CRIME OF RETRIBUTION: A Gripping Crime Mystery Full of Twists

by Rayna Morgan

  “We never knew. The manager made the arrangements.”

  “And now he uses your father’s debt to force you to comply.”

  “He told me I would earn more than working in the fields.” She lowered her head. “I’m ashamed to turn down an opportunity for my family to be free of debt but I told him I didn’t want to do it.”

  Lea reached over and took the girl’s hand. “The only shame here belongs to the manager. Before we’re through, he and other people will acknowledge that.”

  After placing their order at the window, she broached the subject she had been avoiding. “Are you aware of what happened to Pedro last night?”

  “Of course. He and I haven’t been alone to discuss it but everyone in the fields was talking about it today.”

  “Is there any truth to the speculation? Was Pedro somehow involved with the dead girl?”

  Her eyes filled with anger. “Don’t talk crazy. No one believes Pedro had anything to do with her death. Everyone gave money for his defense because they know he’s innocent.”

  “What can you tell me about the young woman? Did you know her?”

  Adriana shrugged. “Not well. I only know she came to the States by herself and that her family still lives in Mexico. She only worked in the fields for a month or two before she got another job.”

  “Where did she go?”

  “She went to work at the Sterling Club and we didn’t see her anymore.”

  The car behind them honked forcing Lea to end the conversation and move up the line.

  • • •

  The women entered the room in time to hear Dan telling the young man to trust him.

  Lea handed Pedro a bag of fast food. “You can believe what Dan says. His word is his bond.”

  Adriana rushed to Pedro’s side. He put an arm around her and held her close. “It’s all right, baby. These people want to help.”

  Leaving the couple in the conference room to eat, Lea and Dan went to Warren’s office where Dan gave Pedro’s version of events.

  “I told him we’d find a way to help,” he concluded. “He’s determined to continue his fight for workers’ rights even in the face of threats to his personal safety.”

  “Will he meet with someone at the Farm Workers’ office to put his complaints in writing? Tell him we’re eager to help but we must go through proper channels.”

  “The young man is brash. I’ll see if I can persuade him. He’s sometimes his own worst enemy but his heart is in the right place. An idealist willing to take risks to achieve what he believes in.”

  “We need more people like him,” Warren observed. “I hope you convince him to do things the right way.”

  “What do you propose we do, Dad?” Lea asked.

  He pushed the speaker on his phone and placed a call. “Ralph, I have a young man I want you to meet. I think you can help each other.”

  After finishing the conversation with the UFW agent, Warren turned to Dan. “You and Lea take the rest of the day off. I’ll accompany Pedro to meet with Ralph. When we’re finished, I’ll drive him to our condo where his aunt is waiting.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Switch the phones to the answering service before you leave. We’ll meet bright and early tomorrow morning to figure out the next step.”

  “Wait,” Lea said. “There’s more you two should hear.”

  She led them through Adriana’s story, finishing in an angry tone of voice. “The manager told Adriana she would be working for an escort service.”

  “That’s a common ploy,” her father said irritably. “Since laws forbid taking payment for sex or communicating to arrange sexual services, escort agencies claim their employees provide only a social or conversational service. Their advertisements skirt the legal line and avoid offering sex for sale.”

  “In my view, it is prostitution pure and simple,” Lea said with disgust. “From your experience, what action is taken by law enforcement to stop such activity?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid,” her father admitted. “Even when the nature of activities being conducted is known, police prefer to act against street prostitution which is more visible and problematic.”

  Lea threw up her hands. “There must be a way to prevent Adriana from doing something she’ll regret the rest of her life.”

  Warren rubbed his chin. “There is one angle to explore. While escort services are legal in California, they require a license. Escorting without a permit is grounds for arrest. Getting the proper license requires extensive background checks. I think we can assume that process is not adhered to for women recruited by the ranch manager which makes the Sterling Club culpable.”

  “Unfortunately, pursuing that angle is outside our scope of influence,” Dan pointed out. “The local authorities need to be involved. Unfortunately, unless Adriana yields to the pressure put on her by the manager, there is no crime to report.”

  “What’s being done is monstrous,” Lea declared.

  “I agree,” Warren said. “But our hands are tied until someone who has been a victim agrees to come forward. For now, our focus should be to help Pedro with his complaints about working conditions and make sure he’s not convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”

  “I’m not walking away from Adriana,” Lea insisted stubbornly. “Everyone needs to feel a sense of hope. It’s the glue that keeps people going.”

  “I’m not asking you to,” her father replied. “Show her your support and make sure she informs you of future threats or sexual harassment from her employer. In the meantime, there’s another angle for you to pursue.”

  She leaned forward. “Tell me what to do.”

  “When you spoke with Whitey, he mentioned Richard’s financial troubles and hints of money laundering. The Sterling Club is an excellent subterfuge for such an undertaking. Check public records for ownership of the business. If Carl is providing girls for the Sterling Club, I would bet my bottom dollar Richard is an owner. See if Tom can find out from federal law enforcement if they limited their money laundering investigation to the ranch. That may be another avenue to pursue.”

  He turned to Dan. “If everyone is finished eating, let’s get the ball rolling.”

  The two men departed, leaving Lea dissatisfied with her role in helping Adriana. She dialed a familiar number and tapped her foot, waiting for a response.

  Besides getting information, Lea was going to give the lieutenant a piece of her mind.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Lea couldn’t wait to get home to rid herself of remnants of ash and the lingering smell of smoke.

  She hosed her shoes before entering the house and left them outside to dry. After soaking in a long, hot bath and changing clothes, her taut nerves began to unravel. By the time her husband and son arrived, she had a casserole cooking in the oven.

  After dinner, she put Paul and Jon in charge of clearing dishes and went to the back yard. Ash from distant fires still drifted through the air. Once again, the acrid smell of smoke assailed her nose.

  At least the winds have abated which should help the firefighters’ efforts, she thought. The headlines will die with the flames and people will stop talking about the fires until the next one occurs.

  She inspected her boots, now as ash-covered as they were before she hosed them.

  I won’t forget my brush with that blazing inferno or the sight of harvesters struggling to continue working as they choked in the soot-filled air.

  Paul joined her on the patio carrying two glasses of wine. “Quite an adventure you had today. How do you feel?”

  She accepted the sherry he offered. “Physically, I’m fine. Mentally and emotionally, not so good.”

  “Being trapped in a fire is a traumatic experience.”

  “What I saw and heard about the conditions of the farmworkers upset me as much as being in the fire.”

  “Many people say the plight of migrants is not our worry.”

  “In the case of farmworkers, it should be
our concern if we have a salad with our dinner and our children enjoy eating strawberries. Without human harvesters, markets would offer fewer items in the produce section. There would be no peppers, onions, or cucumbers.”

  “Machines do some of the work,” Paul pointed out. “Carrots and potatoes have been mechanically harvested for years.”

  “Some vegetables can withstand rougher handling. Leafy and softer varieties present challenges for mechanized harvesting because of the delicate nature of the product which results in the picking and packing being done by hand. And farmers still rely heavily on people to plant and tend those crops harvested by machines.” She stared at her glass. “Most wine we drink is made from machine-harvested grapes, but grapes for champagne and sweet wines are harvested by hand to prevent damaging the fruit.”

  Paul raised his glass. “A toast to the people who picked the grapes for this wine. Now tell me what you learned that’s troubling you.”

  “For one thing, how difficult it is for migrant children to complete their schooling. Our son takes his education for granted. He doesn’t realize the advantage of attending class every day to maintain his studies.”

  Paul looked puzzled. “What children are you talking of who can’t attend school every day?”

  “The children of migratory workers are subject to frequent moves which puts those youngsters at a grievous disadvantage. Many adolescents have the added burden of working three or four hours a day to help their family earn enough money to survive. Their absence from class makes it next to impossible to stay up to par.”

  “I can understand why transient kids are more likely to struggle in school and drop out,” Paul said.

  “That’s what happened to Adriana’s brother. For her sake, I hope things change before she gives up on completing her education. ”

  “I’ve seen children working in the fields when I drive past on the freeway,” Paul acknowledged. “I barely consider the fact I see them at times when most kids are in school.”

  “Lifting farm workers out of poverty shouldn't be a burden for kids to bear.”

  “Is there any way you can help?”

  Lea ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “Perhaps I can persuade Dottie Wolf to apply her charitable efforts closer to home.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Since there were several hours of daylight left, Dan offered to take his buddy boating. He called Stacy from Woody’s hotel.

  “My friend’s in town for a couple of days. I’m taking him for a boat ride to the islands. Can you come with us?”

  “Sounds like fun but I have some new numbers for the act I need to rehearse.”

  “Too bad. There’s supposed to be a full moon. It will be wasted on Woody.”

  “Enjoy your friend while he’s here. We’ll have plenty of moons to share.”

  Her words put him in a good mood.

  A short time later, he steered his boat to the nearest island and anchored half a mile offshore. They threw their fishing lines in the water, fetched beer from the cooler, and stretched out on the deck.

  Being at sea provided relief from the chaotic fire activity on land. Dazzling shades of orange and yellow bounced off the ocean as the sun lowered in the sky matching the color of burning flames witnessed earlier. The pungent odor of seaweed replaced the acrid smell of smoke. The squawking noise of seagulls superseded the distant blare of fire engines.

  A breeze rippled the water and the gentle lapping motion of the waves relaxed Dan’s jangled nerves. He glanced at Woody, sleeping soundly with his head thrown back and his mouth hanging open. He listened to his friend snore as thoughts of Stacy flooded his mind.

  We’ll get to shore in time for me to catch her last set. I’m eager to hear her new songs.

  He watched without interest as a speedboat turned in their direction.

  I wonder if she might meet for a late night drink. Maybe I shouldn’t ask. Rushing things could be a mistake. She’s gun shy of relationships.

  His attention returned to the approaching boat.

  Surely the pilot will veer off before he gets closer.

  He wiped his sunglasses on his shirt to improve his vision. The vessel was coming straight at them. He sat up and grabbed his binoculars.

  What’s the idiot doing? The fool has no intention of changing course.

  Shading his eyes, he made out two figures, a man wearing a baseball cap at the steering wheel and another wearing a hoody who held what looked like a short fishing pole.

  The speedboat came closer, narrowing the distance between them. Dan realized with trepidation that it was no harmless pole in the hands of the second person.

  “Wake up, Woody!” he yelled. “They’re getting ready to shoot at us.”

  Roused from a sound sleep, the lawman instinctively reached for his gun.

  “Don’t bother,” Dan hissed. “Your gun’s in the cabin.”

  They ducked for cover seconds before a spit of fire blazed from the intruding craft followed by the loud crack of a rifle.

  Dan leaped to the helm and jammed the throttle forward, steering toward the far end of the island. “If I get close enough to boats anchored in the bay, our pursuers won’t risk catching bystanders in their line of fire.”

  “Good plan,” Woody acknowledged as he crawled on his belly to the cabin. “I’ll get our weapons.”

  Dan hunkered down, making himself as small a target as possible. A moment later, Woody reappeared and tossed him a handgun.

  As soon as the boat was close to shore, Dan cut the engines and both men jumped into the water. Holding their weapons above their heads, they ran inland as fast as they could.

  Allowing himself a quick glance over his shoulder, Dan watched as his assailants made a wide arcing turn and headed back to the spot where he beached the boat.

  They raced to shelter behind the rocks and fell to the ground gasping for breath as sweat poured down their faces.

  “You still running five miles a day?” Woody asked, panting.

  “Nope. How about you?”

  “Me neither. But after today, I may take it up again.” He wiped perspiration from his brow. “So who the heck is shooting at us?”

  “I suspect it’s someone who wants one of us dead.”

  “It has to be you. No one knows I’m here except my boss. I admit there are times he’d like to shoot me, except we’re short-handed.”

  They both ducked as a bullet zinged through the air, landing inches from where they were hiding.

  Dan peeked cautiously over the rocks as a boat sailed between their hiding place on the beach and the craft attacking them. After what felt like an eternity, he heard the speedboat’s engine fade in the distance.

  “I guess this proves the other incidents weren’t accidents,” he said.

  “If you staged this to test your theory, I’ll kill you myself,” Woody grumbled.

  “You’re assuming they’re after me. What about the biker whose girl you took to dinner?”

  “I left him with an eye so swollen he couldn’t see to shoot.”

  “He had friends.”

  “Jack and Pat decommissioned them. I’m sure they’re all at home nursing their wounds. But there’s no longer room for doubt, pardner. Someone is trying to kill you. And in case you didn’t notice, I was nearly collateral damage.”

  “It must be people from Rancho Hidalgo who found out I know about the drugs. Both the manager and the guards threatened Lea and me.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. Just because a rattler hisses don’t mean it’s going to strike.”

  “I agree that something doesn’t add up. Why come at me on my boat? Why not lure me to the ranch and kill me there? A place to dispose of my body where it would never be found. Besides, the last thing they want is to draw attention to the drug operation by killing me.”

  As his heartbeat returned to normal, Dan visualized his attackers. “It could be my shaky nerves but I swear there was something familiar about the one wearing a ho
ody.”

  “I suggest you figure out who it is, pronto.”

  Scanning the horizon, the only vessel they saw was filled with college-age kids in their swimsuits. They scampered back to the Dixie Cruiser and headed for the marina.

  Woody complained as they secured the boat to the dock. “Heck of a way to show me the islands.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  After listening to Dan’s account of his latest attack, Lea pulled him into the conference room. Spread on the table were files, notepads, and writing instruments in various shapes and colors.

  She picked up a marker and scribbled across the writing board on the wall. Who wants to kill Dan?

  “I take it this means you no longer view these episodes as accidents,” he said wryly.

  “People shooting a couple of rounds at your boat is hardly the same as the San Verde incident unless you call that sloppy driving as well. Next, you’ll tell me they were only trying to kill fish.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right. As repugnant as the idea is, I’m reconciled to the notion someone wants me dead.”

  “We’ll list all potential suspects,” she told him. “Then strike them off as we eliminate them.”

  “You and your lists,” Dan grumbled.

  “It’s my way of staying focused. I prefer it to your hit-and-miss manner of doing things.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted a fraction. “You fail to grasp the method in my madness.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Your so-called method is to let facts percolate inside your head until an idea spills out. In the meantime, you swagger around all confidence and conceit, acting as if you know what you’re doing.”

  “It’s a style that works for me.”

  “Hardly a methodical approach,” she said disapprovingly.

  “How about we employ your strength in the brains department and my strength in the swagger department?” he suggested. “Could be the basis for a great team.”

  “You’ve got more brains than you let on,” she suggested.

  “And you’ve got more swagger than you’ll admit to.”

  “From the hint of laughter in your eyes, I suspect you’re mocking me.”