Serpent Gate kk-3

by Michael Mcgarity

  "That's what I wanted to hear," Castillo said as he dropped to his knees.

  "Give me your flashlight, Chief."

  Kerney handed it over, and Castillo tugged gently at Mabel's leash before disappearing under the porch. The pig lowered her snout and waddled willingly along.

  Kerney spent an anxious five minutes waiting for Castillo to reappear.

  Mabel came out first. She snorted once and gave herself a good shake.

  "Bingo," Castillo said as he crawled out. He stood up, reached into a pocket, and fed Mabel a treat.

  "Mabel tells me you've got a lot of product in there."

  "She told you that?"

  "She gets real exdted when she snifis out a big stash."

  "That's not possible. You and Mabel were never here," Kerney said with a smile.

  "I like your style. Chief," Alex said.

  "Good luck catching the bad guys." at the office, Kerney called the city building code supervisor, woke him up, and asked to meet him in person as soon as possible. Morris Wadley grudgingly agreed, and Kerney drove the predawn empty streets to a small residential subdivision that bordered Cerrillos Road. Built soon after World War II, it was a respectable middle-class neighborhood of pueblo-style, flat-roofed houses on good-size lots. Like most post-war developments, many of the homes had been expanded with second stories and additions as the baby boom swept the country.

  Wadley opened the door dressed in a robe and slippers.

  A pale, short fellow with baby-fine blond hair, he had sleep-filled eyes and a prominent vein in his forehead that caught Kerney's attention.

  In a dining area off the living room, Kerney joined Wadley at the table.

  "You said on the phone that you needed some information immediately,"

  Wadley said through a yawn.

  "And perhaps your help," Kerney added.

  "I want to take a look inside a building without violating anybody's constitutional rights."

  "Is the building under construction or being renovated?"

  "No, but I believe a basement has been added without benefit of a permit. Does your office accept anonymous complaints from citizens?"

  "All the time. Most neighbors don't like to get in squabbles with each other. Let's say some guy is building a carport without a permit.

  We'll get a call and go check it out."

  "What about commercial remodeling and renovation?"

  "We inspect every commercial project in the city."

  "Do you have unrestricted access to the site?"

  "You bet we do. The city ordinance gives code enforcement inspectors the authority to enter any structure for the purposes of determining compliance with building standards. It's part of the health, safety, and welfare laws."

  "What if you're denied entry?"

  "That happens a couple of times a year," Wadley replied.

  "I usually refer the problem to the city attorney and let the lawyers fight it out. In the end, we always get inside."

  "Have you ever asked for police assistance to enter a property?"

  "Once, I had to. State statutes allow it. Any structure under construction or being remodeled must pass an inspection. Police officers can be called upon to render assistance."

  "What if the construction or remodeling was completed sometime in the past?"

  Wadley smiled for the first time.

  "That doesn't matter.

  We can still inspect, if it's brought to our attention."

  "What kind of inspection do you do?" Kerney probed.

  "We go through the skin, down to the studs, into the footings if we have to-you name it. We can check the composition of the concrete pour, the wiring, plumbing, heating, the rafters-whatever. We can even order a structure to be demolished if it's deemed unsafe for occupation. That's especially important in times of a natural disaster or catastrophe."

  "Would you be willing to use a state police officer to assist in gaining entry to a building?"

  "You want to take a look around, do you?"

  "That's the idea."

  "I don't see why we can't use your people. What building do you want to take a look at?"

  Kerney filled Wadley in on the building's location.

  Wadley nodded.

  "That structure is in the Guadalupe Historic District. I know exactly where it is. I don't remember any review hearing for a building permit."

  "You'd remember?"

  "You bet I would. The code is strict when it comes to historic preservation. We're constantly battling owners who want the rules bent for old structures. We stay on top of those projects. Have to."

  "I believe the passageway to the basement may be concealed."

  "That sounds interesting," Wadley said with a smile.

  "I may do this inspection myself. If it's there, I'll find it. You still haven't told me what you're looking for."

  "Faulty wiring," Kerney answered with a grin.

  Wadley laughed.

  "When do you want to meet?"

  "The business opens at nine o'clock. I'll have a patrol officer standing by to assist you. He'll be fully briefed."

  "I'll be there with bells on." kernhy checked with his personnel before going to talk to Andy. Two agents were keeping tabs on Bucky Watson. As soon as Watson had settled into his Rancho Caballo house for the night, one agent had taken up a position at the gated entrance road, while the second kept close surveillance on Watson's house with nightvision goggles. Watson hadn't moved.

  At the art crating shop, a patrol officer watched the premises from a discreet distance. Everything was quiet.

  Kerney briefed Andy on the scheme.

  "How many men do you want to use?" Andy asked.

  "Just three," Kerney replied.

  "Two agents stationed out of sight, and a uniformed officer to accompany Wadley into the premises."

  "Narcotics agents?" Andy asked.

  "No. I don't want the slightest hint to crop up that we expected to find drugs."

  "This Wadley guy; he's willing to say the complaint was anonymous?"

  "If everything goes right, he won't have to say anything."

  "But if he's called as a witness in court, we can kiss the case against Watson good-bye."

  "Do you have a better way to squeeze Bucky?"

  "What about the money laundering angle?"

  "Joe Valdez is working on it, but it could take time."

  "What if all you find in the basement is some drug residue?"

  "My friend Mabel the pig assures me there's more than residue inside.

  I'll set up a meeting with Watson, tell him I need to ask him about Amanda Talley, and time it to coincide with the building inspection at the shop. If all goes well, I'll arrest him as soon as the drugs are uncovered."

  "You have a lot of faith in Mabel."

  "She's got a great nose."

  Joe Valdez, looking decidedly rumpled and glassy eyed from his all-night stint at work, appeared in the doorway.

  "Got a minute?" he asked.

  "Sure, Joe," Andy said.

  "What have you got?"

  "I've located the insurance agent who handles Bucky Watson's commercial accounts. He's faxing me a list of all the Matador holdings insured by his company."

  "Good work," Kerney said.

  Joe nodded his thanks.

  "This agent also insures Bucky's Rancho Caballo homes. Just as a matter of interest, I asked him if he insured any other Rancho Caballo homeowners. He carries one other policy in the subdivision, for a client Bucky referred to him. It's a Mexican corporation called Tortuga International."

  "Tortuga?" Kerney said. The word meant "turtle" in Spanish, and De Leon Juarez casino was called the Little Turtle.

  "That's right," Joe replied.

  "Anyway, I asked a buddy who works at the corporation commission to go in early and do a search on Tortuga. It's a real estate holding company with an office in the southern part of the state. The CEO's name is Vicente Fuentes, aka Enrique De Leon "Do you
have an address for the property?" Kerney asked.

  "I wrote everything down," Valdez said, handing Kerney a piece of paper.

  "That's damn good work, Joe," Kerney said.

  "I just asked the right question, Chief. By the way, Watson controls two corporations: Matador and Magia.

  I'd like to follow up to see if there's any connection to Tortuga. It may take me a while."

  "Hit it as hard as you can," Andy said, "and keep Chief Kerney informed."

  "Okay," Joe said as he cracked a tired smile and left the room.

  Andy got out of his chair, walked to the front of the desk, and perched against it.

  "I'm assuming you have everyone briefed and ready to go."

  "They're on station," Kerney answered, unwinding from his chair. His knee felt stiff and cranky. He stretched it out to ease the muscles.

  "Well, then, have at it," Andy said as he plucked the piece of paper with De Leon Rancho Caballo address from Kerney's hand.

  "I'll put a surveillance team on De Leon house."

  "Remember, De Leon got diplomatic immunity."

  "Yeah, but Vicente Fuentes doesn't. I'll think of a way to get us inside."

  "That would be nice."

  "Cut the sarcasm, Kerney." senior Patrol Officer Clyde Pratt knew exactly who was inside the art crating shop. Using the onboard computer in his unit, he'd run a record check on the vehicles as soon as each of the two men drove up, parked, and went into the house.

  It was amazing what could be learned from a license plate number these days. The registered owners were Skip Cornell and Kiko Segura, and his screen even displayed driver's license photos, which allowed Pratt to confirm their identities.

  There were no wants, warrants, or rap sheets on either man, but that didn't mean shit.

  A seventeen-year veteran of the force, Pratt had come to appreciate the new technology. It sometimes made it possible to know in advance whom you would be dealing with. Clyde thought that was fucking marvelous.

  The more you knew, the less the danger, if you stayed prepared for the unexpected.

  He released the thumb snap to his holster as he followed Morris Wadley up the stairs of the loading dock. Prom inside, Pratt could hear the harsh whine of a table saw.

  Wadley went in first, carrying a clipboard. As soon as Skip and Kiko saw Pratt, they shut down the saw.

  Interior walls in the back of the house had been removed to create an open workspace. Floor-to-ceiling racks along one wall held lumber, and there were various drills and machine tools on stands near the saw. A small office and an adjacent walk-in storage locker ran along another wall.

  Pratt noticed a lot of hand tools on tables and workbenches.

  Each could be used as a weapon.

  "What's up. Officer?" Skip asked as he pulled off his ear protectors.

  Clyde smiled and shrugged nonchalantly.

  "Nothing to worry about."

  He closed in slowly, visually scanning the men for hidden weapons. Both wore blue jeans and T-shirts with no obvious bulges. Exactly as he'd been told to do, Wadley stepped off to one side and waited. Pratt stopped walking when he reached the angle he wanted between the two men. He glanced at the hammer on a table within Kiko's reach and stayed well out of striking range.

  "We just need a few minutes of your time," Clyde said.

  "What for?" Skip demanded.

  Kiko looked ready to bolt for the front door. Pratt put his hand on his holster and Kiko froze. It was time to move Kiko and Skip outside.

  "Let's go outside," Pratt suggested.

  "I'm allergic to sawdust."

  "What in the fuck is this all about?" Skip asked.

  "Building inspection," Pratt answered.

  "Do you have a problem with that, Skippy?"

  Pratt's use of his diminutive nickname, which he hated, made Skip's face turn red.

  "You know me?"

  "I sure do. I know your friend Kiko, too. Now, let's go outside."

  Clyde smiled broadly at Kiko.

  "Don't even think of reaching for that hammer."

  Outside, Pratt stood them with their backs against the loading dock.

  Skip wanted to smoke a cigarette and Clyde suggested he could do without. Kiko kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

  Every time he moved, Clyde clamped a hand on his pistol grip and Kiko froze.

  Finally, Wadley appeared on the dock with a flushed, excited look on his face and looked down at Pratt.

  "This place is a building code disaster," he said.

  "The first floor has been ruined."

  "That's a shame," Pratt replied, staying focused on the two men in front of him.

  "There's something I think you should see, Officer," he said.

  "I'm no expert, but it looks like drugs to me. A lot of drugs in a hidden basement."

  "Don't touch anything." Clyde took his handheld radio out of the belt case and called for assistance.

  "Turn around, boys," he ordered, after he ended the transmission.

  He cuffed and frisked them while he read them their rights, and sat them both on the ground.

  "Are there really drugs inside, Skippy?" Clyde asked as he stepped back.

  "I don't know nothing about that shit," Skip replied, his face turning red.

  "How about you, Kiko? Do you know anything about drugs?"

  "I just build shipping crates. That's all."

  "Well, you're both going to have to answer a lot of questions."

  "I want a lawyer," Skip said.

  "Me too," echoed Kiko.

  "Fair enough," Clyde said.

  "But first you get a ride in a shiny new police car."

  Pratt turned the men over to an arriving patrol officer and waited for the agents to appear. As the arresting officer, Clyde needed to confirm the presence of narcotics in the building. He went in with the agents, and Wadley led them to the storage locker and a built-in shelf that swung open to reveal steps to the secret basement.

  Bundles of crack cocaine and heroin were stacked on pallets. It was a hell of a lot of dope, enough to fill the trunk of a full-size car.

  The agents did a quick test of the drugs and pegged the street value at a million plus.

  "What charges do you want on Kiko and Skip?" Pratt asked.

  "Start with trafficking," an agent said, "and then be creative."

  Like most of the shops along Canyon Road, Bucky Watson's gallery had once been a private residence.

  The interior of the building had neoclassical features accentuated by antique furniture and expensive art in ornate frames. Watson's office continued the theme.

  Behind the Shaker table that served as a desk, logs burned in a fireplace bordered by a gilt-edge Georgian surround. An old Mexican grain chest sat on sturdy legs under a window that looked out on the narrow street. On a high shelf over the window was an impressive array of Apache Indian baskets.

  Paintings by early twentieth-century Santa Fe artists and a bookshelf of art reference publications completed the decor.

  Kerney sat across the table from Bucky. Watson's eyebrows had started twitching the moment he arrived.

  He smirked at Kerney's questions, toyed with a ring, and answered impatiently.

  "Is all this rehashing necessary?" Watson said.

  "Sometimes it can jog a recollection or two," Kerney replied genially.

  "Go ahead and finish asking your questions."

  "You said Amanda attended the benefit alone. Did you see her arrive unescorted?"

  "No. That's just the impression I had. She didn't act like she was with anybody."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because she was milling around, mixing, chatting people up."

  "Did any of the men at the benefit seem interested in Amanda?"

  "Every straight man who meets Amanda is interested in her."

  "What about Vicente Puentes? Was he interested?"

  Bucky flinched slightly.

  "I don't know if he was
or not."

  "Is Puentes straight or gay?"

  "I don't know."

  "Can you put me in touch with Fuentes? I'd like to talk to him."

  "I don't know how to do that. I've only met the man a couple of times." Bucky ran his finger under the collar of his teal blue linen shirt.

  "Doesn't he own a home in Rancho Caballo?"

  "He's a member at the dub, so I suppose he does."

  "I had the impression you knew him fairly well."

  "You're mistaken."

  "I understand Fuentes is wealthy. How did he make his money?"

  "I have no idea." The phone rang and Bucky grabbed the receiver. He listened momentarily and handed the instrument to Kerney.

  "It's for you."

  Kerney took the call, and listened as the agent reported that over a million dollars in black tar heroin and crack cocaine had been found in the secret basement.

  Suppressing a smile, he expressed his thanks and handed the receiver to Bucky.

  "Are we finished?" Bucky asked as he dropped the phone in the cradle and stood up.

  "I'm afraid you have a problem, Mr. Watson."

  "What kind of problem?"

  "With the city. It appears a citation has been issued."

  "What for?"

  "Building code violations."

  "Which building?"

  "The Victorian house where you have your art crating shop. Supposedly, you gutted the inside without a permit."

  "Those jerks at the city are always trying to screw with me. I'll have my lawyer handle it."

  "There's one more problem, Mr. Watson," Kerney said, reaching for his handcuffs.

  "A large quantity of heroin and cocaine was found in the basement of the building."

  "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

  "Call it the luck of the draw," Kerney said as he stepped to Bucky, spun him around, and cuffed him. buckt's refusal to talk without his lawyer present came as no surprise to Kerney. After the lawyer arrived at headquarters, Kerney assigned four agents working in pairs to interrogate Watson. The teams switched every hour to keep the pressure on, while search warrants were executed. Officers were at the art crating shop, the gallery, the design studio, and Bucky's residence, looking for anything that could be added to the list of charges against Watson.

  Kerney hoped to overwhelm Bucky with hard evidence and force him to cooperate. Watson's two employees, Skip Cornell and Kiko Segura, were undergoing separate interrogations and being pressured to cut a deal and testify against Bucky. The chances looked good; fingerprints from both men had been lifted from the drug parcels, and the sheer volume of the stash guaranteed a felony-one fall, unless they rolled over on Watson.