Precious Cargo

by Clyde W. Ford

  “She doesn’t speak English well, but she does speak Spanish,” I said.

  I yanked open the restaurant’s door and stepped inside, nearly running over a waitress with a tray in her hands. But she smiled.

  “Be with you shortly,” she said. “Two for lunch?”

  “We can’t wait.”

  The waitress frowned. Raven stepped past her on his way to the bar. He launched into an exchange with a native fellow who sat nursing a beer. I followed the waitress. She placed her tray down on an empty table.

  “A young, attractive Mexican woman, dark hair, about this tall”—I raised my hand to my chest—“may have stopped in here to ask directions. She doesn’t speak English well. Have you seen her?”

  The waitress ignored me, instead lifting a plate of chicken enchiladas from her tray and setting it down in front of a young couple who looked as though they were sharing the dish. The spicy aroma wafted my way. My stomach growled. The waitress must have heard me. She chuckled low while continuing to set down a bowl of rice and a plate of refried beans.

  Finally, she lifted her head. “You sure you don’t want to eat?”

  I raised my hand again. “Mexican woman—”

  The waitress shook her head. “No. I haven’t seen her but it gets busy in here. Ask the owner. Maybe he knows.” She pointed toward the bar.

  By now, Raven had worked his way down a few seats. I walked up behind him.

  “Owner’s behind the bar,” Raven said. “Said he hasn’t seen Eliana come in. None of the other customers I talked to had seen her either.”

  “At least we know where to ask.”

  “The other Mexican restaurants downtown,” Raven said.

  “Familiar food. People who speak your language. I’ll take Taco Bandito and Taco Grande,” I said.

  “Leaves me with Taco del Sol and Mi Casa, Su Casa,” Raven said.

  I jumped into my car and wove my way through downtown Bellingham to Taco Bandito. I parked near the Federal Building, where a gathering was assembled with placards that read, “U.S. Out of the Middle East” and “Stop the Development of Chuckanut Ridge.” Police had erected barricades.

  I walked down an alleyway to get to Taco Bandito. The young woman behind the counter sported a crew cut and a pleasant smile. She had pierced ears, a pierced lip, a nose ring, and a pierced tongue.

  “Like, would you like to have a seat?” she said.

  I started to say, “Sorry, like I don’t speak like that dialect of English.” Instead, I pushed my way out the door and headed back up the alleyway to Taco Grande.

  Taco Grande had seats spread out onto the sidewalk. Noise from the protest across the street grew. My cell phone rang. I whipped it from my pocket and stepped away from the restaurant.

  “Nothing at Taco del Sol,” Raven said. “I’m off to Mi Casa, Su Casa.”

  “Nothing at Taco Bandito either,” I said. “I’m in front of Taco Grande.”

  I closed my cell phone and sidestepped a waiter to get inside Taco Grande. An older man with gray hair and bushy gray eyebrows rang up a sale on the cash register. He squinted as I approached him. Then he turned on a wide smile.

  “A table for one?” he asked.

  “Did an attractive young woman who doesn’t speak much English come in here within the last half hour?”

  “And you are, Señor?”

  I pulled out my wallet and flashed my license. “A private investigator looking into her disappearance.”

  The man’s hand flew to his head. He shook his head and mumbled something in staccato Spanish.

  “She asked to make a call,” he said. “I asked if it was local. She didn’t understand what I meant. I asked where she was calling. She didn’t know. I asked whom she was calling. She wouldn’t say. She gave me the number and I dialed it. It wasn’t local. An intercept said I needed to use the area code. She spoke in broken English to someone. I couldn’t hear her well.”

  “Thanks,” I said. I turned to leave.

  “Wait,” the man said. “After she hung up she asked me for directions to Railroad Avenue.”

  “Did she say where on the avenue?”

  “No.”

  I raced to my car and got in. I started the engine but then realized I couldn’t drive straight ahead because the protest was now spilling into the street, and the police had cordoned off the intersection in front of me. I called Raven.

  “She’s somewhere on Railroad,” I said. “She made a call out of the area.”

  “To Skagit?”

  “Probably to ask Abadi to pick her up, and he gave her the meeting place. You’re almost at the north end, so drive slowly south. I’ll head to the south end and drive slowly north. We’ve got to find her before Abadi or his thugs do.”

  I snapped the phone closed and made a sharp U-turn. To get to the south end of Railroad Avenue, I threaded my way through downtown Bellingham’s maddening labyrinth of one-way streets that became two-way, and two-way streets that became one-way.

  A center island ran the length of Railroad Avenue—a remnant of the railroad tracks, I guessed. I cruised along slowly, peering into storefronts and between parked cars. I hadn’t gotten far when a car horn blew. I checked my rearview mirror. A line of cars had formed behind me. So I pulled over into an empty space and fed a meter. Then I set out to cover the rest of the avenue on foot.

  Across Railroad Avenue from where I’d parked, patrons sipping coffee sat in black wrought-iron chairs around small wrought-iron tables under a large, green Starbucks awning. On my side of the avenue, the marquee of a nearby nightclub announced the coming of The Motown Cruisers, a local 60s group.

  After crossing an intersection, I looked through the store window of a gift shop I came to, but I didn’t see Eliana. Past the gift shop, I reached a seedier part of Railroad Avenue.

  A man looked furtively in both directions after stepping from an adult store. Not the boutique sex-toy shops you find in suburban strip malls, but a magazine and peep-show joint that conjured up images of flashers in trench coats. The adult store had no windows. I made a mental note that Frank Abadi might have friends in other areas of the flesh business, friends who might shelter Eliana until he could arrange for her transport.

  I walked farther down Railroad. Across the avenue, Raven also moved on foot, but in the opposite direction. We exchanged glances, then continued our separate ways. In the middle of the block, my cell phone rang. Maria Delarosa sounded cheery. A knot tightened in my stomach.

  “I found Eliana’s parents,” she said. “They’re working on a farm in central Skagit County. They’re anxious to see Eliana. Can I bring them to the boat this evening about nine?”

  I sighed. “Yes,” I said.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Eliana slipped away from Raven.”

  “What?” Maria’s voice soared to shrill heights. “I left her in your safekeeping and now you’ve lost her?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll have her back on the Noble Lady at eight.”

  “You’d better.” Maria hung up.

  I hurried across Magnolia Street to the bus station. I ducked into the waiting room. A group of kids, dressed completely in black and with dyed black hair and piercings everywhere, huddled in a corner. They glared menacingly at me as I scanned the room. I ran out of the station and almost knocked over a police officer about to enter. He held me by the shoulders to keep me from falling.

  “Sir, is there a problem?”

  “No.”

  “Are you here waiting for a bus?”

  “No.”

  “May I see some form of identification?”

  My hand went to my back pocket. His hand went to his gun.

  “Hold on, cowboy,” I said. “I’m reaching for my identification.”

  His glare reminded me of the kids in black. I handed him my PI license. He perused it carefully.

  “Can I ask what you’re doing in here?”

  “Looking for someone.”

  “Do you hav
e a description?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which is?”

  “I don’t have the time.”

  “Sir, I—”

  I started walking away. “Look, detain me or let me go.” It sounded like a line Monique might use. “But before you detain me call Detective Sergeant Ben Conrad and explain to him why.”

  He called out. “You know Ben?”

  “I do.”

  The officer said nothing more.

  I crossed back over Magnolia. Raven stood in front of a feed store.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Did you check the Horseshoe Café?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “I didn’t go into the adult shop.”

  “Food or flesh?” Raven asked.

  “Food.”

  We walked a block down then crossed over to the other side of Railroad Avenue, the corner where later this evening Danny the Pimp’s women would stumble into and out of his black van. Raven entered the Horseshoe Café first. I stepped inside behind him and whispered in his ear.

  “Far end of the counter.”

  Just at that moment, Eliana turned around. Her eyes flashed wide. She bolted from her stool into the kitchen. Raven ran after her. I raced outside and headed down the alley next to the café. Eliana never came my way. I caught up to Raven and we jogged to the street at the far end of the alley. I looked both ways but I didn’t see Eliana. I pushed Raven off to the right. I went left. When I got to the next corner, I saw the back of a young woman in blue jeans and a white T-shirt, with long dark hair swaying as she headed for a nearby crowd.

  I called back to Raven. “She’s headed for the protest at the Federal Building.” I ran in that direction.

  Several hundred demonstrators against U.S. foreign policy in the Middle East, and against unrestrained local development, milled in front of the Federal Building. They spilled into the street. On the opposite side of the police barricades, only a few counter-demonstrators held signs reading, “Terrorism Is Being Told What I Can and Can’t Do With My Land” and “Support Our Troops, Let Them Buy New Homes on Chuckanut Ridge.”

  One lone man stood in the middle of the intersection waving a sign that read, “Against the War, For the Development, Let’s Find Common Ground.” Judging by the number of people around him, I’d say that guy really had an uphill struggle. A line of police officers separated the two demonstrations—some officers on foot, some straddling motorcycles, some in cars, and some no doubt in plainclothes mixed in with both sets of demonstrators. I didn’t see Ben.

  I waited at the edge of the main demonstration for Raven, who jogged across the street to meet me. He was breathing hard.

  “I still think she’s meeting someone back on Railroad,” I said. “I’ll go into this crowd and try to flush her out. You hold back and pick her up if she comes out.”

  Raven nodded and backpedaled from the demonstration. I twisted my head in both directions, standing on tiptoes to get a better view. I waded into the thick of the crowd, where heat rose amid all the bodies. Sweat oozed from my pores. Elbows and hips pressed close to one another. I had little room to move, even less to see around me. Suddenly, an arm reached to grab mine. A woman pulled me onto the sidewalk.

  Janet Paulsen had a huge grin. “Thanks for joining us,” she said.

  “I’m looking for a young Mexican woman who disappeared into the crowd. Have you seen her?”

  “You’re working?” Janet asked.

  “To save her life.”

  Janet shook her head. “Oh no. You think—”

  “I don’t have time to talk,” I said.

  I moved with Janet farther back from the street, closer to the entrance to the Federal Building. I climbed atop the heavy black railing that fronted the building and scanned over the heads of demonstrators, between the waving signs. I caught of glimpse of a woman in blue jeans and a white T-shirt headed for the alley next to Taco Grande. I jumped down and elbowed my way through the crowd. I ducked under a police barricade. An officer yelled, “Hey, you.” I didn’t turn around.

  I sprinted toward the alley. When I got there, Eliana stood halfway down the narrow passage, transfixed, looking my way like a doe caught in the glare of headlights.

  “Eliana, stop,” I said.

  She turned and ran. I started after her. Suddenly a car’s wheels squealed and the afternoon sun reflected off the hood of a black Lexus lurching down the alley, trapping Eliana between the car and me.

  sixteen

  Eliana froze. The Lexus slowed to a crawl thirty yards away from her. She stood at least that distance from me. The windshield of the Lexus framed an image of two men. I recognized the driver as the man who’d delivered Eliana to the motel.

  I instinctively reached to the small of my back, feeling for my pistol. The driver glared at me. I stared back without flinching, even though my heart sped. I’d left my pistol on the boat. I kept my hand behind me anyway. The passenger door of the Lexus swung open and a beefy guy with a crew cut stepped out. He stood tall enough to lean his elbow on the car’s roof.

  Eliana looked at me, then to the Lexus, then back to me. I waved her toward me.

  “Walk slowly back to me,” I said.

  Eliana turned in my direction.

  “Aquí. Aquí,” the big man yelled.

  She turned back to him.

  “Aquí,” he said. He pointed to the car.

  Eliana shook her head. The man slammed his fist on the roof of the car. Eliana flinched. He whipped his index finger at her.

  “Aquí.”

  It appeared to be the only Spanish this guy knew.

  “Eliana, aquí,” I said. Okay, so I didn’t have a large Spanish vocabulary either, but at least I could use her real name and speak softly.

  She turned toward me again, but she shook her head.

  “Bitch, get your ass over here,” the big man said. “Mr. Abadi knows where your parents live, and if you don’t come back with us, we ’ll pay them a visit next.”

  “No,” Eliana yelled. She shook her head violently from side to side. “Not my parents.” She patted her chest.

  Apparently Eliana knew more English than she let on.

  “Eliana, your parents know that we have you,” I said. “We’re bringing them to see you tonight. Come.”

  Eliana turned to me and yelled. “No. Not my parents.”

  She thrust her palm toward me, then walked to the Lexus. The big man stepped away from the door. He lunged for Eliana’s arm, grabbed her, and bundled her through the passenger door. Then he yanked the rear door open and jumped in. The moment the door slammed closed, the driver gunned the accelerator. The Lexus took off like a black bullet, headed right at me.

  I had no time to turn and run. Malicious satisfaction beamed from the driver’s eyes, while Eliana’s eyes held sheer terror. “Flatten yourself against the wall,” I heard my mind say.

  The Lexus sped closer. But before I could even move, I saw Eliana lean over and lock her teeth on the driver’s hand. He tried to shake her off. The Lexus swerved. I dived for the ground on the other side. Fiberglass crunched, and metal scraped along the brick wall. The Lexus came to a stop about twenty feet from me. The passenger door flew open. So did the rear door.

  Inside the car, a man moaned, “My head. Fuck. My head.”

  Eliana tumbled out onto the ground near me. Starting to my feet, I looked up into the muzzle of a semiautomatic pistol that the big man was aiming at me.

  A moment later, two arms came out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around the big man’s neck. Raven put him into a chokehold, bending the big man back and down and squeezing tighter, like an anaconda coiling around its prey. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the big man’s gun arm, and brought his wrist down hard against my raised knee. The gun fell and I scooped it up from the ground. I reached for Eliana and pulled her to her feet.

  The big man’s faced reddened under the chokehold. Raven twisted the man’s neck slightly, then jerked hard. The man g
roaned, and when Raven let go the man crumpled to the ground.

  Raven waved me away. “Get her out of here,” he said.

  I tossed him the gun. “One still in the car, probably injured,” I said.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Raven said. He waved me away again. “Just get Eliana away from here.”

  I grabbed Eliana’s arm, and we headed out of the alley.

  ELIANA SAT AT THE GALLEY TABLE, her lips trembling like a survivor plucked from icy waters. Tears ran down her cheeks. Dinnertime hadn’t arrived yet, so I pulled a bag of tortilla chips from a cabinet above the sink.

  “You don’t have to go back to Frank Abadi,” I said.

  Eliana closed her eyes, but she said nothing. I reached into the refrigerator for a package of cheese.

  “Maria will be here this evening with your parents.”

  Eliana sighed. Her eyes closed. Her head dropped.

  I found a jar of salsa hiding at the back of another cabinet. I grated the cheese, then dumped everything in three separate bowls. I pushed the salsa in front of Eliana. She stared at the bowl, then pushed it back toward me.

  “Sorry. I’m not a good enough cook to make my own salsa.”

  The Noble Lady shuddered. Someone stepped aboard. Eliana sucked in a breath and pushed back against the seat. I held up one hand while pulling the blind back with the other.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s Raven.”

  The cabin door opened, and Raven stepped in. We stared at each other without speaking.

  I once commanded a coast guard lifeboat called out to rescue a thirty-foot sailboat that had lost its mast in storm-force winds and forty-foot seas. I put a swimmer, Seaman Eric Whitman, in the water with a line. We managed to get the shaken couple from the sailboat back to our boat. Eric stayed in the water to help them climb aboard.

  My crew hauled them in, then hustled them below for medical attention. Only I stood on deck as Eric climbed aboard. A huge gust of wind blew him from the rungs of the ladder without his line. I don’t remember thinking twice before donning a wetsuit and jumping in after Eric while I could still see him. We didn’t say much afterward. But each year at Christmas, I get a card from Eric, which reads only, “Thanks.”