by R. J. Jagger
The man checked the bandage on his leg and stood up to test it. Then he looked at Wilde and said something in Mexican.
Wilde questioned Jori-Rey.
“What’d he say?”
“He said you don’t owe him anything,” she said. “He wasn’t there to save you, he was there to save me. He was hoping you’d be able to kill Rojo without him having to get involved.”
Wilde exhaled.
“Tell him I know where Maria is,” he said. “She’s being held in Tijuana by a man named Poncho Pinch.”
She translated for the singer.
He looked into Wilde’s eyes and bowed his head in appreciation. Then he said something to Jori-Rey, gave her a kiss on the cheek and hobbled towards the door.
“Where’s he going?” Wilde said.
“Tijuana.”
Wilde lit a cigarette, two in fact, and handed one to Jori-Rey. Then he said, “Should we go with him?”
“Yes.”
Wilde blew smoke.
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
45
Day Ten
August 12, 1952
Monday Evening
The road to Tijuana was bumpy and rough and filled with bathroom stops and humidity and dust and a temperamental radiator that liked to bend the temperature gauge to the H. In spite of it all they made it to here, ten miles outside of town, at a one pump, broken-back gas station that said Petro in red paint on a weathered wooden sign.
The evening shadows were getting long but the air still radiated.
Jori-Rey’s skin glistened with sweat.
While a greasy man in a dirty shirt filled the tank, Wilde spotted a scorpion in the brush and wandered over to take a look.
The tail was up.
The stinger was poised.
He’d been warned.
Jori-Rey joined him, wiped her brow with the back of her hand and said, “Do you hate Sudden Dance?”
The answer came easy.
“She set me up,” he said. “She used me. Because of her I almost got killed ten times over.” He nudged the scorpion with his foot and added, “This little guy here is a lot nicer.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.”
“There’s nothing else to say. She is what she is. I know she’s your sister and all and you two are close, but that’s the way I feel. I don’t ever want to see her. I’m afraid of what I’d say.”
“She’s not all bad. There’s something she did that you’re not aware of,” she said.
“Something good?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“She came back to Denver to save you.”
Wilde wrinkled his brow.
“No, she never came back.”
“Yes she did,” Jori-Rey said. “She heard about that detective Johnnie Fingers going after you. She came back to show him she wasn’t actually dead, if it came to that. She wasn’t going to let you go down even if it meant giving up the fact that she was still alive.”
Wilde shrugged.
“If that’s true then she never made any contact with him.”
“No, but she made contact with you. She was by your side and ready to act if she had to.”
She shook his head.
“No she was never by my side. She never came back. If she told you that she was lying.”
“She was by your side,” Jori-Rey said. “She still is.”
Wilde looked at her with all the confusion he could muster and said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“There is no Jori-Rey,” she said. “There is only me, Sudden Dance.”
“You’re Sudden Dance?”
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s true.”
“Then who’s the singer?”
“He’s someone I paid money to on the side,” she said. “His job was to save me if I ever needed to be saved.”
“You mean from Rojo?”
“Yes.”
Wilde pulled up an image of Rojo’s face splattering into oblivion from a bullet.
“Well, he did his job.”
The woman took his hand and held it.
“Wilde, everything else I told you was true,” she said. “I needed you to know this last final thing. I didn’t want to have any more secrets from you. Do you hate me?”
Wilde tapped two cigarettes out of a pack, set a book of matches on fire and lit them up. He handed one to the woman, who didn’t put it to her lips.
She was motionless, waiting for his answer.
The cigarette dangled in her fingers.
Smoke twisted up.
Wilde took a deep drag, blew out and said, “Do I hate you? The truth is, I don’t know and I don’t want to know. What I do know, though, is that I’m in crazy love with Jori-Rey and I don’t ever want to lose her for any reason. So I’m just going to keep calling you that if it’s all the same to you.”
She put her arms around him and laid her head on his chest.
“Sure.”
“Good.”
He studied the horizon.
“Let’s go get your little girl,” he said. “It’s time.”
THE END
Copyright (c) R.J. Jagger
All rights reserved
R.J. Jagger is the author of over 20 thrillers and is also a long-standing member of the International Thriller Writers. He has two series, one featuring Denver homicide detective Nick Teffinger, set in modern times; and a noir series featuring private investigator Bryson Wilde, set in 1952. His books can be read in any order. For complete information on the author and his ebooks, hardcovers, paperbacks and audio books, as well as upcoming titles, news and events, please visit him at:
Rjjagger.blogspot.com
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