by Peg Brantley
“Birdie, I want to thank you for taking the time to introduce me to these people who mean so much to you, and giving me a primer in transplants. May I call you if I have any more questions?”
“My phone is always in my ear.”
Chase took that as a yes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The Preston Clinic
Monday, September 24
Bobby Carlisle pushed his sunglasses up on his head and ushered the young man into the clinic through a side entrance. “Wait over there. Someone will come and get you in a minute.”
“When do I get my money?”
“After the operation.”
“But you said—”
“After the operation.”
“I think maybe this is a mistake. I think I have changed my mind.” The kid, barely seventeen, moved to leave.
Carlisle blocked the door. He shoved his coat to the side to reveal a gun strapped to his chest. “Leaving would be a mistake. A bad one. The last one you would ever make. We have an agreement and I expect you to honor it. You know about honor?”
The kid looked at the floor. “I know honor.”
“Good. Then wait over there. It will be over sooner than you can say Immigration and Customs Enforcement.”
These lowlife criminals with accents pissed him off more and more every time. Idiots. The scum from Mexico were useful but he hated the need to interact with them.
He pulled out his cell and punched in a number. “I’ve got a possible rabbit so I need you to get the cash.” He gave the ‘eyes on you’ signal to the kid then turned his back on him. “Eight hundred.” He spun back around. “Good. See you soon.”
Pablo, or whatever his name was, had agreed on three hundred dollars for one of his kidneys. Carlisle’s “commissions” were building a nice little nest egg for his future. He had amassed a tidy sum over the years. In addition, he’d made some particularly good investments. Soon it would be time to cut and run. He hadn’t decided whether or not to share the money with his brother. Probably not. Sammy was slow and bound to lose it. Then he’d be needing a place to live. Better keep complete control and give his brother an allowance. Pay him for protection or something.
* * *
He stretched his patience for the benefit of the two men sitting across the rather broad expanse of his desk. He handled the gold letter opener in his hand like a weapon—a long thin finger tested the point. To keep his operation small meant he had to deal with the flunkies. Part of him hated this—the part where he had to have patience—but part of him loved to dip his manicured fingers in the street-smart portion of his business. It reminded him of his youth when he had survived from day to day by his wits.
“You need to do two things if you are to remain on my payroll. First, you need to try and find a brain between you and figure out what to do with the product suppliers when we’re finished with them. You’ve gotten lazy. Too many are being discovered, and eventually that will spell disaster for our work here. Second, you need to fine-tune your information related to the routine of the next heart donor. You must be prepared to bring her here on a moment’s notice.”
He scowled at the brothers. “Did you have something you wanted to say?”
Bobby looked up. “I have a question.”
When the man said nothing, Bobby plunged ahead. “Why did you have us tell the bitch where to find her sister’s body if we’re so concerned about discovery?”
“Never, ever use that kind of language in front of me again. Do you understand?”
Bobby shifted in his seat. “Yes. Sir.”
“The older sister had already gone to the police. She’s pushy and mouthy. We need her to shut up.”
The man sat back in his chair, fingered the letter opener one more time, then skewered his gaze on the two unfortunate men sitting in front of him. “Are you prepared to do the job? If you have some concerns about my requirements or your ability to meet them, I need to know. Now.”
“No, sir. We’re good.” The more diminutive of the two spoke. Maybe he knew about what happened to former employees who knew too much. Or maybe he really thought he had a handle on things. It didn’t matter. Not the time to make a change. Too much depended on information they’d already accumulated about the heart donor.
“Don’t disappoint me.” He pulled a small sheet of paper from a notebook and handed it to the small man. He smiled at the hesitancy and slight tremble before the paper was accepted. Power. Gotta love it. “This is a minor supply situation that’s in addition to your main project, but we’ve made a commitment to produce the product. You have one week to gain consent from the kid for one of his kidneys, otherwise, we will need to gain access with a less secure outcome. And you will need to have determined a preferred disposal method.”
The man pulled a file open and began to finger the pages. “We’re done here.”
* * *
“I got it, Bonehead. Quit bugging me.”
Sammy wiped his hands on his pants for the five hundredth time. “But Bobby, we got to get this right. There’s so much we gotta do, it’s confusing.”
“That’s why you’ve got me. First thing is the disposal, right? We do the same thing we did a year ago. Look for some mutilation group to hide our toss. We’ll head over to the campus and poke around. Bound to be some group of assholes there.”
“Good. That’s good. Give us a place to dump the leftovers.”
“And we’ve been following little heart girl for a few days. We’ll have the details down soon. Could be a hard snatch because she’s never by herself, but she’s just a kid. Surprise will be in our favor.”
Bobby waited a minute for Sammy to process his words. When he saw his partner, actually his older brother, blink a couple of times he figured everything had finally sunk in.
“So you’re with me then?”
“I’m always with you, Bobby. You should know that by now. You might have the brains but there’s no way you can take care of yourself in a fight.”
“You got that right. I need you.”
“Who’s our next supplier?”
Bobby unfolded the paper, laughed, then handed it over to his brother to read.
He watched as Sammy read the top line that said the best place for contact was Cobalt Mountain Books, and then moved on to the contact name. His brother looked up, eyes wide. “Really? Tom Hanks?”
“Efraín Tomás Hanks Madrigal. Kid with a name like that is gonna be an easy sell.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Aspen Falls’ Hispanic Neighborhood
Monday, September 24
Daniel and Elizabeth walked the neighborhood much like they had on Saturday, but today they were bundled against the cold. A high country storm teased the mountain town with the promise of winter and the white powder their ski slopes were known for.
“We want to try and identify another body, Elizabeth.” Daniel watched her reaction before making the decision to say more. Satisfied by what he saw he continued, “We’re not certain of a tie-in but there’s a chance it’s connected. Maybe part of a pattern. And the young man we’re trying to put a name to may have a family here who is looking for some answers.” He didn’t need to add the fact that she searched for her own answers. “Are you comfortable with this?”
“Detective Murillo—”
“Daniel, please.”
She nodded. “I am doing this—helping you—for one reason only. To find whoever is responsible for my sister’s murder. It sounds like you think I might be of some help in finding someone to identify this body. Fine. I’ll do whatever I can. As long as it leads to my sister’s murderer. Am I making myself clear?”
“Your neighbors may not like the idea of your working with the police, regardless of the reason. And you know someone is very unhappy with the fact that you are talking to us. You’ve already been warned.”
“Are you trying to scare me away, Daniel?”
He hesitated. His name on her lips threw him off track.
“I just want to make sure you know the downside. The risk. And I need to know you’re with us. With me.”
“As long as I’m comfortable with our direction—to find out why my sister died and who is responsible—I’m with you every step.”
A small dog barked and bolted in front of the two of them, then stopped to lift his leg on a tree. When he finished taking care of business he raised his head to Elizabeth who quickly knelt to pet him before he darted away.
Surprised and a little alarmed at her willingness to reach out to a strange dog, Daniel reached to pull her back to him. “You shouldn’t have done that. He could have bitten you.”
Elizabeth laughed. “That was Pedro. He’s a neighborhood dog.”
“Neighborhood dog?”
“He lives with everyone. And no one.” She looked pointedly at Daniel. “Besides, I’m pretty good at knowing how far to go without being bitten.”
“Good. Glad to hear it. Now let’s go talk to people who are here illegally. Especially if they have a loved one who is missing. Young. Male. Anyone.”
“Leave it to me.”
Elizabeth led him down a dirt alley behind businesses housed in clapboard buildings with peeling paint. Abandoned vans and rusty, dented pickup trucks filled much of the land between the buildings and the alley. Dust covered everything. Daniel knew this part of town from his days on patrol. There wasn’t a lot of crime in this area—more drunk and disorderly arrests than anything else—but still it wasn’t his favorite part of town.
At the end of the alley Elizabeth turned right and they moved into a group of men standing around on the corner, some smoking, others with their fists stuck deep in coat pockets. Daniel knew these men had missed their chance at day-laborer jobs but had nowhere else to go. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time an employer came around looking for a few more hands about midday.
Elizabeth approached one man, Daniel at her side, and spoke quietly. Wearing clean but worn jeans, even more worn boots, a t-shirt and light jacket, the man turned a sun-wrinkled, tobacco-dried face to Daniel before glancing quickly away. Daniel was pretty sure the man was a lot younger than he looked. He peered at Daniel again and tossed a cigarette butt to the ground. While his boot ground the filter longer than necessary, he shrugged and gestured down the street.
Daniel began walking in the direction the man had suggested even before Elizabeth finished her conversation with him. He had no idea where they were going but he didn’t want to waste any more time at this day-laborer pickup spot. He could taste the air. There’s a fine line between lack of hope and despair—and more than one person had crossed that line while standing on this corner.
Elizabeth pumped up next to him. “Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Aren’t you?”
“There is such a thing as courtesy. You might learn something if you gave it a try.”
“Sorry.”
“You wish these people would just go back where they came from, don’t you?”
Daniel didn’t respond.
It took a moment for Daniel to realize he’d lost his walking partner. He twisted around and saw Elizabeth, her hands on her hips with her feet firmly planted. His mama had taught him that when he saw a woman in this stance he needed to do something. Quickly. “My experience tells me that might be the best alternative for those people.”
She stood there not moving. Then her right foot began to tap.
“I have issues.”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
Daniel stopped before he said something he couldn’t take back. He dug a little deeper into his memory tapes looking for the sound of his mother’s voice teaching him about courtesy. He had some manners in there somewhere, he knew. Finally he heard his mother talking to him while he watched this beautiful, smart-mouthed woman on display.
“Maybe you can help me with them.” He only half kidded.
He watched as Elizabeth snatched a smile back before it caught. Aha! His charm succeeded even when his personal hang-ups got in the way.
“By the way, where are we going?” Daniel asked.
“We’re going to Juan’s.”
“Who’s Juan?”
Elizabeth pointed. Dirt almost obscured a neon Corona sign in the barred window. A heavy metal door, scratched and dented, marked the entry, and a battered and flaking sign indicated they’d arrived at their destination. The name Juan’s Place probably started out as a good truth-avoidance mechanism when errant husbands were met at their doors by angry wives. Somehow being at Juan’s sounded a lot better than getting drunk at the local dive. Daniel imagined that for a little while anyway, Juan took the blame.
“You should wait here. I’m not comfortable with you going in there.”
She shook her head and set her jaw. Damn, he thought. What did he do wrong now?
“Daniel, you won’t get any answers without me. So tough shit. Park your gallantry at the curb.” She opened the door and walked in.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Juan’s Place
Monday, September 24
Daniel waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the bar. Conversation that he’d heard on the other side of the door stopped while the patrons checked out the newcomers. A few whispers and low murmurs provided a decidedly different backdrop than the one prior to their entrance. The tenor of the place had changed. Tension made the air thick.
Beneath the quiet, Daniel was aware that men’s hands had slipped to their pockets—one or two to their waistbands. Daniel cursed under his breath. If they got out of here without any bloodshed it would be a miracle.
He looked around the bar. It was larger than it looked from the outside and the word “old” came to mind. Clean, but old. Not antique-treasure-old, used-old. Serviceable. He remembered something his mother used to say, “If it isn’t broke, keep using it until it is.” Apparently nothing had broken in Juan’s Place for the last fifty or sixty years.
Elizabeth crossed the expanse, weaving between a few empty tables. She approached the bartender while Daniel hurried to catch up. “I’m looking for the man who knows about the missings. Where is he?” Three men, silent and hunched over their drinks, watched Elizabeth out of the corners of their eyes without lifting their heads. The bulky man behind the bar hesitated and pretended not to hear her request, but Daniel saw him take a surreptitious glance to his right. Even deeper shadows pooled beyond the bar. Daniel could make out a row of booths along the wall, all empty except for one. A man sat alone, facing them. He gave a slight nod. The bartender then turned his full attention on Elizabeth who had repeated her request, this time a little louder, her body leaning over the bar. He pointed a beefy finger and Elizabeth didn’t hesitate.
The acceptance of them by the man in the shadows relaxed the atmosphere in the gloom, but somehow Daniel liked this even less. He touched his secured weapon with his elbow, then trailed Elizabeth.
Continuing to use Spanish, Elizabeth addressed the quiet stranger. She didn’t leave the man an inch to move and Daniel worried. Back an animal into a corner and he is likely to attack.
“My sister has been murdered and I am looking for her killer. You and I have both heard about ‘the missings’ in our community, and I’m told you know something about them. There’s a good chance whoever is responsible for their disappearance is also responsible for my sister’s death. Will you talk to us?”
The entire time Elizabeth spoke, the man’s eyes remained fixed on Daniel. Those eyes, surprisingly light in a dark Chicano face, were hot with reined-in anger. His body signaled casual, easy: the kind of end-of-the-day posture all workingmen get, whether they’ve spent hours in the sweat of manual labor or sitting behind a desk. Forget that the clock said noon, his demeanor said relaxed. But his eyes told a different story. Intense. Unrelenting.
Elizabeth paused for a moment, waiting for an answer. The man’s attention never left Daniel.
“Do you always,” he enunciated in slow, precise Spanish, “let women do your
talking?” The man did not so much as twitch. His voice remained low. Calm. “Did you leave your balls behind with your Mexican heritage?”
Daniel took a step closer. Pulled Elizabeth out of the way. Leaned in.
“My balls,” he replied in Spanish, “are where they’ve always been. Do you want to see who has the bigger pair?”
The man smiled. Then he laughed. Harder. So loud the rest of the bar once again grew silent. “I won’t work with someone who clearly denies who he is. You won’t get anything from me regardless of the beauty of the women you send ahead.” He cocked his head. “However, I’ve heard good things about someone in your department. Tell Detective Waters I will come to see him this afternoon. Tell him it’s time for me to find someone I can trust and that it isn’t you.”
Daniel sensed someone behind him. He looked over his shoulder. Five men stood ready to protect the man sitting in front of him. They were ready to put their lives and futures on the line for this arrogant bully. “Who can I tell Detective Waters to expect?
“Tell him to expect Mex.” A low flick of his right hand and his defenders went back to their tables, but Daniel knew that one miscue and things could change in a very bad way.
Not all of the men had retreated. Daniel felt the heat and energy emanating from someone who remained behind him and he reached inside his jacket.
The man called Mex spoke again. “Let these two go. They are not here to harm anyone.”
Daniel heard the slick suck of metal, a blade called home. The man who held the knife walked around to look Daniel in the face, then spit on his shoes. A defiant glare made it clear that Daniel, the enemy, had best keep an eye out. And he would not be welcome at Juan’s Place any time soon.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Aspen Falls Municipal Library
Monday, September 24
Bond pulled her SUV into a parking space at the library and turned off the ignition, then transferred her cell phone from her left ear to her right. “Daddy, I’ve been worried about you.” She pushed out of the vehicle and walked to the entrance. The two benches placed outside the library, flanked by planters that in the summertime overflowed with flowers and greenery, were empty. Bond brushed off a spot and sat down, then turned her face to the sun. Clouds formed then scattered. Bright enough to keep her sunglasses on.
