by Unknown
* * *
Christina left Abel for the house on Hampton. It was time to implement the second phase of her plan, and that meant getting hold of Humberto and telling him what she had and hadn't done for him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HUMBERTO'S COUSIN COULDN'T BE MORE CRACIOUS. He accepted Humberto into his home and offered him his own bed. Humberto told Felix not to be ridiculous, the couch would be fine. Now, as he stretched his cramped muscles, he wished he hadn't been so quick to refuse. They should have shared the bed, as they had when they were boys.
They had talked long into the night.
Felix had been excited to hear that Delaguerra was in town.
"He will have a bodyguard, and he still commands an army of loyal men," Humberto cautioned.
"So what?" Felix said. "I will gun him down like a dog, without warning. God is my witness."
"God witnesses many things. That doesn't mean He's on our side."
"Delaguerra deserves to die," Felix insisted.
"No doubt," Humberto agreed. "At this point you could even argue self-defense. I'm just saying that we must be smart, and not react with hot blood. I still intend to have a future when this is over. You deserve one, too, mi carnal. It is what your father would have wanted." Humberto had a quick image of his Uncle Nestor, who had died so needlessly. Over what? One careless snip of a rosebush. When Humberto returned victoriously to the ranch, he would make Victoria light the match that burned those roses to the ground. Now it was ten-thirty in the morning and Felix was still asleep.
Humberto padded quietly into the apartment's small kitchen and put the makings of coffee into Felix's percolator. He shut the door to muffle the noise and dialed Chicken's number.
The phone rang six times before Chicken answered.
"Where have you been, esse? I came by the motel last night, but you were gone."
"Change of plan." Humberto found a coffee cup in the cabinet above the sink. "What did you want?"
"Those guys you met the other day. They're putting a thing together."
"Good."
"Oh, yeah, and that Christina broad wanted to get with you. She said you should call her as soon as you could. She said it was life and death. She's staying at some hotel in Santa Monica. Wait a minute, I'll get the number for you."
Humberto heard papers rustling, dogs barking and a string of curses. Christina. Of course. She would be the one. She had been to the Delaguerra ranch with Enrique. He'd kill the bitch with his own bare hands.
Chicken came back on the line with Christina's room and phone number. Humberto was repeating it back to him when Chicken interrupted. "Never mind, she just pulled up to the house. I've got to put the dogs out back, then I'll get her on the line."
Humberto listened to a string of more curses in Spanish and English and wondered what good those dogs did Chicken if he couldn't get them to obey his commands. Someday they'd turn on him and leave nothing but his bones.
Christina's voice cut into his thoughts. "Humberto?"
"What do you want?"
"You should be happy to hear from me."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I'm your new best friend."
"How's that?" he asked, not liking the confidence in her tone.
"I've just come from a very interesting meeting with a mutual friend. He was very concerned about some things he thought were his showing up where he didn't expect them."
"And what did you tell him?"
"It's what I didn't tell him that you should be interested in. The Americans have an expression I've always liked. They say: ‘Possession is nine tenths of the law.' "
"What did the señor think of this expression?" Humberto asked.
She laughed. "Oh, I don't think that would have pleased him. I don't like telling people things they don't want to hear. That can be dangerous in our business."
"How are you going to please me?"
"In many ways. First, I'm going to make your life easier by buying the rest of your stock. Of course, you will give me a very good price since I am buying in bulk. Second, you will be pleased to know that you can go back home. Señor has some urgent work for you. He has been told the sad truth about Rico. Stealing from him and all. He wants to take stock, both here and back in Mexico."
"If you're lying to me—"
"How would I profit from that?"
Humberto had to concede that she made a good point. He wondered how good a deal he would have to give her. Then he looked toward the bedroom door of his sleeping cousin. If Abel Delaguerra was taken out, then Humberto wouldn't have to cut anyone a deal.
"Where is the señor now?"
"In my hotel room. Do you have the number?"
"Chicken gave it to me."
"Call there in an hour, after you've given this some thought."
Humberto poured himself a cup of coffee. He would indeed give the whole situation some serious thought.
Ten minutes later, he made a second call. Ellen answered, sounding wide awake.
"The flowers were beautiful," she said. "Thank you."
"It was nothing. I'm glad you liked them. I tried to call your friend Munch, but when I called the number I had for her, I just got all these strange beeps and whirs."
"Sounds like you got a fax machine." Ellen recited the number again.
"That's not the number I had," Humberto said. "The last two numbers were switched. Do you think she's home now?"
"I don't know. Probably. Why?"
"Something has come up. Can I come over and tell you about it?"
"Sure thing, darlin'. I've been missing you since you left."
Humberto smiled, happy to know his feelings were reciprocated.
"I'll be there as soon as I can. Call Munch and tell her to meet us there. She might not be safe at home."
"Safe from who?"
"Just tell her to be careful."
Humberto hung up just as Felix stumbled into the kitchen. "Who was that?"
"A woman I know. I'll probably stay with her tonight."
He told his cousin about his previous conversation with Christina. Felix listened intently. "Delaguerra is at this hotel now? Give me one of your guns."
"He won't be alone or unguarded. He wants to meet with me, probably to tell me to deal with Rico's family, as I was supposed to deal with you."
Felix shook his head. "He's a monster."
Humberto shrugged. Felix had lived in the States too long. He'd forgotten how the world worked back home. "He has gotten carried away."
"And soon they'll be carrying him away."
"I'm good with that, believe me, but let's find a way that doesn't get us killed."
* * *
Roger had not been pleased with Munch's change of heart. He promised to go back to his commander and see what he could do to sweeten the pot.
"This isn't about money," she told him.
"Did I say it was?" he replied.
He called her back twenty minutes later with an irresistible offer. Munch agreed to the new terms and then called St. John back. "I told Roger I'd changed my mind and he came back with this: He said they'd make a formal announcement clearing Rico's name as soon as they make a buy from Humberto." She was proud of the deal, the way she'd prove all the doubters wrong.
"Before the case is fully adjudicated? St. John asked, not sounding as thrilled as she would have liked.
"That's what he said."
"Something doesn't add up."
"I already said I would do it." She felt annoyed and let it show in her tone. Why couldn't he just be happy for her? Hadn't she had enough rain on her parade already?
"Just be very, very careful."
She had assured him she would. Then she had left for some much-needed one-on-one time with her daughter.
Consequently, she was not home to receive Ellen's worried call. She had taken Asia and Jasper to Mandeville Canyon. There were trails there too narrow for horses where Munch could let Jasper off his leash to explore. She brought wa
ter and a bowl so Jasper would have plenty of ammunition.
Asia made a game of counting how many times he lifted his leg to leave his mark.
"I'm going back to work tomorrow," she told Asia. "We need to get back into our routine."
Asia scratched her arm, but didn't say anything. Munch didn't know what she had expected and wondered if she put too much of a burden on the young girl's shoulders. Caroline St. John told her not to worry about that, that kids had a way of letting things they
weren't ready to hear go over their heads. Munch hoped she was right about that.
Jasper trotted on ahead and Asia chased after him calling his name. It was a game they played. Asia pretended that Jasper was trained, Jasper pretended he was deaf.
She watched them romp in the dappled sunlight and tried to summon some pleasure from the scene. It was almost impossible to believe that a week ago her life had been completely different. How were either of them ever supposed to feel secure again? What was the point of making plans when so little of life was predictable? Maybe that wasn't fair; a great deal of life was predictable. It was that ten percent of unexpected shit that could make or break you. But hadn't things that seemed terrible at the time turned out for the best? Going to jail, getting beaten up, raped, and robbed had all led to her eventual sobriety. Asia had come to her because her father was killed. jobs, friends, apartments, even lovers had been ripped from her hands, only to be replaced by better ones.
One day, she would be able to get through an hour without crying.
One of these nights, she would sleep all the way through until morning.
The pain would lessen.
She was banking on it.
Munch took stock of her small brood. Asia's shoes were untied. A pigtail had come unbraided, and her pants were muddy. Jasper had managed to get a six-inch twig of sagebrush entangled in one of his ears and was dragging it along. They were both bright-eyed and panting. Was there a future reflected in those bright eyes, or was now the only time that was important?
"Okay, guys," she said, "let's turn back."
"Awwh," Asia said, "but we just got here."
"We'll come back next week if you want, but I have things I need to do."
Asia looked as if she wanted to argue the point, but then gave in. "Jasper," she shouted, "heel."
Jasper dropped to the ground and worked at something in his paw. "C'mon, honey," Munch said to her daughter, "we'll head this way and he'll get the idea. We'll stop by Fernando's house and pick up your dress shoes." After the funeral, Asia had changed into more comfortable clothes. They didn't discover until they arrived home last night that she had left her shiny black patent leather shoes behind.
"At Grandpa's, you mean," Asia said.
"What?"
"He said I should call him Grandpa?
* * *
When they pulled up to the house in Lawndale, Fernando was nowhere in sight. The garage door was open and the radio was playing. There were two coffee mugs on the table, but the coffee had grown cold.
Munch picked up the cups and headed for the door leading to the kitchen. The night before, when she had picked up Asia, the house had been bustling with people. Rico's many brothers and cousins had been standing around the fire pit telling stories and laughing. Someone had given Cruz a beer and he was flushed and grinning. Fernando sat at the kitchen table, arguing with his wife's sister about something that had happened thirty-five years ago. The rest of the women bustled about, picking up plates and wrapping leftovers. Munch had found Asia in the middle of a group of kids her age, impatient for her turn on the rope swing, and telling them all in a voice that sounded eerily like Munch's own: "C'mon already. What are you waiting for? Christmas?"
So where was everybody now?
"Hello?" Munch called out.
"Grandpa," Asia echoed, "it's us."
Jasper ran ahead, sniffing the ground importantly.
Munch dumped out the cold coffee in the sink. A frying pan was on the stove, full of congealed scrambled eggs. Toast, already browned, peeked out from the top of the toaster. Munch opened the slider to the back.
All she found were footprints in the dirt and the silence of a graveyard.
"Maybe they're walking the dog," Munch said. She tried to sound unconcerned, but too many things about the condition of the house felt wrong.
She grabbed Asia's hand and began a systematic check of the other rooms. The bedrooms, bathrooms, even the closets. Everyone was gone.
"Uncle Cruz?" Asia yelled.
"Maybe he wandered off," Munch said. "And Fernan—your grandpa, took the dog to go look for him." She spotted Asia's shoes by the front door. As she picked them up, she noticed the front door was unlocked and unbolted. The doors to outside were always kept locked to prevent Cruz from leaving the house unattended. In all the activity yesterday, this had probably been overlooked. That didn't explain the two mugs of coffee in the garage. Or why the garage door had been left open. And wouldn't it have made more sense for Fernando to go looking for his son in his pickup truck? The pickup truck was still parked at the curb.
Munch took Asia with her into the kitchen. Sylvia's number was in the book by the phone; Munch dialed it. There was no answer, the machine didn't even pick up. Munch tried not to read too much into that. Maybe they had unplugged the phone or forgotten to turn the machine on.
Maybe there were too many maybes.
"Asia, did anyone say anything yesterday about all of them going to church today?"
Asia thought a moment. "No. Where is everybody?"
"I don't know, honey, but I'm sure there's a good explanation?
She didn't say they would like that explanation. She had a terrible feeling she wouldn't.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
ST. JOHN WAS ON HOSE PATROL. CAROLINE HAD ASKED him to wash down the patio, and while he was at it, he shot everything in sight. The shrubs by the back door were dusty. The eaves of the small Craftsman-style house (a stone's throw from one of the Venice canals) hosted a colony of spiders. He noticed a bird's nest in the corner where the ceiling beams crisscrossed, but left it alone. He placed unshelled peanuts on the top of the block wall surrounding his yard for the blue jays and refilled the feeder with seed for the smaller birds. Next he pulled an old comforter from the dryer in the garage and spread it on the concrete patio. Samantha, his elderly black Lab, stretched her arthritic limbs and lowered herself cautiously on the blanket.
St. John stroked her back gently and planted a kiss on her age-whitened muzzle. What more could one ask for in one's old age, he thought, but a spot in the sun, surrounded by loved ones? Brownie followed him faithfully, growling and tossing her head, trying to entice him into a game of catch.
His thoughts kept returning to Munch. Poor kid. And Rico, who was not such a bad guy, really. Despite the rumors. God knew, Munch had loved him.
He patted Brownie's head. "We'll play later. "
St. John went into the kitchen, where Caroline was emptying the dishwasher. He watched her for a moment, enjoying the curves of hips and breasts twisting under her housedress. Maybe they'd play later, too.
He picked up the telephone.
"Who are you calling?" Caroline asked.
"Rumpelstiltskin." Their pet name for the medical examiner. Caroline didn't miss a beat. "About Rico?"
"Yeah, Shue likes to catch up on his paperwork on Sunday mornings. He'll talk to me."
"Give him my love," Caroline said.
Mace smiled into the phone as it rang. Frank Shue was a character. Not the kind of guy you had over for dinner, especially if you were entertaining other guests. Many defenders had made the mistake of underestimating the man. Shue, even at the beginning of his workday, always appeared as if he had been spin-dried and then forgotten in the dryer. Caroline said he looked like an unmade bed with his shirt flaps always half untucked, tie askew, and flyaway hair. But the guy could make a corpse talk, even if he had the charisma of a chalkboard.
"Office of t
he coroner."
"It's St. John."
"What can I do for you?"
"Who did the post on Enrique Chacón?" St. John asked.
"Sugarman. In the aquarium. I assisted." The aquarium was the glass-walled room reserved for high-profile deaths, police officers, or suspects who had died in custody. As well as accommodating multiple observers, the autopsies performed there were also videotaped. St. John was not surprised that Sugarman had handled the postmortem examination personally. He was the senior forensic pathologist and not afraid of controversy.
"Anything unusual?"
"I just got the tox results."
"And?" St. John asked.
"Clean. No narcotics or drugs of any kind."
"How about the bullet wounds?"
"The hits to his chest were consistent with LAPD ordinance."
"What about the head wound?" St. John asked.
"The head wound?"
St. John could hear the man scrambling for time. "Rico's fiancée saw the body before the mortuary cleaned it up."
"How unfortunate."
"She said the shot looked like it had come from close range. The hair was singed around the entry wound."
"We're not publishing any details about that."
"What does that mean?"
"I'm not at liberty to say."
St. John didn't press, not wanting to put Shue or Sugarman in an awkward position. If he was inferring correctly, the head wound, most likely the kill shot, had not come from a police weapon. Who would benefit from keeping that information quiet? If the guy was dirty, shooting at his own, then no one was going to suffer any consequences for shooting him.
If he was clean, as Munch believed and as this Roger guy claimed to back up, then why was he shot, and by whom? And why keep that information secret in the first place?
Caroline walked into the kitchen with a leash in her hand. She took one look at her husband, who was staring at a spot on the wall, and didn't say a word. She knew he was working. He heard the door shut behind her as she left to take Brownie for a walk.
If Rico was shot by the bad guys, yet not a bad guy himself, and the department was keeping it quiet, there were several possible explanations. Perhaps they were protecting an ongoing investigation. If Rico was only pretending to be on the take, perhaps the task force didn't want the bad guys aware that Rico had been playing for the good guys all along and that supply routes and connections were compromised.
