Solid Gold

by Stephanie Andrews

  When I said the name of the city, his eyes widened. “You didn’t,” he said in a low voice.

  “Oh, I did.” I sat on the edge of his bed by his feet. He winced as the mattress moved; Selena had really done a job on him. “You’re going to need to replace your security system. Sorry.”

  “Great. Thanks,” he sighed. “Did you find anything interesting?”

  “Lots, but no wife and daughter.”

  “Separated.”

  “Sorry. Also, just wondering what your bosses would think if they knew you kept all of your passwords on a post-it note under your football trophy.”

  “Tennis.”

  “What?”

  “It’s a tennis trophy.”

  “Whatever.”

  “He’s clearly holding a tennis racquet.”

  “Whatever. Point is, my friends who are good with phones worked hard to open the last phone I stole from you, in Windsor, and failed. But it’s so much easier when you have the passcode written there on a little slip of sticky paper.”

  He groaned, and I smiled at him. “I’m just teasing. I do the same thing with mine. They’re always making me change them, and then for some you have to use symbols or numbers, and others are case sensitive—”

  “Why are you here? Really. The nurses will be around in about five minutes. Are you going to have your friend beat up a bunch of nurses?”

  “No, I could probably handle that myself.” I looked him square in the eye. “Kidding aside, I need more information about Antonio Negron and his trafficking of women.”

  “Stay away from Negron!”

  “Can’t.”

  “Honestly, for your own good. He’s powerful, connected, and crazy.”

  “I know, I met him this fall at a really raucous party at the Art Institute.”

  Carter tried to sit up, but immediately fell back with a groan. “That was you?”

  “No comment. I don’t have time for that story right now. You can read all about it when the novel comes out. I need information.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Searching your email on your phone, I found his address in Mexico, but it’s not enough.” I didn’t mention that I had also found, in his photo app, a picture of me, taken in the warehouse in Windsor when I wasn’t looking. It creeped me out, but I suppose it would make sense that he would want it. “I need to know more. How many men he has working for him, what his trafficking routes are in the U.S. Anything that can give me an edge.”

  Carter looked angry.

  “Are you crazy, I’m not giving you any of that. I don’t know what your agenda is, but this is my job. Going after these guys is what I do, and I’m damn good at it. You need to stay out of the way or you are going to end up in federal prison.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “It’s a warning. Hell,” he threw his good arm in the air in frustration, “I can’t believe I’m even talking to you. Stay away. I’m not helping you.”

  I pouted. “I guess I’ll just have to go to Mexico and find out for myself,” I said.

  “Absolutely not! I mean it. I don’t care how well-intentioned you are, you stay away from him, in Chicago, Houston, Mexico, anywhere. I see you anywhere and I am taking you down.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him and smiled. “Houston?”

  His shoulders slumped. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He looked at the bottles lined up beside the bed. “How many drugs do they have me on?”

  I didn’t answer him, because when he turned back to look at me I was already out the door.

  Seventeen

  And so I turned around and headed back to the airport, after a quick stop at my apartment to fill a backpack with clothes and what my mother always called toiletries. I called Salerno, but once again she didn’t answer. I left a quick message ending with “meet me at the airport” and told her what airline.

  While I was waiting, I called Ellery Park Investigations and told El and Ruby about what was up: that I was heading to Houston to follow a lead but didn’t really know what I was looking for.

  “Houston’s kinda big,” said Park levelly, in the voice you use when you think a person is potentially insane.

  “I know, I know, so I’m open to suggestions. I thought I’d start with the police station and see if I can get information on any unusual drug or trafficking activity.”

  “Or FBI activity.”

  “Right, good thinking, they might lead me right to it.”

  “I’ll check online for newspaper articles from the last year that might have any leads.”

  “Thanks, Park. I think I’ll call Marty and see if he has anything for me.”

  “He’s right here, I’ll put him on.”

  “He’s what?”

  There was a rustling and then Marty came on the line. “Hey, Kay.”

  “Hey Marty, whatchya doing at Park’s?” I said in a teasing voice.

  “She’s having trouble with her wifi. I told her I could help.”

  “She needs the CEO of a five-million-dollar company to fix her Wi-Fi?”

  “Ten million.”

  “At eight in the morning?”

  “Only the best for your friends, Kay. That’s my promise to you.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Oh, and gold!” Marty blurted, suddenly remembering something.

  “What?”

  “Negron. I tracked down the address in Mexico. He’s kept it pretty off the grid, but Carter’s info was solid. I confirmed it through his bank. Same bank we hacked into at the museum. You’d think they would learn their lesson,” he sighed, seemingly sad for the poor little bankers.

  “Martin.”

  “Right. Right. Anyway, lives on an actual gold mine. I kid you not. On top of a mountain. A mountain of gold. I mean, I’m sure the mountain isn’t solid gold, but still, it’s pretty awesome.”

  “I’m glad you approve.”

  “Just be careful, okay? I’ll send you the details.”

  “Thanks, I’ll catch you later.”

  We hung up. That left a call to Nick, but I was hesitant. If I wanted to have a relationship with him that was based just on us, I couldn’t go calling him every time I needed help with a mission. I couldn’t do that and pretend it was separate. Maybe it never would be.

  They started boarding my flight, by which I mean they invited a lot of people to stand up and wait for another twenty minutes before they called their individual boarding group. I only had one bag, and didn’t need to fight for overhead space, so I stayed put.

  I should at least tell Nick where I was going.

  The phone rang three times and was just about to go to voicemail when it was answered, but not by Nick.

  “Hello,” said an old, gentle voice.

  “Uncle Elgort? It’s Kay, is Nick alright?” I was suddenly panicked.

  “Hello, Kay. I can tell it’s you because the phone says your name and has a picture of you from when your hair was shorter.”

  “Is Nick...?”

  “He’s fine. Absolutely fine.”

  “Then why isn’t he answering the phone?”

  “I’m sorry, he’s in the bank right now with his brother. I usually recommend not bringing one’s actual I.D. or phone inside with them.”

  “Oh my god, they’re robbing a bank? I thought you didn’t do that kind of thing.”

  “No. Well, yes, but not in the way that you mean.”

  “Then in what way?”

  “It would take too long to explain, but if all goes well they will move a large amount of money from one unsavory person’s account into one that is much more deserving. No violence, just an abundance of lies and misdirection.”

  “Don’s specialty.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m outside, my dear, in the car.”

  “You’re the getaway driver?” Elgort was close to ninety years old. It seemed an unlikely role.

  “No, no. I’m just the b
ack-up, plan D. I only go in if things are really kaput. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Just tell Nick I’m going on a short trip with Selena, and I’ll be back soon.”

  “A trip with Miss Salerno,” said Elgort with amusement in his voice. “Amazing that you two have become friends. I’m glad you’re beginning to learn what I was trying to teach you at the loft. About means and ends.”

  “It’s not that. It’s a personal favor. It’s about going after the bad guys.”

  “Yes, well. I hope it goes better then the little jaunt the two of you took to Canada.”

  “It’ll be warmer at any rate.”

  “Yes, and warmer than that little dip you took in Lake Michigan, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, Uncle Elgort, I get it. I’m crap at this.”

  “That’s not what I meant, my dear.”

  “It’s not? Because...oh never mind. I have to board my plane.”

  “Do you need any help?”

  “No, I’m fine!” I said quickly, then slumped. “Actually, yes. I need information that will help me find Negron’s trafficking operations in Houston. Can you do that?”

  “I think so. I will find out, and have Nicky send you the information. Also, I will set you up with an associate down there who can get you some equipment.”

  “What kind of equipment?”

  “The kind you can’t take in your carry-on luggage,” he said and hung up.

  Eighteen

  I exited the George Bush Intercontinental Airport to find Selena Salerno waiting for me in a taxi. When I say waiting for me in a taxi, I mean behind the wheel. I eased my sunglasses down my nose and leaned into the front passenger window.

  “Where did you get this?” I began, then stopped myself. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” I reached for the door handle.

  “In the back, por favor,” she said sharply.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Claro que no. It’s a taxi. You’re supposed to be in the back. It will look strange otherwise.”

  “Alright, but I’m not paying you a fare.”

  “We’ll see,” she said with a grin. She was wearing khaki shorts and a white blouse, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. On her head she wore a ridiculous hat like old-timey newsboys wore. It probably belonged to whatever old man owned the cab. He probably went into a shop to buy a pastrami sandwich and came out to find his taxi gone. Either that or he was tied up in the trunk. Either possibility seemed plausible.

  I opened the door and tossed my pack in the back seat, then climbed in after it. Selena made a show of starting the meter.

  “Please tell me you didn’t find that hat sitting on the front seat of the car.”

  “Maybe. I’m not afraid of the cooties, not after the mierda I’ve lived through. You probably wouldn’t eat food that’s been on the ground, either.”

  I considered this. “Well, you know, five second rule and all.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said as she pulled out into traffic. “But you know something funny? These hats, in America? They call them Shelby hats.”

  “That is funny. I can picture Uncle Elgort wearing one, but probably not Don or Nick. What do they call them in Chile?”

  “No idea. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone where such a stupid hat in Chile. But, speaking of heads, I like your hair.”

  I had bought a quickie temporary dye package and dyed my hair black for the trip, worried that Carter may have sent a picture of me down to the Houston office. Be on the lookout for a crazy redhead with a superhero complex. It was long enough now that I wore it in pigtails. I was wearing a red-checked button-down shirt and faded jeans. I looked like the girl from Gilligan’s Island. Maybe that’s my idea of a Texan girl. Who knows?

  “I didn’t want to be a redhead with the hot sun down here. Redheads burn too easily.”

  Selena glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “You know that makes no sense, si? I don’t understand why you say half the things you say.”

  “I’m practicing to be a comedian if the whole superhero thing doesn’t work out. Head south into the city.”

  We were quiet for a few minutes.

  “You know I meant O’Hare, right? When I said, ‘Meet me at the airport?’”

  She didn’t answer, so I just let her drive.

  When I had turned my phone on at the airport, a text was waiting for me from Nick, with the name and address of a contact in Houston. I was looking at my phone again, scouring the text for hidden romantic meaning, when my phone buzzed, making me jump like a scared rabbit. It was Ellery Park.

  “I think I have something for you,” she said in her chipper voice when I answered the phone.

  “I’m sorry, who’s this?” I asked.

  “It’s me, silly.”

  “I’m sorry, only my friends have this number, and they’re all grumpy and talk with funny accents.”

  “Ruby’s right here if you’d rather talk to her.”

  “I was talking about Selena.” I looked up to see her glare at me in the mirror. “You’ll do just fine, El, what have you got?”

  “Well, remember the hurricane in August? Not the one I was in, in Florida. Before that, in Texas. Harvey.”

  “Right. Harvey.”

  “Well, a few days after the storm, a chemical plant in Crosby exploded. Crosby is just northeast of Houston. A couple of bad explosions. The next day, the FBI are prowling around there, according to the local newspaper. When approached, they gave a statement that the FBI inspect all suspicious explosions for indications of terrorism, which is a silly answer, really, because the cause was obviously the organic peroxides—”

  “Obviously.”

  “—which have to be kept refrigerated or they will explode.”

  “And...”

  “And so the FBI were also spotted at a pipe yard a few miles away the same day, with local police.”

  “A pipe yard?”

  “Yeah, for oil. Pipelines and such. There’s a lot of that in Crosby.”

  “Delightful place.”

  “Independent, too. The FBI applied for a warrant for the yard and were rejected.”

  “I feel it coming,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “The point. I feel the point is coming sometime soon.”

  “Have faith. There were three names on the court records. The judge, Clayton Justice Hawthorne. Justice is actually his middle name, so I guess he would be Justice Clayton Justice Hawthorne. The owner of the property, an oil company whose chief financial officer is Elena Ruiz.”

  “Now I’m listening.”

  “And the FBI agent making the request.”

  “Caleb Carter!”

  “Bzzzt!” Park made a buzzer sound. “No million dollars for you, but close enough. Francis Albert, our friend from the alley. I’m texting you the address as we speak.”

  Sure enough, my phone buzzed and the text popped up.

  “How do you do that?”

  “I’m a private detective and expert researcher, Kay. It’s what I do.”

  “No, I mean how do you send a text while you’re still on the phone?”

  “Okay, grandma. I’m hanging up now.”

  “Oh yeah, well at least I can set up my own Wi-Fi!” I shouted at the phone, but she had already hung up. Just as well, I have no idea how to set up my Wi-Fi, but it’s all I could think of under pressure.

  Nineteen

  Our destination was a rundown body shop on the eastern outskirts of the city. We parked on the street. From the looks of the place, I was afraid that if we drove the taxi into the yard, it may never come out in one piece.

  Selena looked the place over and raised one eyebrow. “Do we need to be armed for this?”

  I looked at my phone. “We are meeting a man named Sherman Tuttlethrush.” I looked up at her. “Sounds pretty safe to me.”

  Selena reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a switchblade. She put it in he
r pocket without comment and got out of the car. I followed, and we entered the yard in the bright afternoon sun. Texas is hot! I know, that’s obvious, but sheesh.

  Amid the piles of auto salvage, we found an unpainted cinder block building with two open garage doors. From inside came the clinking and clanking sounds of mechanics at work. We entered the dark space and stood still, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the cool dark. The noises stopped, and a wolf whistle split the air. Nice. I moved toward the sound as a man on a mechanic’s trolley rolled out from under a big Chevy truck. As he struggled to his feet, another man came around from behind the truck, hair slicked back, tank top, the works. I was surprised he wasn’t chewing on a long piece of hay.

  “Well, lookee here,” he said in a voice that confirmed every stereotype I could list. “Now who might you be and how can we be of service?”

  “I’m Mary Ann Summers,” I said, giving my voice a bit of drawl, “and this is my associate Miss Grant.” Selena just nodded curtly. “We’re looking for She—”

  “Red,” Selena warned in a dangerous voice, and I turned to see that two more men had come out of the shadows behind us. I flicked my head, making my pigtails swing, and put my hands on my hips.

  “Well now, isn’t this gettin’ to be quite the crowd of handsome men?” I said, pushing the accent a bit too far. I wasn’t really good at accents. At all.

  The men said nothing, but shifted their eyes to Selena, who radiated menace and was sliding her hand into the pocket that held her knife.

  “Stop right there, both of you,” said the first man, with the slick hair, and when I turned back to look at him he was holding a pistol in his hand. I took a deep breath.

  “Oh, my goodness,” I said in a fluttery voice. “I am sure there has been some kind of mistake. You don’t need to point a gun at us.”

  “Yes, he does,” said Selena. Her knees were slightly bent, and her hands were raised in a defensive position.

  “Why is that, little lady?”

  “Because without it, I would maim all four of you and put you in the car crusher outside.”