by Steve Brewer
He found the boss right where he'd left him, on the patio outside the small hotel, facing the mountains, which were tinged pink by the fading sunset. White lights glowed near the ground, marking pathways. Santiago was alone on the patio, and Felipe was relieved to see that the wine glass had been replaced with a coffee cup.
"Ah, there you are," Santiago said when he spotted Felipe approaching. "Do you have her?"
Felipe shook his head, trying to look as miserable as he felt.
"She was gone when we got there. So was Romeo Sandoval. We went into two apartments where they clearly had been, but they were already gone. So sorry that we were too late."
Santiago's face had darkened as Felipe spoke, but he got himself under control, taking a deep breath through his nose.
"It's not your fault, Felipe. The police captain told us they were inside."
"A neighbor confirmed they had been there. He saw them not long before we arrived."
He told Santiago about the made-up bed he'd found in the apartment that was being renovated.
"So this man, the manager, was letting her hide there?"
Felipe shrugged. "That's what the neighbor said, and the police captain seemed to think so, too."
"You talked to Pugh there?"
"In the parking lot. He tried to keep us from kicking in the doors. I think that's when they got away, while we were busy talking with him. The back windows were open in both apartments, and they were big enough for someone to crawl through."
"It was that close?"
"I don't know that for certain," Felipe said, quickly backtracking. "Maybe they left earlier. Maybe they spotted Pugh when he first arrived. He's pretty obvious in that black uniform with all the gold on it."
Santiago nodded. "We don't always get to choose our business partners. A police captain on the payroll seemed like a good idea. Now, I'm not so sure. He is a fool."
"Without him, we would not even know she was back in Albuquerque," Felipe said. "And he might have other uses. I told him to stay outside those apartments. In case they returned for their vehicles."
"Think he's still there?"
"He'd better be. If he lets them get away again, I'll put my foot up his ass."
"We'll take turns," Santiago said. "No sense in you having all the fun."
He picked up his cup and drained the last of the coffee. Then he scooted back from the little table and stood.
They were only a foot apart, but Felipe knew better than to lean away.
"I want that woman, Felipe," the boss whispered. "I want to cut her up in little pieces."
Felipe kept his face stony. He'd had lots of practice over the years, working for his old friend.
"If it turns out the police captain has been wasting our time," Santiago said, "I will cut him up, too."
"Si, patron."
"Now go find her. I want results."
Felipe gave him a curt nod and went back inside the hotel, blowing out his breath once the door closed behind him. He could see through the lobby windows to where Gonzalo and Little Mike waited out front with the big blue SUV. They looked anxious, their hands clenched before them.
They should be anxious, he thought. We've been given an impossible job, and we're no closer to getting it done. And Santiago is running out of patience.
Chapter 32
Ellis McGuire fumed over his dinner, too miserable and irate to enjoy the enchiladas steaming before him. He'd already downed one king-sized margarita and was working on a second one. El Matador Restaurant was a hubbub of families and servers and canned ranchera music, but Ellis was oblivious, sitting in an angry bubble of his own making.
Why was Jackie Nolan being so difficult? Why didn't she recognize what Ellis was trying to do for her? How can a woman be so obstinate, fighting against what's clearly for her own good?
He'd had no luck turning her up, though he'd made phone calls all day and driven all over this godforsaken town. The spicy local cuisine was the one thing he liked about Albuquerque, but now he was too upset to eat.
He took another slug from the salt-rimmed margarita glass. Might have to switch to tequila shots, he thought. Margaritas take too long. The sooner he reached numbness, the better.
Ellis had never felt this way about a woman before. He'd had girlfriends over the years, plenty of them, but none had obsessed him like this. Maybe it was the aloof way Jackie kept her distance from him. So tantalizing. Sweet, ripe fruit, always just out of his reach.
Ellis rubbed at his eyes and ran his hands back over his bristly hair. He was tired and frustrated and far from home.
How dare Jackie run away from him! How dare she act so snooty, like she was better than him. She was a felon and a snitch, whose life had gone completely off the rails before she was whisked off to the safety of WitSec. She owed everything to the marshals who saved her from that life.
Ellis, on the other hand, was a prize catch, a man of authority, the long arm of the law. She should be grateful that he was even interested in her welfare.
If he could just talk to her face to face, things would be different. He could calm her down and show her she wasn't making sense. He'd remind her how well she'd had it in scenic Montrose and how dangerous her hometown was for her. He could make her see that the safest place was under his protection. He was the one who cared for her. He was the one who knew what was best for her.
"Sir?"
The gum-cracking waitress had reappeared at his table. It took Ellis a moment to focus on her round face.
"Is everything okay? You've hardly touched your food."
"It's fine," he said. "I'm just not as hungry as I thought I was."
"You need anything? Another margarita?"
He looked at the near-empty glass before him, sorely tempted, then said, "Some more water, please."
He couldn't find the answer to his problems in a margarita glass. Only one thing would resolve Ellis' woes: Locating Jackie Nolan.
Chapter 33
Jackie had been awake only a few minutes when she heard footfalls on the front porch. Her brain felt fuzzy and she was slow to trust her ears. But there was no mistaking the creak of feet on the wooden porch.
She went to a front window and lifted the curtain to the side an inch. Completely dark inside the house, but the front porch was illuminated from a streetlight on the corner. A medium-sized man with broad shoulders stood just outside the front door. Looked to be fumbling with some keys.
Jackie thought it was the same man who'd accosted her the day before. The Apache who'd pretended to be a policeman. What was he doing here after midnight? More importantly: He had keys?
She slipped across the dark living room, making hardly a sound in her sock feet. She stage-whispered down the hallway to the bedroom: "Romeo!"
"Mmh?"
"We've got a visitor."
She hurried back to the front door, arriving just as the key clicked in the latch.
Jackie pressed against the cool plaster wall behind the door. The intruder tiptoed inside. He had a pistol in his hand. As he turned to gently close the door behind him, she planted the barrel of her snub-nose revolver behind his right ear.
"Don't move."
The ceiling lights flicked on, blinding her for a second, then Romeo joined them, holding his Glock against the Indian's chest while he niftily disarmed him. Once Romeo had the man's gun, he and Jackie moved back out of reach.
"Over there," Romeo said, gesturing the man across the room with his pistol. "Sit on the couch."
He scowled at them, the lines in his broad face hardening with hate. "You don't know who you're messing with—"
"Shut up and sit down."
He sat with his legs together, his brown hands cupping his knees. He wore a Western-style snap-front shirt and pressed jeans and black cowboy boots. Now that Jackie could see him better, she was certain he was the man from the day before. Only the mirrored sunglasses were missing. He had bruises along the side of his face, and Jackie realized she was the on
e who'd put them there, hitting him with the truck door. Damn.
"What's your name?" Romeo asked him.
The man glowered at them, but didn't reply.
"Who do you work for?"
"I don't have to talk to you. I know my rights."
"Surprise, pal. We're not the police. We don't have to respect your rights."
He glared at them some more, his mouth clamped shut.
Romeo looked over at her. "Should I shoot him in the foot?"
"Sure."
"Bullshit. You're not gonna do anything to me. I'm not scared of you. I'm not saying shit about—"
He didn't get to finish because Jackie stepped over to him and clipped him on the forehead with the thick barrel of her revolver.
"Ow! Goddamnit!"
He clapped his hands to his forehead. Lifted one away to find a smudge of bright blood.
"Look at that! You bitch!"
Jackie had already backed away, or she would've given him another one for the insult.
"Hey, hey, hey." Romeo waved his pistol toward the guy's face. "Mind your manners."
"Fuck you."
Romeo pointed the Glock at the guy's left foot and began to squeeze the trigger. Jackie and the intruder watched as Romeo's finger tightened.
"Okay, okay! Don't shoot!"
Romeo pointed the Glock toward the ceiling,
"Jesus," the man said, "you people are crazy. These are expensive boots. How could you put a hole in one?"
Romeo shot her a look. Stone-faced, but she could see the merriment in his brown eyes.
"You're not worried about your foot," he said. "Just your boot."
"Shit, man, your foot will heal. These boots are fucking expensive."
Romeo and Jackie made a point of not looking at each other. It was the only way to keep from laughing.
"Now let's try it again," Romeo said. "Answer my questions, or I shoot your boot. What's your name?"
"Joe Dog."
"Say what?"
"Joe Dog."
"Is that your real name or a street name?"
"What do you think?"
"What do your friends call you?"
"Joe Dog."
"Not Joe? I'm gonna call you Joe. You can call me Romeo."
"Romeo? Really?"
"Really."
"Whatever, man. What the fuck do you want?"
"That's the question I should be asking you, Joe. You're the one breaking in after midnight."
"I didn't break in. I had a key."
"And how did you come by a key?"
No answer.
"You also had this gun on you," Romeo said. "Who was that for?"
Silence. A lump was rising on Joe Dog's forehead. A tiny cut leaked blood that trickled down between his eyebrows.
"Do I need to hit him again?" Jackie said.
"Go ahead."
Joe Dog put his hands up to protect his face, but Jackie didn't bother to whack him. Instead, she said to Romeo, "Shouldn't we tie him up?"
He smiled at her. "That's a good idea."
Chapter 34
Joe Dog now knew the ultimate humiliation: Being bound like an animal by one's captors. The man who called himself Romeo kept the gun pointed at Joe Dog's head while the woman – the woman! – tied him up, using extension cords she found in the kitchen. He held his hands together in front of him while she lashed a brown extension cord around and around his wrists. She knew what she was doing, too. Nice and tight. No give to the knot.
Once his wrists were bound, she gave his shoulder a push and he fell right over. He hadn't been expecting the shove, and he couldn't exactly catch himself. He wound up lying on his side on the couch, his legs hanging off, his feet on the floor. She crouched next to his feet and lashed his ankles together.
He thought about trying to make a move before he was completely immobilized, but Romeo rocked forward in his chair, leaning closer. He held the Glock in front of Joe Dog's aching face so he was forced to look right down the barrel. A slip of the trigger finger, and Joe Dog would be no more. He held very still.
"You know the woman who lives in this house, Joe? Is that how you had her keys?"
Joe Dog kept his lips pressed tightly together.
Romeo leaned closer and jabbed Joe Dog with the muzzle of the Glock. Right on the bridge of his nose, hard enough to make his eyes water.
Joe Dog blinked and growled deep in his throat, but he couldn't move away. The man poked him again in the same place. Hard.
"I can do this all night," he said. "Tap, tap, tap. And you'll never know which one will be the time I pull the trigger. You'll never even hear the shot."
Joe Dog got an elbow under him and tried to push himself up to a sitting position. Romeo shoved his shoulder so he fell over again.
"Just stay right there. I've decided I don't like that sofa you're on. So if you piss me off, I won't care if it gets all bloody. Understand?"
Romeo tapped the barrel of the Glock against the bruise that ran down the side of Joe Dog's face. Which really hurt. His vision blurred and he blinked some more. He couldn't let them see tears fall.
"Where's Nancy Ames?"
"She's dead," Joe Dog said. "You already know that."
"Did you kill her?"
Joe Dog kept still, stoic in his silence. He thought of his Apache ancestors, how they were known to withstand any torture without complaint or confession. It was part of their culture, part of their very genes, and he felt he carried (at least a few of) those genes inside of him.
"Okay," Romeo said, sitting back. "We'll let that go for now. Let me put it this way: Why did somebody kill Nancy Ames and burn up her car? Do you know the answer to that?"
Joe Dog couldn't see any risk in answering that one, so he said, "She stole some money."
"She stole some money," Romeo said. "Must've been a lot of money. Was this money recovered?"
Joe Dog shook his head. Why were they asking him these questions? They already knew about the money, right? That's why they were here. That's the only reason anyone would come here.
He glanced over at the stolid woman with her hacked-off hair, then back at her gun-happy partner. They'd been sitting in the dark here for hours, as near as he'd been able to tell from outside. Had they been waiting for him?
"Do you think that money is here somewhere?" Romeo asked. "Is that why you came here late at night?"
Joe Dog said nothing.
"Somebody already searched this house once," the woman said. "Was that you?"
He shrugged.
"And stopping me on the street, pretending to be a cop, what was that about?"
"I thought you might lead me to the money. But all I got was a black eye."
She smiled sweetly. Bitch.
"What about the men who came to my apartment this afternoon," Romeo said. "The police captain and the others? What's your connection to them?"
Joe Dog tried to look bewildered, which wasn't difficult. He didn't know what he was talking about.
"Do you know who Santiago is?" the woman asked. "Joaquin Santiago?"
Joe Dog shook his head.
"Who are you working for then, Joe? Who sent you here?"
Time to go silent again. Romeo sighed, exasperated. Then he switched the gun to the other hand so he could reach across and go through Joe Dog's pockets. He put Joe Dog's phone and keys on the coffee table, then wrested his wallet from his hip pocket and started going through the contents.
"Joseph P. Dominguez, huh?" Romeo held up his driver's license. "I'd probably go by Joe Dog, too."
He tossed the license aside and pulled out a business card from the few that Joe Dog kept on hand. They said only "Sheridan Enterprises" with the address and phone number, but that would be enough.
"Is this where you work, Joe? That's Grant Sheridan, right? The real estate guy? I've seen him in the newspaper."
Romeo rested the Glock against Joe Dog's bruised face.
"Tell me, Joe. What kind of services could a guy like y
ou offer to a guy like Grant Sheridan?"
"I'm his right-hand man."
"Yeah? Just anything he needs? Odd jobs? Errands? You pick up his dry-cleaning when it's ready?"
"You do anything to me," Joe Dog said, "and you'll find how out valuable I am. Mr. Sheridan will see to that."
"Right," the woman said. "That's what we're worried about right now. Some rich guy who gets his picture in the paper."
"You'd better worry."
"No, Joe," Romeo said, "you'd better worry. What if I call your boss and tell him his hired muscle is all trussed up and spewing his secrets? Would he still think so highly of you then?"
Joe Dog kept his mouth shut.
The three of them stayed silent for close to a minute, waiting each other out, before the woman finally said, "How much money did Nancy take, Joe?"
It wouldn't hurt anything to tell her the amount. "A hundred grand."
"And it's still missing."
He nodded.
"And that's why you came here tonight. You were looking for it."
He nodded again. Better for them to think that than the truth, which was he'd planned to kill them both. Maybe they'd show him a little leniency. Maybe they'd relax, get careless. And then Joe Dog would strike.
But first, he needed to get untied.
Chapter 35
Romeo Sandoval led Jackie into the bedroom so they could talk without Joe Dog hearing. He stood close so he was whispering directly into her ear.
"If we hold him tied up like this, it's kidnapping."
"You think anybody's going to care about that?" she said. "He's a killer."
"We don't know that for sure."
"He had Nancy's keys. That purse I found beside the fire—"
"I know, I know," he said. "But that's circumstantial. We've got no actual proof that he was there."
"You're still thinking like a cop," she said. "It's not our job to prove anything. This guy shows up here in the middle of the night with a gun, he's fair game as far as I'm concerned."