"Thank you," he said. "I thought about it after you left last night. The only thing I can think of is the information in here is about a case that we worked on together a few months ago with a horse at the track." He looked them over. "I'll see if I can't figure them out." He closed the file. "Listen, I want to take Rocky down to the Rocovich Center with me tomorrow. I called you earlier but didn't get you, so I'm glad you came by."
She sat down. "What do you mean? Why do you want to take him?"
"I want to run some more tests, and there isn't a better facility around than that."
"Ethan, you're scaring me."
He placed his hands on her shoulders. The familiar warmth that came from him traveled through her for a second.
"I'm not trying to scare you. I don't know that there is a real problem, but I don't like the labs that I've seen with Halliday, and I don't like the comparison with Rocky's. I know how much you love the boy, so let me take him down tomorrow and see if we can't get to the bottom of it."
"I'm coming with you."
"No. You're better off running your day. Let me do my job and if there is anything significant I'll call you and you can come then."
"Like hell. I'm going. I want to be with him. You obviously think there is a problem. I need to be there."
"Please, Michaela, you know that I wouldn't do anything to hurt Rocky or you. You're going to worry yourself sick while we do an exam and run more tests. Tell you what, if you'd like to come on down in the afternoon, fine. But while the vets are taking care of him and doing what they need to, just trust me on this."
With tears in her eyes, she agreed to let him take Rocky. "You better call me if there's a problem."
He wiped her tears. "You know I will. I don't anticipate one."
She nodded, silently praying that he was right.
THIRTY-THREE
ETHAN ARRIVED EARLY THE NEXT MORNING WITH his truck and trailer. It took everything Michaela had in her not to get in that truck with him.
"Promise me he'll be okay," she said, after they'd loaded Rocky into the trailer.
Ethan hugged her. "I'm only taking precautions here, Mick. It's a few tests, that's all, and I'll call you the minute I know anything."
She smiled through her tears. Silly really, she knew that. She didn't need to cry. Rocky was in good hands. The best. He'd be fine. But dammit, he was like a kid to her. All of her horses were.
Before leaving, Ethan said, "Stop worrying your pretty head. Do your thing. You've got other animals that need you. I'll call."
She nodded and watched as he drove down the dirt road until the trailer was no longer in sight. He was right. She'd work hard today and before long she'd know what was going on with Rocky. There was plenty to do after her trip to Los Angeles. Work would keep her mind off of Rocky and Audrey. She planned to give Hugh a call today to see what he'd learned about the coroner releasing Audrey's body, and when they might have a service for her. She also needed to find out the status of her trailer. First she needed to work Leo, her two-year-old. He'd just been started under saddle and she expected a champion reiner out of him. Reining was a real art form as far as she was concerned, where horses performed routines with various elements including spins, sliding stops, turns, and a gamut of difficult feats. It was her goal to win the big futurity held in Columbus, Ohio, annually. Leo had it in him to be a winner. Working with him did take her mind off of everything for a bit, as she had to place all of her focus on the young horse.
As she was putting Leo up, she heard a car coming down the road. She peered out of the breezeway and spotted Joe's minivan. He drove fast. After pulling up he rushed over to Michaela. "What are you doing today?" he asked.
"Um, what I usually do. I'm working the horses. Why? What's up? You're acting like you got a bug up—"
"No horses today. Get your purse. We're taking a trip."
"Joe! What is going on?"
"I got a lead on Bob Pratt and I knew you'd want to be in on it. You coming or what?"
"Hell yes." She jotted down a note for Dwayne that she'd be gone for a while. He was out running errands with Camden. "We'll take my truck." Joe frowned. "Come on, minivan is not my style."
"You're no fun. I thought you liked to live on the wild side," Joe replied.
"Guess I'm not quite that wild."
"You're a snob. Okay, but I'm driving," Joe said, and she tossed him the keys.
"What's this all about?" Michaela asked as they headed onto the highway. "And where are we going?"
"Malibu."
"Ugh," she replied. "Maybe I should rent a place in L.A.; I've been there, what, twice already this week. Want to fill me in?"
"Bob hung out sometimes at that fish and chips biker place up there in Malibu, right?"
"Yeah."
"The manager who was working the last time Bob was in is there today. He told one of my cousins that he thought Bob was acting strange that day he saw him with a couple of other guys. He didn't say anything else but my cousin got the feeling the bartender knew more than what he was saying. I figured that maybe I ought to go and see this guy. I figured you'd want to go, too. I know what it means to you to find out what happened with Audrey."
"Thanks, and you're right. I definitely want to find the truth. Since we're headed there anyway, maybe we could also check into this Terrell Jardinière." She'd left him a voice message yesterday about the mysterious phone call she'd received.
"Yeah. I got an address where he used to box. It's a gym in Venice. We can head there, too."
"One more thing."
"Now what!"
She laughed. At least she'd be able to take her mind off her worries around Joe. "Right. My trailer is at the Bowen ranch, plus a horse that was going to be delivered to me. Maybe if my trailer is fixed we can grab them, too."
"Whatever."
The traffic was miserable, but the company good as she and Joe chatted about his kids, her horses, his wife, politics, and his cousins. The lively conversation filled the three hours it took to finally get through the traffic, into Los Angeles, and up the PCH.
They parked in front of Mermaids. Michaela took Joe's arm and they walked into the place. Greasy, divey, with a slight musty smell, Michaela mused over the thought that this was where Bob liked to hang out. Maybe the food was good.
A handful of patrons already in various states of drunkenness at a little after twelve noon sat at the bar partaking of their choice of poisons. A couple of them looked at Joe and Michaela when they entered. The others didn't bother. The bartender, a man with long hair pulled back into a ponytail asked them what they wanted to drink. Joe ordered two beers.
They waited until the bartender put their drinks in front of them. After a few sips and some small talk between him and the bartender, Joe asked, "Is Pete around?"
"I'm Pete."
"The manager?"
"Yep."
Joe reached across the bar and shook the man's hand; he looked bewildered or irritated, maybe both. "Joe Pellegrino. You talked to my cousin Anthony. He said that you was here when Bob Pratt came in last." Joe produced a small photo of Bob.
Michaela looked at Joe. He was good.
"Yeah, so?"
"Yeah, so. My cousin says that you said Bob was acting kinda weird that day."
"Oh, you know, that just might have been him having an off day. We all have 'em."
"Right." Joe leaned back and laced his fingers together, stretching them out and cracking his knuckles. "I'm thinking that you might know if there was another reason for Bob to be acting off."
Pete hesitated. "You know I don't like to talk about people."
"Sure, sure. I understand." Joe stared him down.
The bartender caved. Michaela figured she would have, too. Joe had one piercing, mean look. "Bob was saying some weird shit, you know?"
"No. I don't. Was he drunk?"
"Nope. Not as far as I could tell. He was drinking a Coke, eating fish and chips, hanging out, but he got on this kick
about his girlfriend—"
"Cara," Michaela interrupted. Both men looked at her. "Sorry."
"I think that was her name. Anyway, he was saying that she's got cancer and how he knew it was all a conspiracy. That someone gave her the cancer."
"Cancer's not contagious," Joe said.
"Right. See why I didn't want to say anything? The man was talking crazy and he seemed really upset. My shift was over before he left."
"And that's it?" Joe asked.
"That's it." The bartender turned. "Hang on, someone else needs a drink." He pointed to the end of the bar, where a man and woman had just sat down. Joe nodded.
"Odd," Michaela said.
"You guys talking about Bobby Pratt? The vet?"
Michaela and Joe turned to see an older man looking at them—silver haired, dark brown eyes, lines on his face that made him look far older than his years. He reminded Michaela of an ancient-looking medicine man. "You know Bob Pratt?" Joey asked.
"Maybe. Who wants to know?"
Joe lowered his voice. "You ever hear of the Pellegrino and Torrino families?"
The man's face turned white. He wrapped his hand tightly around whatever it was he was drinking—whiskey, maybe some kind of rotgut. "Yeah, I heard of them."
"Thought you might have. Anyway, they wanna know."
"Oh," the man whispered.
"Well?"
"Let's get a booth."
They followed him to a corner booth across the room, where the vinyl seats were torn and cracked. Michaela slid in next to Joe, opposite the old man. "Well?" Joe said again.
"I heard that some not so good things happened to Bob."
"Do you want to elaborate?" Joe asked.
The man glanced around nervously. "I heard that some dudes took him down to Mexico and sort of…dumped him."
"Sort of dumped him. I don't know what that means."
"You know, I think they hurt him pretty bad like."
"You know who these guys were?"
He shook his head. "No, sir. Don't know."
"I don't believe you."
The man's eyes widened more. Michaela shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hadn't witnessed Joe playing the heavy before, and it made her nervous, but she trusted that he knew what he was doing.
"I swear. That's all I heard."
"Right. Let's try something different. Where did you hear this—or wait, who did you hear it from?"
"Some guy. I don't know him. Swear I don't. Look, I'll tell you what I know, okay, but don't hurt me."
"I wasn't planning on hurting you, but I got a lot of cousins."
"That's true," Michaela said before she could catch herself, then decided to sink back into the booth as Joe glared at her.
"I get the point," the old man said. "There's this place up in the hills here. You go up a few miles. Street is called Vista Cielo, go right. It's the only way you can go or you take a trip into the drink."
"I got that," Joey replied. "Go on. What's this place?"
The man lowered his voice. "It's a barn, a place where…things go on."
"What kind of things? I'm losing my patience."
The man cleared his throat. "Cockfighting. They got cockfights up there."
Michaela gasped. "What? Roosters? There are people who really do that?"
The man nodded, his craggy lips formed in a slight smile. She wanted to reach across and wring his scumbag neck. So much for the medicine man impression.
"That's sick."
Joe shot her a look that told her to shut up, and she figured that was probably a good idea right about then. What she wanted to do was throw up. The thought of that kind of cruelty nauseated her.
"Go on. Tell me where this place is and who you talked to."
The man finished the directions. "But, like I said, I don't know the guy. Some Mexican dude. There was a lot of tequila going around. Lots of people there, and I really don't know him."
"What exactly did he say?"
"I ain't so sure what he said, but know it was sumthin' like Bobby Pratt got dropped off outside of TJ and he wasn't coming back."
Now Michaela was sure she'd vomit.
Joey grabbed her hand. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" she asked as they exited the bar, leaving the man sitting there in shock.
"We're going to the cockfights, babe. We are gonna get some answers about what happened to your friend's brother. Cause that guy knows more than he's telling us."
"How do you know he's hiding something?"
He rolled his eyes at her.
"Dumb question?"
"Yeah. Wish I had a cousin close by."
"You don't?"
"Closest one is in Venice Beach. Might have him send someone out to have a talk with the geezer. But something tells me he'll be long gone the minute he sees us pull out of here. I would have shaped him up if I had it in me. But I don't believe in violence."
Michaela started to laugh.
"I don't, but even more than that, I can't stand when someone hurts an animal. I don't care if it's just a rooster. That's plain wrong."
She patted his shoulder. "And, that's exactly why we're friends."
"Let's go see if we can save some roosters."
"Let's," she replied.
THIRTY-FOUR
"I LIKED THE TOUGH GUY ACT IN THERE," MICHAELA remarked on the way to the rooster ranch or whatever the place they were headed was called.
Joey blushed. He definitely was a good guy, connected cousins notwithstanding. And, as far as she knew they weren't really connected, they just knew a lot of people. "Yeah, well."
She scowled. "What kind of person operates a cockfighting ring?"
"That's no person. It's savage. That's what it is. Man, I hate to see anyone hurtin' animals. Since having Gen, I guess I have softened a bit. And you know she loves animals, and I love watching her with them. Hey, did you call that gal yet at the autism center?"
"I've had a lot on my plate this week. You know that. And honestly, I still don't know that I'm the right person for the job. I appreciate your faith in me, but I'm so afraid I might damage one of the kids."
"Bullshit. You're afraid of how much you'll grow."
She was taken back by his words. "What do you mean by that?"
"Mickey, we've always been honest with each other. I like you. You're a good woman. But since your ex-husband made off with the rodeo queen and you weren't able to have a baby, you've been living half-assed. I know it's been a rough few years. I do. But the Michaela I remember growing up with was balls out. Pardon my mouth, but it's the truth. And lately, I've watched you let life kind of go on automatic. Start living again. Try this. You can do it. Gen loves you and the horses are good for her. They'll be good for other kids, too."
"Talk about not holding back." She looked out the window. Was he right? Had she been in auto-pilot mode? She didn't say anything for a few seconds. "Since you know how to lay down the perfect guilt trip, I suppose I could give it a try. Maybe it is time to grow, as you put it. Time to live."
"Damn straight. Hey, here's our turn."
The place was hard to find after they made the initial turn, because the road they were traveling up wound in and around with various dirt road offshoots. She wasn't sure they were even on the right road, but Joe seemed certain. Michaela started to think that the old man back at the bar had led them on a wild goose chase. Then again, he did seem to know exactly who Joey's "cousins," were, and he'd either have to be stupid or ballsy to lie.
"There it is." Joe pointed out a dilapidated house, and off to the right of it a large, but mostly rotted-out barn.
"You sure?" Michaela asked.
He nodded. "I'm sure."
They drove on past and parked. "We'll walk down and see what we can find out." It didn't look like anyone was there. No lights. No cars that she could see. Nothing. But as they neared, Joey led them off the road. "We'll go in this way."
She wanted to laugh seeing Joe all Ramboed out, as he
'd even seemed dressed for the occasion in a pair of combat boots, black T-shirt, and army pants, but she knew that they could be in real danger. Maybe she should pretend that she was a secret agent spy. One who was going to rescue a bunch of roosters.
They came up behind the house. As they did, Michaela squinted her eyes to see because of all the trees, which thankfully shadowed their movements and much of the property. "Get down," Joey said. "There's a car in the drive."
"There is?"
"Yup. Nice one, too. Lexus, I think."
"Lexus?" It was getting weirder. What kind of freakazoid drove a Lexus and ran a cockfighting operation?
"Let's go over to the barn."
They rounded the back side and went in through an area that had rotted out.
"Oh no," Michaela said, looking around. Feathers were strewn everywhere and several crates were crammed full of the poor roosters.
"Assholes," Joey muttered.
They started toward the cages when they heard voices.
"Get down, Mick. They're coming in here." Joe took her hand and they hid behind some crates. He held a finger to his lips. She rolled her eyes at him. She wasn't so stupid as to alert whoever it was coming into the barn.
Through the dim light, she could barely make out two figures. "I don't like it, man. We ain't been paid for taking care of jack. You know that job wasn't easy. You need to go and see the boss man this time. You got more pull than I do with him," one of the men said in Spanish. She thought that she recognized the accented voice—Juan Perez?
Joe looked at her and shrugged. He obviously didn't understand Spanish. She was thankful that she'd picked it up so easily as a kid.
"You know, you think I got a better connection with him, but I can't make him pay me, or you. He knows he got us, man. We the ones doing the dirty work. And what about your deal you got us into with pinche vato Benz." It was Enrique Perez. Michaela was shocked. Wasn't he supposed to be the good brother? Hugh had told her of his doubts about Juan but praised Enrique. Why would a jockey of Enrique's stature go and get involved in something so seedy?
"He's good for the dinero. He don' want no trouble. He got a lot to lose, man. I not worried 'bout him. He easy, we give him drugs, he pays us, and that's it. He don't want me to beat his ass and he don't want me to go tell the news he really a loser druggie. No man, he's no big deal. What I don't like is the boss is loaded and we been doin' a lot of bad shit, you know, for him, and he don' give us nuthin' yet."
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 39
