King Peso: An Emilia Cruz Novel (Detective Emilia Cruz Book 4)

by Carmen Amato

  Claudia pursed her lips together in a line of disapproval. Obregon’s mouth twitched.

  Madre de Dios, but they were still nattering on about a logo. “The one with the greatest contrast will look the best on the badge,” Emilia said shortly.

  “Number four?” asked one of the consultants. He had several designs on an easel. Number four was a simple white dove against a circle of stylized blue waves.

  “Sure,” Emilia said. “Clean and simple, with good contrast.”

  All of the consultants looked at Claudia. She bit her lip.

  “I agree with Detective Cruz,” Obregon spoke up. “Number four makes the statement the city and the union want to make.”

  “Our signature color isn’t on it,” Claudia pouted.

  “We could add a thin outline,” the consultant said. He leapt to the easel and outlined the logo with a pink marker.

  Claudia brightened. “Perfect, that’s settled.”

  The next agenda item was uniforms. There was no debate over design choices this time; apparently Carlota had designed the uniforms herself.

  Emilia was amazed to see a model walk into the room dressed in a brown polyester two piece pantsuit. The pants were straight and simple, but the top was a short-sleeved button-down affair with a rounded collar and a peplum that nipped in the waist and flared over the hips like a big ruffle. All of the edges were piped in hot pink, which she realized was Claudia’s signature color. The matching hat was a caricature of a military officer’s hat, with a black brim far too small and shiny to be useful anyone patrolling in the hot sun all day.

  The model walked the perimeter of the room to polite applause. Claudia stood by like a fashion designer on the runway. “Such a beautiful design,” she gushed, when the clapping died down.

  It was an utterly ridiculous uniform for a cop. Emilia leaped up. “We have to make some adjustments,” she said. “Everybody knows that brown is the color of traffic cops.” Emilia tugged on the peplum; it stayed in place and wasn’t the detachable item she’d hoped for. “This has to go, too. It’ll get in the way of the gun belt.”

  Claudia flinched as if Emilia had lobbed a sack of onions at her. “What belt?”

  “The gun belt,” Emilia said impatiently. “Home to gun, nightstick, handcuffs, pepper spray. All the shit that cops carry.”

  “Las Palomas are the doves of peace.” Obregon’s voice had a humorous sting to it. “An unarmed police force.”

  Emilia raised her eyebrows at him. “There is no such thing as an unarmed police force in Acapulco.”

  “There is now, Detective.” Obregon’s tongue stretched out the last word.

  “The collar is reinforced for the radio,” Claudia chimed in, as if that would keep cops safe.

  “Excellent,” Emilia managed. There was no way she was patrolling the streets of Acapulco without a gun. But the room was full of people and this wasn’t the place to argue. She went back to her seat. First no access to the police intranet and now this.

  The meeting ended with a discussion of hiring. Las Palomas could hire 40 officers. An advertisement had already gone out and prospective candidates were supposed to apply in person at the central police building at the end of the week. Paola passed Emilia the ad, which was already in all the Acapulco newspapers. Self-congratulations ensued for getting the ad so widely distributed on such short notice.

  Emilia knew she passed right over the ad that morning, too engrossed in the coverage of Hernandez’s murder to notice anything else. Now she read it with mounting concern. The only requirements were to love the city and be female.

  “There are going to be thousands of applicants,” she said, aghast.

  Claudia beamed. “We’ll be able to hire the very best.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Emilia said. “Thousands of women are going to show up at the building’s gates and they are all going to want this job.”

  “But it’s a police job.” Claudia frowned and her lower lip wobbled again. “Women who qualify for a police job will apply.”

  “What qualifications?” Emilia exclaimed. “Minimum age? Level of fitness? Ability to read and write reports? Basic English skills so they can talk to tourists? The ad doesn’t say any of that.”

  Claudia shrank away from the table.

  “There’s nothing in this ad that is going to discourage any woman who can walk from showing up.” Emilia couldn’t believe Claudia didn’t understand what she had offered in the ad and how many women in Acapulco were desperate for a better life. “I’m not kidding when I say thousands will apply.”

  “Do you have a suggestion, Detective?” Obregon queried.

  “Notify Internal Security, for a start,” Emilia said.

  Claudia straightened up. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said. “We have this well in hand.”

  They were fucked before they even started. Emilia leaned forward. “Internal Security controls everything that goes on at the central police building. If they don’t know what’s happening, come Thursday when they see a horde of women descending on them, they might start shooting.”

  “Is that true?” Claudia turned to Obregon.”

  “Detective Cruz knows her department,” Obregon said.

  “We have to notify Internal Security,” Emilia said. “Request the big gymnasium for a processing arena. Get some uniforms to act as crowd control.” She thought to events Kurt had hosted at the hotel which brought in scores of people and how the Palacio Réal staff handled everything so smoothly. “We’ll divide the gym into zones. First zones will be English and writing tests. That should narrow the field pretty quickly.”

  “Of course,” Claudia said, as if it was her idea. “If they pass the tests, they’ll get an immediate and personal interview with the chief of operations.”

  Emilia stared across the table at Claudia. “You want me to interview a couple hundred women in one day?”

  “You have to train them, Detective Cruz,” Obregon said, with no attempt to hide his smile. “You should have the privilege of choosing them.”

  “Well, thanks,” Emilia said.

  ☼

  The rest of the day passed in a blur of more introductions, lengthy phone calls to Internal Security, and fruitless discussions about the uniform and computer access. But at 5:00 pm, as if a whistle had blown, everything shut down. Emilia was happy to head out as well. The move from street detective to executive planner had been too swift. There had been no time to corral her emotions and prepare for the change. Emilia didn’t even have the right clothing for the job.

  As she passed through the lobby, Obregon fell into step beside her. Emilia wondered if he’d been waiting.

  “You made quite the impact on your first day,” Obregon said.

  “Thank you,” Emilia replied. “Although I feel like more of a babysitter than a cop.”

  “Las Palomas will come together,” Obregon said. “You have plenty of time.”

  “Thirty days.” Emilia tried not to sound bitter. “It could take that long just to clean up the applications mess.”

  “Come now, Detective Cruz.” Obregon’s voice was silky. “You can’t tell me this isn’t nicer than being in the detective squadroom. It always smelled like stale coffee and sweat. Your computer was from before the Fox administration.”

  “But we had a new copier,” Emilia parried. He’d been the one to supply it when she was acting lieutenant for a brief period.

  Obregon laughed out loud, the sound bouncing off the walls of the expansive foyer. “You’ll do well here.”

  “Why me?” Emilia asked. “Why was I picked for this job?”

  “Bigger and better things,” Obregon said lightly. “Chief Salazar knew you were ready for something bigger and better.”

  “I didn’t ask for bigger and better.”

  “It was time. Besides we had to get you away from Silvio. His career has been in a death spiral for years.”

  “Silvio is a hell of a good detective,” Emilia sai
d.

  “Was,” Obregon said. “I heard he resigned.”

  “Can you blame him?”

  “You have admirable loyalty, Detective.”

  She knew things about Obregon, knew that he served only himself. He knew that she understood him, but it never seemed to matter. Obregon always had the upper hand.

  Emilia stepped away and pretended to admire one of the big oil paintings. “Is Las Palomas really going to be an unarmed unit?” she asked. “You of all people should know that’s a prescription for disaster.”

  “An unarmed unit is a signal that the city is rebounding,” Obregon said.

  Emilia looked at him over her shoulder. “How many Las Palomas are going be dead before we’ve officially rebounded?”

  “You get to redefine the rules of engagement.” Obregon came up behind her, so close that he brushed her back. “How many women get to do that?”

  Emilia felt the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He probably slept with anything that wasn’t red hot or running away. She felt trapped by the testosterone surging against her, and was suddenly reminded of Castro and Gomez. Without thinking, she spun and shoved Obregon with both hands.

  He nearly overbalanced and his brow darkened.

  “Don’t you have somewhere to go?” Emilia snapped. “A busy man like yourself.”

  “Victor!” Claudia’s girlish voice echoed against glass and steel from the stair landing above them. “I’m so glad you’re still here.”

  Both Emilia and Obregon looked up. Claudia started down the stairs, high heels announcing her descent.

  “Did we forget something, Claudia?” Obregon asked.

  “I was hoping to catch you,” Claudia reached the lobby, wearing a strained smile as she looked from Obregon to Emilia. “Did you two have some unfinished business?”

  “Detective Cruz and I have known each other for a while,” Obregon said. “But we don’t often get a chance to catch up.”

  Claudia’s unspoken thoughts were so plainly written on her face that Emilia didn’t know whether to laugh.

  Or cry.

  “I’ve got to be going,” Emilia said. She ignored Obregon and smiled at Claudia. “He’s all yours.”

  ☼

  As Emilia drove back to the Palacio Réal, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d left work so early. She could work out in the hotel gym or go swimming before it got dark. Even cook dinner, another simple pleasure she’d sacrificed for life in the hotel, instead of eating restaurant food.

  Or she could call Macias and Sandor, see what the squadroom had on the Hernandez murder. Calling Ibarra was out of the question; he wouldn’t share anything with her.

  As she passed the spot on the road leading to the hotel where they’d found Hernandez’s body, Emilia found herself wondering why she’d been plucked out of the squadroom and reassigned to Las Palomas.

  Obregon said that Chief Salazar had selected her. But Chief Salazar had insisted that Carlota wanted her for the job.

  Emilia had never been so popular and she wondered why now.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse.

  Chapter 13

  The week passed with lightning speed as the Las Palomas office got ready for the big hiring event. Emilia’s evenings were busy as well, accompanying Kurt to Copa America events sponsored by the Acapulco Hotel Association. She didn’t have the right clothes for those events, either.

  There was no time to think about Isabel’s death, Hernandez, or anything else related to the El Trio murders. No one from the squadroom called. Neither did Silvio. Loyola didn’t come looking for his missing file.

  It was just as well. Emilia found herself involved in almost every decision about Las Palomas. She’d never imagined all the issues involved in setting up a new police unit: training plans, testing, record keeping, patrol routes, radio signs and frequencies, union-mandated lunch breaks. Everything was complicated by the lack of access to police systems. Emilia found herself at the central police building every day, trying to wrest lesson plans from the police academy or establish the unit’s radio protocols. No one had heard of Las Palomas and it was difficult to get traction.

  By Thursday, Emilia was sure she’d worked in the Las Palomas for four years rather than just four days. At the noon meeting every day, she alone talked about the actual work of finding, training, and deploying the Las Palomas officers. Claudia and the others listened to her politely, suggested that she follow up on her own suggestions, and went back to their debates over public relations.

  Obregon was in and out but ignored Emilia. More staff appeared but Emilia remained the only cop.

  Las Palomas came to life at 9:00 and closed promptly at 5:00 pm. As far as Emilia could tell, the office suites on the first floor stayed dark all day. She wondered how Esteban in the little restaurant made enough to stay afloat.

  As she came back to her office after the noon meeting, her cell phone rang. The display read Silvio.

  “Bueno,” she answered neutrally.

  “It’s Franco,” he said.

  Emilia swallowed hard. In all the time they’d been partners, he’d never, ever, implied permission to use his first name.

  “Hi,” Emilia said. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m getting by.” Silvio cleared his throat. “How’s the new job?”

  “It’s okay.” Emilia looked around the office. “Cleaner than the squadroom.”

  “Yeah?”

  “My office is as big as a cruise ship,” Emilia babbled. “I’ve got a secretary, too. Excuse me, administrative assistant for operations.”

  “Yeah,” Silvio said. “Maybe I can come check it out one of these days.”

  “Sure,” Emilia said. “Anytime.”

  Silvio cleared his throat again. “Isabel’s funeral is Sunday.” He gave her the time and directions to the church. “You can bring Hollywood if you want.”

  Emilia couldn’t help but smile at the familiar taunt. “I’ll ask him.”

  “Good.” Silvio paused. “Listen. I looked for that kid. The one who punched you. Rio.”

  “Did you talk to him? Did he say anything about the circle man?”

  “He’s dead. Heroin overdose.”

  Emilia caught her breath. “He was a glue boy. He didn’t have money for heroin.”

  “He was somebody’s lookout and probably got a payment in horse.”

  “Come on. This is not a coincidence.” She was suddenly back in the squadroom, sparring with her partner and digging for answers at the same time.

  “Look, I just thought you’d want to know,” Silvio snapped.

  “Okay.” Emilia let it go. Silvio probably didn’t even believe the whole key story. “Look, have you heard anything from Macias and Sandor? About Isabel?”

  “If there is anything they want me to know,” Silvio said brusquely. “They know how to get in touch.”

  The connection cut off.

  Emilia put down her cell phone and closed her eyes. Was Rio’s death really just a coincidence? She wondered if she should call Silvio back and tell him about the original ballistics report that Hernandez had signed. Was it fair not to tell him? What would he do if he knew? Silvio’s temper was legendary and after what had happened with Loyola in the squadroom, anything could happen. More importantly, would Silvio end up like Hernandez?

  Someone coughed and Emilia’s eyes flew open. Paola was in the doorway. “Detective Cruz, would you like a cup of coffee before your next meeting with Claudia? I’ve just made some fresh.”

  Emilia stood. Paola could hardly know where Emilia’s mind had been but she was an alien intruder, whisking Emilia away to a foreign place and time. “Thank you, Paola. I’ll get it myself.”

  As she went into the gleaming little kitchen, following the aroma of espresso, Emilia missed the detective squadroom with a longing that was almost physical. She missed the crappy coffee made in the scummy Señor Café machine, made drinkable by an invariable bag of pastries, a tradition she’d start
ed. Missed Silvio cursing at his computer screen. Missed Macias and Sandor holding their private conversations. Ibarra’s smokestack cologne and Loyola’s indecision. Everything except the nerve-sharpening exchanges with Castro and Gomez which always came with the knowledge that her fist had connected with both of their faces and a rematch was inevitable.

  She poured herself some coffee. Being a detective for three years was still the high point of her career and nobody could take that away from her. She’d fought hard for that job, because it was a job worth having. A job where she could make a difference. Or at least believe a difference was possible.

  The coffee was piping hot and there was real crema in the refrigerator. Two of the assistants giggled over a cell phone. They looked up when Emilia coughed. One of them swiped at the screen and they left the kitchen, leaving dirty cups in the sink for the cleaning service to deal with.

  This wasn’t that job.

  ☼

  “Thank you for coming,” Claudia said primly. She rose from her desk and closed the door behind Emilia.

  “Is this about the uniforms?” Emilia asked. Chief Salazar’s office had quietly vetoed the brown and pink pantsuits. Las Palomas officers would wear blue polo shirts and cargo pants. Emilia knew that Claudia blamed her for the change.

  “I’m always open to suggestions,” Claudia said. It was a signature line that Emilia recognized meant shut up. “Today we have to discuss something more urgent.”

  “Urgent?”

  “Team building,” Claudia announced, as if broadcasting the national lotéria winner.

  “Team building,” Emilia repeated warily. She perched on the edge of a plush upholstered chair, part of a suite that gave Claudia’s office all the warmth of furniture store. “What did you have in mind?”

  Claudia clasped her hands together. “I want to help my team achieve success. Don’t you agree success is important?”

  “Sure.”

  “Don’t you think that being able to rely on each other is important, too?”

  “Sure,” Emilia said again.

  Claudia nodded encouragingly, as if Emilia had said something significant. “We should know each other’s strengths and weaknesses.”