I took a slow five minutes gently removing my arm. What I had going for me was she probably wouldn’t wake up if I started playing the tuba. Several Captain Morgan spritzers had gone into that tight little body. She probably wouldn’t wake up until the sun began to broil her. I slowly sat up and heard a low moan at my back. I froze. I cranked my head around to see Lindy in all her glory. Her head was cradled in her arms, taking up what was left of the mattress. I was blank as to why she was there. A bad time for alcohol memory loss.
As delicately as possible I got myself off the mattress. I stood, feeling very exposed. We weren’t alone. There were chaise lounges filled with sleeping party-goers lining both sides of the top deck. I spotted my trousers and slipped into them. My underwear and shirt were nowhere to be found. My Teva was about fifteen feet away. I slipped it on and made my way quietly down the gangway to the bow deck. Bodies of partiers were everywhere. It had been a bull bitch of a party. The big boat didn’t even rock when I stepped off.
I stepped onto the Tiger Lily and reset the alarms. I went in, cranked the air up and drank a quart of water. I decided another hour’s sleep wouldn’t hurt, so I fell face down on the bed. I still had my Tevas on. But not my underwear.
I slept longer than I intended. When I finally rolled over and opened my eyes, I had a small, dull, throbbing between my eyes. I swung my legs over and stood up, then sat back down. The motion had caused the small throbbing to become a hammer. I took some deep breaths, then stood and went to the galley. I drank another quart of water.
Only one sure cure for this. I stripped out of the linen trousers and tossed them into the dirty clothes hamper. Without the underwear, a couple of memories came sliding back. I slipped my trunks on, fastened my swim foot and knifed the water off the back. I swam out to the buoy, treading water beside it, without holding on. I took several deep breaths, then swam back. I repeated two more times. The last time I got to the buoy, I held on. There is a remarkable perspective of the lake from that spot.
I was gazing out across the lake when something made me turn my head. The Caledonia had cleared her slip and was slowly moving past me, out of the harbor. The top was lined with party goers, somewhat recovered. I swung around to get behind the buoy. I sneaked a peek, and sure enough the two girls were side by side, in the middle of the crowd at the rail. I ducked behind the buoy again. I know, I know, it sounds as foolish as I felt. When I was dumb enough to take another peek, someone on the boat yelled, “Hey! There’s someone swimming out there!”
I put my face in the water and swam like Michael Phelps in the last lap. When I pulled myself up on my diving stairs, the Caledonia was regally moving out into the middle of the vast lake. Well, I had wanted to go out on the town. I’d been in small towns that had less people than that boat.
I showered, slipped dry trunks on, changed my foot and found myself ravenous. I fixed a five egg, cheese and mushroom omelet. I toasted two pieces of wheat bread and browned two hash brown patties I keep frozen. A big glass of tomato juice and a pot of coffee. I slowly became human.
After cleaning the galley, I took the last of the coffee, Elmore’s book and got comfortable on the back deck. The sun was warming the air nicely. I read a few pages, then nodded off. I jerked awake and read a few more pages before nodding off again. The routine was exhausting. This last time I nodded off, I was awakened by my phone. I had placed it beside me even though I had no earthly expectation of anyone calling me.
It was a text from Boyce. It said, “Do you know her?” There was a headshot of a woman with her eyes closed. I tapped it and enlarged it. I was awake now. It was Simone. She didn’t look good.
I texted back, “Should I?”
She texted back, “Don’t be an asshole. She had a matchbook from the El Patron in her back pocket.”
I sat and stared at the photo, thinking about what to do when she texted again. “I’m on the deck in front of your boat.”
I shook my head and sighed. I went through the boat to let her in.
She was wearing her normal kick ass cop attire. Dark hair back in a pony tail, dark tailored jacket over a crisp white shirt, opened at the neck. Dark slacks with a badge prominent on her belt just in front of her holstered pistol. The shoes were practical. Which meant, rubber soles that could race a gazelle.
“Come on in,” I said sliding the double doors open.
She brushed by me and went to the galley counter and pulled herself up on one of the stools. She pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
“Mind if I smoke?”
“Yes,” I said, leaving the door open.
She lit the cigarette and blew the smoke at me. “At least I asked.”
I just shook my head and sat on the long yellow couch. No one in the entire world could get under my skin as quickly as Boyce.
“You know the girl, don’t you?”
I just looked at her.
She looked back.
At last she said, “We have surveillance video of you and her at the same casino at the same time. We have the packet of matches found on her from El Patron. You’ve heard of the El Patron, haven’t you?”
I just looked at her.
She slipped off the stool and went around the counter to the sink. She doused her cigarette under the faucet. She threw it into the garbage under the sink. She was well familiar with my boat. She had spent months on it convalescing from a gunshot wound.
She looked at me, “I love it when you sit, shaking your head like that.”
I didn’t realize I was shaking my head. I stopped.
She walked to the door. “I’m actually here to extend Captain Mendoza’s invitation to join him at headquarters at two this afternoon. Knowing your supposed inabilities with modern technology I decided to deliver the invitation personally.”
I stood. I think I was shaking my head again.
“Don’t be late,” she said. She turned and walked out into the sunlight.
20
I parked the Mustang in a no parking zone. It was five until two. I stepped off the elevator and started toward his office. Captain Mendoza had been promoted to the corner office. Along the wall to his left were three other offices, including the one he had occupied as a lieutenant. A sandy-haired guy was in that one. The rest of the huge room was filled with industrial styled grey metal desks with secretarial chairs. A third of them were filled.
I could see him through his plexi-glass. He was seated at his desk, engrossed in some paperwork. As always, he was immaculate. Dark glossy hair cut military style, the scalp shining through. Crisp white shirt with a maroon tie and a tie clip. His shirt sleeves sported golden cuff links. I could see his jacket hung neatly on a clothes hanger on a hat rack. He didn’t have the hat rack before, so he had really come up in the world.
His door was open, so I walked in. He didn’t look up. After a hesitation, I sat in one of the two chairs that fronted his desk. He still didn’t look up.
When he did, I gave him my happy face with my eyebrows raised and a big grin. He just looked at me. He finally shook his head.
“Do you always have to play the idiot?”
I dropped the face. “My dad always told me to have a happy countenance.”
He leaned back, looking at me. “Who was your dad?”
I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
“But he told you what you just said?”
I shrugged again. “Not really. I don’t remember much of what my dad told me. So, I just say my dad used to say this, or my dad used to say that. But, it’s mostly what I say. I just don’t want to appear to be a know-it-all.”
“No risk there,” he said.
He leaned down and opened a drawer. He rummaged for a minute, then pulled an 8x10 glossy print of Simone out and slid it in front of me. I looked at it. It was a glamour head shot. A lot of eye make-up. Her white blonde hair back lit for the halo effect. Seductive smile. I didn’t pick it up.
I looked at the photo for a long time. Mendoza’s eyes st
ayed on me.
“I’m told that you and she are acquainted.”
“Were acquainted,” I said. “Boyce sent me a text with her picture. She sure looked dead.”
Mendoza nodded, “She is, .22 caliber to the back of the head. Homeless guy dumpster diving found her out by Metrocenter. No other signs of trauma. Nothing at the scene. No casings, nothing. Just a matchbook from El Patron.”
“Sounds pro,” I said. “The 22, not the matchbook.”
He was still looking at me, in that cold, still, disconcerting way of his.
“We ran her through the system. Her name is Emily Sykes. Mother died when she was thirteen, leaving her with a stepdad. Ran away from home. He filed a missing person but didn’t follow up. Ended up in L.A., working the streets. She was arrested a few times, so we have the prints. Then someone recruited her and turned her into a high-class hooker.”
“Julie,” I said.
He leaned back. “Julie,” he repeated. “Why don’t you tell me what you know.”
“Boyce said there was video of me and Simone at a casino together.”
He thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah, rival gangs went gambling at the same time and there was a fight. Boyce was watching the surveillance tape and saw you. And you and your friend appeared to be following a girl with white blonde hair. When the girl showed up dead, she remembered the hair. The camera by the elevators got a full face of her. Same girl. Why were you following her?”
Now I thought about it, I couldn’t think of a reason not to tell him. At least most of it.
“Tomas Marino is the casino manager. He hired Blackhawk to help him with some unexplained losses his slots were taking. I came along for the ride.”
“He’s a casino manager and he doesn’t know about EMP jammers?”
“Oh, I’m sure he does. I think he was sucking up to Blackhawk, trying to get Elena to perform for the casino.”
For the first time I could remember, Mendoza smiled. “She’s that good?”
“Oh yeah,” I said. “She’s that good.”
“What’s that got to do with the blonde?”
“Blackhawk and I were sitting there playing the slots when the blonde picked my pocket. I wanted my wallet back.”
He studied me. “You let her pick your pocket.”
I shrugged. “She was pretty good.”
“But you let her.”
I shrugged.
“Tell me about it.”
So I told him. At least most of it. I told him about Simone and Nikki. I told him about Indigo but didn’t get into how Blackhawk and I knew her. She was just friends with the other two. I told him that they were frightened and were running. I didn’t mention Luis and the two men we shot. Imagine me not telling that? I also didn’t tell him that Blackhawk had given Simone five thousand dollars to get out of town. Which she obviously had not done. She had tried to go back to her old life and had gotten herself killed for it. I was going to have to talk to Blackhawk about his philanthropic tendencies.
I told Mendoza about taking the frightened girls to El Patron. Then, that Nikki and Simone had just disappeared. We figured they had gotten what they wanted, and had moved on down the road. I did tell him that Indigo and Nacho had hooked up. He almost smiled again.
He had me describe Nikki and Indigo. When I finished, he sat back, looking out across the room, deep in thought.
“Tell me what you know,” I said. “Quid pro quo.”
He swiveled back to me. “We didn’t know about Nikki, or whatever her real name would be. We don’t know about the woman, Indigo, but there are hundreds of them in that ring. We know about Julie.”
“According to Simone and Nikki, Indigo was just someone they had met who was letting them stay in her room at the casino,” I said.
“There is no record of any of them checking in or out of the casino hotel.”
I just shrugged.
He looked at me. “We are working with California, Nevada and New Mexico. Emily Sykes was just one of, like I said, several hundred prostitutes working for the same large outfit. Julie is one of their recruiters. In fact, she’s more than that. She’s pretty high up in the organization.”
I nodded.
“The Phoenix, Tucson, Flagstaff area is run by a guy named Luis. Luis Portofino. He unfortunately has gone underground. Did they talk about him?”
“Just to say a guy named Luis was the local boss. If you know all this, why not arrest them?”
“We will. We want to cut the head off the snake. We think the head of the snake is in Vegas, but he might be in California. Whoever it is, is really insulated. The top people are very careful. We’re about there.” He stood. It was time for me to go. “If you hear anything, I’ll expect you to tell me.”
Nothing to say to that.
21
As usually happens, the wind was up this afternoon. Tiger Lily was straining at her moorings. I had to collect the chaise lounge cushions and put them in their locker. The white-caps were ferocious. No one was on the water. It had been a cool and glorious morning. Feeling ambitious, I swam across the bay and back. I packed a bowl of cheerios with strawberries, blueberries and a banana, munched it while I drank a pot of coffee. I was reading Merle Miller’s biography of Harry Truman. A president that was truly underestimated. I was always amazed that Roosevelt had chosen him to join the ticket his last time around. Surely the President was self-aware enough to know his health was fragile, at best. I guess we all feel immortal. Turned out to be a pretty good choice. I guess ol’ Franklin knew more than the rest of us.
It’s a lucky thing when you get to hand pick your partner. Blackhawk and I were thrown together, along with eight others. We didn’t get the choice. But we were lucky anyway. I found that out during a ten-mile run. The colonel had chosen ten miles of extremely rough terrain, parts straight up or straight down, some of it through almost impenetrable forest. All ten of us had to finish or everyone started over. And we were on the clock. Three quarters of the way through, and cocky as hell, I turned my ankle. Blackhawk stopped, turned back and put me on his back. We made it on time. I didn’t even know his code name at the time. But from then on, we were a team.
I usually read outside, but the wind was being unfriendly. It pushed me inside. I put a mix of old country female singers on and tried to get back into old Harry. After a while I was just dozing.
I snapped awake when the low throated bong sounded, announcing someone stepping onto the bow. I had the side curtains opened for light, but the blackout across the French doors of the bow were pulled. I gently moved one and through the crack could see Diesel standing, wagging his tail. There was a girl child petting him. I don’t know which one had set the alarm off.
The girl was in the six or seven range, slender and beautiful with long blonde hair. She wore a light-yellow summer dress that was whipping in the wind. My first thought was she must be a guest of someone moored to my dock. I pulled the curtain back and opened the door. Now I could see a woman standing on the dock. Old enough to be the mother, but still young and pretty. She also wore a summer dress, printed with rose colored flowers. She leaned slightly, holding a fist-full of it to keep herself respectable in the wind. Beside her was a small duffle bag. She looked familiar, but I couldn’t place her.
“Hi,” I said. Diesel was sniffing at the girl, and she pulled back. “Don’t worry about old Diesel, he’s about as friendly as a dog can get.”
“Honey, come up off the man’s boat,” the woman said.
“That’s okay,” I said, as Diesel began licking the girl’s hand. “I think Diesel likes her.”
The woman looked at me. “The guy at the bar down there,” she looked back at the marina. “He told me how to find you. Do you mind if we come inside, out of the wind?”
I was puzzled, but I was taught to be polite, especially to ladies. “Sure, come on aboard.”
The little girl stepped in, turning to the dog. “Come on, doggie.”
Diesel just looked
at her, then stepped off the boat and moved past the woman, down the dock. On to other pursuits. The woman picked up the blue duffel and stepped aboard. I reached forward and took her arm. She cautiously stepped into the salon. The girl had sat on the yellow couch. I waved the woman to sit beside her. I turned a galley stool around and perched on it.
The woman was looking at her hands. She had blonde hair, like her daughter. I assumed it was her daughter. They sure looked alike. She was a pretty woman, but not necessarily a striking looking woman. She was medium height. Despite having a daughter that age, she still had a girl’s figure. She wore no makeup that I could tell, but still looked good. Makeup is overrated.
She looked up at me and stared at me. Her eyes were gray green with small flecks of gold. I wouldn’t know that until later when I had a chance to inspect her more closely.
“So, who was it told you how to find me?”
“The bartender guy. The funny looking one. Bald, short.”
“Bernard?”
“Don’t know his name.”
“Yeah, Bernard. Why are you looking for me?”
She shifted nervously, then with sudden determination leaned forward and looked at me. “You don’t remember me, do you?”
I was probably shaking my head, like Boyce says I do.
“You look differently in the daylight too,” she said.
This time I purposely shook my head. “You’ve got to help me here.”
“I know it was dark, and there were a lot of other people, but I would think you would remember me.”
Dark and people?
Then it came.
“Lindy and Dey?”
She nodded.
“Where’s Dey?”
“She followed the perpetual party up to Powell.” She looked at her daughter who had picked up one of my True West magazines and was looking through it. “I’ve got Ashley, so that night was a one off for me.”
Some of the memories made me slightly uncomfortable. Especially with the little girl sitting there.
They Called Her Indigo Page 8