“I’ll go with…the…latter.”
I tossed the gun at his side. “Good choice. You’ll need to fire a round and have Alacrán do the same, so there’s cordite residue on your hands, but I’m sure you’re aware of that, being a dirty cop and all. Oh, and I prefer that money be in cash, okay?”
He raised himself onto his elbows. “I’ll see…what I can…do.”
31
Carma
Goose’s kitchen was large enough for thirty people or more, and it was packed. A handful had migrated back to the rooftop, but most were in the kitchen celebrating.
Surreal. It was the only word I could think of to describe the situation. Angel was dead. Reno was meeting my parents. They were two things I feared may never happen. Having them both occur in the same night was inconceivable.
“Dead?” my father asked. “How can you be sure?”
“I watched him die,” Reno responded. “I was there when he took his last breath.”
For as long as I was able to remember, my dreams had been haunted by the cartel. Now, for the first time, I could sleep easily and without fear, thanks to Reno. With the burden off my shoulders, I felt weightless and energetic.
“Did you kill him?” my father asked.
“There’s an ongoing police investigation,” Reno replied. “They’ll make an announcement in the morning, if not sooner. I’m sorry, I can’t comment on how things unfolded.”
My father studied him for a moment, and then extended his hand. “Thank you.”
There was no doubt in my mind that Reno killed him. He had yet to admit it, but he didn’t have to. I could see it in his eyes. I’m sure my father could, too.
Reno shook his hand. “Anything for Carma’s safety, Sir. It was my only concern.”
My father sat, lowered his face into his hands. and then let out a long breath. He looked up. “I’m forever grateful.”
Goose sauntered to where we were and looked us over. “Eat something,” he said. “There’s enough food here for a small army.”
It wasn’t terribly late, and I preferred my parents stay and get to know Reno and the others instead of rushing off and going home. It was an opportunity I may not have again for a long time.
I gestured toward Goose. “He cooked your favorite, mother. Octopus.”
She gave him a look of disbelief. “You’re a cook?”
Where she came from, men didn’t cook. She wasn’t treated poorly by my father by any means, but she was undoubtedly subservient by nature. A man who cooked was an oddity as far as she was concerned.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I love to cook. I do it every chance I get.”
“How do you prepare your octopus?” she asked.
“I cook it in white wine and peppercorn until it’s tender, and let it sit overnight in the refrigerator. Then, I grill it over a high temperature wood fire until it has a few crispy edges.”
She smiled. “It sounds wonderful.”
“Let me make some for you,” Goose said. “Bama had me set some back, in reserve. It’ll only take a few minutes.”
“Don’t bother,” my mother replied. “I don’t want to be any more of a burden than—”
“It’s not a burden at all,” Goose said. “If you like octopus, you should love this. At least give it a try. It’ll go to waste if someone doesn’t eat it.”
“Don’t argue with him,” Reno said with a laugh. “He’s stubborn when it comes to cooking. He’s a food pusher.”
My mother gave Reno a look of confusion. “Food pusher?”
“Like a drug pusher, but with food,” Reno said with a laugh. “He forces his food on you until you try it.”
She grinned, and then took a seat next to my father at the kitchen island. “I’ll try the octopus.”
Goose retrieved some octopus from the refrigerator and disappeared through the crowd. Feeling inexplainable relief, I sat across from my parents and let out a sigh. Reno pulled out a stool at my side and took a seat. While the rest of the group mingled and told stories of the poker run, my parents explained how all they ever wanted was an opportunity to live life of normalcy.
In some respects, I felt I’d managed to prevent them from having that opportunity. I’d certainly driven them from their home in Mexico, if nothing else. After listening to the stories they told Reno, I couldn’t help but wonder if they were going to consider returning to the awful country that we once called home.
I glanced at each of my parents. “Are you considering going back? You’re not, are you?”
“Not unless we have to,” my father replied, looking at my mother for confirmation. “If that day comes, we’ll deal with it, I suppose.”
It was easy to forget that we weren’t welcome in the United States. When I remembered that fact, it made me feel ill. In reality, on any given day Reno and my new friends could become nothing more than a memory.
I could be forced to go back to a country I wanted no part of, and remain there until I could escape again, only to be imprisoned if I was caught. After the first attempt to cross the border, the second attempt was a felony with federal prison time attached.
All because I was born on the wrong side of a river. A river that separates the fortunate from the ill-fated.
Nobody’s going anywhere,” Reno said, exchanging glances between us. “You’re staying right where you are.”
I smiled at the thought.
As we were talking, Goose returned with a huge platter of octopus. Drizzled with olive oil, and sliced into bite-sized pieces, it looked marvelous. Garnished with twisted lemon wedges, he slid the delicacy between us on the island.
“Give this a try,” he said. He gave us plates, napkins and silverware, then took a step back. “I want an honest opinion.”
My mother put several pieces on her plate, draped a napkin in her lap, and reached for a fork. After one bite, she looked at Goose and smiled. “That’s marvelous. The smoky flavor is just wonderful. What brings it to give such flavor?”
“It’s the mesquite wood,” Goose said. “Reno has it shipped from Texas.”
I tried a piece, as did my father. “Where’s Sam?” I asked. “He should try this.”
“He’s up on the roof,” Goose replied. “Talking to Cash and Baker about cars.”
“He loves cars,” I said. “He’s infatuated with them.”
“Baker’s teasing him with Porsche stories.”
I looked at Reno. “Baker has a Porsche?’
“A couple of them.”
“Sam would love to see them.”
“I think Baker’s going to take him to the racetrack and let him drive it,” Goose said. “Sounds like it, anyway.”
“He’d talk about that until the day he died,” I said.
“Who’s dying now?” a gravelly voice asked from behind me.
A massive hand reached over my shoulder and picked up my fork. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, but I did, nevertheless.
Wearing his worn leather vest over faded overalls, Bama stood behind me with his sunglasses stretched over the top of his bandana. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.” He reached around me and pierced a piece of octopus with my fork. After poking it in his mouth and chewing a few times, he grinned an ear to ear smile. “Damn, that’s good. You were right, Kid.”
I laughed. “Cold day in hell, huh?”
He reached around me and poked another piece. “Stranger things have happened, I suppose.”
While Bama continued to eat my plate of octopus one piece at a time, Reno talked to my mother and father about his recently deceased friend, Porter. I scanned the group of people and took pause.
US citizen or not, at that moment in time, my life was nothing short of perfect.
32
Reno
Baker’s office was where he spent most of his mornings. Relaxing to his favorite music while keeping the company’s paperwork in order was the extent of his daily activities. I sat across from him at his
desk, getting my Monday morning briefing.
“Write up in the San Diego Tribune was pretty damned good.” Baker slid the folded day-old newspaper to the edge of his desk. “Crip’s Ol’ Lady did a damned good job on it.”
“Haven’t read it yet.”
“Cop’s getting some award for bravery. They didn’t name him, though.”
“He ought to get a medal pinned to his chest,” I said with a dry laugh. “He got shot in the line of duty.”
“That was shitty of you,” he said. “Can’t believe you did that.”
“Couldn’t take a chance on letting Alacrán escape. If he did, we’d never find him again.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “True.”
“I’ve got a question,” I said. “Carma said she had no idea you guys were coming. Said you just showed up at her parents’ house. How’d you know where to go?”
“Tito did a location on her phone. That satellite triangulation shit. Goose figured it was best that she not know. He remembered you said none of them drive, so he was afraid they might freak out and try and run if they knew they were in danger. If there were people out looking for them, it wouldn’t have ended well.”
“Should have figured it was Tito,” I said with a laugh. “That little fucker can do anything on a computer.”
“Pretty much,” he agreed.
“Happy to have your money back?” I asked.
“It’s not mine, it’s ours,” he responded. “Crip called this morning. Said the cop told him there were no leads on the bank job, and that he could consider the investigation closed. Guess there’s some type of insurance they have on thefts like that, and they need the cops to make a statement before the insurance provider pays off. He was making that statement today. Said the money’s free and clear. Now that El Alacrán’s captured, we can launder it and divide it up. It’ll make a nice mid-year bonus for sure.”
“I can sure use it,” I said.
“Going to go to Vegas and gamble your ass off?” he asked. “Hit the craps table? Poker room? Disappear for another month?”
I flipped him my middle finger. “No.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ve got a few other uses for it.”
“Like what?”
“Just some things I’m working on.”
He chuckled. “Surprises?”
“Something like that.”
He gave a nod and glanced at the front page of the paper. A large picture was divided into two equal parts. On the left was a photo of Alacrán. The other side was a grey and white cartoon-like silhouette of a police officer’s head with a question mark in the center.
I chuckled to myself at the difference between what really happened and what the general public was led to believe. I wondered how much of what the public was offered was truly false information.
“What’s the plan for today?” Baker asked. “Now that you and Crip aren’t doing drug deals?”
“There’s still a few people who know where Carma works that are either in the cartel or Alacrán’s associates. They were at Manos’ place Saturday night, and they went to look for her. At least that’s where I think they went. Can’t take a chance on them finding her there, so I’m taking her to try and get a new job.”
“I’m sure it’s tough for an illegal to get work,” he said. “Short of a cash-paying construction job, that is. What’s she good at?”
“She’s the best fucking waitress I’ve ever had.”
“Go see George at that diner Goose and Ally hang out in,” he suggested. “Where Ghost and Abby used to spend their time. Think it’s called Abby’s Place now. Get Goose to go with you. He and that fella that owns the joint are pretty close.”
I’d completely forgotten about the place. I stood and gave him a nod. “Good idea.”
“Is that where you’re headed?”
“Got a few stops to make first, but I think so.”
“Sucks that she’s in the position she’s in. I’d sure hate to be an illegal right now. ICE is going door to door and searching random busses for people without paperwork.”
Before I met Carma, I looked at everyone who crossed the border as a good part of the problem with the nation’s economy, illegal drug trade, and growing violence. I now looked at the majority of them as people who were trying to escape those three things in a country that was much worse off than the United States.
“Tell me about it,” I fumed. “Pisses me off when I think about it.”
“Good luck with the job hunt,” he said. “And give my best to Carma and her family. They’re good people.”
He was right. They were good people.
Good people in a bad situation.
33
Carma
Wallowing in sadness from losing a job that I truly loved, I stood at the home’s open garage door with a man named George, peering inside at two cars that sat side by side. One was an old-school black Mercury and the other was a gray vintage Mustang. Both were faultless, and the paint was shined to a beautiful luster.
Reno gestured to the Mustang. “That was Porter’s car. Ghost, the guy I told you about.”
He’s told me numerous tales of his friend, Porter. His story may have seemed tragic by most who heard it, but I perceived it as nothing short of a fairy tale.
“I’ll cherish it until the day I die,” George said. “Drive it every other week, just to keep it in working order.”
George was middle-aged and wore his hair in a buzz-cut. He was barrel-chested and built like a linebacker. Reno said he was a retired Marine, and he sure looked the part. I smiled and gestured toward the other car, the black Mercury.
“What about that one?” I asked.
“Brought that back from Okinawa Island, Japan,” he replied. “It sat here for years without a running engine. Porter got in running in two weeks. He was an amazing mechanic.”
“It’s sure a pretty car,” I said.
George smiled. “Thank you.”
“Miss hearing that Mustang shake the walls of the clubhouse,” Reno said. “Baker would get so mad at Ghost sometimes. That thing would cause car alarms to go off out in the street, half a block away. It’d interrupt Baker’s quiet sessions in his office.”
George pointed up the block. “Causes that BMW’s alarm to go off every time I pass that yellow house.”
Reno laughed. “Bet the neighbors love you.”
“They sure love seeing the car when it’s out,” he said proudly.
Seeing the smiles on the two men’s faces when talking about their mutual friend allowed me to displace my sorrow for a moment. I may have perceived my situation as unfortunate, but it was nothing compared to the hardship they faced in losing their close friend.
Reno pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Came by for a reason. Got something I want to run by you.”
George crossed his massive arms. “Okay.”
“Don’t know how you’ll feel about it, though.”
George grinned. “Only one way to find out.”
“Me mentioning it puts someone at risk, and it’ll take a vow of secrecy on your part to assure me that you won’t mention this to anyone. Can I trust you? Not to say anything?”
“Whatever we discuss here will stay between the three of us,” George assured him.
I had no idea what Reno was talking about, but I expected I was going to find out.
Reno cleared his throat. “Let’s say I know someone who doesn’t have any paperwork or documentation of being a US citizen, but this person needs a job. She’s the best waitress I’ve ever had the pleasure of being served by and has a charming personality. Do you know anyone who would take the risk of employing such a person?”
I feared I’d be searching for a job forever. I had no idea we were talking to George about employment. I slid my right hand behind my back and crossed my fingers, hoping he knew someone who might be able to employ me.
George glanced at me and
then at Reno. “Is this person about five foot seven? Brown hair? Hazel eyes?”
Reno smiled. “Sounds about right.”
“Pretty enough to cause an accident if she crossed the street at a traffic light?” George asked.
Reno grinned. “Sounds like you might know her.”
George leaned back and looked the two of us over. Then, he met Reno’s gaze. “I’ll be honest. Employing such a person in this day and age is a tremendous risk…”
My heart sank. He continued to speak, but I only caught every few words of what he said. It wasn’t his fault. He was right. Employing an illegal was a huge risk. Employers were fined, and even imprisoned for giving illegals jobs.
“…nor do I agree with the government’s position on the matter,” he continued. “The only people who are indigenous to the country are American Indians. Hell, my family came here from Germany, years and years ago. Pretty disappointing that we gave the Cubans the wet foot-dry foot policy for fifty years but left the Mexican population with no option that was equivalent.”
He shifted his eyes to me. “Anyone asks, you’re a San Diego native. The only one that knows differently is me. I’ll pay you in cash, once a week. You keep one hundred percent of tips, and I pay fifteen an hour in wages.”
“Oh my gosh,” I gasped. “I’ve got a job?”
“If you want it,” he said.
I nearly knocked him over with a hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
He steadied himself and hugged me in return. “It’s the least I can do.” He released me and then looked us over again. “So, are you two…together?”
Reno: Devil’s Disciples Book 5 Page 17
