. The two of them exchanged glances and tread softly back to the car.
“It’s outfitted with a police scanner,” Brubeck said.
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