MacKinnon 01 Scoop

by Kit Frazier

  “Bug,” I said, and I took his hand and smiled. “How you feeling?”

  “Like hammered dog shit.”

  I nodded. “They say you’ve been out of it for a while. What happened?”

  “Don’t rightly know,” he said. “I just picked up the last of the animals over at the Blue Parrot and I got ‘em back to my place and was gettin’ ‘em settled in when this guy came out from behind the door and kicked the shit out of me.’

  I stared at his body, which was enormous, even when prone. “How’d they manage that?”

  “Asked me where Scooter kept his shit. When I said I don’t know, he stuck me.”

  “Stuck you?”

  “In the neck. Ain’t that the shit? I never saw so much blood.”

  I shook my head. “Any idea who did it?”

  The Bug opened both eyes and tried to sit up. “Same guy that stole my truck. Had a big, bone handled knife.”

  My stomach dropped. “Big earless guy?”

  “He wasn’t that big,” the Bug said, and I smiled. I guess when you look like the Bug, big is relative.

  “You know, Selena came by a bit ago.”

  I frowned. “How well do you know Selena?”

  “She’s a good girl, Cauley.”

  I thought about the gold coin in my pocket and tried to steady my voice. “Did she say anything about Scooter or The Blue Parrot? Did she say anything at all unusual? Like maybe something hidden…or stolen?”

  “She was pale as a ghost, talkin” “bout old times.” The Bug frowned. “She said something about some kinda necklace, then asked me to take care of the animals at the shop.”

  I got a terrible feeling of dEj++ vu, and hoped like hell Selena wasn’t about to follow in her husband’s footsteps.

  “I’m worrin’ about the girl.” The Bug licked his dry lips. “A Detective Cando or something or other was by here earlier today. I asked him to call Selena’s mama to check on her.”

  Drawing a deep breath, I stood, looking down at the Bug, formidable, even tucked under hospital sheets.

  “You going to be okay?” I said.

  “The animals…they’re at my house ‘

  “Take it easy.” I reached over and patted his large, rough hand. “I’m headed to your house next.”

  Exiting the emergency room, I braved the afternoon heat but felt overwhelmed with a super-size case of dread.

  First Scooter, then the mysterious Bastrop veterinarian and now the Bug. I was up to my eyelashes in bodies and on my way to Paradise.

  I called Mia on my cell phone and told her about Bug and the animals. She insisted on coming, as I knew she would. I pulled into her northwest Austin apartment complex, past the elaborate swimming pool and the twenty-four hour workout facility and left the Jeep running because I was still having trouble getting the darn started.

  “Is the Bug going to be okay?” Mia said, skipping down the apartment steps behind me to hop into my Jeep. She was doing hot pink today. Short skirt and clingy top, attractively accessorized with the big, black Nikon slung around her neck.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “He looked pretty bad.”

  Mia was quiet. “Do you know what’s going on?”

  “Not all of it,” I said, thinking of the gold coin in my pocket and wondering where the rest of the blood money was stashed as we headed down the sloping hills of Loop 360. “I don’t know where the coins are, and I don’t know how El Patron fits into this whole scenario. I can’t figure out how Scooter wound up in the middle of this mess.”

  “What if they just want the money?”

  I shrugged. “There’s got to be some clue in what Scooter said in the shed. The FBI, Van Gogh and Texas Syndicate all wanted to know what he told me.”

  Mia frowned. “What did he say?”

  “I could swear he didn’t say anything important,” I said, frowning. “But I have the memory card.”

  Steering with my elbow, I wriggled the chip out of my pocket, popped it into the mini recorder and plugged the adapter into the dash. I listened to the hissing, waiting for anything that sounded important as we turned down 2222, heading west to Paradise. The sun blistered the sky red as it sank behind the hills. To the left, Lake Austin snaked through its deep gorge.

  I tipped my head as the recorder cracked.

  “Go away.” Scooter’s voice sounded hollow and staticy, and I shivered at the echo of the past.

  “Oh!” Mia sucked in a breath.

  On the recording, Sam squawked and then my voice.

  “Hey, Scooter.” The sound of grunting. “Rough day?”

  Sam squawked again and I said, “What’s with the parrot?”

  “Sam’s a Macaw. He’s good company. Did you know miners used to take birds with them down into mine shafts? They’re sensitive to fumes.”

  “The birds alerted when there was a gas leak?”

  “No. They dropped dead. It was a sign things were going south.”

  Sam made a garbled noise, sounding like he was trying to talk.

  “You know. If you want to off yourself with paint fumes, you’re going to have to do better than twenty-year-old latex.”

  “A lot you know. She left me.”

  I left-turned at Four Points and we were on 620, heading for Paradise as the tape rolled on, and for the life of me, I knew I was still missing something.

  On the tape, I heard Sam shriek and the faint sound of his feathers ruffling.

  “What about The Blue Parrot?” my voice said.

  “I got a guy who can look after the animals. He cleans out kennels and does stuff with the computers.”

  I frowned at the recorder as it hissed. “Something’s wrong.”

  Reversing the audio, I listened more carefully. Sam squawked, and it sounded like a garbled imitation of a human voice. I looked at Mia in the rearview mirror. “Am I crazy or did that bird just say Zorra?”

  Mia nodded. “I think he did. Why would an American bird say ‘Fox’ en Espanol?”

  “I don’t know. Scooter used to call Selena Zorrita,” I said, thinking out loud.

  We pulled into Paradise Cove and climbed out of the Jeep. Tails down, eyes wary, the horde of dogs met us in the Bug’s front yard, but they didn’t jump and yip the way they’d done before.

  “I don’t like this,” I said, and picked up the little rat dog, heading to the back of the house. The key was in the pot plant out back, right where the Bug said it would be.

  “Wow,” Mia said when I let us in. The animals were quiet but fidgety. Some of the larger cages were empty. Muffin, the little white hound from hell, limped around the corner. Mia snapped a picture, then bent and picked up the fuzzy little land shark.

  “Feed or clean?” I said, and Mia said, “Feed.”

  I set the rat dog on the sofa.

  Inside the Bug’s wrecked living room, it was obvious there’d been a scuffle, but the crime scene techs had come and gone. I found it funny they’d left the pot plant and I hoped the Bug wouldn’t get in trouble for it later. If he lived long enough to get in trouble.

  “You want me to call mi compadres to come help?” Mia said.

  I looked around at the mess and the restless creatures, glad the Bug couldn’t see it. Maybe Mia’s militant animal rights buddies were just we needed.

  “Yes,” I said. “Some of these little guys probably need medical attention, and we’re going to need help figuring what to do with them if the Bug takes a turn for the worse.”

  Mia pulled out her cell, punched speed dial and spoke rapid-fire Spanish while I went to the utility closet for provisions. I made my way back into the living room, trying to prioritize the cleaning.

  A rustling sound came from the back room. My heart skipped a beat, but slowed as a pair of large, familiar blue wings flapped into the living room.

  I smiled. “Hello, Sam you funny old bird.”

  Sam lighted on the lampshade next to an empty aquarium and cocked his head, looking at me intently with his onyx-black eyes.r />
  “You hungry, big guy?”

  He ruffled his feathers at me. Cautiously, I reached over to stroke his neck the way I’d seen Scooter stroke him a million times before.

  “What’s this?” I said, touching the bird’s bright blue wing.

  “What’s what?” Mia said.

  “Paint, I think. On his wing.”

  “Wow,” she said. “Same ugly green as Abuelita Maria’s kitchen.”

  “Avocado green,” I said, and I heard my last conversation with Scooter as though he whispered in my ear.

  “The birds alerted when there was a gas leak?”

  “No. They dropped dead. It was a sign things were going south.”

  My heart thumped and I could Scooter in that musty old shed, sitting next to the pyramid of old paint cans and shivered, thinking of the coin hidden in my pocket like a terrible secret.

  “Sam, you’re a hero,” I whispered to the bird.

  Excitement bubbled through my veins for the first time in a long time, and I turned to Mia. “I’m going to call Cantu. Will you be okay here?”

  “Mi compadres are on the way. Que pasa?”

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I gotta go see a man about a bird.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The sky was dark with the threat of rain when I right-turned onto 620 heading for Paradise Falls.

  That green paint on Sam’s feathers came from somewhere. Since I was fairly sure Sam the Macaw had never been in Mia’s grandmother’s kitchen, I was guessing the paint came from Scooter’s dad’s shed. I looked down at the coin in my hand, and my heart went off like a pinball machine.

  I jerked the wheel and nosed the Jeep up the hill toward the back of the Barnes place where I would climb the fence, hopefully, unseen.

  This time, I would be more careful not to bump my head.

  The falls in the near distance made a splashing water sound. The swollen moon shown dimly through the clouds, casting the hills in shades of deep blue and gray. I stopped near the end of the fence line and swallowed hard. Small shards of yellow light were spilling from the shed.

  Someone had beat me to the shed.

  Heart pounding, I shoved the coin into my pocket and quietly crept around to the front of the shed to peek through one of the cracks in the weathered planks.

  Selena.

  She was sitting on the box bench, right where her husband sat not so long ago.

  She was small and thin, her arms folded tightly in front of her. The padlock was unhinged, so I pushed the front door open and carefully went in.

  “Selena?”

  She lifted her head and looked at me. I almost didn’t recognize her. Her blonde hair was wild about her shoulders, her face pale and blank. She was wearing white princess pajamas. Her small feet were bare.

  In the dim light I could see the shed was a wreck, like someone had given it the once over, the way they’d done at Scooter’s pet store. The way they’d done at my house.

  I nearly tripped over a rotten tire. Rusty tools were scattered along the dusty floor, but the warped cardboard boxes were gone.

  “He’s gone,” Selena whispered, the soft Spanish in her voice sounded like a sad song. “My husband is gone.”

  My gaze flicked around the shed. The front door was open behind me, the back door was closed. I wondered if it was locked.

  Selena sat, staring straight ahead into nothing.

  “Selena,” I said carefully. “Is there someone I can call for you?”

  I took a step closer.

  “No,” she snapped. I looked down and realized she was holding a gun. Jesus, not again. I needed a negotiator.

  Selena yelped when I tripped over a rusty old shovel. “Parada!” she hissed. “No closer!”

  “Selena, let me call someone for you. Do you want me to call your mother?”

  “No!” She was on her feet, one hand over her stomach, the other wrapped around the gun.

  I nodded. “You don’t want your mother here?”

  Selena shook her head and tears spilled prettily onto her cheeks. I looked down at the gun. It was a little Smith & Wesson, like the one Mark had given me. I was close enough that I could see one bullet in the cylinder. If she had a bullet lined with the barrel, that meant she had two.

  Selena quivered. “I want you to leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that, Selena.”

  Her fair skin seemed tight over her delicate cheekbones.

  “Selena,” I said carefully. “I don’t think Scott killed himself.”

  To my surprise, she laughed. It was a soft, ugly little laugh that seemed odd as it drifted from her lovely face.

  “Selena,” I said. “Let me call someone.”

  “There is no one,” she said dully.

  I looked down at the gun. It was shaking in her hand. I took a deep breath. “Selena,” I said. “Do you know how Scott died?”

  She nodded slowly. “I killed him.”

  “I don’t think you did.”

  Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked like a small wild animal caught in headlights.

  “Selena,” I tried again. “Scott gave me something to give to you.” Cautiously reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the coin and showed it to her. “He loved you, Selena.”

  A strangled noise came from her throat. Her hand shook but she took the coin, staring at it as though it was poisonous.

  “The Eagle,” she whispered.”

  Nodding, I swallowed hard. “You know what I think?” I said. “I think by leaving Scott, you were trying to get him out of trouble.”

  Selena choked on a sob. “She hated him.”

  “I know,” I said quietly.

  “Mi madre,” Selena said quietly. “She said he wasn’t good enough.”

  “Your mother isn’t here,” I said, wondering if I should just reach over and take the gun from her, the way Van Gogh had taken mine from me.

  “Selena, Coach and Golly Barnes asked me to help you and I will help you, but I need your help to do that. Are there more coins like this one?” I said, edging toward the box bench.

  “No further,” she stammered, leveling the gun on me, and in that moment, I could see Scooter clearly in my mind, sitting on the box bench, surrounded by paint cans and a small arsenal of weaponry.

  “Selena,” I said. “Were you helping get these coins into the country?”

  Her eyes went wide, her lips parted but she didn’t speak.

  I looked over my shoulder, wishing like hell Logan was there. “Look,” I said. “I saw Scooter’s bird earlier this evening. He had paint on his wing. Do you know anything about that?”

  Selena stared at me. “Sam?”

  “I think the paint on his wing came from these cans. That’s what Scott was doing the last time I saw him messing with these paint cans. And I think that’s why he called me that day. He knew I was doing some research that was related. About El Patron.”

  Selena flinched at that, and I took a deep breath and went on. “I think someone has been smuggling something with the animals imported for The Blue Parrot,” I said, looking down at the coin in her hand. “And I think that something was Austrian gold.”

  Selena stared at me, her expression blank, which I thought was odd. It had been her signature on the bills of lading, permitting the parrots and lizards from Argentina to the United States. But I was finding it more and more difficult to believe Selena could find her own car in a deserted parking lot, let alone mastermind a smuggling plot.

  “I’m going to move, now,” I said. “I just want to open a paint can,” I said. “You can watch me if you want.”

  I held up my hands and moved forward. Selena seemed to be in shock but she moved, mirroring me, still holding the gun.

  I glanced around for something to pry the can open and found a rusty screwdriver on the floor. Selena’s breath caught when I picked it up. “

  Just a screwdriver. See?” I knelt so I could pry the lid from one of the cans.

  Se
lena watched over my shoulder as I opened the can.

  “Paint,” she said.

  “It’s paint,” I repeated dumbly as I stared into the can of avocado green latex. I was sure it would be empty of paint and full of Nazi gold.

  “It’s got to be here,” I said. “Everything leads back to this shed.”

  Selena shook her head. She was still holding the gun, but at least she wasn’t pointing it at my heart.

  “Look, Selena, we need to find the rest of these Eagle coins. People are willing to kill for them. Maybe even die for them,” I said, and my gaze drifted toward the warped old box bench.

  “I’m going to move very slowly, but I need to look in that bench,” I said, hoping like hell there wasn’t a dead body in there, but honestly, who was left to kill?

  “Why?” Selena said, still holding the gun, and she watched as I lifted the wooden lid. The hinges creaked like a coffin from an old Vincent Price movie.

  I stood, staring into the big box.

  “Clothes,” Selena said, looking over my shoulder, appearing to come out of her daze a little.

  Inside the box, piles of old clothes were wadded up and tossed about, as though someone had recently searched through them. “Yes, but somebody’s been rooting around in here.”

  Frowning, I looked at the tangled crumple of clothing, thinking about how much scorpions love to hide in dark messes just like that.

  One by one, I used the screwdriver to fish the clothes out of the box, dropping them on the floor of the shed until the screwdriver scraped the bottom of the wooden bottom of the box bench.

  Selena crept closer and peered into the box. “There’s nothing there,” she said, and damned if she wasn’t right.

  “It’s got to be here somewhere,” I said, starting to feel like a fool. “Was your family wealthy in Argentina?”

  Selena shrugged, but seemed engaged in the conversation. “My great-grandfather and his friends were wealthy before they left Austria after what they called the Big War.”

  “Selena,” I said, thinking of my conversation with the Colonel. “It was illegal to take assets out of the country in those days.”

  She looked like she was about to be sick. “Most grandmothers tell fairy stories with princesses and happy endings. My grandmother told stories of Anschluss the spring of 1938 when troops marched into Vienna. Austria welcomed them with open arms. Within hours, the city’s Jewish physicians and teachers were rounded up and made to wash the streets and sidewalks. And Karl Grynszpan, a Jewish jeweler, was forced to mint a special coin to venerate the conversion of Vienna. The coins were made with gold gathered from the Jews.”