He lowered his head. I watched him. “Lord, we bring to you our friend Reggie. She is in trouble and is in need of your help. We know that you are a God that can do wonderous things, and you are a God that allows terrible things. Please place the grace in our hearts to accept, with peace and love, which ever you decide. Bring our little girl the peace she needs, and if you decide to leave her with us on this temporal plane, please give Jackson and myself the strength to help and guide her to become whole again. If you decide it is her time to go, give us the grace and understanding to have peace with that decision.”
Instead of an ‘amen’, he squeezed my hand.
A doctor came through the automatic doors that Reggie had disappeared through an hour earlier. He looked around, and I stood up. Father Correa stood next to me.
The doctor walked over to us, stripping the gloves from his hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “We did all we could.”
44
This time the mountain came to Muhammad. The houseboat wasn’t getting much use lately, so I was airing it out. I had the stern and aft sliding doors open, allowing a cross breeze through the main cabin. The air had a lake smell, and I realized I had been missing it. It was a cloudy day and the sun moved in and out of sight. My phone vibrated. I had a text. It was from Boyce. It said Stay there.
Why could something so innocuous irritate the crap out of me? It was typical Boyce. Not are you home? Not, I’m coming to visit.
I went to the bow and looked down the dock toward the hill that led up to the parking. The shuttle was coming down, toward me. The new kid was driving. Boyce was beside him. There was someone in the back, but I couldn’t see the face because of the cart’s canopy.
Finally, the cart came to a halt at the bottom, and the passengers stepped out. I started grinning. The mountain had come to Muhammad. Captain Mendoza followed Boyce out onto my dock. I looked back inside the boat. I must be becoming domesticated, because I was thinking I should have straightened up. I pushed that foolish thought out of my head and stood on the bow waiting. Boyce was in her Detective outfit. Tan jacket over white, long-sleeved blouse. Badge on her belt. Dark slacks that hugged her hips but were looser on her leg. Mendoza was buttoned down as usual. For some reason, against the backdrop of all these boats, he looked like an undertaker.
They reached me, and Mendoza said, “We need to talk.”
“Up top,” I said. I stepped back as they stepped on board. Boyce led the way to the top. I snagged three bottles of beer as I went through the galley. I popped the tops, then joined them topside. I handed each a beer.
“This isn’t a social call,” Mendoza said.
I pulled the canvas covers off of three chaise lounges, and shifted them around in a semi-circle. “No reason to waste a beer,” I said. Boyce was already drinking hers.
“Have a seat,” I said.
They sat. Boyce was between us.
“Good job with that microphone, everything was crystal clear. Where did you put it?”
“In a bottle of Mr. Boston. My only fear now is that when one of the regulars steals it like they steal bottles of booze every time Frank isn’t watching, they’ll get it in their windpipe and strangle on a thousand-dollar piece of electronics.”
Boyce laughed. Mendoza almost smiled.
“Well, it picked up everything very clearly. Unfortunately, it didn’t pick up a thing we can use.”
“You had Mr. Stein there. They were talking about selling stolen opioid pills on the streets.”
“Yes, and we could make a case about conspiracy, but we already have more than that on Paz.”
“Then what the hell am I doing?”
Mendoza reached into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a letter sized paper folded in half. He handed it to me.
“I haven’t been completely forthcoming,” he said. “I’m not really after Paz. We could have him anytime we wanted.” He looked at Boyce, she was watching me. He looked back to see me looking at Boyce. “Detective Boyce really hasn’t been watching Paz, she’s been watching for someone else.”
“Stein.” It wasn’t a question.
He nodded. “Mr. Stein’s real name is Sherman Kaplan. He is the financial officer for Cyntose Pharmaceutical. A Fortune Five-Hundred drug distributor. Him, and his board of directors are among the big fish we are looking for.” He nodded at the paper in my hand. “That’s a transcript of the meeting you bugged. You tell me if you read anything there that could bring an indictment against Mr. Kaplan?”
I read it. He was right. There wasn’t.
He continued, “Some time ago the DOJ warned us that some manufacturers and pharmaceutical companies were distributing opioids on a larger scale, not just to pharmacies, clinics and doctors, but to street dealers involved with organized crime. We could take down the dealers, but that would be like cutting off a limb and leaving the tree. I don’t have to tell you the money those companies have for lawyers. Without a smoking gun, prosecution could drag on for years. They came to me and asked who the logical contact for organized crime in Phoenix was? Paz was the likely connection. We had already been watching Paz for a long time. We just couldn’t get anyone inside.”
“Until now,” Boyce said.
“Until now,” Mendoza nodded. “And now we have identified Kaplan. What we need is the smoking gun. Irrefutable proof of Cyntose’s complicity.”
“How,” I asked.
“That’s your job,” Boyce said.
I just looked at her. “Really?”
“I’m afraid the Detective is right,” Mendoza said. “You’re the one inside. You know these guys, and they trust you.”
I leaned back and looked across the lake. A speed boat was ripping across the water, a thirty-foot plume rising behind him. He was a quarter mile away, but the noise was still obnoxious. I drank the rest of my beer.
“Well, crap,” I said.
45
I had set up the next meeting with Tommy four days from my last one. His idea. He said he needed a few days to round up the money. So, I was on the boat, cleaning. I was essentially killing time until it was time to drive south and meet the jerk at the club. I was swabbing down the galley when I felt the bump that made the boat rock. It had come from the aft. I peered down the hallway, and out the back door. I saw Old Eddie’s head bobbing up and down. He was tying off his fishing dinghy. I got a beer from the locker and popped it for him.
I stepped out as he was struggling up the back ladder.
“It would be easier tying off on the dock,” I said.
“Fuck the dock,” he said, pulling his skinny frame up onto the Tiger Lily.
He swung his leg over the back transom, and as soon as he got his balance I handed him the beer. He took a long, grateful swallow.
“Ain’t been home much,” he said, with a small belch.
“Still working on that Cicero Paz thing,” I said.
“Well, looks like you still have your top-knot.”
I smiled, “Come on in and set a spell.” I moved back inside and he followed. “What brings you to my humble abode?”
“Ain’t nothing humble about it. Especially compared to mine. Now, maybe compared to Pete’s it may be humble. I’m told the catfish are in the shallows at the north end, and goin’ crazy on Bowkers and shrimp.”
“Bowkers?”
He pulled himself up on a stool at the galley counter, I sat on the big yellow couch. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of that.”
“Stink bait. Hard to come by now days. You stick a frozen shrimp on a number two hook and dip it in the jar of Bowkers and the catfish eat it up. But, mind you, you need to use a dipping stick to shove the shrimp down in the stuff. You don’t want to get it on you. You do that, and you won’t have relations with a woman for a while. At least not the women you’d want to have relations with.”
“So that’s what I must have done.”
He grinned at me.
“Did you get new teeth?”
<
br /> “Just two,” he said, grinning wide to expose his teeth. “What they call implants. They had a free clinic at the mall, and I went down to check it out. The next thing I know, they’re sticking two new teeth in my head. My God, Jackson. I can eat corn on the cob now.”
“Allahu akbar!”
“What?”
“Arabic for God is great. Or, in some translations God is greater.”
“Ain’t that what them terrorists say when they’re whacking someone’s head off?”
“Yeah, some ass wipes say it before they do something terrible. Stupid to think God is on their side when they do things like that. But it’s really just words saying that God is great. A lot of dumb people think it is only used by terrorists, but hell, if you said it in Chinese or Spanish or Portuguese, or English, it would mean God is great.”
He finished his beer and cocked his head at me. “You read too much. Messes with your brain,”
I laughed. “I had the radio on. Today one idiot took a journalist to task for trying to explain the phrase. Claimed that just by using it, it made the reporter a terrorist sympathizer.”
“You have to quit listening to that shit. It’s like a worm. It gets in your head and ruins you. You need to fish more and listen to the wind. How about joining me?” He set his empty beer bottle on the counter and slid off the stool.
“I would in a heartbeat, but I have to go to Scottsdale and catch a fish of my own.”
As I watched him motor away, there was a whole lot in me that wanted to be with him.
Six hours later Nacho and I walked into the club in Scottsdale. It was a little after nine. Ass wipe Tommy was at his usual spot. We made our way over and I sat next to him. Nacho took his usual place against the wall.
The waitress came over, but I waved her away.
I leaned into him, “You got the money?”
He shifted around to look more directly at me. He took a white envelope from his jacket pocket and handed it to me. I opened it and looked inside. Inside was a cashier’s check for one hundred thousand dollars. I handed it back.
“My associates only deal in cash,” I said.
It was at this moment that the DJ started a big, crashing piece of noise someone considered music. Tommy’s face was shocked. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said angrily.
“That document,” I explained, pointing at the check, “can be traced back to the bank that issued it, and therefore can be traced back to you. Cash can’t be traced.”
“You’re joking!”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“How the hell do I get cash?”
“Not as hard as me getting gold.”
He sat back, staring at me. I met his gaze without wavering. We had already figured this out. Our guesses were right.
Finally, he said, “Tomorrow night, same time.” He pushed himself up and around the table and stormed out.
I looked at Nacho. He winked at me.
46
Nacho and I walked in the club just about twenty-four hours later. Tommy was waiting. He had a package on his table. The place was noisy and packed. It must not be a school night. Almost everyone there looked like college kids.
I was carrying the .45 caliber Kahr in a shoulder holster. I followed Nacho through the crowd. The kids parted like the Red Sea. I sat next to Tommy and Nacho took his place against the wall. I looked over the room. I waved at the waitress. I saw Tommy’s eye flit to the gun under my jacket as it opened slightly as I waved.
The waitress came right over. The way I had been tipping, I was one of her favorite customers. I ordered a Johnnie Blue. I pointed at Tommy’s untouched drink, “Get him another.” He didn’t protest.
I nodded at the box. “That it?”
He slid it to me. “Want to count it?”
“You bet your ass I’ll count it, but not in here. You are too smart to stiff me. If it’s short, you’re done. I sure as hell won’t give it to my guys short. That’s a fast way to a bullet in the brain.”
“Open the box,” he said.
I waited for the waitress to deliver the drinks. When she moved away, I slid the top of the box open. Inside were neat stacks of hundred-dollar bills. I dug down deep, and pulled out a stack from near the bottom. I slid one bill out and studied it. I held it toward the light, looking for the water-mark imprint of Benjamin Franklin that would verify its authenticity. It was there. I placed the bill back in the stack and the stack back in the box. I closed the lid.
“I had a helluva time with the bank, getting those,” He said. He took a drink. “
“I can imagine. But, that’s the way it has to be.”
He nodded. He understood. He’d have done the same thing. “The goddam manager had to cover his ass and call his boss, and the boss was tied up, so I ended up waiting for over an hour, so they could clear the bills.”
“It’ll be worth it,” I said.
“How long you think, before we get the gold?”
I sat back, more relaxed now that I saw he had the money. “This isn’t going to be overnight. Keep in mind the gold is mostly dust and you have to sift tons of tailings to get any at all. That Pete guy was lucky he got so much so fast.”
“I’m having seconds thoughts,” he said.
“Second thoughts?”
“Yeah. I don’t even know how to get in touch with you. You could just walk out with the money, and poof!”
I was nodding. “Yeah, that’s true. But, you didn’t just think of that. If you want your money back, here it is.” I touched the box. He was looking at me, making up his mind.
He put a hand on the box, “I want to see the operation in action. I want you to take me to it, so I can see it work, then you get the money.”
I grinned at him. “What? You don’t trust me?”
“Hell no, I don’t trust you. I’ve got just about every penny I could get together in that box. If you are scamming me, I’ll shoot you myself.” He pulled his jacket back to expose, what looked like a Glock in a shoulder holster.
“Don’t worry,” I laughed. “You’re going to be rich.”
“Well, let’s go then.”
Nacho came over to us and said, “Heads up.”
I looked at him, and he was looking toward the door. Coming in the door was Blackhawk and Pete, with Boyce bringing up the rear. Blackhawk and Pete were wearing cheap suits with a badge pinned to the lapel. Boyce had a crisp white blouse with her holstered pistol and her badge on her belt for all to see. She also sported a blond wig that made her look like a Dolly Parton action doll.
“Shit!” I exclaimed. Tommy swung around to look.
“Hey, that’s…”
“The asshole’s a cop, I’ve been had,” I said. I looked at Nacho, “Get him out of here,” I said.
Nacho grabbed Tommy by the arm and pulled him up, “Come on, we gotta go.”
“What the hell?” Tommy said.
“Out the back way,” I shouted.
Blackhawk had spotted us and they were making their way through the crowd, shoving those that didn’t move fast enough. Nacho began dragging Tommy toward the back hall which led to an emergency fire door. I stood and slowly raised my hands. Blackhawk had a revolver in his hand. Pete had taken his badge from his lapel and was waving it around like he meant business. His other hand was on the handle of the empty Glock he had holstered on his belt. The box of money was on the table.
“You are under arrest,” Blackhawk shouted above the din, at the same time Nacho pushed Tommy through the emergency door, and the emergency lights began strobing. A shrill siren cut through the air. This was my clue. I grabbed the box of money and bolted toward the door. People were yelling as I slammed into them in my desperate attempt to escape. My waitress dropped a tray of drinks and fell backward. Boyce was yelling at me to stop. Pete was waving his badge around, and Blackhawk started after me.
I made it to the door, and burst out into the artificial light of the front parking area. I began to spri
nt across the lot. Blackhawk burst out behind me, followed by the rest of the posse. He was yelling for me to stop. I glanced over my shoulder, and caught a glimpse of Nacho and Tommy at the back corner of the building. Tommy had stopped to watch.
Blackhawk took a stance and began shooting. On the third shot I pitched forward, skidding on the asphalt, the box sliding ahead of me with packets of money spilling. Men and women had come bursting out behind Boyce, and some of the women screamed.
Blackhawk, Pete and Boyce surrounded me. Pete picked up the money. Boyce knelt down beside me and appeared to check my pulse. What she really did was pinch my cheek. She’s hilarious.
She looked up and said in a loud voice, “He’s dead.”
I lay there, sprawled out, while they stood around me. More and more people were gathering. A couple of slow minutes passed, then Nacho pulled his Jeep into the parking lot. He maneuvered it to beside me. He rolled his window down.
“All clear,” he said, out the window. “I brought him around to the side and he saw the shooting, and heard Detective Boyce. Then the little fucker shoved me away, and ran like the wind to his car. He burned rubber all the way down the block.” He was laughing.
I stood up, brushed off my pants and the front of my jacket, and climbed into the Jeep. Pete handed me the box though the window. Nacho drove us away. In the mirror I watched Blackhawk, Pete and Boyce walk over to Boyce’s car. She had left it by the front entrance with the lights flashing. Red and blue splashes of light raced across the front of the building. They all climbed in, and she cut the lights and drove them away. A small bewildered crowd had gathered. Trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Nacho glanced over at me. He was grinning, “Slick, Dude. Just fucking slick.”
47
The next night, in the wee hours, I met Boyce downtown at the station. I carried a satchel with fifty thousand dollars in it. Half of Tommy’s ill-gotten bucks. She was at her desk, waiting. I took the elevator up, walked down the hall and into the large squad room. Toward the back, Mendoza’s office was dark. Only one other detective was there. He glanced my way, then went back to his newspaper. Boyce had her feet crossed on her desk, her hands locked behind her head. She watched me walk across the room before she sat up. There was no smile of greeting.
The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King Page 17