by Jon Mills
Jack hurried down the street, and crossed a walkway that cut between a cluster of trees until it brought him out into a lot at the rear of the church. There were only a couple of cars parked outside, one of which was the detective’s. He peered inside and tried the doors but they were locked. Not wasting a second he double-timed it up concrete steps that led to thick wooden double doors. He pulled one door back and slipped into the darkness. The smell of damp concrete was strong. The tap of boots against a tiled ground echoed. Jack stayed in the shadows watching Garcia walk up the center aisle and drop down to a knee, make the symbol of the cross on his chest and then turn to his left and head towards an old-style confessional box.
Jack removed the Glock from the small of his back and moved quietly around the perimeter of the sanctuary. He looked up at the stained glass windows and felt under the watchful eye of Christ.
A priest wearing black clothing from shoulder to toe, and a red scarf draped over him, emerged from a room at the back of the church and approached the confessional area. All the priests he’d met in New York were in their late sixties; this guy was no exception.
The closer he got to the confessional boxes, the more he could make out the sound of chatter. Something about this felt wrong. It didn’t make sense. Within spitting distance he heard the door open. Jack pulled back into the darkness and tightened his grip on the gun. He wouldn’t hesitate to fire a weapon in a church even if he did feel a sense of guilt. Had that come from spending too long around Dalton? His mind in that moment returned to New York, to a time not long after Gafino had made him his right-hand man. He recalled the day he was called upon to collect with specific instructions to kill a guy. Unlike others who tried to bargain with him for more time, this one dropped to his knees and cried out to God. It was the strangest thing he’d seen. Usually they would offer money, property, or drugs, as a means to barter for their life but this guy didn’t. He cried out to God. Jack, having no qualms about killing him, told him that if God would answer his prayers and step down and intervene he could go free. He had two minutes.
When it was up he raised a gun to his head and fired.
There were few killings he regretted, that one he did.
The memory vanished at the sound of the detective’s voice.
“Thank you, father.”
Garcia walked back to the altar, got on one knee and made the cross symbol and then headed for the exit. Jack didn’t linger. He bolted out a side door into a corridor that fed down to a side exit. As soon as he was outside in the bright sunshine, he dashed back to the waiting taxi to find Hector lying back with a straw hat over his face. He startled him as he hopped in. “Let’s go. Come on.”
“Did you confess your sins?”
“There wasn’t enough time,” Jack replied tapping him on the shoulder as Garcia’s car veered back out into the traffic. The following ten minutes was spent weaving around traffic and heading down streets until they arrived in an area called Cerrillos Road. There the detective pulled off into a residential area. Jack had Hector drive on past the low adobe home and park one street over. He told him to wait and that he might be a while.
“It’s all good, man. Just keep the green flowing and I’ll keep the engine running.”
When Jack made it to the home Garcia had entered, he walked up the driveway, and immediately went down the side of the house to the rear of the yard. It was a run-down home with dirty sheets hung up over the windows.
A white pit bull started barking against a chain-link fence in the neighbor’s yard. Jack ducked below a small window and was about to look in when he heard a voice. “Shut up!” the neighbor yelled. “Get in here.” The dog turned and ran back into the house.
He waited thirty seconds before checking it was all clear. Satisfied, he cupped a hand to the dusty window and peered through. It was dark inside, but he could just make out a light. He continued on around and let himself into the backyard. There he approached another window and looked in to find the detective removing his jacket and a young Spanish woman running her hands all over his chest. For a second he thought she was his girlfriend until he fished into his pocket and held up a fifty-dollar bill. The woman dropped down and began unbuckling his belt and Jack pulled away.
“So much for confession,” he mumbled before returning to the cab.
Jack had him pull around and park in a location that would allow him to keep an eye on the house. Jack’s phone started vibrating. He glanced at it. It was a text from Tyson. Where are you?
He tapped out a quick reply, just to alleviate his fears.
Tyson replied, I’m glad. You had me sweating there for a moment. I thought you were busted.
No. I’ll be back later, Jack replied. Stay off the streets for now.
Tyson fired back. Sure. Don’t forget the fight tonight. I’ll send you the address and time.
Jack didn’t want to go into what he was doing, the less he knew the better. While he waited he decided to have a cigarette. That’s when he realized he’d left them in the jacket he’d given away. Shit. “Hector, can I get a cigarette?”
“Will cost you.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve got to put food on the table.”
Jack fished out the smallest bill he had, a five, and Hector passed back a cigarette and lighter. He sparked up and brought the window down. “What are you, a private investigator?” Hector asked.
“Not exactly.”
If he didn’t find out soon what happened to Dana, he was liable to lose his mind. Fourteen months away from it all had changed him. Even though Dalton joked about it, he was right. The last time he had experienced a normal life was in Maine after the events that went down but even then he was always expecting the sky to fall.
And now it had.
And he only had himself to blame.
He blew out smoke and was lost in his thoughts when Hector piped up. “Your friend is on the move again.”
Chapter 18
Jack was like a dog on a bone. The only connection he had to Dana’s disappearance lay with this man and from what he’d seen so far, it was clear he wasn’t dealing with a saint but a bottom feeder. Still, that didn’t mean he had anything to do with Dana. There very well could have been a good explanation for his presence that day in the Plaza and Jack intended to find out.
After the short visit to whoreville, they shadowed him to a number of locations: a 7-Eleven where he bought gas and munchies, a coffee drive-thru, a mall and a local park where he seemed to park under a large oak and devour his food like a pig at a trough.
Following this he returned to the Santa Fe Police Department.
“This friend of yours. He’s not your friend, is he?”
“How very astute of you, Hector,” Jack replied before he diverted his eyes back to the sedan that had been parked there for the better part of an hour. Hector had positioned the cab across Cerrillos Road in the La Quinta Inn lot.
“You know, my cousin killed a cop. They pulled him over for a busted taillight and tried to plant narcotics on him. They said he matched the description of a gangbanger that was seen firing a gun in an apartment block on the east side.”
Jack didn’t respond.
“They had the wrong guy as my cousin wasn’t in a gang. He had a family, and managed a local hardware store but they didn’t see it that way. Anyway he called them out on their bullshit and told them that they planted the coke in his car. One thing led to another and he got into a scuffle. The cop pulled a gun on him and when it went off the cop was the one lying on the ground. He got the hell out of there and they chased him for ten miles before he blew a tire and wiped out.” He sighed. “Now his kids see him in an orange jumpsuit. There used to be a time when you could trust the cops but now you don’t know who’s pulling up on you. Anyway, my point is, I get it. I’m not sure what this man has done to you and I don’t want to know but if shit goes south, don’t be using me as your escape vehicle. I hear the food inside is shit and I really
can’t live without a good chili dog.” He pulled the visor flap down and removed a photo that was pinned to it. “This is my family,” he said, passing it back. “Four kids. I’ve been with my wife since high school.”
Jack looked at the photo. “Looks real nice, Hector.”
He exhaled hard. “Yeah. This gal has stuck with me through all the highs and lows. I swear, every day I come home expecting her to be gone but she’s still there.”
“You’re a lucky man.”
Hector nodded and put the photo back.
The hours passed until the sun began to set. Hector caught a few z’s while Jack didn’t take his eyes off the vehicle. Patience had been a main ingredient in what he did in New York. He couldn’t keep track of the number of hours he hung around waiting for his target to show. Many of them were clever at flying under the radar. Of course he’d always find them but waiting for them to show up was challenging. Some wouldn’t even drive but take to the street, traipse through forests to get to their house and enter through back doors. Some would avoid using lights in the house. Others would change up their route each day. And most would stay at a friend’s home. Yeah, collecting on those who owed was as much a game of patience as it was being able to kill.
Suddenly Garcia emerged from the gaudy-looking building with two other suits and strolled into the parking lot. Tall lights illuminated areas of the lot casting long shadows. The group of men stopped and chatted briefly and then went their separate ways. Jack shook Hector’s shoulders. “Hey wake up.”
“Wha…?” Hector looked around dazed and confused. Jack pointed. Hector brought the engine to life. “You know, I knock off from my shift soon.”
“Just stay on his tail.”
For once they didn’t have to travel far. Garcia lived in a fairly wealthy area just south of the department. Hector pulled on to E. Prince Road and into a neighborhood where the homes were spread a good distance apart from one another. All around them were flat desert plains with minimal tree coverage. By now the sun was nothing more than a fine orange line stretched out on the horizon as night took hold. They drove past the one-story, flat-roof adobe home with a two-car garage just as the white garage door closed behind the sedan. A white picket fence wrapped around the property and the driveway curved in off Florence Road with a few shrubs dotted around the sparse yard.
Hector looped the cab around and crawled back to the house. Only the sound of dirt and gravel beneath the tires could be heard as they pulled up. Jack got out and handed Hector some more money to cover the cost of the day.
“You need a ride out?”
“I think you’ve done enough, Hector. Thank you. Go home to that family of yours.” Hector squeezed the dollars and smiled back.
“Stay safe, my friend.”
The cab drove off and Jack waited until he saw the two red taillights disappear around a bend before approaching the house. He was well aware that this man could have a family but the need to know his involvement went beyond his concern for what they would think. He pulled out his Glock and kept it low as he jogged at a crouch. He checked a couple of windows and saw light emanating from behind the drapes. He heard movement inside and continued around to the rear of the house surveying the property for any dogs. There were none. At the rear of the house he tried the French doors and one of them opened. He listened and could hear the sound of a TV. The flickering of the screen cast shadows on the wall as he stepped inside and pulled the door closed.
Jack entered a spacious kitchen with a short breakfast counter, a center island, granite tops and steel appliances. It was all high-end; no expense had been spared. The floor was tiled throughout the house. He moved stealthily through the home, down a hallway heading for the living room. Jack’s eyes flitted over framed photos near the staircase — a wife, and a daughter no older than ten, and one of Garcia when he was younger in full police uniform. As Jack came around to the area that brought him into the living room, he noticed Garcia wasn’t there. The TV was playing the news; there was a large cream-colored couch and two recliners, a fireplace, a coffee table and an open dining area but no detective.
That’s when he heard a noise from behind him. A toilet flushed. Jack turned just as a door cracked open and light flooded out into the darkened corridor. Garcia came out doing up his belt. He glanced up. “Who the fuck—?”
Before Jack could reply, Garcia charged forward letting out a furious cry. Jack could have shot him but he needed him alive. He slammed into Jack and they slid across the wall taking down photos that smashed on the ground. Garcia had one hand clasped around Jack’s wrist to keep the gun away. He smashed Jack’s hand against the wall until the gun clattered on the ground. Jack head-butted him knocking him back only to have him fire a knee into his gut. Like a pinball they ricocheted off the walls in the narrow corridor until they hit the ground and slid into the kitchen. For someone of his age and weight, Garcia knew how to handle himself. He latched around Jack’s neck trying to choke him out only to have Jack fire backwards knocking him into the counter. He heard him let out a lungful of air. A bottle of wine on the counter knocked to the ground, shattered, and pooled liquid.
Jack threw Garcia across the kitchen island causing the pots and pans hanging above to collapse on top of him. He made his way around as Garcia scrambled to his feet and snatched a carving knife off the counter. He scythed the air.
Jack grabbed a dish towel hanging over the stove and twisted it around.
“Where is she?” Jack asked.
Garcia lunged forward without giving him a response. Jack used the towel to counter his attack. He sidestepped, twisted it around his wrist in lightning fashion, pulled it tight and dragged him forward, then to the left, before kicking the back of his knee and knocking him to the ground. Jack followed through with a swift elbow to the face knocking his head into the kitchen island. Garcia dropped the knife and threw up a hand. “All right, all right.”
Jack kept a firm grip on his wrist and hunched over to haul him up.
No sooner had he gone to grasp him than Garcia drove his weight forward and let out a yell as he slammed Jack into the counter behind him. He clasped a hand around Jack’s neck and managed to break loose of the restraint around his wrist. He latched on to Jack’s wrist and forced it down towards the drain in the sink. It happened so fast. One second he had the better of him, the next Garcia had switched on the garbage disposal and was trying to turn his hand into putty. Because of the position he was in, it took all his strength to fight back and prevent him from forcing his hand down into the disposal. As he had both of his hands and Jack was pressed back, he did the only thing he could and drove his knee up hard hoping to strike his groin. He reacted on instinct and hoped for the best. Garcia heaved and Jack used that momentary pain to his advantage by powering forward and head-butting him. He followed through with multiple jabs to the stomach and an uppercut to the face, knocking him out cold.
Breathing hard and trying to catch his breath he looked down at the unconscious detective and twisted around and turned the water on. He cupped a few handfuls of water into his mouth and ran the last one over his face.
While Garcia was still out Jack grabbed him by the back of the collar and dragged his big ass down the corridor and into the living room as it would give him a good view of anyone coming from outside. He dropped his heavy weight, grabbed a chair and slumped him against it. Then he went into the garage and returned with some rope from a kayak to tie him up. After, he stepped back and sank into a seat across from him to catch his breath. Jack looked around and listened. No one had shown up while they were fighting and it was quiet in the house except for the TV. He turned it off, retrieved his Glock and did a quick sweep of the house to make sure the rest of his family wasn’t hiding away. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d gone after a target and the family had called the cops, or the wife had surprised him by appearing with a rifle.
Just as he figured, there was no one home.
The question now was,
where were they and when would they return?
The main bedroom closet was stocked with female clothes, as was the kid’s room.
She hadn’t left him so was she out for the night or on vacation?
Jack made his way down and paced before pondering what to do with him.
Rage gave way to dark thoughts. Thoughts he hadn’t had in years.
Jack headed out into the garage and rooted through his equipment, picking up a hammer, and just before he returned he spotted another item. He snatched it up.
Chapter 19
Minutes later, Jack splashed water over his face and gave Garcia a slap. He gasped and spluttered coming to. Disoriented, his eyes roamed the room until they fixed firmly on Jack. “You bastard!” The chair rocked as he tried to lunge forward but couldn’t because of the tight restraints.
“Where is she?”
“Who?”
“Don’t fuck with me.”
Jack perched on the large coffee table in front of him, wielding a hammer.
“I don’t know who the hell you are or what you think I’ve done but—”
Uncertain if he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, Jack began with the easy approach. He fired off a punch but kept his feet on top of Garcia’s so he couldn’t go anywhere. Garcia spat out a blob of blood onto the floor.
“Dana Grant. Santa Fe Plaza. A week ago.”
“I wasn’t there. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He was losing patience with the man and well aware that his family could arrive.
“Is that your final answer?”
Garcia spat blood in Jack’s face. “You are fucking with the wrong person.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same.”
Jack brought the hammer down on his hand with such force it broke the skin.
He let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“Now let’s try that again, shall we?”
