by Glenn Rogers
Tuesday Morning
The thirty-mile drive from the FBI offices to Benito's Malibu estate would take about an hour, maybe a little less, depending on traffic. Alex had the radio on, an oldies station. He sang along quietly. Mostly, I thought about Monica, wondering who had her and whether or not she was safe. I found myself talking to her. I’ll find you, I assured her. Just hold on. I’ll find you.
It was the second week of August, hot and clear, with a gentle onshore breeze. As we drove up PCH, there were groups of surfers at their favorite spots along the coast. In a couple of spots, they had to compete with dolphins for the best waves. Catalina was visible in the distance, as were a couple of large oil tankers cutting across the calm waters, one going out, one coming in, to Santa Monica Bay. It would have been a nice day to go fishing off the Malibu Pier or to lay on the beach and soak up some vitamin D. But I was too distracted to really enjoy the day. All I could think about was Monica, where she was and how she was being treated.
Esposito's estate was on PCH a few miles beyond Pepperdine University, on the ocean side of the highway. There was a wide gated driveway, with the gate about fifty feet in so you could turn in and be well off the highway while you sat at the gate and waited to be let in. There was a camera and a speaker. Alex was driving his agency car. He let down the driver's side window and pushed the button on the speaker.
“Can I help you?” a disembodied female voice asked.
Alex held up his ID for the camera and said, “Special Agent Watson, to see Mr. Esposito.”
There was a pause, then the voice asked, “Do you have a warrant?”
“No. We'd just like to ask Mr. Esposito a few questions.”
“Questions about what?”
“I'll discuss that with Mr. Esposito,” Alex said. “Would you open the gate, please, so we can enter?”
In a moment, the large double gate began to swing open. Alex put the car in gear and drove onto the plush, manicured estate.
A circular drive led to parking spaces opposite the front door. We parked and went to the door. Alex knocked. Since he had the FBI ID, it made sense for him to take the lead. The door opened and a young woman that could have been Miss Mexico stood there in a small, tight black dress.
“This way, gentlemen,” she said without a hint of an accent.
The house was elegant, decorated with the same kind of ultra modern white leather and chrome furnishings Esposito, Senior had had in his office… before Monica splattered blood all over it, his own and that of two of his associates.
Miss Mexico led us through the house to an expansive tiled patio off the back of the house. The view of the coast and the ocean was magnificent.
Benito Esposito sat in a lounge chair near a large pool. Two more Latinas that would have given Miss Mexico a run for her money lay on their backs on either side of him, sun bathing in the nude. Our presence did not seem to bother them in the least.
Esposito looked up at us and gestured to two chairs that appeared to have been strategically placed opposite him. Alex handed him his card and we sat down. As we did, two very large Mexican men stepped out from the house onto the patio and positioned themselves about twenty feet apart so they could watch us. From the size of the bulges under their sport coats, it was apparent that each carried a large gun. That was okay with me. Alex and I were also well armed.
Esposito was smallish: five six, perhaps, one-forty. He had a strong jaw and deep-set eyes. Women might have thought him handsome. To me, he looked soft, pampered.
He said, “So what can I do for the FBI and his companion on this fine day?”
I smiled.
“And his companion?” Alex said.
“If he's FBI, he's out of uniform.”
I was wearing Levis, a yellow Oxford button down and my tan corduroy sport jacket.
“Mr. Badger used to be an FBI agent,” Alex said. “He's now a private investigator.”
When he heard my name, Esposito's face hardened.
“The same Mr. Badger who was involved in my father's death?” His eyes were cold, black orbs that radiated a palpable hatefulness directed at me.
“The same,” I said. “Though I'm not the one who shot him. Actually, he shot me. My associate shot your father.”
His black eyes were malevolent.
“Do you know her name?” I asked.
“Monica Nolan,” he said.
I nodded.
“Know where she is?”
“In hell, I hope.”
His throat was only about eight feet from my hands. I could have killed him quickly and easily, before the goons by the house could have gotten their weapons out and started shooting. But that would not have led me to Monica. So I sat still and contained my rage.
“I'm pretty sure she's not in hell,” I said. “The problem is, we don't know where she is because she was abducted.”
His hateful eyes searched mine.
“Know anything about that?” I asked.
“You think I had something to do with her disappearance?” Esposito asked calmly.
“I think it's a distinct possibility.”
“As does the FBI,” Alex added.
Esposito looked from me to Alex and then back to me.
He nodded thoughtfully. “In your place, I would look at me as well. But I assure you, I had nothing to do with Ms. Nolan's disappearance.”
Alex asked, “Where were you Monday morning between five and eight a.m.?
Esposito smiled. “Ladies.”
The naked girls raised up on their elbows. The one on the right said, “He was here, in bed, with us.” The other girl smiled and nodded.
I tilted my head toward the house and asked, “What about your men?”
“They are security on duty twenty-four seven. They each have their own room here, in my home. They were here. Several others can testify to that.”
“Doesn't mean you didn't hire other people to take her.” I said.
“That is true,” he said. “I could have. But I didn't. Mr. Badger, Agent Watson.” He looked at each of us as he said our names. “I loved my father. I am still mourning his untimely passing. But I am not in the business my father was in. I am not a drug dealer. I am an attorney. An ethical attorney.”
“Really?” I said. “Providing legal representation for the cartels is considered ethical?”
He didn’t respond.
“And being a sadistic little prick who likes to hurt people is considered ethical as well?” I added.
I hit a nerve. He was close to losing it. But he held on, fortifying himself against the insult. Finally, he was able to manage a smile and ask, “Am I being charged with a crime?”
“No,” Alex said. “Not at all. And we appreciate your cooperation.”
Alex and I stood.
“We'll be going now, Mr. Esposito.”
As we started across the patio toward the house, Esposito said, “I hope you find your friend Mr. Badger, in whatever condition she may be.”
I turned back and Alex stepped in front of me. “You can't afford to indulge yourself,” he said, quietly. “Save it.”
Esposito was smiling. I made my right hand look like a gun and pointed it at him. I dropped my thumb as if I were shooting him. He continued to smile, but in his eyes I could see a momentary flash of fear. I turned back toward the house. His guards had their guns out.
“Wouldn’t have made a difference,” I said to them, and walked through the house to our car out front.
Chapter 7
Tuesday Afternoon
“What do you think?” Alex asked as he pulled out of Esposito's drive onto PCH.
“I don't know. I didn't buy that crap about him mourning his father’s passing. Guy like that probably didn't give a dog fart about his old man. When daddy's dead, he takes over the family business. That's what he'd be interested in. He's probably glad Monica shot his father.”
“If that's the case,” Alex said, “why would he take Monica? Our working hypo
thesis has been that Monica was taken as a form of retaliation. If he's happy that she killed his father, why retaliate?”
“I don't know. All I know is I don't like him and I'd like to wring his neck.”
“Sure. Me, too. But that won't get Monica back.”
“I know. That's why he's still alive.”
Just then my phone rang.
“Jake, Vince. Got the files for you.”
“That was fast.”
“Like I said, she's a friend.”
“Must a good friend. You should hang on to her.”
“I'm thinking about it.”
“When can I come and get them?”
“Any time,” Vince said. “How about dinner time today?”
“Where do you want to meet?”
“Idle Spurs Steakhouse, in Barstow. Old Highway 58. Six o’clock.”
“See you then.”
Alex looked at me.
“Got all of Monica's old army case files,” I said. “Picking them up tonight at six.”
He smiled and shook his head. “How'd you manage that?”
“Old army buddy.”
“But you weren't in the army.”
I explained about the joint operations Vince and I were involved in.
“So Jessie in the DEA and Vince in the Army ... You may have as many sources as I have,” Alex said.
“Nothing better than friends in the right places,” I said.
We decided to stop at Gladstone's for lunch. I ordered a cheeseburger; Alex ordered a chicken wrap. Seventeen bucks each. Drinks were extra. Since the FBI was paying, I didn't mind.
Our drinks came. We sat quietly for a few minutes. I was angry and I was frightened. I'd find her. I was certain of it. But in what condition? That depended on who had her and why he'd taken her. I was struggling to remain detached and logical, as I needed to be, instead of giving in to rage and desperation. But I felt like I was losing the battle. I'd never felt so vulnerable before, so helpless. When Elaine was killed, I'd felt responsible, guilty, angry. But I could not remember ever feeling so helpless. Not even in battle. Someone had the woman I loved, and I had no idea who or where or even why. When I thought about the hopelessness of the situation, I wanted to lash out, to make something happen. But I didn't know who to lash out against. My pent up rage was burning me up inside.
“Would it help to talk about it?” Alex asked.
My eyes met his. I took in a deep breath.
“I don't know.”
“It might,” he said.
I looked at him. I didn't know what to say, where to begin.
“You love her, don't you?” Alex said.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“I think you've loved her a long time. You just didn't know it. Or you couldn't admit it because of your feelings for Elaine.”
I still didn't know what to say. Emotions charged through me like massive amounts of electrical voltage permeating every fiber of my being.
“Learning the truth about Elaine,” Alex said, “regardless of how painful it was, was probably the best thing that ever happened to you. The truth set you free, made it possible for you to love again.”
He was right. Everything he was saying was right.
“And just as you allowed yourself to feel love again, just as you opened yourself up to someone who really loved you, she was ripped out of your life. And you feel like if you can't get her back, you'll explode.”
I nodded, struggling with the emotion of it all.
Alex paused a moment to drink some of his Coke. Then he said, “You know, when I asked if it would be helpful to talk about it, I was thinking you might actually do some of the talking.”
I started to reply. But as I did the emotion surged upward and I realized that holding it in, containing it entirely, was the only way I could control it. Even the slightest opening, to let out just a little bit of what I was feeling, would weaken the structure containing the swirling sea of emotion. The powerful forces raging within would overwhelm the fragile fortress and come rushing out, destroying everything in their path. The only way to survive the flood was to contain it.
I realized that my eyes had become fixed on the vastness of the ocean beyond the window we sat next to. I pulled my eyes back to Alex. He was watching me. All I could do was shake my head.
Alex nodded. “Okay,” he said, and took another sip of his Coke. “I got all that stuff from my sister, by the way, the psychologist. I've got no experience whatsoever in any of that kind of stuff.”
Just then our food came. I was thankful for the distraction.
After we each took a couple of bites, Alex said, “Susan's worried about you, you know. I think she loves you, too.”
My eyes met his once more.
“Two beautiful women,” he said, shaking his head. “Both of them in love with you. One of them my sister. I don't understand it. In every other respect they seem perfectly normal. Obviously, at some deep level there's something seriously wrong with them.”
The smirk on his face as he spoke eased some of the tension within. Aside from Monica, Alex was my very best friend. I loved him like a brother. His insult made me smile. The surging emotions within subsided enough for me to speak.
“You're just jealous,” I said. “Even though you're afraid of women.”
“I'm not afraid of women,” he said, pretending to be insulted. “I supervise twenty-three female agents.”
“Sure. And if you thought one of them was interested in you, you'd become uncontrollably flatulent.”
He looked shocked for a brief moment, and then we both began laughing so hard that others in the restaurant began looking at us.
Chapter 8
Tuesday Afternoon and Evening
I'd gotten back to my office early enough to go to the gym and get in a workout on the heavy bag before having to leave for Barstow. I felt guilty for taking the time to go to the gym. I felt like I should have been out looking for Monica. But I had no idea where to look. I needed the files I’d get later in the evening. They’d help me find her. But at that moment, the best thing for me to do was to continue my rehab. Monica would have agreed. My chest was not back to normal yet, especially the right side, where I'd been shot. It still hurt to land a hard punch. I was getting some of the speed back, but I didn't have the power I'd had before. There was still a lot of work to do. Working out felt good. It took the edge off some of the rage I was struggling to contain. But I missed Monica not being there to encourage me and joke around while we worked out.
After my workout, I took Wilson for a walk and gave him a snack before getting cleaned up and dressed. The drive to Barstow would be two hours. I told Wilson I'd see him later. He woofed goodbye and went to his big pillow to chew on his giant rawhide bone. I was out the door at ten minutes to four.
As I drove, I thought about the things Alex had said, actually the observations Susan had made, about my state of mind. She was right. But regardless of how screwed up I was, finding Monica required that I control my emotions and maintain my focus. I was a trained investigator. I knew what to do and how to do it. I needed to generate enough control and professional detachment to get the job done.
My introspection and internal dialog was interrupted when my phone rang. My Wrangler had a Bluetooth system in it so phone calls came through my stereo system. Hands free. I answered, “Badger.”
“Mr. Badger, this is Kyle Dell. I visited with my cousin, James.”
“And?”
“He says he didn't have anything to do with it.”
“You believe him?” I asked.
“Before I talked with James, I met with Thrasher and explained the situation. He says to say hi, by the way, and to tell you that he's a big fan. Anyway, I explained the situation to him and said I needed him to be sure James was telling me the truth. So Thrasher met with James before James came to visit with me. Thrasher put the fear of God into him, man. James was visibly shaken when he talked to me. Thrasher explained to him that w
hether he set up the abduction of Ms. Nolan or not wasn't the issue. The issue was that he tell the truth. If he set it up, say so. Tell the truth. Thrasher threatened him. He told him that he was gonna have some people look into it. If it turned out that James set it up but lied about it, Thrasher would be around to visit him. When Thrasher comes to visit you, you're in trouble, man. So I'm pretty sure that James told me the truth.”
“So you believe that James had nothing to do with it,” I said.
“I do. I believe him. He was pissed at her and he was shooting off his mouth. And he tried. He talked to me and to one other guy. But I wasn't interested and neither was the other guy. And beyond someone like me doing him a favor, James doesn't have enough money or power to get something like that done.”
“Who was this other guy he asked?”
“Guy name of Gary. Gary Moller.”
“Know how I can get hold of Gary Moller?”
“I figured you'd want to talk to him, so I ran down his contact information.”
“Okay, hold on a minute.” I pulled off onto the shoulder and turned my flashers on. I got out a small notebook and a pen.
“Okay, go ahead.”
Kyle gave me Moller's cell phone and an address.
“That's great, Kyle. You did a good job. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, Mr. Badger. Glad to do it.”
“Please, Kyle, call me Jake.”
“Oh. Well, I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Badger, but I'm sorry, I can't do that. It's a matter of respect.”
I smiled. “Okay, Kyle. I understand. If you hear anything else about Ms. Nolan's disappearance, will you call me?”
“You bet I will.”
I thanked Kyle again and ended the call. The Moody Blues came back on the stereo. I thought for a moment about Gary Moller. Kyle had given me his cell phone. I could call him … No, I didn't want to do that. I needed to watch his eyes as I questioned him. I put a lot of stock into what I learn from looking into a person's eyes. I'd find and talk to Gary Moller tomorrow.
Traffic had snarled on the ten going through Azusa. An accident. I got to the restaurant right at six. The Idle Spur was going for the eighteen-eighties western look. I'm not sure how authentic it was, but they managed to create a nice atmosphere. I saw Vince waiting for me at the bar. I joined him. After we greeted each other, a waiter asked if we were ready to be seated. We were. Vince brought a beer with him to our table. After we sat down, Vince asked for another beer and I ordered a Diet Coke.
