Homesick Blues

by Steve Brewer

  "Yeah, but—"

  "Maybe if we leave him tied up a while, he'll decide to tell us more."

  Romeo paused, his mouth still open to argue. Maybe she was right. Before he could say anything more, she said, "Look, get some sleep. It'll be morning in a few hours, then we can decide what to do with him. Maybe we just call the police and tell him to come pick him up."

  "But on what charge?"

  "Who cares? That's up to them. But if we mention murder and burglary, I'll bet we get their attention."

  Another good point. Maybe she was right about everything. Maybe Romeo was too tired to make good decisions on his own. He looked longingly at the mussed bed. A few hours' sleep would feel awfully good.

  "All right," he said. "We'll leave him tied up while I get some sleep. Are you going to try to sleep some more, too?"

  "Tempting, but no," she said. "Somebody might come looking for him. I'll keep an eye open."

  "Don't untie him without waking me first. He'll try to tell you he needs to go to the bathroom or—"

  "Don't worry. I won't untie him. I won't let him trick me."

  He turned toward the bed, then thought of one more thing.

  "Don't shoot him, either."

  "I won't shoot him." She smiled. "Unless I absolutely have to."

  Chapter 36

  Police Captain Gene Pugh sat up late, staring at the scattered stars and drinking Jack Daniels from a red plastic cup. No glass allowed out back at his house, where a concrete patio surrounded a swimming pool that glowed bright blue in the night.

  Pugh rarely used the heated pool himself, but his wife kept herself trim by swimming laps nearly every day. Claudia believed in fitness the way some women believe in Jesus. Around the clock and all the time, until she was taut and toned tip to toe. Pugh did what he reasonably could to stay in shape – pretty good for a man in his mid-fifties – but Claudia could crack walnuts with her thighs.

  Most men his age would welcome a wife who took such good care of herself, but Claudia spent a fortune every month on personal upkeep – spas and gyms and massages and facials and tanning beds and hair salons. These days, when Pugh saw her prancing around the house in a leotard, frisky as a filly, he wasn't overcome with desire. He was filled with dread of the bills to come.

  Claudia's spending habits were partly responsible for Pugh taking the monthly bribes from Santiago. Now he'd jeopardized that income stream by disobeying Santiago's man and going home to dinner. If he lost that monthly payoff, he'd have to find some way to replace it. Claudia was not to be denied.

  He belched, then swallowed against the mixed tastes of whiskey and lasagna. He'd eaten too much at dinner, trying to make Claudia happy, trying to keep his mind off the way he was ignoring the Mexicans' orders. She'd chattered away over dinner, oblivious to his worries, shoveling food on his plate until he was ready to pop. She always made enough lasagna to feed a family of eight, though it was just the two of them.

  No kids for them. Claudia had seen early on what pregnancy and childbirth did to women. No way was that ever going to happen to her beauty-queen body. Pugh wondered sometimes how different their lives might've been if they'd had children, but his job helped stifle such longings. He'd run across some snot-nosed brat who was stealing cars or dealing drugs, driving his poor parents insane, and he'd be reminded how wrong it could go. He and Claudia made the right decision, no question, but once in a while he thought about the future and his legacy and how no one would carry forward the Pugh family name.

  A shooting star streaked across the night sky, capturing his gaze, bringing him up out of his brooding.

  It was past midnight. He should go to bed. But he couldn't shake the edgy feeling that the Mexicans might show up here, angry because he left the apartment building he was told to watch.

  Now that Claudia was asleep, he was tempted to drive back over there, just to make sure the red pickup was still in the parking lot. Better to know one way or the other. He could be prepared with a good lie if Santiago blamed him for its disappearance. He could say it was still there when he left, that he was called away to an emergency at work—

  Pugh rattled the ice cubes in his plastic cup. He'd had too many drinks to be driving across town. That's the last thing he needed, a headline-making DUI arrest. They'd crucify him in the news media. APD was under federal scrutiny these days; such mistakes were no longer tolerated.

  So, no driving. No last-minute alibis. No excuses. No dancing to someone else's melodia.

  He'd stay right here, under this salting of stars, and ponder a world without Pughs.

  Chapter 37

  Jackie Nolan sat in the dark near the front window, listening to Joe Dog struggling against the cords that bound him. She didn't worry that he might get free; the more he strained, the tighter her knots became. He was a persistent little shit, though. He'd been grunting and wheezing for an hour.

  She couldn't see him from where she sat because the back of the sofa was in the way. She was pretty sure he didn't know she was so close by. Otherwise, he would've been quieter in his struggles with the extension cords.

  Jackie peeked between curtains at the empty street. The corner streetlight bathed the pavement in white light, and she could see most of the sidewalks, too. A few shadowy spots under trees, but she was pretty sure no one was watching the house.

  Before settling here, she'd gone from room to room, slipping through the darkness, and peeked through windows in every direction. No movement in the shadows, no suspicious vehicles. She'd figured out where Joe Dog left his Crown Vic, but she'd seen nobody else around the car. He'd apparently come alone and, so far, nobody had come looking for him.

  She wondered if his boss knew about Nancy's death, if he had okayed it in advance. Surely, he would've been more interested in retrieving the stolen money than in killing Nancy. What kind of idiot would kill her before he'd gotten his hands on the missing money?

  In answer, the idiot on the sofa yawned loudly. Sounded like he was giving up for the night, settling into sleep.

  Had this same idiot done a truly thorough job of searching Nancy's house?

  Jackie looked around the shadowy room, the dark shapes of furniture and lamps. Was there a stash of a hundred thousand dollars here somewhere? Her stomach did a little dance at the thought. A hundred thousand tax-free dollars wouldn't be enough to live on forever, but it certainly could give a girl a new start.

  Is that what Nancy had wanted, a new start? Jackie wondered about the dead woman's life. Had she been lonely? Depressed? Did her boss' money seem like the only way to something fresh? Maybe stealing the money had been completely out of character for her. But when presented with the fact of that much cash in hand, she'd lost her mind a little. Jackie could relate to that; sometimes, that's how the events of two years ago seemed to her, a temporary insanity that had changed her whole life.

  Still all clear on the street. Jackie stood and tiptoed toward the hall. She paused, listening, and was rewarded with the sound of Joe Dog's snores.

  In the bedroom, Romeo was sprawled flat on his back, arms and legs splayed like a starfish, as if trying to take up as much of the bed as possible. His breathing was slow and deep.

  Jackie went to her overnight bag and felt around in the pockets until she came up with her phone and battery. She went back out into the hall to put them together, and was rewarded with a low chime. She went farther down the hall, to the guest room, before she checked her messages. Four new ones, all from Marshal Ellis McGuire. She erased them without listening to them.

  The phone had a little flashlight built into it, and Jackie turned it on now. Very bright, but not so bad if she filtered it between her fingers. Moving stealthily, she checked under the bed and in the closet and under the mattress. She wasn't exactly sure how big a hundred thousand dollars would be, but she figured it wouldn't fit in a pocket or inside a shoe. That left only the larger spaces to check.

  Over the next hour, she went through the entire house, except for
the spots occupied by the snoozing men, searching every cranny. She came up empty.

  She started thinking smaller. She looked through the mail on Nancy's desk, but found nothing there to indicate a money stash. Same with the cookbooks in the kitchen and the CDs in her little stereo cabinet. No hidden key, no slip of paper with a secret code.

  Jackie told herself the search was a crazy waste of time. If Nancy Ames was way out past Bernalillo when Joe Dog caught up with her on that lonely highway, wasn't the most likely thing that she'd had the money with her? Had Joe Dog stolen it himself? Had it burned up in the car? The thought of that much money turned to ash made Jackie feel a little queasy.

  Nancy Ames was getting out of town, that much was clear. Maybe she'd sent the money on ahead of her somehow. Jackie wondered whether Joe Dog had any idea where Nancy had been headed. Or had he not thought to ask those questions either?

  She put away the phone and got out the snub-nose revolver instead, careful of the trigger in the darkness. She ran her thumb over the front sight on the barrel, a sharp little metal bead. That's what had bloodied Joe Dog's forehead when she hit him with the gun. She'd have to remember that for next time. Maybe hit him with the butt of the pistol instead, cause less of a mess.

  She figured they'd work him over some more, as soon as Romeo was awake. Joe Dog knew more than he'd told so far, and they needed to get it all out of him.

  Then what? Let him go? He'd come right back after them. Hand him over to the police? Maybe. But there were the possible entanglements Romeo had mentioned. Kidnapping charges and such. Maybe the authorities would look the other way if they handed over a murderer, but so far they had no proof that Joe Dog killed Nancy Ames.

  For a moment, she entertained the notion of just bailing on the whole situation. Get in her truck and get out of here. Let Romeo and Joe Dog sort out the rest in the morning. But she couldn't quite bring herself to go away empty-handed.

  Somebody had misplaced a hundred thousand dollars. If Jackie stuck around, there was a chance, ever so slim, that she might stumble upon that money and the sort of new life it promised.

  For now, it was worth the risk.

  Chapter 38

  One of Joaquin Santiago's phones rang very early Thursday morning, startling him awake. He fumbled among the four phones on his bedside table until he identified which one was trilling. He looked at the glowing readout: "C" for Carmen.

  "Bueno?"

  "Joaquin," she said. "I'm so glad you answered. It's Jorge."

  Their youngest, not quite six years old. Santiago sat up in bed, instantly awake.

  "What about him?"

  "He's running a fever. He's coughing. I'm so worried."

  "Call the doctor."

  "I called him. He said to bring Jorge to the clinic first thing in the morning. But the clinic doesn't open until ten. That's hours from now!"

  Santiago noted that the room was still dark, the first gray light of morning peeping between the heavy drapes. No wonder Dr. Baldonado balked at driving out to the compound at this hour. The roads around Chihuahua City were not safe.

  "Call him back," Santiago said. "Remind him who he calls patron. He'll find a way to get there."

  "Can't you call him?"

  "Not from here," he said. "The phones aren't safe where I am now. You know that."

  "I'm sorry I called, but I'm so worried about Jorge."

  "No, my dear. It's fine. Call the doctor. Tell him I'm unhappy. That should do the trick."

  "And if he refuses?"

  "Tell Manuel to send a couple of men into the city to pick him up. In fact, do that anyway. Two armed men in a Jeep. That way, he can't say he's afraid to drive."

  "Si, si."

  "If Jorge doesn't get better in a few hours, call me back. But otherwise, we need to stay off these phones."

  A pause, then she said, "When are you coming home?"

  "My business here is going slower than expected. But I hope to finish it today."

  "It's dangerous for you up there."

  "I haven't left the hotel since we got here. I sat on the patio all day yesterday, drinking coffee and making phone calls, while Felipe and the boys ran around town, taking care of business."

  "Still, it scares me. I want you to come home."

  Santiago felt anger well up within him. He didn't need whining first thing in the morning, while he was still in bed. But he managed to keep his tone calm as he said, "This thing up here, it must be done. You know that."

  Even Carmen recognized the slippage in her husband's status in the cartel since the shootout in Albuquerque two years before. He'd sent two of his best after Jackie Nolan, and they'd come back in coffins. And he'd been unable to track her down since. In the macho world of the cartels, such a failure was a sign of weakness. Blood in the water, summoning the sharks.

  "I'll get this finished as rapidly as I can," he said. "The minute it's done, I'll fly home."

  She sniffed but didn't answer.

  "Go call the doctor," he said. "Take care of Jorge. I can take care of myself."

  "I know."

  "I'll call you from a different phone in a couple of hours."

  He hung up before she could argue.

  There was no going back to sleep now. He pushed the speed-dial for "F." It rang twice.

  "Hullo?" Felipe sounded like he was still asleep.

  "Buenos dias," Santiago said. "Wake the others. It's time to get to work."

  Chapter 39

  When he first woke, Romeo Sandoval had no idea where he was. An unfamiliar bedroom, a narrow bed, pale morning light leaking in the windows around thick curtains. Then it came rushing back. Nancy Ames' house. Joe Dog. The extension cords. Jackie Nolan.

  Romeo listened for a moment. A few birds chirped outside, and a lone vehicle whooshed past on the street, but the house was quiet. Something felt wrong. He sat up on the edge of the bed and reached for his firearm on the bedside table.

  Glock in hand, he padded out of the bedroom, looking for Jackie. He needed to make sure she was okay. Make sure their captive behaved himself through the night.

  He found Jackie curled up in a wingback chair in the living room, staring intently at Joe Dog, who was sound asleep on the sofa. She had the snub-nose Smith & Wesson cradled in her hands.

  "Planning to shoot him?" Romeo whispered.

  She looked up at him and smiled. "I haven't decided yet."

  "Yeah, me neither."

  Another smile. He could get used to waking up to that face.

  "There's coffee," she said.

  "Oh, good."

  Joe Dog didn't twitch during this whispered conversation. Trussed up wrist and ankle, bruises dappling his dark face, and he was sleeping like a baby.

  Jackie unfolded from the chair and tucked the gun away. Romeo followed her into the kitchen. Once he had a steaming cup of coffee in his fist, he felt better. He toasted her with the cup and took a sip.

  "Just like I like my women," he said. "Strong and hot."

  She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Feeling rested?"

  "Yeah. You?"

  They stood opposite each other in the narrow kitchen, hips resting against countertops. Romeo was in his sock feet and noticed, not for the first time, that she was nearly as tall as him.

  "I've been wide awake," she said.

  "And what have you been up to?"

  "I've found ways to keep myself busy," she said. "I searched this whole house while you two men were snoring."

  "And?"

  "No hundred thousand dollars."

  "I guessed as much. You're still here."

  The eyebrow again. "You think I would've taken the money and not given you a share?"

  He sipped his coffee before he answered. "That's a lot of money. Enough to make people act in strange ways."

  "Think that's what happened with Nancy Ames?"

  "Look around," he said. "She lived in this little house all by herself, went to work every day, probably watched soap operas at night, wonder
ing why there's never any glamour in her life like there is on TV. And then one day her boss hands her a hundred grand in cash, more money than she'd make in two or three years, and he says, 'Drop that off on your way to lunch.'"

  "She just kept going."

  "Looks that way."

  "If," she said, "we can believe anything Joe Dog has told us."

  "Right. Very sketchy answers from that guy. For all we know, he invented the missing money."

  "I was thinking, maybe we ought to work him over a little this morning."

  "Work him over how?"

  "Whatever it takes. Make him tell the truth."

  He studied her for a second. "You're a scary woman, you know that?"

  "So I've been told. I find it's a good filter. People who can't see beyond that veneer aren't worth my time."

  "You like keeping people at arms' length."

  She stepped across the narrow kitchen, planting herself in front of him, only inches separating them.

  "Not all people." She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "I like having you close by."

  From the other room came an enormous snort from the snoring Joe Dog. Romeo and Jackie dissolved into giggles. Once they had themselves under control, Romeo said, "I still don't know what we're going to do with him."

  She smiled. "You don't want to work him over?"

  "He'd just lie. He's the kind of street criminal who is incapable of the truth."

  "That sounds very much like a cop talking."

  "Sorry," he said. "Years of training. Still slips out from time to time."

  "Anyway, you're probably right. He's a kneejerk liar. The only way to know the truth is to check it out ourselves."

  "You mean about the money?"

  "I mean all of it. Like, what were they doing with all that cash? And where was Nancy supposed to take it? If we knew that, we might be able to guess where she stashed it."

  He took another slug of coffee before saying, "You really want that money, don't you?"

  "Don't you?"

  "Not if means Joe Dog or anyone else gets away with murder. I think we need to hand him over to the police."