The Girl at the Deep End of the Lake

by Sam Lee Jackson

  “Assholes don’t take care of their weapons,” he said.

  “Where’s Elena?” Blackhawk asked Jimmy.

  He nodded toward the stairs. “Taking a nap, she’s singing tonight.” He expertly poured the three beers, set them on napkins in front of each of us. Snatching three shot glasses from the overhead rack, he poured the three tequilas.

  I took a small bite of the tequila and washed it down with the beer. Nacho knocked his back all at once. Get’er done.

  “You want lime with that?” Jimmy asked Blackhawk.

  “Too late,” Nacho said putting the barrel of the Smith and Wesson up to the light and peering down the barrel. “Barrel’s pitted,” he said to no one in particular.

  Blackhawk shook his head to the offer of lime and drank a little of his beer. He swiveled around on the stool to face me.

  “Cisneros set us up.”

  “Or Benny Yoon.”

  “Yoon doesn’t have the cajones. Yoon knew if we survived we could find him if we wanted. Cisneros could disappear if he had to.”

  “He has to,” I said.

  “But Yoon,” Blackhawk continued, “has got no place to go.”

  “So we find Cisneros again, before he disappears?”

  Blackhawk shook his head, “Wouldn’t do any good. Roland is long gone now. He’ll go in deep.”

  “So we are worse off than we were,” I said. “Except,” I added, “Roland has lost five Playboy Diablos now.”

  “You’d think that would piss him off.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what does a pissed off gangbanger do?”

  “Get revenge,” Nacho said, wiping the hammer of the pistol with his shirt sleeve.

  “Against who?” I asked.

  “You,” he said.

  “Why me?”

  “Because,” he said, turning to look at me, “You are the little white bread turd that he was going to take out. Simple little drive-by, and instead he loses another boy. You are the gnat that keeps buzzing around his ear and he’ll want to swat you.”

  “Yeah,” Blackhawk smiled. “The little white bread gnat.”

  “So, he’ll try again?”

  “Oh yeah,” Nacho said, blowing down the barrel of the gun. “He’s gonna try again.”

  Blackhawk said, “So, did Emil surprise the hell out of you, or was it just me?”

  “Me too,” I said. “That girl is important to somebody.”

  “How’d he know where we were?”

  I shook my head, “Only three possible ways. One is too improbable to consider and that is he just happened to be in the neighborhood which, of course, doesn’t answer why he would help us. That leaves, he followed us or he’s following a separate thread that took him to Roland’s sister and showed up the same time we did.”

  “Don’t like coincidences,” Blackhawk said. “So he followed us. He must be very good, or we are getting really sloppy.”

  “We weren’t driving,” I said, swallowing more of the beer. “It’s not hard to tail an inexperienced man.”

  Without looking away from the pistol, Nacho said, “You know I’m sitting right here.”

  “Ninety percent highway,” Blackhawk said, meaning that it is exponentially easier to follow someone unseen on a busy highway than on city streets.

  “Still, should have spotted him.”

  “We didn’t think about being followed. No reason to think about it. But now we think about it. Why would he follow us?”

  “Why don’t you just ask him?” Nacho said, still working on the pistol.

  Blackhawk and I looked at each other, then we laughed.

  “Mouth of babes,” I said.

  35

  The sun was behind the western mountains when I parked the Mustang and walked down the hill to the pier. The store was closed and the sensor lights were just coming on.

  A man was standing in the shadows of the overhang and I put my hand on the butt of my pistol. As I reached the bottom of the steps, I turned to face him and he stepped out of the shadows. It was Eddie.

  “What are you doing skulking around in the dark?” I said.

  “You got company. Thought you might like to know.”

  I looked down the pier. It was empty.

  “What kind of company?”

  “Kind with badges,” Eddie said.

  “How many?”

  “Four. Three guys and a female cop. She’s the one that was here when that girl got pulled outa the water.”

  “Boyce,” I said. “The men?”

  “One’s a city cop, I’d bet. The other two smell like Feds.”

  I looked down the pier a long moment thinking. “Thanks Eddie, I’ll get you an old dog to kick.”

  “Had an old dog,” he said. “Could use a six-pack though.”

  I fetched a ten out of my pocket.

  “Store’s closed,” I said, handing it to him.

  He grinned, the overhead light highlighted his missing teeth. “I got a key,” he said. “But I don’t take nothin’ I don’t pay for.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  “You want I should back you up?”

  I smiled, “I’m good, but thanks.”

  “Watch yer top knot,” he said and went around the side to the door of the store.

  I went by the Moneypenney and there was a faint glow coming from the back. I kept going.

  They were on top of the Tiger Lily. I came up to the gangway and leaned to see the alarm LED light. It was blinking red. I stepped on board and turned it off where they couldn’t see me. No one on top said a word. I unlocked the sliding door and went in. I went to the refrigerator and collected five beers. I carried them out the back and up the ladder way to the top.

  Of course, it was Boyce and Mendoza and the huckleberry twins, Cummings and Pistorius.

  “Comfortable?” I asked, handing each a beer.

  Mendoza said, “Thanks.” The others didn’t say anything. Boyce just looked at me with her grey slate eyes. Yeah, I could see them in the fading light.

  I hooked another chair and moved it to where the lights were in their eyes and behind me.

  “Isn’t it wonderful that we can all get together like this?” I said.

  “Cut the bullshit,” Pistorius said, twisting the cap from his beer. He started to toss it overboard.

  “Don’t do that,” I said.

  “Do what?” he said, the cap still in his hand.

  “Don’t throw your garbage in the water.”

  He looked at me like he didn’t have a clue as to what I was saying.

  “Why not?”

  “It’s shiny and a fish will think it is food, and it will kill that fish.”

  Cummings snorted, “Jesus Christ, what are you, St. Francis of Assisi?”

  “It’s my boat,” I said to Pistorius. “If that cap goes in the water, so will you.”

  “I’m a federal agent,” Pistorius said with heat, leaning forward.

  “And I’m St. Francis of Assisi,” I said.

  “Let’s take it easy,” Mendoza said, his voice firm like a father talking to two boys tussling in the backseat. “Leave your shit in your hand,” he said to Pistorius.

  He turned to me. “We have some questions.”

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Detective Boyce,” I said.

  She suppressed a smile and drank out of her bottle.

  “Ask away,” I said, taking a drink myself.

  “Where have you been today?” Cummings asked.

  I took another drink, then leaned forward a bit.

  “See, the problem is, Agent Cummings, I think you are a class A, genuine asshole and whatever you say and however you say it, you will just piss me off. So I think it is best if Lieutenant Mendoza asks the questions.”

  Boyce ducked her head into her chest.

  Cummings started to reply, but Mendoza held up a hand and stopped him.

  He looked at me. “We have a street guy that gives us information once in a while. He tells
us that you and two others, presumably your friend Blackhawk and our mutual friend Nacho, grabbed him off a downtown city street and forced him to reveal the whereabouts of a man by the name of Cisneros. Then we have a man by the name of Cisneros showing up at the Paradise Valley Hospital ER missing his little toe. With gunpowder residue all over his foot.”

  “Guns are very dangerous. You really have to be very careful.”

  “He said he lost the toe to a lawnmower.”

  “Lawnmowers are dangerous, too.”

  Mendoza sat and looked at me. Boyce was staring out across the darkening lake, a half smile on her face.

  “Then,” Mendoza said, “A member of the Seventh Avenue Playboy Diablos was literally blown apart by a very high powered rifle just blocks from that same ER. The rifle had also blown serious holes in a concrete wall next to an apartment that had been rented by the sister of Roland Gomez. She had moved, by the way. Which is a good thing since someone chewed the place to pieces with semi-automatic weapons.”

  “Do you know where Roland Gomez is?” I asked.

  Mendoza set the untouched beer down. He shook his head, “Not yet. Cisneros says he doesn’t know him.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “I know.”

  “Anything on the girl?”

  “We talked to Mr. Escalona.”

  “And?”

  “Mr. Escalona didn’t know what we were talking about,” Boyce said, speaking for the first time. “He insisted that Ambassador Revera’s granddaughter was with her mother in Columbia. I showed him a copy of the picture you took of the girl and he said he didn’t recognize her. Said it didn’t look a thing like Gabriela Revera.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “I know,” Boyce said.

  “He’s lying,” I said to Mendoza.

  “I know,” he said.

  “How’s Melinda?” I asked.

  “No 911 calls,” she said.

  “Who’s Melinda?” Pistorius asked.

  “Unrelated issue,” Mendoza said.

  “So, where were you today?” Cummings asked.

  I looked at Mendoza, “This street guy. He pressing charges?”

  Mendoza shook his head no.

  “How about that fella with the missing toe?”

  Again, Mendoza shook his head.

  I stood. “So what is it this little get together is supposed to accomplish?”

  Mendoza stood, he looked at Cummings and Pistorius, “About what I thought it would.”

  Boyce chuckled, sipping her beer. “We were hoping that the sheer weight of the federal government coming down on you would start you whining and blubbering and then you’d sign a full confession,” she said.

  “Don’t be a smart ass, Detective, one is enough,” Cummings said.

  “What is it I’m supposed to confess to?” I asked.

  “Damned if I know,” Mendoza said turning to the stairway. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Cummings and Pistorius stood, giving me that hard federal agent look. Boyce stayed seated. The two agents reluctantly followed Mendoza down the ladder way. Boyce didn’t move. I watched the three men move down the pier toward the lights by the store. I looked at Boyce who was studying me.

  “I’m kinda hoping you have your own wheels,” I said. “But I could give you a ride if needed.”

  “I have my own wheels,” she said.

  Seeing she was in no hurry, I sat down.

  “So how’s tricks?” I asked.

  “Would you really have done it?”

  “Done what?”

  “Throw an FBI agent off the top of your boat because he threw a bottle cap into the lake?”

  “It could kill a fish.”

  “You kill fish all the time.”

  “Most of them I eat, some I let go. I don’t kill something for no reason.”

  “So would you have done it?”

  “Only way to know is if he threw it in the water. But he didn’t.”

  She nodded, “Yeah, you would have done it.”

  We looked at each other for a long moment.

  She set her beer aside and pulled a cigarette out of a pack she had in her jacket pocket.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tough shit,” she said, lighting the cigarette.

  “You really don’t have a lead on the girl or Roland?” she said exhaling a double stream of smoke from her nostrils.

  “Are we on the record, Detective Boyce?”

  “No,” she said. “You can call me Boyce tonight.”

  “Off the record, I was told that Cisneros could take us to Roland.”

  “That how he lost his toe?”

  “I’m told it was a lawnmower. But what he did was set us up.”

  “Us?”

  “Me.”

  “Were you there for the firefight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you shoot the gangbanger?”

  I shook my head.

  “What were you doing while the bullets were flying?”

  “Crouched in a corner, whining and blubbering.”

  “Who shot the dude in the street?”

  “Long-range rifle shot. I saw him hit. Blew him into vapors of blood and guts. Fifty caliber I’d guess. Didn’t see the shooter.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “Forensics called it a .50. Did you have a weapon?”

  “I’m just a regular citizen worried about a teenaged girl. Why would I have a weapon?”

  “You mean you don’t have one, like the one you don’t have on your hip right now?”

  “Yeah, like that.”

  She studied me a long moment, “Don’t you think you are in over your head?”

  “Probably.”

  Finally, she stood finishing her beer.

  “Another beer?” I said.

  She moved to the stairs, “Another time; Mendoza will be waiting for me.”

  She turned to look at me. It was full dark now and the dim lights of the marina played like highlights across her hair. The low lighting softened her face, making her even more attractive. “I was talking on the phone today to a Mexican detective I met a couple months ago at a cooperation conference.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Seeing if I could get a line on that Escalade you saw at the warehouse. Owned by Morales Trucking.”

  “Yeah?”

  “He says Morales Trucking is one of many holdings of Kamex Corporation.”

  “Kamex.”

  “Yeah, like being owned by General Electric. Probably no help.”

  She went down the stairs, then turned to look up at me.

  “Yeah,” she said after a long moment. “You’d have thrown his ass in. Damn, I wish he would have thrown that bottle cap.”

  36

  I pulled a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with ice. I poured in some Ballantine’s and added some club soda. I filled it to the top and had to lean over and sip some to lower the level. I liked the color of it. Some scotches were too dark and some too light. This was just right.

  I carried my drink out to the bow and was standing there sipping it, looking down the pier. Romy came out of the Moneypenny and stepped out on the dock. She was carrying a drink and held it out away from her, careful not to slosh it as she made the transition from boat to dock. I sipped my drink again and watched her come toward me.

  As she reached my walkway I said, “Hey.”

  “Oh,” she said, her hand coming up to shade her eyes. “You startled me. I didn’t see you. May I come aboard?”

  “Of course,” I said, moving over to take her free hand and help her onto the deck. She wore a sleeveless blouse tied in a knot just above her navel. She had on very short white, jean shorts.

  “Would you like to come inside?”

  “It’s a beautiful night, can we sit on top?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  She held onto my hand until we reached the stairway. I followed her up, admiring the tight muscles moving under
the white jean shorts.

  She stopped at the top and turned and looked down at me. “Are you looking at my ass?”

  “Be a fool not to,” I said.

  She laughed.

  I stacked the chairs from earlier and pulled two chaise lounges over toward the side for a better view of the lake.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked.

  “Gin gimlet,” she said. “Want a taste?”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t mix with scotch.”

  “I started to come over earlier, but you had company.”

  “Nothing important.”

  “They looked like the police to me. The woman is attractive, in an authoritarian way.”

  “I didn’t notice.”

  “Yeah, right,” she smiled. “What did they want?”

  I shrugged, “Another one of the Diablo Playboys was killed in a drive-by shooting, and they wanted to know if I knew anything about it.”

  “Why would you know something about that?”

  “They know I was looking for Roland.” I decided to change my construct of the Lucinda/Gabriela thing and just stick with Gabriela. “And they know I’m looking for Gabriela.”

  “Lucinda?”

  “Yeah, Gabriela.”

  “Have you found anything? I assume if you had found her, you would have told me by now.”

  “Of course. Unfortunately, I haven’t found anything.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Not much. A friend knew a guy who knew a guy that was supposed to be in tight with Roland, but it was a dead end.”

  “So what do you do now?”

  “Roland’s a crackhead so he’ll surface eventually to buy some. The cop, Boyce, has people looking for him.”

  “Maybe you should give up. Let the cops do their thing. The girl made her choice.”

  “I remember the choices I made when I was her age. They usually weren’t good ones.”

  “People are getting killed. I’m not just worried about her, I’m worried about you.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  I could see her searching my face in the dim light. For the second time inside a few minutes, I was sitting here looking at a very attractive woman with the dock lights playing across her hair, and the moonlight trailing across her body. I was on a roll.

  “Yes,” she said. “You have a very self-confident air, Jackson. Like a man with a solid center, but these are crazy people. They kill each other for a half ounce of dope. They’d kill you for your watch.”