The House of Wolfe

by James Carlos Blake

  In twenty minutes a Jaguaro operative who looks to be in his teens pulls up beside him in a black Dodge Charger, and they get out of their vehicles.

  They said you wanted black glass, the kid says, but there wasn’t anything available with it and they said you wanted a car right now. Hope this’ll do.

  It will have to, Mateo says, irked at the lack of black glass.

  He gets in the Charger and goes back to the bank, driving around to the side where Rayo is keeping lookout on the yellow Caddy. As he parks and cuts off the motor, she sees it’s him and comes over and gets in.

  From here they can watch the Cadillac without being seen by the van. If the van follows Sosa when he leaves, they’ll know it’s a tail, and the van guy will then either lead them to Jessica or they’ll grab him if he doesn’t. Already the Jaguaros’ chief interrogator has been summoned and told to stand by.

  26 — BELMONTE AND SOSA

  As Mr. X had deemed likely, the withdrawals at both banks prove lengthy. Belmonte and Sosa explain the perilous situation to their respective bank managers, who then must summon other key officers who must also be informed of the kidnapping and in turn must ask and have answered the same questions as the managers’. Belmonte and Sosa each explain that he will take full responsibility for his bank’s cooperation. Each man also makes it understood that if the bank should inform the police of this matter—and even if his children are safely recovered—he will close all of his accounts at the bank and urge his friends and business partners to do the same. In addition, he will apprise the news media of the bank’s callous disregard for the hostages’ safety. The managers at both institutions hasten to pledge their full and confidential compliance with their valued client’s wishes.

  As it happens, however—and also as Mr. X had thought might prove the case—neither bank has on hand the requisite amount of American cash, and both banks must send urgent calls to other branches for an expedited transfer of dollars. The manager at each bank apologizes profusely to his client and assures him that, notwithstanding the requisite paperwork for the transfer of the American cash, it will come very soon.

  The money arrives at the Banco de Indio Tierra just before noon, and very soon afterward Sosa is bid farewell and Godspeed at the rear door, where the bank manager pats him on the back and says his prayers are with him and with his children and asks that he please let him know as soon as they are safely retrieved.

  Yes, yes, Sosa says with some asperity, gesturing at the guard, who gets a nod from the manager and opens the door to let Sosa exit into the rain, brandishing his umbrella, gym bags hung on each shoulder.

  Not twenty minutes later, Belmonte departs the Banco Rosemonte with his hand and shoulders similarly occupied.

  27 — CHATO

  Eating his takeout tacos in the van, Chato is glad to see the blue Ram pickup depart. He had trained his minibinoculars on it at first notice and seen that it contained two persons, though he could not make out distinct features. Vehicles have been coming and going all morning, but the blue truck had stayed in place for over an hour and Chato’s suspicions had grown almost keen enough to prompt a call to Espanto. But then the truck left. Whatever those two were up to, it obviously had nothing to do with Sosa. Who still hasn’t come out. Jesus Christ. Anybody in a hurry to get his cash out of a bank would do better to just rob the fucking place.

  The minutes pass. The rain again comes down harder for a short time before it again slackens. Then Sosa at last exits the bank’s rear door and trudges out to the Cadillac.

  Chato adjusts his seat and starts up the van and turns down the music. He calls Espanto and says, He’s on the move with full bags.

  Good, Espanto says. See him home, then join Chino till you hear from me.

  The Caddy comes out of the lot and goes up the side street and stops at the red light. Chato waits for the light to turn green and the Caddy to make its turn before he wheels the van out to the street and then around the same corner.

  Sosa is three cars ahead and Chato leaves it that way.

  And is unaware of the black Dodge Charger three cars behind him.

  28 — RUDY AND CHARLIE

  From our window table of a restaurant across a four-lane street, Charlie and I keep watch on the Banco Rosemonte. The bank’s off to our left a little but the rain’s angled away from the window, and between the passing vehicles we have a good view of the bank’s glass front doors, which aren’t due to open for another fifteen minutes. Charlie’s turned off the little lamp on our table to make it harder for anyone outside to see us very well. The bank is fronted by a small courtyard under a spacious canopy where people take refuge from the rain while they wait for the doors to open or their bus to arrive at the corner stop farther to our left.

  We came here early rather than stick around the suite, feeling useless. We’re in the heart of town, where parking is at a premium and the bank lacks its own lot, so we had to leave our car at the nearest public parking square, two blocks away. Belmonte’s going to have to park there too. Rigo had said it would be pretty funny if on his way back to the car Belmonte was robbed of one or both gym bags by some street rat.

  Sitting on one of the bank’s courtyard benches is Duarte, a Jaguaro lookout Mateo assigned to us. Suit and tie, an attaché case at his side, a folded newspaper on his lap, a phone line in his ear—a typical businessman waiting to conduct some bank transaction. His phone is on open connection to the one plugged in Charlie’s ear, but they haven’t had much to say to each other.

  For almost an hour now we’ve been watching a pickpocket working the crowd across the street. A kid ten or eleven years old, wearing a school uniform or what’s meant to look like one. White shirt and tie, dark suit, flat cap to match, a big schoolbag strapped across his chest. He stays near the front of the canopy so he can be the first to see when a bus is coming and then ambles toward the stop on the corner, using a folded newspaper as a makeshift umbrella. As a knot of people start coming up behind him to board the bus, he turns around and makes his way back through them and each time snags a wallet. The first time, I wasn’t really sure I’d seen what I thought I had. I pointed him out to Charlie, and about ten minutes later when another bus pulled in we watched closely and saw him pluck a wallet from a passing coat and transfer it to his book bag, slick as a magic trick. Twenty minutes after that we saw him take a wallet from an ass pocket. Following each grab, he goes to a covered trash bin at the nearer end of the street and rummages through his bag like he’s looking for something, then takes out a wadded handful of notebook paper and shoves it in the little flap door of the bin. The wallet’s in the wad of paper, of course, and he’s stripped it of cash and maybe credit cards while poking around in the bag. We’ve known a few pickpockets and most of them work in pairs, but this kid’s a solo act and is very damn good. We’ve seen him score five wallets so far, all from expensively dressed men. When I said the little dude had a real future in politics, Charlie smiled for the first time in a while.

  Now it’s less than ten minutes till the bank opens and I’m still watching the kid at work when Charlie says, “Lookee there. The Chinaman.”

  I see who he means. An Oriental guy now among the crowd under the canopy and standing near the bank doors, furling his umbrella then flicking water off his red baseball cap. Crew cut. Thin mustache. Wearing jeans and a canvas jacket.

  “Rayo said when Huerta met with the spiky-hair guy and the other one, those two were chauffeured away by an Asian-looking guy.”

  “She did say that, yeah,” I say. “And you know how many Asians there must be in this town?”

  “I know. But I only see one standing at that bank.”

  “Orientals probably do bank business now and then. And I’ll bet they sometimes take the bus.”

  “Yeah, but look at Chong there,” Charlie says. “No briefcase, backpack, nothing. Just an umbrella. He ain’t on bank business. Look, h
ere comes a bus. . . . Look how everybody’s checking to see which one it is, but not him. He doesn’t care because he’s not waiting for any bus. It was the same with the bus before. I was watching. He didn’t give it a look.”

  “Maybe his bus isn’t due for a while, so what’s to check?”

  “Listen, there was a Chinaman driving the spike-hair guy and that’s him. I know it, Rudy. I’ve got the vibe.”

  “Maybe it’s him,” I say. “Vibe or not, man, we don’t know it’s—”

  Charlie raises a hand to cut me off. He’s listening to Duarte.

  “Belmonte’s here,” he says to me.

  We look over and see Duarte on his feet and craning his head to look past the canopy crowd like he’s trying to see if the bus coming down the street is his.

  From our left, Belmonte walks into view on the sidewalk across the street, his umbrella swaying a little in the breeze. He’s got the gym bags tucked under an arm. He takes shelter beneath the canopy, folds the umbrella, and looks at his watch. The Asian guy might or might not be looking at him, hard to say. He moves off into the crowd as Belmonte goes to the doors, where others are waiting for them to open.

  Our man Duarte is keeping his eye on Belmonte but seems oblivious to the Asian guy. Hard to believe he hasn’t seen him or, if he has, that he hasn’t recalled the Asian in the spider report Rayo brought us. But Mateo was so unimpressed with it he may not have bothered to pass it on to his guys.

  Now the Asian guy notices Duarte watching Belmonte.

  Chong’s on him, Charlie says. Then opens his line to Duarte and says, You have to leave, man, now. Get on that bus just pulled in.

  Duarte hesitates, giving Belmonte another glance. He puts a hand to his mouth.

  No, don’t talk, God damn it, just go, Charlie says in a tight whisper. Go!

  Duarte heads for the bus and is the last to board before the doors close. The Asian watches him all the way and doesn’t take his eyes off the bus until it drives off.

  A bank employee appears on the other side of the doors and works the lock and pulls a door open to let the customers enter.

  The Asian guy watches Belmonte go in. Then he takes a phone from a side pocket of his jacket and makes a call. Very short, just a few seconds. He pockets the phone and goes to a bench and sits down and picks up a discarded newspaper.

  “If that’s not our Chink I’ll eat this table,” Charlie says. “We’ve caught a break, cuz. He just let somebody know the man’s here for the money. Ten to one he calls them again when Belmonte comes out.”

  I watch the Asian reposition himself on the bench so that he can see the bank doors over his newspaper—and I can feel it. Charlie’s right.

  “He’s shadowing Belmonte,” Charlie says. “Sosa’s sure to have a shadow too, and I’ll wager Mateo spots him. They follow the dads to the banks, make sure they come out with the loot, make sure they get it home.”

  “Maybe the business about calling at four is bullshit. Maybe they mean to grab the bags on the way back to the house.”

  “No,” Charlie says. “I thought about that. But why strong-arm it and take risks you don’t have to? One of the dads could phone an alarm before they can stop him, or raise a hell of a holler in the street. Attract all kinds of attention. Maybe force them to shoot and have to make a fast getaway, maybe get in a smashup at the scene. They don’t need to risk any of that. Rigo was right, these guys aren’t cowboys. They’ve got it figured for slick and quiet and they’ll stick to it. They’re just being careful, using tails on the dads.”

  He drums his fingers on the table, intently watching Chong. Now he’s got me calling him that. “Okay,” he says. “Here’s what we do.”

  He lays out plan A. If Chong follows Belmonte when he comes out of the bank, we’ll follow him. He’s got a car for sure and may or may not have a confederate waiting in it, but either way, we’ll follow him in hope that after he sees Belmonte get home with the money he’ll lead us to where they might be holding Jess. If he does, we’ll call Rigo for assistance. If he doesn’t follow Belmonte, plan B is for Charlie to tail Chong while I stick with Belmonte and see if he goes home with the cash. When Chong gets to wherever he goes, Charlie will call me, I’ll join him, and we’ll decide our next move. If neither of these plans work out, plan C is to grab Chong and have a chat with him.

  The big risk is that Chong might catch on he’s being shadowed and phone the news to his fellows. Even if he just suspects it, he might call them. Which could make the situation worse for Jessie. What we have to do is render him phoneless. But it’s a good bet his guys are expecting him to let them know when Belmonte leaves the bank with the money and that everything is cool. If they don’t get that call, they’ll go on red alert, no question. Again, bad for Jess.

  We have to wait till after he calls in again, and then part him from his phone. Plus, we have to do it without his knowing it, so he doesn’t panic about its loss before he leads us to Jessie. It’s a hell of a long shot, since he might want to make a call for any number of reasons, and he might have another phone in the car, and he might . . . well, the odds aren’t real good he’d stay ignorant of the missing phone for long. Still, we have to do what we can to cut him off from his guys.

  And the best way is with pro help.

  I go down to the far end of the street before crossing over. It’s gotten colder out here. I wait under my umbrella until the kid comes over to the trash bin with another wallet to dispose of surreptitiously, and I say, “Oye, muchacho,” and let him see the folded Yankee fifty in my palm. People are passing by us with their faces down against the blowing rain.

  I tell him in low voice I’m not a homo or a cop and the fifty is his if he follows me to the restaurant to talk about a chance for him to make some good money. He’ll get another fifty dollars just for listening.

  He looks around and steps closer, wagging his fingers for the money, then snatches the bill from my hand and steps back, ready to run.

  I shrug. Then cross the street again and go back to the restaurant. He follows me.

  We don’t ask his name and he doesn’t ask ours and it doesn’t take long to make a deal. Charlie tells him he has to keep an eye on two men, the Asian guy on the bench over there, and a man who will be coming out of the bank. When I start describing Belmonte, the kid interrupts to say he knows who I mean. He’d marked him going in and had intended to take his wallet when he came back out. He says he will not now carry out that intention. He’ll wait under the canopy for as long as it takes for Belmonte to come out, and when Belmonte does, the kid will wait to see if Chong makes a call. If he does, the kid will take the phone after Chong puts it back in his jacket. If he doesn’t make a call, the kid will take the phone when Chong starts to leave. Either way, Charlie tells him, for his time and service we’ll pay him another fifty dollars now and another fifty afterward. He jacks us to another hundred bucks up front and one fifty after. His only condition is that after I slip him the hundred advance we go to the cashier and have her hold the other 150 dollars for him. We do that, and find out she’s his cousin. He then makes a quick trip to the men’s room and goes back across the street to keep an eye on Chong and wait for Belmonte’s exit.

  We stay at our table to do the same.

  An hour crawls by. Then another. The kid’s sitting on a bench and fooling around with an iPad or whatever it is. I never once catch him looking at Chong, who’s had time to read every word in the newspaper twice and is now applying a clipper to his fingernails. The waitress stops by our table every few minutes to see if we want more coffee and we say no thanks and give her a big tip to keep her from pestering us any more. The quirky rain continues to alternate between stretches of light sprinkling and short-lived windy downpours.

  It’s past noon when we see Belmonte approaching the glass doors, the fat gym bags under his arms and strapped to his shoulders. The crowd outside is bigger than be
fore, but the kid and Chong have spotted him too and are on their feet. The kid shuffles out to the sidewalk as Chong eases a little way into the crowd and gets out his phone and puts it to his ear. Charlie heads outside to make sure we don’t lose sight of Chong after he makes his call, and I keep watching from the window to see if the kid does his job.

  Belmonte goes by Chong, who slips the phone into his side pocket and starts after him. The kid heads toward Chong and they jostle past each other in the crowd and I catch the flicker of the kid’s hand plucking the phone.

  I hustle outside and jog across the street as the kid angles out of the crowd and bumps my arm and passes me the phone with an underhand move. We hadn’t told him to give us the phone, and I’m so surprised I almost drop it, then stick it in my pocket and keep on chasing after Charlie. Up ahead of us, Chong’s trailing Belmonte. All of us with umbrellas, adding to the bobbing sidewalk stream of them.

  29 — THE BETA HOUSE

  The five hostages are now all in the slightly warmer of the two bedrooms, the lights of the Beta house still on against the day’s dark cast and still sporadically flickering, when Barbarosa gets a call from Espanto, wanting to know if the locksmith was able to open the basement door. It’s been an hour since he said the smith was on his way.

  Locksmith, my ass, Barbarosa says. The joke’s over, prick. You wanted a big laugh and you got it and now you—

  Hey, hey, hold on, Espanto says. You telling me he isn’t there? I talked to him not twenty minutes ago. Took longer than expected for the mechanic to change the belt, but the smith was back on the road and on his way. He should’ve been—

  Oh bullshit! Barbarosa says. Go fuck yourself. And I’ll tell you something else. . . . What? . . . I’m on the phone here, God damn it!

  Someone is addressing Barbarosa but Espanto can’t make out what he’s saying. What’s going on? he asks.

  Locksmith’s here, Barbarosa mumbles—and severs the connection before he can hear Espanto’s laughter.