by L C Hayden
Jose shrugged. “It’s not up to us. We’ll have to talk to Pedro.”
Bronson leaned back. “Is he like your head honcho?”
“Sí.”
Raul formed a fist and hit Jose’s upper arm. “Cállate, tonto.”
Immediately Jose hushed.
“It’s okay. You go talk to Pedro, and I’ll wait for an answer. Just make sure you tell him we’re in a hurry. There are a lot of people who’d jump at the chance to help us. I’ll wait only until tomorrow mornin’. Make sure Pedro knows that.”
“Where can we find you?”
“Here.” Bronson stood up and walked away.
21
“Estúpidos!” Pedro banged his fist on top of his desk. “Did it ever occur to you that he may be a cop? You didn’t get a full name other than Alex. Who is he? What proof did he have? Did he show you a sample of the gold or jewels?”
Jose squirmed in his chair. “No, but he sounded like he knew his stuff.”
“Cops do that.” Pedro pointed to his forehead. “Think!”
“Can I speak?” Raul asked.
Pedro looked at him and nodded.
“Let’s for a moment assume that Alex is telling the truth. If so, we’ll be rich. But if he turns out to be a cop, he’ll meet with a deadly accident. I’ll guarantee that.”
Pedro nibbled his lower lip, digesting every word. He remained quiet for a minute, then said, “I like the way you think. The first thing we need to do is eliminate the possibility of him being a cop.”
Raul’s face lit up. “I think I know how.”
* * *
Bronson texted Dave. Made contact.
Seconds later, Bronson’s phone pinged. Meet me at the men’s room in the motel.
By the time Bronson walked in, Dave was already there. Dave nodded hello. “It’s secure. Give me the details.”
Bronson liked that. Dave was a man of few words who immediately got down to business. Bronson told him about setting up the meeting.
Dave threw his head back and laughed. “You’re going to be in a heck of a pickle if they demand to see some of the gold or jewels.”
“I’ve wracked my brain tryin’ to come up with a solution. Unfortunately, nothin’ comes to mind. But in the meantime, I’m movin’ on.”
Dave shrugged. “Good strategy. What’s next?”
The door opened and Dave and Bronson began to wash their hands. A boy, around four or five, ran in, giggled, and hid behind the trash can. Seconds later, the door opened again and the boy’s father stepped in. He reached for his son. “Don’t ever do that again. You can get lost. Someone can grab you. You hear me?”
The little boy’s lip quivered and his eyes watered. “I’m just playing, Daddy.”
Dad wrapped his arms around his son. “I know, son. Just don’t do it again.” He picked him up in his arms. “Come on, let’s go.” He looked up at Bronson and Dave. “Sorry.”
“No harm,” Bronson said. “I had two little girls who hid behind the garbage can.”
The man flashed him an embarrassed smile and left.
As soon as the door closed, Dave turned to Bronson. “You were saying?”
“Hopefully, Raul and Jose took the bait and talked to Pedro, then hopefully again, Pedro will say ‘Yes’ and we meet. Once I’m in, I’ll find out what they know about Mike’s whereabouts.”
Dave took a deep breath. “That’s a risky plan.”
Bronson spread out his hands. “What can I say? Desperate times call for desperate plans.”
Dave looked down and shook his head. “It’s your call. All I can suggest is that we shouldn’t be seen together. Most of those gang members recognize me as a detective, but that doesn’t mean we should go our separate ways. We need to set up some kind of a communication system.”
Bronson looked around the room. “Bathroom looks good to me.”
Dave smiled. “If you get in a bind, text me 88, and I’ll come find you.”
“88?”
“Eight is an easy number to reach on the phone. Two consecutive numbers will tell me it’s not a butt call, and you really need help. Of course, being my informant, you’ll always let me know ahead of time where you are and what you’re up to.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Bronson nodded. “Do you want me to text you 88 right now to see if it works?”
Dave flashed him an irritated look and Bronson made a mental note.
22
Antonio’s Happy Place welcomed customers at ten and Bronson planned to be there when it opened. He parked his rental across the street and strolled toward the bar, keeping a constant eye on its windows and door. The place looked deserted. No one seemed to be lurking around the place. Bronson breathed easier.
“Excuse me, sir.” A voice behind Bronson.
Bronson froze. His thoughts strayed toward his Glock.
Slow down. The man sounded polite. In fact, too polite. Bronson’s hand inched its way toward the Glock. He turned to face a 6’5 middle-aged man with a lot of muscle and no fat.
Bronson braced himself.
“I’m looking for 5th Avenue,” the giant said. “It’s supposed to be somewhere around here, but I can’t seem to find it. Can you help me?”
“Sorry, no. I’m not from—” Before he could finish the sentence, he felt the shove of a gun barrel on the small of his back. Shiiit! He should’ve seen that coming. It’d been the perfect setup.
A black sedan screeched to a halt by Bronson.
“Get in,” the giant said.
Bronson stood still.
The person behind Bronson shoved the gun deeper into Bronson’s back.
Bronson threw his arms up in the air. “All right. All right. I’ll get in.”
“Good idea. Keep those hands up high in the air.” The giant moved toward Bronson and frisked him. Seconds later, he held Bronson’s Glock in his hands. “If you’re just an ordinary guy, why do you carry this?”
“I’m a treasure hunter, and I often encounter men who are not as nice as you. I keep it for protection.”
The giant shoved Bronson into the back seat. Had he not ducked, he would have bumped his head on the car door. Once he was in, the giant scooted next to him. He kept the Glock pointed at Bronson.
Bronson mentally hit himself on his head. He should’ve been more careful. He should’ve told Dave where he was going. Bronson had underestimated the enemy, and now he was going to pay for his carelessness. “So where are we goin’ this fine mornin’?”
The giant stared at him with eyes that burned with fierceness. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“No, not always.” Bronson sat up straighter, focusing on the buildings and any landmarks he could later use to lead him to the gang’s den. “In fact, many people claim I can be a royal pain in the ass.”
23
Bronson watched with interest as the black sedan pulled into Hobb’s Auto Shop garage.
“Get out.” The giant waved the gun.
Bronson’s attention returned to the inside of the car.
The giant glared at Bronson.
Bronson opened the door and stepped out. The place seemed no different than other auto shops. Five cars were inside with mechanics working on them. None paid attention to him. Outside, three more cars waited their turn.
“That way.” The giant pointed to the closed door with the sign Office: Employees Only. “Go inside.” Bronson opened the door. Jose half sat and half stood by the desk. He nodded at Bronson.
Bronson nodded back. “I thought I was supposed to meet with Pedro.” Bronson made it a point of looking around the crowded office. “Where is he?”
“Are you blind? Don’t you see that he’s not here?” Jose forced a laugh as insincere as a shark’s grin. “He will come. In the meantime, you wait.”
Bronson nodded and reached for a chair.
Jose took a step forward, blocking Bronson. “That’s not where you’re waiting.” He pointed to a closed door. “That’s where you�
�ll be.”
The giant opened the closet door to reveal a three-by-three empty room. “What are you waiting for? Go on in.”
“How long will I have to wait for Pedro to show up?” Bronson studied the door’s locking mechanism as he inched his way toward the closet. The normal one would pose no problem to unlock. Maybe all it would take was a strong shove. The one that worried him was the deadbolt.
“As long as needed.” The giant pushed Bronson in. “There’s a string hanging from the ceiling. Pull it. That will turn on the light. I’m afraid that’s the only accommodation you will have in there.”
Shiiit.
Inside his cell, Bronson reached for the string and pulled. A twenty-five-watt bare light bulb cast a dull yellow glow on the tiny room. Bronson stood still, listening. He heard the click as the door was locked, followed by the snap of the deadbolt. As if that wasn’t enough, something was being dragged. A file cabinet or maybe the desk. The sound stopped when the item reached the front of the closet door.
Even if Bronson could break the locks, he’d still have to push whatever had been shoved in front of the door. All of this for him to wait for Pedro to show up. Uh uh, he didn’t think so.
Another thing bothered Bronson. He had been frisked and his gun had been taken away, but they had let him keep the cell. Something didn’t add up.
Bronson punched in 88 and pushed the send button. Nothing. He didn’t have service in this tiny room. He raised the phone as high as possible. He put the cell first down by the floor and then by the door. Still no signal. With a grunt, Bronson returned the cell to his pant pocket.
He ran his open hands against the wall. It felt as smooth as a baby’s bottom. He did the same to the floor. No splinters. Nothing he could use. For the first time in his life, he was one-hundred percent helpless. He slumped down on the floor.
Shiiit!
24
A noise woke him up.
For a moment, Bronson felt disoriented. Where was he?
He nodded. He remembered. The closet cell.
At first, he had plastered his ear to the door, listening—hoping—someone would free him. One by one the sound of footsteps retreating left him feeling desperate and cold. Then the place fell as silent as a tomb. Until now. He looked at his watch. Three hours had crept away, and now, a bit past eleven o’clock someone had returned.
Pedro? Why was he coming this late at night?
Instinct drove him to bolt toward the side of the door. As soon as the unlucky bastard entered, Bronson would knock the breath out of him. Bronson rubbed the bridge of his nose. What would that accomplish? The entire purpose of this operation was to find Mike. He had waited this long for something to happen. He could wait a little longer.
Bronson plastered his back against the rear back wall and waited for the door to open. He could hear the shoving of the heavy object that blocked the door. Two clinking noises told him the door had been unlocked.
Bronson took a deep breath and waited.
“Mr. Bentley? It is me, Raul.” He stood on the other side of the door.
Bronson remained quiet.
“I thought you might be hungry. I have a sandwich and chips. I’m going to let you out, but you better behave yourself. I thought it would be nicer to eat dinner out here rather than in that crappy cell.”
Bronson remained quiet, listening for a trap.
“Do you need to use the bathroom?” Raul waited for a response. When none came, he added. “If you don’t want to come out, that’s fine with me. It’s late. I’m going home.” He started to close the door.
“No, wait,” Bronson said. “I’m comin’ out.” He stepped into the brightly lit office and waited for his eyes to adjust to the light.
Raul stood a few feet away, holding a bag and no weapon.
“Is that for me?” Bronson pointed to the paper bag.
“Sí, but it isn’t much. Sorry.” He handed Bronson the bag.
“Don’t fret. I’m starvin’. Anythin’ will do.” He opened the bag. A sandwich and potato chips were inside. He dropped the bag on the desk. “I wouldn’t mind using the facilities first.”
Raul nodded. “This way.” He led Bronson out of the office and down a corridor. “There.” He pointed to the men’s room. “I’ll wait here.”
Bronson gave him a thumbs up.
First thing Bronson noticed was the window. It was big enough to escape, but it was one solid piece with no opening mechanism. He would have to break the glass. He looked around, absorbing each detail. Nothing there to help him. He’d have to use his shoe.
As he glanced around, he retrieved the cell from his pocket. His fingers quickly hit the keys: 88. Hobbs Auto Shop. Office. Closet. He pushed the send button.
He memorized each detail of the bathroom, just in case he would need it later. He used the facilities and walked out.
Raul stood straighter when Bronson approached. “I was beginning to worry. You took a long time.”
“Sorry about that. You know what it’s like. I haven’t had the chance to go since early this mornin’.” He looked at the office. “Another thing I hadn’t done is eat. I’m starvin’. Is my dinner still there?” He pointed toward the office.
Raul nodded and followed Bronson into the office.
Bronson unwrapped the sandwich and separated the two slices of bread. Mayo, American cheese, and one thin slice of ham. No matter. To Bronson, this looked like a gourmet meal. The only thing lacking was the coffee. Bronson took a big bite and his stomach rumbled in delight. This was the best ever. “Any idea when Pedro is comin’? I don’t like bein’ there.” He pointed to the closet.
“I don’t blame you. I imagine it’s not a good place to be. Sorry about the inconvenience.” Raul shook his head and looked down. “Maybe you and I can work some kind of a deal. I can help you bring in the merchandise.”
“It’ll take more than one man to do this successfully. Do you have any men?” Bronson tore open the bag of chips and offered Raul one.
Raul shook his head. “I can get some men.”
“How many?”
“Five or six.”
“With experience?”
“They work for Pedro, but they follow me. I tell them what to do, and they’ll obey.”
“But I need at least one good man with a lot of experience.” Bronson finished his sandwich and wrinkled the wrapper. He arranged his features to make Raul think he was in deep thought. “There’s one name that comes to mind. He’s real good at settin’ up things like these. Maybe you know him?”
“Maybe.”
“His name is Hoover. Mike Hoover.”
Raul’s eyes widened and then returned to normal so fast that Bronson wasn’t sure if he saw a reaction.
“I know that name.”
Bronson leaned forward and lowered his voice even though the two of them were the only ones in the room. “Can you arrange a meeting with him? Then the three of us can make arrangements. You can also bring any men you want.”
“What about Pedro?”
“We’ll go above him.” Bronson placed his index finger on his lip. “My lips are sealed.”
“I’ll see what I can do. I’m not sure I know exactly where Mike is.” He stood up and pointed to the closet. “Let’s get you back before anyone becomes suspicious.”
“I don’t particularly want to.” Bronson shrugged. “But I have no choice. We want this meeting to be a secret, and if I’m out, I’m sure Pedro will get suspicious.” He stood up and headed toward the closet and paused. “You will set up a meeting between Mike and me, right?”
Raul nodded. “I’ll do my darnest.”
25
Bronson looked at his watch. 10:52 A.M. There had been no bathroom breaks, no breakfast, and worse, no coffee. Maybe he should have attempted to escape last night. His one chance and he had blown it.
Slow down, Bronson. Slow down. At least we’ve established that Mike is somehow connected with this gang. Unwillingly, they may lead you to Mik
e. Or maybe not. He leaned against the wall and slid down. An image of Carol came to his mind. What was he thinking?
His mind drifted and his eyelids felt heavy.
The now-familiar dragging of the desk caught his full attention. He waited—and heard—the two locks being unfastened. The door swung open, temporarily blinding him.
“He’s here. Come out.”
Bronson recognized the giant’s voice. He straightened himself and stepped out. His sight landed on the chair behind the desk. It was facing the wall, away from him. “Pedro?” Bronson took a step forward. “My name is Al—”
The giant raised his hand, stopping Bronson from continuing. “Sit.”
Bronson did. The chair on the other side of the desk slowly began to swing around. Someone sat there, but Bronson couldn’t make out the man’s features. All he could tell was that this was a big man, larger than most Mexican-Americans. This was not good news.
The chair continued to swivel until Bronson came face-to-face with the occupant.
Mike Hoover.
For a fraction of a second, they remained quiet, staring at each other.
The giant glanced from one man to the other, finally focusing on Mike. “Do you recognize this man?”
Bronson held his breath.
Mike nodded. “I do.”
26
“Chief,” Detective Susan Epp said. “You seem upset. Is there anything wrong?”
Chief Rudy Kelley grumbled and ignored the look passing between Susan and Gene. He stormed to his office.
He closed the Venetian blinds hanging on the windows separating his office from the rest of the Dallas Police Department. He flopped down on his chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. Everything had gone wrong today. At moments like this, he wished he could quit but then, how could he pay for his wife’s medical bills?
Slowly he opened his eyes. That’s when he saw it. The large vanilla envelope on top of his desk. The block letters read, FOR CHIEF RUDY KELLEY’S EYES ONLY. “What the—?” He reached for it and opened it. He withdrew the contents and his eyes widened in horror.
