by Jeff Shelby
“I figured. That’s why I haven’t turned it on.” I picked up an envelope off the kitchen counter and handed it to him. “For you.”
“For me? For what?”
“Your car.”
“Noah, man, no. You don’t have to—”
Insurance wouldn’t cover the car and my guilt. “Yes, I do. It’s yours. I’m sorry it happened.”
He didn’t open the envelope, just shoved it in the back pocket of his shorts. “Alright. Thanks.”
I nodded. “I want to go see Moffitt, but I don’t see how we get out of here without them following.”
“No way we can bail right now,” he said. “They’re all up and down the alley. Think they’ll stay the night?”
“Some maybe, but not all of them,” I said. “Probably go home and come back first thing in the morning.”
“So we could get out tonight and be up there in the morning.”
“Yeah.”
“And I had an idea,” he said. “An idea?”
“About how to handle Moffitt. To make sure you get what you need from him.” “Let’s hear it.”
He told me his plan. I liked it. And I hadn’t thought of anything else.
“Let’s do it,” I said.
He went to the door. “Okay. I’ll get what we need. Why don’t you call me around midnight and tell me what it looks like around here. I can pick you up a couple of blocks away or something. I’ll have a ride by then.”
“Alright.” I hesitated. “Hey. You don’t have to do this. I can do it alone. I don’t know how it’s gonna go and I don’t want—”
He held up a big hand. “Stop right there. Liz and I … we weren’t close. But you and she were. That’s enough for me.” He nodded like he’d said all that mattered. “Call me around midnight.”
SIXTY-THREE
It took two more nights before I could shake free. The police had no luck in finding Keene, even after I shared my belief that he was responsible for the destruction of Carter’s car. He was running free somewhere.
The media had made themselves at home on the boardwalk and in the alley. I tried to get out once to go to the grocery store, but I was immediately swarmed and I retreated inside. The vans were spending the night in the alley—anytime I stepped outside, even in the middle of the night, someone on watch snapped to life.
I was fed up with being trapped in my own house and told Carter I was getting out that night, regardless of who followed me. We made plans to meet five blocks away a little after midnight. The boardwalk was empty, and I walked all the way down to the shoreline and then up the beach before turning back up and getting out onto Mission. My long way around worked, and I arrived out on the street alone.
Carter pulled up in a Ford F-250 pickup, the huge diesel engine idling like a plane’s as I opened the door.
“Yours?” I asked as I stepped up and into the cab.
“Sort of,” he said, shrugging.
I reminded myself not to ask.
We made the drive out to Bareva in under an hour, thanks to the time of night. The casino was lit up like Christmas, and the parking lot was nearly full.
Cha-ching.
We parked at the far end of the lot, and Carter shut off the engine.
“We just nap now?” Carter asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. Nothing to do until morning.” I glanced at him. “You got what you need?”
He pointed his thumb toward the rear window and the bed of the truck. “Back there.”
I twisted around and saw a black tarp with a few shapes barely visible beneath it.
“Wake me when you’re ready,” he said, slouching down and closing his eyes.
SIXTY-FOUR
I figured hanging out in the casino would be a good way to get Benjamin Moffitt’s attention.
I woke Carter at nine and told him I was going in. He shook the sleep out of his eyes and said he’d do his thing. I walked away from the truck, wondering if we could pull it off.
I roamed the gaming floor for an hour, keeping an eye out for anyone and anything that looked familiar. Walking in slow circles, I watched as the hardcore gamblers mixed with the day tourists who made the drive out to Bareva. I couldn’t help but wonder if Simington ever gambled at any of these machines.
After walking around for a little while longer, I took the elevators up to the fourth floor, where Carter and I had gone the first time. The same receptionist greeted me.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Ben Moffitt.”
“I’m sorry sir, but—”
“You told me the same thing a couple of weeks ago,” I said, my voice sounding hollow. “Get on the phone and tell him Braddock isn’t leaving until I talk to him.”
She hesitated.
“Now!” I yelled at her.
She jumped in her seat but picked up the phone. Thirty seconds later, the elevators opened behind me and Gus and Ross emerged. Gus was still sporting a bandage along his left temple. “Let’s go,” Ross said.
“You take me anywhere but to Moffitt and I’ll make hitting him with a pitcher look like fun,” I said, walking toward the elevator.
They stepped into the elevator behind me, and the doors closed. Ross pushed an unnumbered button, and the car began to rise.
Gus crowded in closer to me. “You think you’re a badass ‘cause you got off one shot? Why don’t you—”
I pivoted and drove my fist into his midsection. He gasped, and I brought the heel of my hand up under his jaw. His teeth clacked shut, and blood spurted out his mouth, probably from biting his tongue. I hit him again in the stomach, and he slumped to the floor.
I swiveled toward Ross. “You wanna go?”
Ross held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, man, I’m just taking you to Mr. Moffitt’s office.”
I turned back to the crumpled Gus, now breathing heavily. “If you fuckin’ move before I get out of this elevator, you will never move again.”
Gus just continued to squeeze his eyes shut as the blood leaked out of his mouth.
I wasn’t kidding. Gus had stepped into the wrong place at the wrong time. Anger was rippling through my body, and I didn’t need an excuse to unleash it.
The elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened. I stepped out. The doors closed and sent Gus away.
Ross and I walked down the corridor toward Moffitt’s office and found him sitting behind his desk.
He looked up and smiled. “Mr. Braddock, nice to see you again.” He glanced past me at Ross. “Thank you, Ross. That will be all.”
Ross looked concerned, like maybe he should mention that I’d flattened Gus in the elevator. But he wasn’t confident enough to stand up to his boss’s dismissal. He hesitated, then sort of shrugged and left, closing the office doors behind him.
“So, Mr. Braddock,” Moffitt said. “What can I do for you today?”
“You’re going to tell me about Landon Keene,” I said.
A moment of forced confusion flickered through his features. “I think you mentioned his name last time and—”
I walked around the desk, grabbed him by the shirt, and lifted him out of the leather chair. Shock registered on his face, and he slapped at my hands. I shoved him over to the window and banged his forehead on the glass.
“Look carefully,” I said.
“What?” Moffitt said, his voice frantic. “What?”
“Two hundred yards in front of you,” I said. “Do you see him?”
He steadied himself, now looking out the window, probably wondering what the hell he was supposed to see. Then he said, “Jesus Christ.”
“That’s right,” I said, glancing up and spotting Carter outside, aiming the rifle right at us. “I’m going to let you go, but you aren’t going to move. If you do, he’s going to make your head a convertible before you get more than a foot. Do you understand?”
“Jesus Christ,” he repeated.
“I seriously doubt he will be the one to greet you in the afterlife. Do you understand
me?” “Yes! Shit, yes! I get it.”
“And if anyone barges in here and you don’t tell them to get the fuck out, I’m going to signal to him and he’s going to kill you. Do you understand that?”
Sweat was running down his cheeks. “Yeah, I understand.”
“Don’t pull your forehead off that glass,” I said. “Don’t move until I tell you to.”
“Alright! What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Tell me about Landon Keene.”
His eyes were dancing back and forth between me and the rifle pointed at him from two hundred yards away. “What do you want to know?”
“He works for you?”
“No. Yes. He’s blackmailing me.”
That surprised me. “How?”
He was bent over at an awkward angle, but he was as still as a statue. “I pay him. He works out of my casino.”
“Works out of your casino. Hiring coyotes?”
His eyes shifted in my direction. “Yes.”
“Are you involved in his smuggling operation?”
“I was. I got out a few years ago as I was getting into the casinos. That’s what he’s holding over me,” he said. “It overlapped for a while.
He says he’ll go to the gaming board and let them know about my past if I don’t let him do his thing.”
That made sense. Moffitt didn’t need the smuggling money because the casino money was worlds better. But one wrong turn and it could all disappear.
“My back is killing me,” he said. “Can I stand up?”
“Do it slowly, but don’t turn away from the glass. Keep your eyes on our friend out there.”
Moffitt moved like he was in slow motion, rising until he was in an upright position. He kept his forehead on the glass.
“What about Russell Simington?” I asked.
He took a deep breath, looking for any measure of composure. “The three of us worked together. Keene, Simington, and myself. Smuggling. Keene and I worked together at first. He wanted to put together a larger operation. I wanted out, to do other things. I got interested in the casinos, he stayed with the smuggling. Keene was always the brains, the driving force.”
“You employed Simington, too?”
“Yes. But only because Keene made me. He wanted him working in the casinos to help scout.”
I believed him because it all fit together. “When did you get out?” I asked.
“After Simington got arrested,” he said. “I’d made enough, and it was getting too dangerous. I got in on the gaming contracts with the money I’d made from running the Mexicans and was able to open two more casinos. I didn’t need it anymore.” He let out a sigh. “Keene came to me a year later and wanted to use the casinos. More casinos meant more recruiting for him, more potential targets. I said no, and he threatened to ruin me. I gave in.”
All of what he was saying put things in line for me. But at that moment, I didn’t care about getting things in line. I only wanted one thing.
“Where do I find Keene?” I asked.
“Oh, man,” he said, getting close to a whine. “Come on.”
“One signal from me and he puts one bullet in your face,” I reminded Moffitt.
The perspiration cascaded down his red cheeks. “Shit. Alright. I don’t know where he lives. He jumps from house to house. But I know he’s going to El Centro tomorrow.”
El Centro. A little spark went off in my head. “Why?”
“I’m not sure. He said he was going down there for a few days. That he had to go tie up some loose ends.”
Loose ends. The widow of a man he had murdered.
“Why has what happened there become so important to him?” I said, as much to myself as to Moffitt. “Why is he now so determined to close the whole thing up?”
“I don’t know,” Moffitt said, glancing at me.
I nodded at the window. “I think his finger is getting twitchy on the trigger. Try again. Why now?”
Moffitt swallowed hard. “He said something about a woman talking to a cop.”
Lucia. And Asanti. And Keene was probably worried that she was telling him about the extortion attempt and that she might be able to tie him to Simington. I wasn’t clear on what was setting Keene off, but it seemed to me that while he was confident that he had Moffitt and Simington leveraged, he feared anything I might learn.
Loose ends.
I stepped in close to Moffitt. I held two fingers up to the window, and I saw Carter nod in the distance.
“I just told him I’ll be outside in two minutes,” I said. “If you move before he lowers that gun, he will shoot you. If I’m not out in two minutes, he will shoot you.” I leaned in close. “And if you talk to Keene before I find him, if I find out you told anyone about our conversation, I will get to you and make you wish he had shot you. Got it?”
He nodded, his forehead squeaking against the window. “Yes.” I hoped I never had to set eyes on Benjamin Moffitt again.
SIXTY-FIVE
Carter had the truck waiting in front of the casino when I walked out the front like I’d just finished testing my luck. Which I guess I had.
“He didn’t move, so I suppose it went okay?” he said as we drove off.
“Keene is going to be in El Centro. Tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Vasquez’s wife?” I said. “Moffitt said something about him tying up loose ends. He must know she’s still there.”
“He could be going down just to do business. Maybe he’s bringing over another load.”
Carter could have been right, but I doubted it. The timing was too coincidental. The week of Simington’s execution, Keene was heading back to where it all began. He was probably assuming that everyone would be so wrapped up in Simington’s impending death that he could slip down south, do what he needed to do, and slip out unnoticed. Make sure that everything went to the grave with Simington.
I’m sure he thought it was a good plan.
And if I hadn’t learned about it, it would have been even better.
WEEK FOUR
SIXTY-SIX
Carter and I spent the rest of the day making plans. We needed some things to take with us, and we needed a second car. I rented a Chevy Impala rather than risk going back to my place to get my Jeep.
By the time we pulled off the freeway into El Centro, midnight was descending on the Imperial Valley. The moonlight threw shadows over the gravel and sand as we drove down the road toward the Vasquez house. I shut the visions of Liz out of my head as I parked the rental in front of the home.
I didn’t want to ring the doorbell in the middle of the night, and I figured no one would attempt entering with two strange cars parked in front of the house. Carter and I tried to sleep in the cab of his truck but ended up taking turns dozing more than anything else.
At eight the next morning, Carter and I went up the front walk and I rapped on the screen door. The front door opened and Lucia Vasquez looked at us, her expression puzzled for a moment before recognition filtered onto her face. “Mr. Braddock?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Vasquez,” I said, then gestured at Carter. “This is my friend Carter Hamm.”
They exchanged nods.
“May we come in for a moment?” I asked.
She looked reluctant.
“Please,” I said. “It’s important.”
She pressed her lips together, then held the screen door open for us. We stepped in past her.
The television was on in the living room, the volume turned down.
“My boys,” she said. “They are still asleep.” She pointed at the sofa. “Please, sit down.”
We sat, and she moved into the chair across from us, sitting on the edge. “Why are you here?”
“The man who arranged to bring Hernando here,” I said. “Landon Keene. Have you heard from him?”
Her features immediately filled with alarm. “No. No. Why?”
“I think he’s looking for you,” I said. “I believe he’s
on his way here.”
She brought her hands to her chest. “What? Why?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “But I feel certain he’s coming here. To your home.”
She whispered something in Spanish, then looked at me. “I won’t let him hurt my boys. I won’t.”
I nodded. “I won’t either. That’s why I’m here. I’d like for you and the boys to go with Carter. I hope just for today, but it might be longer. He’ll make sure you are safe.”
She looked at Carter, who remained expressionless.
“I’ll stay here and see what happens,” I said. “When I know it’s safe to come back, I’ll let you know.”
“Should we call the police?” she asked. “Detective Asanti?”
“I think it’s better if we keep them out of this at the moment,” I said. “I don’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to your family.”
I was using her situation to get myself in the situation I wanted to be in. It wasn’t fair, and what I’d said wasn’t necessarily true. But it had the desired effect.
She stood. “I will go wake the boys.” She left the room.
Carter watched her go down the hall. “You’ll be alright here?” he asked. “If he shows up, you’ll be alright?”
I waited for Lucia Vasquez and her boys to return, not knowing how to answer that question.
SIXTY-SEVEN
For three days, I wandered around the Vasquez home, looking at pictures, checking closets, waiting. Periodically I called Carter, making sure all was okay. They were twenty minutes away, in a hotel in Yuma, safe. The kids thought they were on vacation. Lucia seemed concerned but was making the best of it.
On the fourth day, I was beginning to think that what Carter had suggested was true. Maybe Keene was just coming down to attend to other business and I’d overreacted. Maybe he’d assumed that Liz’s death had sent me into a downward spiral since I’d disappeared and he was in the clear. Maybe I had unnecessarily disrupted the Vasquezes’ lives for my own agenda. But I’d told him about my conversation with Klimes and he’d gone through the trouble to blow up Carter’s car. I just didn’t think he’d run. It didn’t fit with everything else he’d done.
