CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists

by Rayna Morgan

  “How have you fared in this country?” Lea asked.

  He looked at his weathered hands again. This time, the pride in his voice was missing.

  “I can’t pretend that farm work isn’t hard. We perform repetitive picking motions, bend over for hours at a time, lift heavy buckets of produce, and operate machinery that can lead to injuries on the job. Working all day under the sun without adequate water or shade breaks leads to illness and even death.” He raised his index finger. “The number one cause of work-related death among farm workers is heat stroke.

  “A life of poverty, poor nutrition, and overwork takes its toll.” He straightened his shoulders. “Still, I know picking crops is an important occupation even if Pedro disagrees.”

  “Where can we find him, Roberto? It’s imperative we talk with him before he gets into serious trouble.”

  He waved to a place down the road. “They house the single workers in a separate compound, but you won’t find him there. This morning, I checked with a man Pedro bunks with. He told me Pedro never came home last night. To be honest, I’m not sure where he is.”

  “Does he have any friends outside the property he might stay with?”

  “There’s one boy, Juan. He worked with my nephew before finding a job bussing tables at a barbecue place in San Verde.”

  “Is there anywhere else we should look?” Lea asked. She read the hesitation in Roberto’s eyes. “We’re only concerned for your nephew’s welfare. If he tells us he’s okay, we’ll leave him alone.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “The word is out that Pedro has called for a meeting of workers tomorrow night. You might be able to talk with him there.”

  “What is the purpose of the gathering?”

  “To demand the farmers stop poisoning us with pesticides and forcing us to work when we’re surrounded by wildfires.”

  “Can we attend?” Dan asked.

  “If you're able to get past the guards at the main gate, the meeting will be held in the last house on the end.”

  “One way or another, we’ll be there.”

  • • •

  Lea and Dan sat in the car trying to decide what to do next. An old school bus rumbled along the road in front of the entrance.

  Lea watched with interest. “That transport is full of laborers. Let’s see where it goes.”

  They followed as the bus led them further away on a two-lane highway crowded by citrus groves on either side.

  Several miles later, the driver turned onto a dirt road heading west where the groves gave way to a stretch of land charred by recent wildfires and a cluster of buildings visible in the distance.

  As they got closer, a compound resembling an army facility came into focus. The living quarters were housed in wooden barracks set on brick pilings. The structures were whitewashed, but patches of grime and mildew seeped through. Wires ran overhead from poles along the road to the ends of each building. A chain-link fence standing twelve feet high and topped with barbed wire enclosed the dwellings.

  They drove to the electronic gate at the entrance to the compound. A man in khakis left the small guardhouse and walked toward them.

  “Are you folks lost?” He leaned over to peer into their car. “The public is not allowed access to this part of the property.”

  “We came to visit one of the workers, Pedro Gutierrez. We were told this is where he lives.”

  The guard stiffened. “As I said, visitors aren’t allowed.”

  A stocky man with a grizzled beard appeared from inside the compound. He had a handgun holstered to his belt. At his side was a German shepherd, growling and baring its teeth.

  “What’s the problem?” he asked the man on duty.

  “These people want to see Pedro. I told them this part of the farm is off limits to visitors.”

  The man with the dog turned to face them. “You heard the guard. Move on.”

  Lea leaned over Dan in order to be heard. “We have a message for Pedro from his aunt. We won’t take more than ten minutes of his time.”

  “The men are working. They can’t be interrupted. On your way.”

  “May I ask on whose authority we’re being told to leave?” she asked.

  “Carl Jensen, Ranch Manager,” the man barked in reply.

  Dan stared at his weapon. “What’s the gun for?”

  “Protection of the farm.”

  “Are you keeping intruders out, or keeping the workers in?” Lea asked, once again leaning across Dan.

  The manager bristled, causing the dog’s ears to pitch forward. “I won’t ask again. Please leave.”

  Lea stretched further past Dan to lean out the window. “You act like a person with something to hide.”

  Dan pushed her back to her seat and turned the car around.

  As they drove away, the manager shouted a warning. “Come around again and I’ll sic my dog on you.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After leaving the ranch, Dan took the San Verde exit off the freeway. “Let’s stop for lunch.”

  “I figured you lost your appetite as I did.”

  “No such thing. The way I see it, we've earned the right to some good, old-fashioned comfort food. Seeing all those veggies made me hungry for beef.”

  Lea clucked disapprovingly. “I can see you’re determined to clog your arteries.”

  “If you have some notion of turning me into a rabbit, forget it.”

  “I wouldn’t dare suggest you adopt healthier eating habits.”

  Dan turned onto the main street of San Verde, a small town with a working-class aura and the old-fashioned look of a movie set. The historic downtown was a blend of architectural styles from the late eighteen hundreds with a preponderance of antique stores and thrift shops.

  He parked in front of a restaurant displaying a sign boasting home-cooked meals.

  The interior was a single large room with hanging ceiling fans and pictures portraying the town’s history dotting the walls. They took a table at the window where they could watch passersby.

  Lea glanced in dismay at the menu which featured cholesterol-laden, fried food packed with calories.

  When the waitress came, Dan ordered a tri-tip sandwich, homemade chips, and a chocolate milkshake.

  The young woman turned to Lea. “And for you, ma’am?”

  Lea hesitated, but finally settled for the single item she felt she could digest. “I’ll have a small dinner salad, please.”

  “Nothing else?” The waitress sounded skeptical. “You don’t want to try our world famous barbecue?”

  Lea replied apologetically, as though an explanation was required. “I had a big breakfast.”

  When the server left, Dan laughed. “More likely you had a protein drink or nothing at all.”

  They chatted about the history of the town until the server brought their food. Dan’s sandwich came on a baguette so large it barely left room for the chips which overflowed the plate.

  Halfway through eating, Dan took notice of Lea’s fork suspended over her bowl of lettuce. “Is there a problem? You aren’t eating.”

  “I was thinking of what those workers go through to put this salad on the table.”

  “Something to consider the next time you slice a tomato. Right now, I’m more interested in the busboy clearing tables.”

  She took a peek. “Do you think he's the friend Roberto mentioned?”

  “This is the only barbecue place I saw as we drove through town.”

  “So that’s the reason you chose this restaurant.”

  Dan looked up when the waitress walked past. “My compliments to the chef. That’s the best tri-tip I’ve had since I left Texas.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll be sure to tell my father.”

  “Your father is the cook?”

  “Chief cook and bottle washer,” she replied with a hearty laugh. “Ours is a family-run business. My mother orders supplies and bakes the pastries.”

  Dan finished his meal and watched as the busbo
y moved to the table next to theirs.

  “I’m going out in back,” he told Lea. “When the waitress comes, tell her I’ve gone for a smoke and order me a slice of that chocolate cake on the menu.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “It will give me an excuse to speak to the busboy.”

  He approached the young man, ostensibly asking for directions to the smoking area. Under his breath he said, “Juan, I need to talk to you about your friend Pedro. Can you take a five minute break and meet me in back?”

  The young man stopped clearing dishes. With a slight nod, he pointed toward the hall. Dan gave Lea a thumbs-up and exited the building.

  “We’re friends of Pedro’s aunt,” Dan explained when the boy joined him on the porch. “She’s worried her nephew will get in trouble and be deported. We’re here to help. Can you tell us where to find him?”

  Juan shrugged. “I tried to help him myself, but he refused. I haven’t seen him lately.”

  “What assistance did you offer?”

  He stared into space. “When I came to this country and arrived at my place of work, the living conditions shocked me. Most workers were housed in crowded apartments and barracks or lived with other families. Some stayed in trailers. Others slept in their cars.

  “Single men like me rented space on other people’s living room floor. We used the bathroom and the kitchen according to a schedule.” He sighed heavily. “That’s not how I want to live. I was determined to get out.”

  “You succeeded. How did you manage?”

  “We were instructed not to leave the camp unaccompanied. After several failed attempts, I escaped in the middle of the night. It took me hours to walk to the safety of a friend’s place here in San Verde. That man got me this job. I told Pedro my friend could find him a job as well, but he refused.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Pedro is adamant that changes be made regarding workers’ exposure to pesticides and smoke inhalation from fires. He wants to stay in the fields to encourage people to stand up for their rights and demand protection against hazards to their health.”

  Dan handed the young man a business card. “If you hear from Pedro, tell him to call me.”

  The boy dropped the card in his pocket. “That’s the thing about Pedro. You can’t tell him anything.”

  • • •

  Between bites of cake, Dan repeated his conversation with the busboy. Then he paid the bill and they returned to his car.

  Seconds before opening their doors, they heard the sound of tires screeching on the pavement.

  “Dan, watch out!” Lea screamed.

  He fell to the ground and rolled under the car. A truck swerved, barely in time to avoid hitting him. Then the driver gunned the engine and the vehicle sped around the corner out of sight.

  Dan crawled from beneath the SUV and sat on the curb brushing dust from his pants.

  “Someone needs driving lessons,” he growled. “Don’t they make you pass a test to get a license out here?”

  Lea looked down at him. “It may have been a teenager. They’re notoriously poor drivers. Or maybe the driver was drunk.”

  “At this time of day?”

  “Unemployed people with nothing to do start early.”

  “Whatever the reason, he has no right to be driving. I’d report him if I’d had a chance to see the license plate.”

  A pedestrian sitting on the bench at the bus stop came over to help.

  He was a fiftyish man with salt-and-pepper hair worn in a ponytail and wire-rimmed glasses that sat crookedly on his nose. He offered a hand and pulled Dan to his feet. “I heard what you said but I’m not sure this was a case of recklessness.”

  Dan looked surprised. “What makes you say that?”

  “I was watching for the bus when I noticed the truck.” He narrowed his eyes creating wrinkles at the corners. “His driving was steady right up to where he had you in his crosshairs. He slowed and watched until you came around the front of the car. Before you opened the door, he increased his speed. You’re lucky he didn’t hit you full on or you’d be splattered all over the road.”

  “Are you suggesting he meant to run me over?”

  “No doubt in my mind. You were a target, not a victim of reckless driving.”

  “Did you get the license number or details about the truck? It happened too fast for me to notice.”

  “I can’t keep up with all the makes and models. People these days buy a new vehicle whenever their old one needs repairs or a better version comes out.” He noticed the ashen color of Dan’s face. “Say, you had a scare. Are you all right?”

  “I think I’ll sit a moment to calm my nerves.”

  The older man pointed toward the bench. “Take my place. My bus is coming.”

  “What’s your name in case we need to talk to you again about what happened?”

  “Ask for Whitey anywhere in town. Everyone knows where to find me.”

  After the bus pulled away, Lea sat beside Dan. “Too bad you didn't glimpse the driver. If that person was someone you recognized, you might know why they want you dead.”

  “Don’t listen to that man. I’m sure this was a simple matter of careless driving.”

  “You may try to brush this off as an accident but it coincides with our visit to Rancho Hidalgo and our efforts to find Pedro.”

  “Hold on a minute.”

  “The manager probably followed us,” she continued, ignoring his protest. “He saw us go into the restaurant and waited for us to come out.”

  “He had no way of knowing why we’re looking for Pedro,” Dan argued. “But if it makes you feel better, ask your mother to find out if Rosa told anyone at the ranch about us.”

  Lea made the call. Barbara agreed to talk with the cleaning woman and call back.

  He glanced at her, deciding whether to discuss the elephant sitting on the bench between them.

  “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering whether this is another attempt on my life.”

  “It’s a relevant question.”

  “I’ve convinced myself the incident at the boat was kids shooting firecrackers.”

  “I’m sure that’s easier for you to believe than knowing someone wants you dead.”

  “You’re discounting your own theory. If this was a second try by the same person, the timing means it can’t relate to the farm.”

  “Then you tell me what we’re dealing with,” she said in frustration.

  “Without proof, we don’t know what we’re up against. If I knew, I could determine what action to take. As things stand, either I can expect another accident if it’s true things occur in threes, or I’ve angered a faceless phantom enough to want me dead. Either way, I feel like a sitting duck waiting for the next event.”

  “I don’t blame you. I’m beginning to feel that way myself.”

  He voiced his concern. “Until I figure out the reason for what's happening, it might be smart for us to stop working together. If someone’s gunning for me, I don’t want you to be in danger.”

  “Whether we work together is not your decision to make.” She looked at him more closely. “Maybe you’re worried I won’t have your back. You prefer to run to Texas where your buddies in the Rangers can protect you.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Or are you afraid of losing another partner?”

  The color drained from his face.

  Getting no response, she felt compelled to go on. “I heard the story of your former partner. I know you felt guilty for a long time afterward, even though you weren’t with her when she was shot so you had no control over what happened.”

  He crossed his arms across his chest and offered an explanation. “Pam and I had a drink after work. On her way home, she saw a car on the side of the road. She stopped to see if the driver needed assistance. Shining her flashlight through the window, she spotted an open container of alcohol and bags of white powder. She scanned the roadside for signs of t
he driver. A man walked out of the bushes, pulling the zipper on his pants. When he saw her, he yelled for her to move away from his car. She tried to calm him and asked for identification. He pulled out a gun and shot her. Then he jumped in his vehicle and drove off. She crawled to her car and radioed for help. At the hospital, my partner reported the shooter appeared to be under the influence.” His voice faded to a whisper. “She didn’t survive the surgery.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes.

  When he finally spoke, there was edginess to his tone. “Why bring that up?”

  The pain in his eyes made her regret challenging him, but she needed to know his state of mind. “If that’s the reason you suggest we stop working together, it’s a hurdle we need to cross whether now or in the future.”

  A small frown creased his forehead. “No doubt losing another partner would have emotional and psychological consequences for me, but I don’t intend to let that happen. As far as retreating to Texas, I trust you where my back is concerned.”

  “Then what are you afraid of?”

  His tone softened. “Of letting my guard down and someone getting hurt.”

  She started to object, but he raised his hand to stop her. “And I feel bad not telling your father. I have an agreement with him to keep you safe. He won’t forgive me if something happens and he finds out I withheld information.”

  Her brow furrowed into a frown. “First, my father conspired with Paul to encourage me to avoid dangerous situations for the sake of my family. Now, he’s got you looking out for my safety. I sometimes think safeguarding me is the reason he partnered in the agency.”