Grave Consequences

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Charlie, what are you and that evil dwarf up to now? The salesmen here claim a big Indian dropped off that stolen truck and that they know nothing about it.”

  “Dwarf? I’m hurt,” Gordon said, loud enough to be heard.

  “They said it was me?” Charlie asked.

  “Not by name, but the description sure fit you,” DuPree responded.

  “Well,” Charlie replied, “it is possible that the people working at Rex’s aren’t among the same three that took the pickup last night, though they’re connected. That site is where the Night Crew parks some of their vehicles—maybe the stolen ones as well. What else did you find besides the van used by the crew when they ’jacked that pickup?”

  “How did you … never mind, I don’t want to know,” DuPree said, his voice rising in pitch.

  “Breathe deeply, Detective, then count to ten,” Gordon suggested.

  “Count the number of fingers I’m holding up, Sweeney,” DuPree replied. “How did you two end up with a stolen Ford pickup, anyway?”

  “Is taking a truck away from someone who just stole it from the owner, stealing?” Gordon asked. “You might want to check with your sources on this case, if you catch my drift. One of them might be able to tell you more about this.”

  Charlie wondered why Al hadn’t passed the events of last night along to his undercover team, but didn’t want to ask, knowing DuPree might have someone standing close by who didn’t need to hear.

  “I’m alone now, speak freely,” DuPree responded. “And, no, our inside contact hasn’t reported in yet.”

  “Probably because of the encounter he witnessed. If they were trying to show him how the professionals jack a vehicle, they failed,” Charlie added. “And now that their vehicle stash location may have been compromised, they’re having to go with plan B.”

  “You think the subjects under investigation have any idea who’s been screwing with them?” DuPree asked. “You two aren’t very subtle and you certainly have a motive. They’ve encountered you two, what, four times now, and tried to take you out at least twice.”

  “I’m hoping they’re going to try one more time and we can finally take them down,” Gordon said.

  “But with a murder charge, not just strong-arm carjackings and robbery,” Charlie added.

  “Don’t forget felony assault and windshield bashing,” Gordon tossed in.

  “Droll, Sweeney. Someday, guys, you’re going to put yourselves out there in the bull’s-eye one too many times,” DuPree warned.

  “We’re whittling them down, though, and this might help your source get what is needed to put them away—a witness, a gun, something…” Charlie pointed out.

  “Just be careful. You guys create too much paperwork for me as it is.”

  “Sorry for the inconvenience,” Gordon responded, looking over at Charlie, who couldn’t help but smile.

  “Go home, go back to work. Whatever. Just stay out of trouble,” DuPree advised.

  “One question first,” Charlie replied.

  “What?”

  “Has anyone found any trace of Lola Tso? She knows where she got the squash blossom necklace, and that makes her a threat to the Night Crew and Mr. Fasthorse.”

  “We’ve got officers watching her place, twenty-four seven, and checking the places we think she might visit, but she hasn’t turned up anywhere. The tribal cops have been following up with their sources on tribal land and none of them have heard a thing either. Lola Tso has gone to ground.”

  “Hopefully not literally. Let us know if there are any leads whatsoever, okay?” Charlie asked, deciding to press Nancy again and see if she could come up with a lead on Lola.

  “Give me something you’ve learned about Clarence Fasthorse or his Night Crew. This sharing has got to go both ways, boys.”

  Charlie looked at Gordon, who nodded. “We’ve been in a position to overhear a conversation or two, and we’ve discovered that Sheila Ben, Fasthorse’s mother, definitely knows what’s going on. She even knew about the move on the Ford F-250, the one that ended up at Rex’s,” Gordon explained.

  “That didn’t come from our source,” DuPree responded, meaning Al Henry.

  “No, but it adds another name to the short list of known Night Crew affiliates. The lady may even be financing the operation. She’s got a business background and ran a tribal casino at one time, right?” Gordon said, looking over at Charlie, who nodded.

  “I’ll pass this along. We knew that Clarence and his mother are close, but this info will open up additional avenues of investigation,” DuPree said.

  “So what else do you have on Lola Tso?” Charlie asked.

  “Like I said, not much. There’s been some discussion about pulling the surveillance on her apartment. Three officers are tied up their entire shifts and so far we’ve got zip. Have to go now, guys. Watch yourselves.”

  By then they were approaching FOB Pawn. There were several cars parked along the street. “More traffic than usual,” Gordon observed. “Is it the curious, or customers?” Gordon added.

  “Hopefully the latter. Park this baby and let’s see if Jake and Ruth can use some help,” Charlie said, making a mental note to call Nancy in the evening after she went on shift. Maybe she could offer something new concerning Lola.

  * * *

  There were a lot of people to serve, as they’d hoped, and Charlie and Gordon ended up doing some heavy lifting, boxing then loading a big screen TV and gas barbecue grill into the van of a wheelchair-bound vet. They offered to help him unload the items when he got home, but the man, a former Marine, said he had friends who’d be off work by then and were coming to help.

  There was also paperwork to do, catching up on the cataloging of pawn, then locking the items, which included three guns, into the secure storeroom’s metal locker. Around four in the afternoon business tapered off and Charlie and Gordon took over the front room while Ruth and Jake did the bookkeeping, a never-ending process.

  After a while, Jake poked his head out of the office. “There’s a guy standing out back beside a dark blue SUV that’s blocking the alley. Thought you’d like to know.”

  Gordon glanced over at Charlie. “Young, slender, good-looking Indian, white shirt, a dark suit jacket?”

  “Naw, a big black guy in his early thirties wearing a light Windbreaker. Looks like he played football—or wrestled,” Jake said. He’d once wrestled in one of the pro circuits.

  “Leroy Williams,” Charlie replied. “Looks like we’re finally getting through to somebody. Guess the man’s here to deliver a message.”

  “Or a threat,” Gordon said, reaching into his pocket to make sure his pistol was handy.

  “Is this shotgun trouble again?” Jake asked, glancing over at Ruth, who’d come up beside him, concern in her expression.

  “No. If he was looking for a fight he wouldn’t be the only one out there,” Charlie said.

  “Maybe he’s not,” Ruth suggested, turning to look at the other outside camera monitor, which covered the front.

  “Anyone?” Gordon asked, walking in that direction.

  “Not that I can see,” Ruth said.

  Jake also took a look, shaking his head.

  Charlie checked both monitors again. “Tell you what, guys. I’ll go out and talk to the guy. Gordon, keep an eye out but stay inside unless you spot a problem.”

  “I’ve got the front door,” Jake said, coming out and walking toward the front counter.

  “Ruth…”

  “I’ll help keep watch and stand by with the phone, just in case,” she said. “I know where the emergency pistol is kept and have no problem using it.”

  Good girl, Charlie thought. Ruth had kept a revolver handy for years while on the run with her son, Renée. Charlie wished she’d never have to live in fear again, but around him, and this place, things just seemed to happen.

  Charlie checked his own handgun before placing it back into the holster, safety off. Leroy probably knew Charlie carried a weapon,
and Charlie knew that Leroy did.

  Charlie paused for a second, nodded to Gordon, then stepped out onto the loading dock, closing the door behind him.

  “Been waiting long?” Charlie asked as he looked at the fit-looking black man, leaning casually against the side of the blue SUV, a handgun visible in a shoulder rig just inside his Windbreaker.

  Leroy shrugged. “Long enough. Don’t you watch your security cams?” He nodded toward the surveillance camera along the roof parapet.

  Charlie shrugged. “Ask your boss’s three stooges, Jerry, Steve, and Mario. You’re going to have to speak real loud to the last two.”

  “You’re getting to be a real pain in the ass, Henry,” the man replied, taking a step forward.

  “Just getting started, Mr. Williams,” Charlie said, his hand a little closer to the butt of his weapon.

  Leroy looked surprised, for a second, upon hearing his name.

  Charlie continued. “We’re the new game in town, and we know way more than your boss thinks we do. We’re much better thieves than those punks who hang around his restaurant, jacking cars and stealing turquoise jewelry.

  “Just so you know, for two guys running a pawnshop, my partner and I bring in a lot of cash off the books,” Charlie added, wishing it was actually true. At the moment, they were still learning the business, and if it wasn’t for Jake and Ruth’s experience they’d barely be breaking even.

  “Then why give up that Ford F-250? There’s a big market for newer model trucks below the border. Makes you look stupid.”

  “No, what it does is make your boss, Clarence, look like a car thief. Who owns that car lot anyway, one of his relatives? His mommy?”

  Leroy’s expression turned ugly, and he took another step closer. Charlie stopped him by placing a hand on his Beretta.

  Leroy calmed down visibly, but his voice was cold. “You’re disrespecting people I care about. If you and your buddy don’t back off, you’re going to get more than a beat down. That’s a guarantee.”

  “Okay. Go back to your boss—if he hasn’t been arrested and hauled downtown—and tell him you’ve delivered the message. Warn him not to cross us or get in our way or we’re going to do a lot more than embarrass him with the cops. We’ve kicked bigger butts than his, I guarantee.”

  Leroy stood there a moment, started to say something, then mumbled a curse and walked back to the SUV. Ten seconds later, he raced down the alley, tires squealing.

  Charlie turned toward the camera on the parapet above and made a face.

  The door opened and Gordon stuck his head out. “Why’d you let him escape?”

  Charlie laughed, climbed the stairs to the loading dock, and stepped inside. “Let me tell you about it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Okay, we’ve clearly been made, there’s no question about it now,” Gordon said, taking a sip of beer and leaning back in his office chair. They were closed, Jake and Ruth had gone home, and it was just him and Charlie. “That might have taken some pressure off Al—assuming they don’t connect you as his brother,” Gordon added.

  Charlie shrugged. “There are a lot of Navajos, and, as you pointed out, we don’t look related.”

  “Are we still going to step up our game?” Gordon asked.

  “Of course, and the more attention we get, the less Clarence will be looking at Al—I’m hoping. Either way, we’ve rattled the cage and hopefully put some nervous heat on Fasthorse and the Night Crew. We need to find out more on how they’ve reacted,” Charlie replied. “And really watch our backs.”

  “Always. But we also need to know where the cops are in this, not just with DuPree’s investigation, but also from your brother’s undercover team,” Gordon pointed out. “For instance, have they found anything solid that links any particular crime directly to Clarence?”

  Charlie didn’t know. “Maybe we’ll have to give them some time for things to unfold. Details from Al come in when they come in. He’s probably being closely watched by Clarence and the rest of his crew.”

  “And Clarence is clearly worried about blowback or he wouldn’t have sent his muscle to warn us off. He can’t exactly rat us out to the cops without putting himself into the spotlight even more. Maybe we should sit tight for a few days,” Gordon suggested.

  “We don’t sit tight.”

  “Then what?”

  “I’d been thinking about this earlier. How about we meet up with Nancy and see if we can get anything else on Lola? DuPree hasn’t been able to come up with anything, but then again, anyone who sees him coming knows he’s a cop.” Charlie stood, dropping his empty beer bottle into the trash.

  “I’ll check the locks out front and set the alarm. Wanna take my truck or the Charger?”

  “Let’s swing by your place and leave the pickup behind. That’s the last thing those boys at Rex’s saw of us, so let’s give them a different look. Of course, they may just be fronting for the crew,” Charlie answered.

  “You can bet those used-car salesmen described my truck perfectly. Let’s keep them guessing. Purple Dodge Charger it is. Who’s going to remember something like that?” Gordon said, grinning.

  Ten minutes later, they were cruising south across the city, heading toward downtown. Nancy had agreed to meet them for dinner at one of her favorite late-night spots, a sandwich shop near the bus depot.

  Charlie’s cell phone started to ring. “Put that on speaker, will you?” he asked, since he didn’t have his Bluetooth.

  “It’s Nancy,” Gordon said, pushing the speaker icon as he looked at the display.

  “Charlie, sorry, I have to cancel dinner. I just got a call,” Nancy said, all business at the moment.

  “Sure. Contact when you’re free,” Charlie answered.

  “Later,” she answered, ending the connection.

  Gordon looked over. “You wanna swing by Lola’s apartment again, just in case?”

  “No, I’ve got a more interesting idea. We’re already headed in that general direction, how about we have another talk with Mike the Pimp at the Firehouse Tavern?”

  “Do they serve anything besides beer, chips, and bouncers? I’m hungry,” Gordon said.

  “I recall some of the patrons were eating sandwiches.”

  “Good, even cold cuts will hit the spot. I need more than nachos or pretzels. I need to eat my weight every day to stay alive,” Gordon joked.

  Charlie nodded, having seen Gordon down an entire large combo pizza in a half hour. He signaled at the next intersection, waiting for a green arrow to make a left-hand turn. The Firehouse was several miles from their current location. “If you’re starving, we can stop along the way.”

  “Naw.”

  Charlie drove down Louisiana Boulevard, knowing it intersected Central Avenue within a half block of the tavern. He checked randomly in the rearview mirror for a tail.

  After a while, Gordon spoke. “That Mike Schultz guy—you’ve kept that burn phone charged so he could call, right?”

  Charlie nodded. “Think it was a waste of electricity, asking him to call if he came up with any news on Lola.”

  “Well, he’s probably still pimping. From what we heard from that waitress, though, at least he protects his women.”

  “Kind of a backhanded compliment.”

  “That’s the most he’ll get from me,” Gordon admitted.

  They pulled into the tavern’s parking lot just as the evening crowd was starting to file in, and were lucky enough to find a slot out of sight from the street. Charlie’s car was in great shape again and he was very protective.

  After placing their handguns in the glove compartment they entered the tavern, which was rowdy in a good way at that hour. There were two tables occupied by a group of firemen apparently having a just off-shift dinner, Charlie guessed from the uniforms.

  Charlie looked around, trying to see if Meg, the redheaded waitress they’d spoken to before, was working. Not seeing her, he caught up with Gordon, who’d found an empty table against the wall,
looking out into the room.

  “Guess we have to break in a new waitress,” Charlie announced, sitting down.

  “Speaking of breaking, there’s one of Mike’s heavy lifters coming in the door,” Gordon replied, nodding in that direction.

  Charlie looked over, saw Fernando, the buzz-cut Latin guy in the guayabera and slacks, followed by Mike Schultz, smartly attired again in a comfortable-looking tan suit, no tie.

  “Where’s Fred Flintstone?” Gordon whispered, referring to the second bodyguard, the big guy with the small forehead and bushy eyebrows.

  Charlie looked up the stairs toward the second-floor private guest locale. “Top of the stairs. He’s spotted us. Be polite. Stay cool. Be…”

  “Icy,” Gordon whispered as Mike the Pimp and his slightly smaller bodyguard strolled casually toward their table.

  Charlie noted that Mike looked a little less confident than before—almost worried.

  Not wanting to send the wrong signals, Charlie and Gordon remained seated, both nodding a greeting. Mike seemed to visibly relax. He whispered something to Fernando, who turned and walked away toward the bar.

  “Hey, guys. Mind if I join you?” Mike spoke as if they were all friends.

  “Go right ahead.” Charlie pushed back the third chair with his foot. “Have a seat, it’s your place.”

  Mike smiled, sitting down and pulling the chair toward the table, revealing a pistol in a shoulder holster beneath his jacket. He looked toward Fernando, who’d taken a seat at the bar, positioned so he could watch the door, before turning back to Charlie and Gordon.

  “We’re not here to rough up your people or you, Mike,” Charlie said softly.

  “Yeah, but you’re not the only ones looking for Lola now. Just what the hell did she get herself into? There are some punks from a downtown neighborhood being paid to track her down, and they’ve already come by here twice asking if I’d seen her. The last visit was about two hours ago, and this time they brought their boss, some fancy-dressing Indian dude—no offense,” he added, looking at Charlie.

  Charlie smiled, thinking this slippery pimp in the silk suit, hundred-dollar shirt, and paycheck-busting shoes was calling someone else a fancy dresser. “None taken.”