“Jimbo’s dead. He left you flush. It’s time to pay up.” The forced snarl grated on me.
The real fright in Stella’s voice made my heart constrict. “I don’t have any money.”
Oh hell no.
Jimbo? One thing was clear. Uncle Jimmy had been mixed up in something. He wasn’t a tweaker, so it was likely gambling. This yokel must hold some of my uncle’s paper. Given Jimmy’s tendency toward excess, the potential amount worried me. It also explained the shotgun under the desk. The guns in the vault could have been from better days and kept as a hedge against something like this. I was still weighing my options when the guy grabbed Stella by the wrist.
“If you can’t pay the nut, then how about the vig? Maybe a taste of Jimmy’s private stock.”
Fuck this noise.
Normally, the fake gangster rap would have made me burst out laughing. In the pantheon of punks, this guy was as menacing and convincing as a box of kittens. But he had his hand on someone I cared about and she didn’t know enough to see through his bullshit.
“Aunt Stella! I’ve been searching for you. Can you help me get my dishes back to my rig? Give me a ride in the cart, maybe?” My voice was too loud and I bounced on my toes like I was on a caffeine-juiced sugar binge.
Vanilla Ice Cream dropped her hand and backed away. Before he disappeared into the shadows, I caught a brief glimpse of a wispy mustache and a dollar store do-rag. I gave Stella a second before I touched her arm. The shame and pain in her face knifed through me. That dude would pay, even if it took a call to some crazy friends of mine. Unless I had totally judged him wrong, I was sure I could handle this one. This was the sort of thing I cleaned up before lunch.
“Jewel. I—”
I kissed her cheek. “Be quiet, pretty lady, and come with me.”
The hum of the electric cart was the only sound until we pulled up in front of my castle on wheels. Simon ran out of his doghouse yipping in a combination of delight and indignation at being left alone. As soon as she let me out, Stella started to throw the cart into drive. When I put out a hand, she flinched, and my rage was instantaneous.
If Texas had a hard-on for a murder trial, at that moment I was ready to give them a body.
“We need to talk.” I hated to be so strident, but I couldn’t let this scuttle under the rug.
“Okay.”
“Can I get you a soda? I’d offer coffee, but, you know . . . stove.” I tried to lighten the mood. It worked. I got a hint of a smile and a nod. Simon was in her lap the moment she sat down. I grabbed sodas, glasses, and Jimmy’s whiskey.
CHAPTER 21
“This is all my fault,” she said, her voice small against the night.
I didn’t expect that. “Go on.”
“I borrowed the money from him. I lost it playing cards.”
What the hell?
I’m not often at a loss for words. But this was one of those times.
“Stella, I want to hear the whole story. But first I need to know how much we are talking about. How much do you owe him?”
“It started out as three hundred. But I think it’s up to four by now. His name is Richie Arroyo. He’s a local thug.”
I was glad it was dark so she didn’t see me roll my eyes. I’d spent more on gym shoes. This did not involve an AK-47 or a military prototype shotgun.
“Where can I find him?”
“Jewel, no! He’s dangerous. This is my problem.”
“We need to drop the pretense. You and Uncle Jimmy were a lot more than friends. When I called you Aunt Stella, I meant it. We’re as good as family. And since I’ve been here, you’ve treated me right. Let me do this for you. Consider it”—I hesitated over the word that came naturally to me— “consider it a solid. Now, where can I find him?”
“He has a garage on Second Street, right by the old gas station.” Relief punctuated each word.
“Stella, I have to ask. Is this a recurring thing? Sorry, but I need to know what I’m walking into.”
Silence except for Simon’s snuffling.
“I thought it was gone. Del helped me get control of my debts and my problem. But then he died so suddenly. I wasn’t here. I didn’t get to say goodbye. They took Simon. I don’t know. I couldn’t resist. But, no, I’ve never borrowed from Richie before. I had to this time because . . .” She didn’t finish.
“Because you’ve lost your money?” Like a bad movie, I knew the end of the story.
“Yes. Everything my late husband left for me. If I didn’t have this job I’d be living in a Walmart parking lot. I’m so ashamed.”
I patted her hand in the dark.
“This I can fix. It’s my present to you and Uncle Jimmy. I can clear the scorecard so you have a chance to get level again.” That wasn’t a lawyer platitude. I meant it. For the next ten minutes, I finished my drink and pretended I didn’t hear her soft crying over the chirping of the tree frogs. Around eleven she left with only a quiet “bless you” in her wake.
I stayed up until midnight plotting my next moves. Richie Arroyo had two things I needed: Stella’s marker and information about the underside of Cochinelle. I still had a locker of illegal guns under my floor and I wanted a clue on how they got there. If I had to kick his skanky ass to get it, that was a bonus.
“C’mon, Simon. It’s the end to my first week as a desperate outlaw. How am I doing?”
A sneeze and a tail wag. I took it as a qualified vote of confidence. Evidently the verdict wasn’t in yet.
CHAPTER 22
As much as I wanted to sink my teeth into that petty loan shark, I had to call Gerald. Wrapped in one of Jimmy’s old work shirts, I sat in the sun and drank tea like the lay-about lady I am until my watch chirped, telling me it was eight. The dialing and connection ritual didn’t seem to take as long as usual. Maybe the Estonians weren’t up yet.
“Jewel, I presume?” I was glad to hear the humorous lilt back in his voice.
“Enjoying my vacation in beautiful Caught-In-Hell Texas. How are things in the Big D?”
“Things are simultaneously peachy and totally weird. This case isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen.”
I shooed Simon off my lap. “Weird” wasn’t a common part of Gerald’s vocabulary.
“Spill it.”
“First is the utter lack of publicity. The DA has snagged a prominent lawyer for first-degree murder. He is making death-penalty noises at me. This is Texas and there’s an election coming up. You’d think he’d be carving hunks out of Tom and throwing them raw to his constituents. Instead, he’s almost placid. He’s dragging his feet on discovery. The RICO case, of course, will be a semi-load. A trickle has started, with a flood expected. On the murder I’ve only received a skinny file with the coroner’s report. She was strangled, by the way. No labs. No DNA. No witness statements. No nothing.”
That was a surprise. I have no love for the Dallas County prosecutor. I thought he was a blowhard. I’d tripped him up many times, but never on a discovery violation. Usually discovery materials arrived, scanned and indexed, in my e-mail within an hour of the request. Swift discovery meant swift court dates, and that was usually his strategy. He didn’t like to give defense attorneys a chance to dig in and chew on the information. This was a single-count case. Given the skill and resources of my dad, I would have expected the DA to lead with his strongest stuff in order to try and force a plea.
“Gerald. I have this gut sensation. There’s nothing to back it up, but it won’t go away. I don’t think it’s Dad they want. I think he’s the bait. Remember the case of William Fuentes?”
“Yes, the biker-gang kid. Didn’t you tell me he’s a forest ranger now?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the point. They picked William and trumped up a case because they knew it would draw out his father. They had nothing on Tigre, except his love for his son. And, by the way, it’s ‘motorcycle club’. Using phrases like ‘biker gang’ can be hazardous to your health in the wrong company.”
O
ver the click of a coffee cup onto a saucer, he continued. “The things I learn with you as my guide. Okay, premise accepted. How does it apply to this case?”
Like in law school, in more courts than I could count, and a few places I’d rather forget, I went silent to gather my thoughts.
“Gerald, they can threaten Dad with everything. They can put him on death row. He will not give up a client. He’d laugh in the DA’s face as they put the needle in his arm, knowing he was taking the information with him. People did not write him multi-million-dollar checks for no reason. And even if he did weaken and talk, the client’s new attorney could fight the privilege argument until the Y3K crisis and win. There is a weak link. There is someone who has a lot of information and has a weakness claiming privilege because of a lack of law-firm affiliation. This person can’t be intimidated directly, but can be collaterally attacked via a loved one.” I left it at that.
“Someone like a devoted daughter?”
“Yeah, someone like that. Gerald, it’s me they want. Or more precisely, what I know. They’ll keep Dad on ice until I give them what they need. Irony is I was going in that morning to quit. I’d had enough. Much as I love him, he’s been escalating for years. It was less about the money and more about the outrageousness of the deal. He was drunk on it.”
“Really? I didn’t know you wanted to leave. Not that I blame you. I have to admit, some of Tommy’s antics made me uncomfortable, especially the offshore stuff and the tax shelters. But here we both are, still loyal to him.”
“Gerald, that’s his superpower.”
He laughed. “Okay, supposing this is true. Why not put a warrant out on you? Fluff up some charges?”
“Because I’d lawyer up and clam up until I cut a deal where I pleaded guilty to a parking ticket. For all that, they would get uncorroborated information while Dad and I caught a plane to someplace warm with no extradition treaty. No, they need me on the street doing their dirty work with a ticking clock in my head. Think of it as a familial bomb vest strapped around my heart.”
“Continue.”
“Gerald, do you know who Rockhound is?”
“No.”
A sharp tone told me my phone battery was going dead.
“Shit. I have to get off. I’ll call you tomorrow. Do not tell Dad anything about this until I get a chance to talk to him. I have something I have to go tend to. It’s a family thing.”
“Dammit, Jewel. I hate to say it, but you might have something. There’s more to tell you—”
The phone powered down in my ear, and none of the others were charged. It was okay, though. I needed some time to gather my thoughts. And I needed to deal with Richie before he scared Stella again.
CHAPTER 23
It was mid-afternoon when I parked in a deserted alley a couple of blocks from the garage. I wanted a quiet time of day for this particular chat.
Arroyo’s Tire & Body infested a metal building behind a boarded-up gas station down by the railroad tracks. If there was an economic recovery, this neighborhood had not gotten the memo. I followed the trash to the battered metal door with the obligatory No Muff Too Tuff and Labor $25/Hour If You Leave and $50/Hour If You Watch signs. Before I pushed it open with my foot, I removed my long-sleeved shirt and draped it on the mailbox. Skin, namely mine, was critical to this operation.
A braying donkey doorbell announced my arrival.
Class with a K, Richie, all the way.
I was checking out a surprisingly decent collection of vintage Rigid Tool girlie calendars when Richie came out of the bathroom. If he recognized me, he didn’t show it. I doubted he did. Last night I had been in discreet polo shirt and braid mode for the potluck.
Today I was letting my freak flag fly.
A morning run to the trusty big-box store had yielded a skimpy tank top and a bra that hoisted my superstructure so high I could almost tuck my chin into my cleavage. The cheap lace itched like hell, but the overall effect was exactly what I was looking for.
I don’t show my ink very often. What had started as a project to cover up an alcohol-induced Spring Break tramp stamp had evolved into a trellis of flowering vines rioting across my back and down my right hip, before spilling over my shoulder and upper arm. The tattoo also curled around and between my breasts, with blue and pink blossoms visible when I showed extreme skin. I didn’t hide it out of a sense of propriety; I saved it for the right moments. This was one of those moments.
Richie’s attention lasered right where I wanted it. My ten-grand worth of gallery-quality art made his tats look like they’d been administered with a paper clip and a Bic lighter.
“Hello, I’m looking for Richard Arroyo.”
A this-is-my-lucky-day smile erupted beneath his blond mustache and crinkled his watery eyes. “That would be me,” he said, crossing his arms in a failed attempt to look cool.
I had a couple of options. I could lead him on and hint I was looking for action, or I could come out with it. I decided on the direct approach with a side order of bullshit.
“Richie, word has it that you’re the man around town now that my uncle is gone.”
I could almost smell the smoke as he ground this around in his head.
“Not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the crap, Richie. I’m Jewel Martin. Jimmy Delgado was my uncle. I have the keys to his place and I found everything in his office.”
It’s an old ploy but often a good one. He nibbled around the bait and swallowed the hook.
“Hey, I’ve been taking care of things like always. You know. Watching the game and keeping the collections.”
Double-word score.
“So taking care of things is collecting from Jimmy’s lady? Bad form, Richie, bad form.”
I moved forward and leaned on the cracked linoleum desktop. His attention stayed buried in the front of my top.
“What about it? You think the boss man would like you rousting Stella?”
He licked his cracked lips as his gaze darted between my cleavage and my face. I knew he was evaluating his choices, and the sly look falling over his expression told me he’d made the wrong one.
“Hey, sweetheart, it’s just business. Are you here to settle up for her? I guarantee you I’m open to trade and I promise that after one night in the love shack you’ll feel like you should still pay me. Play your cards right and it’ll be the ride of your life.” He grabbed his crotch with one hand and gestured to the back room with the other. Through the open door was a tumbled bed lost in a pile of debris.
So predictable.
I stepped away from the desk, careful to not turn my back on him. Reaching behind me, I flipped the sign to CLOSED and clicked the lock on the front door.
“Tell me more,” I said, flipping my hair off my shoulders.
“First I want to tiptoe through the tulips to see how far all that ink goes. We’ll improvise from there.” He pulled off his torn t-shirt, revealing his skinny chest.
Hips swaying, I crossed the office and leaned forward again, putting most of my rack on display. With my left hand, I caressed the back of his neck and entangled my fingers in his hair. The low moan told me he was totally engaged and distracted. More importantly, that move also kept him on his side of the desk.
The reaching hands trembled and his expression contained nothing but greasy lust. Tongue lolling, his stale breath enveloped me as he moved closer.
I waited until his weight was overbalanced before I pulled back, tightened my grip in his hair, and slammed him face first into the mess of coffee cups, overflowing ashtrays, and paperwork. His hands beat the air as I drew one of Uncle Jimmy’s pistols from the small of my back and ground it into his ear.
“Richie, what you feel right now is a Smith & Wesson .38 Chief’s Special. The two-inch barrel is halfway home and if you keep thrashing around, your pea brains could end up splattered all over these unpaid bills. Think for the first time in your pathetic life.”
“Fucking bitch. I’m g
onna to ream your ass while I’m twistin’ your head off your scrawny neck.” His phlegmy invective confirmed that I’d broken his nose.
“Richie, I know your fantasies included you on your feet and me on this desk. Sorry about that. I gave you the chance to be a professional. Instead you turned into some sort of seventies porn star. Now settle down. If I pull this trigger, I am out the door and gone. No one knows me. No one saw me come in here. Nobody in this shithole of a hood gives a fuck about what happens to you. I, on the other hand, can have an alibi with one phone call. Oh, and I know how to get rid of evidence.”
Without warning, Richie went limp. I wasn’t fooled. I tightened my grip on his hair and twisted the pistol harder. This time I got a muffled whimper.
“Now, can we talk? After touching your hair, I seriously want to wash my hands.”
His balled fists relaxed and he nodded slightly.
“I’m going to let you up. But do not fuck with me. I will pot you in the space between two heartbeats. You got that?”
He gave me another nod. I released his hair, backed up, and leveled the gun on him in case he came up fighting. He didn’t. Instead he stood and shook his head. Blood ran down his face and splattered on the desk. I lobbed a box of tissues to him.
As he tended his nose, I bathed in the combination of hatred and disappointment blasting from his eyes. After a couple of minutes, he threw the bloodstained wad in the general direction of a trash box. The introductions over, it was time to get to work.
“First things first.” I pulled three crisp hundred-dollar bills out of my front pocket and tossed them on the desk. “That covers Stella’s loan. You are graciously forgiving the interest. You will never speak to her again. I mean never. If you run into her at the IGA, you will suddenly remember you have business elsewhere. Do you understand? Don’t speak, just nod.”
His mouth popped open, but I raised the pistol to shoulder height. The bobble-headed nod had a lot more enthusiasm than I expected.
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