by Dave Daren
Sofia left early that night, after making me promise yet again to mind my manners. I contemplated going home, but decided I might as well finish what work I could before heading towards Pico Rivera again. I hadn’t realized how much time I was spending on Gloria’s case until I saw the work that awaited me on my other matters.
I forced myself to focus on my other cases by shutting out any and all thoughts of anyone with the surname Burke. That worked well until my stomach rumbled, a not-so-subtle reminder that lunch had been more than just a few hours ago. I ended up with bland takeout from the Chinese place down the street but at least I’d made a dent in my workload.
I was definitely dragging by the time I had to leave for the nightclub. I stopped at a twenty-four-hour coffee joint before I got on the interstate and sucked down the hot, black caffeine rush as quickly as I could.
By the time I arrived at the Cabo Club, I was feeling alert once again. I found a spot only a block away and walked to the bar. It was still early in the day on the club scene clock, but a line of people already waited outside for the chance to be a part of that night’s party. Pounding music could be heard through the walls of the place, and I just knew I was going to have a headache in the morning.
The bouncer looked ready to toss me back onto the street when I showed up. I had taken off my jacket and tie, but I still looked like an escapee from some office complex in silicon valley somewhere.
“Aranda’s expecting me,” I yelled over the music.
The bouncer looked unconvinced, but then the kid who’d passed along the message suddenly appeared from behind a plant and nodded to the bouncer.
“Upstairs,” the bouncer said as he let me pass by. “In the Orchid room.”
The kid had vanished and the bouncer turned around to argue with two clearly underage girls who were trying to get inside. I shrugged and walked into a room filled with pulsing light, writhing bodies and the combined scents of alcohol and marijuana. The bass was so loud that I could feel it in my bones, and the only thing I could hear was the music.
I spotted two men in Three-Eights jackets near the back, by a nearly hidden pair of stairs. I fought my way through the crowd and presented myself to Aranda’s men.
“I have a meeting with Aranda,” I yelled as I tried to pantomime meeting with Aranda.
One of the guards pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the stairs and I started up. I passed through another door at the top and nearly stopped in shock. The owner must have installed the world’s best sound-proofing upstairs because the only thing I could hear once the door closed behind me was the ticking of a wall clock halfway down the hall.
There were four doors, two on either side of the hall. Each had a brass nameplate on the door, and I found the Orchid room on the left side at the end. I knocked on the closed door, since barging in on the leader of a dangerous street gang seemed like a clear violation of Sofia’s rule.
The door was opened by a beautiful Latina, with long black hair, smoky eyes and lips that begged to be kissed. She wore almost no make-up, opting instead to show off her perfect skin. And that was just the face. The rest of her was deliciously curvaceous, and she somehow managed to sway in a very tempting manner even while she stood at the door and eyed me with one very hot glance.
“You’re Creed?” she asked in an accent I couldn’t quite place.
“I am,” I replied.
She stepped back and I followed her into the room. She sauntered over to a leather sofa where Aranda was smoking another cigar. Another bodyguard, stationed inside the room, closed the door behind me, then quickly frisked me for weapons.
“He’s clean,” the guard said as he returned to a spot near the private bar.
“So, Mr. Creed, you have recovered from your little adventure with Mr. Perez?” Aranda asked as he wrapped a possessive arm around the woman’s shoulders.
“I have, thank you,” I replied. “I’m not sure what I would have done if you hadn’t offered your help.”
“De nada,” he said as he waved his cigar in the air. “So, to business, eh?”
“This is your meeting,” I stated.
“Tell me, have you had any luck in Mexico?” he began.
“Not much,” I hedged. “We think we’ve narrowed down the area he was seen in, and we’re working from there.”
“Do you believe that he’s still alive?” Aranda asked.
“That I don’t know,” I replied. “I do think he made it safely to shore in Mexico.”
“Ah, then we agree on that,” Aranda mused as he took a puff on his cigar.
“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you so sure he’s alive?” I asked. “I know what Perez and Jabba think, but I haven’t heard anything from you.”
Aranda took another puff on his cigar while he stared at the ceiling. He released a large cloud of smoke and whispered something in the woman’s ear. She stood up again and moved to the bar. She filled two glasses with red sangria and pulled a bottled water from a mini fridge. She returned to our little group, handing the bottle to me and handing one of the glasses to Aranda.
“I know you have a long drive after this,” Aranda said as he tipped his head at the water bottle.
“Thanks,” I said as I cracked it open and took a sip.
“As to your question,” Aranda continued, “I can tell you that Burke was spotted in Mexico by people I consider to be reliable. For nearly a year after he disappeared, we were able to track him.”
“Why didn’t you do anything then?” I asked.
“Burke wasn’t a fool,” Aranda sighed. “He kept on the move. By the time he was spotted, he would leave again.”
“I’m surprised he would go to Mexico if so many people there were on the lookout for him,” I mused.
“I think he may have originally planned to head further south,” Aranda replied. “But, things became unsettled further south, and it became easier and safer to stay in Mexico.”
“So how does a man just disappear completely?” I asked.
“There’s an obvious answer to that,” Aranda said with a malicious grin. “Though for all our sakes, I hope that isn’t the correct one.”
“If someone on the other side of the border though he was carrying around a few million dollars, though,” I added, “he would be a very tempting target.”
Aranda scowled and took a sip of his sangria.
“I have a few people there I trust,” Aranda declared. “But I can’t say what those fools Jabba and Perez may have let slip or who they may have told.”
“But you all have people you work with there,” I pointed out.
“Because we have to,” Aranda replied. “As a rule, I prefer not to involve myself in local affairs south of the border. There’s nothing there that’s worth the time or effort.”
“So you don’t talk with any of the gangs down there?”
“Very little,” he confessed, “and we all prefer it that way.”
“Maybe not such a bad place for Burke to try to hide then,” I mused.
“Perhaps,” Aranda said with a shrug, “though it’s not just the three of us that are looking for him. He did work for cartels as well.”
“That’s some serious money,” I murmured.
“And arms,” Aranda added. “If they found Burke first, then there would be nothing left for us to find.”
“What makes you think they haven’t found Burke?” I asked.
“Because they’re still looking for their money,” Aranda said. “I may avoid the cartels, but I still need to know what has their interest. And right now, the case of Burke’s missing millions has their interest.”
“This is the first I’ve heard that he did anything for the cartels,” I pointed out. “Are you sure they aren’t just hoping to steal your money?”
“Either way, they need Burke,” Aranda replied. “And they don’t have him.”
I nodded, conceding the point.
“I had another reason for asking you here,” Aranda contin
ued. “I want to warn you, and to offer my protection services again.”
“What’s the warning about this time?” I asked.
“Jabba and Perez are growing impatient,” he replied. “They haven’t had any luck tracking Burke on their own, and while they’ve been able to swallow their loses so far, they won’t be able to continue to do so for much longer.”
“Because some of the gangs are going to war,” I surmised.
Aranda took another puff and smiled.
“Ah, your friend at the FBI has been updating you,” he guessed. “Yes, there is that possibility. More importantly, their respective gangs haven’t been bringing in as much money recently. Couple that with their outrageous spending, and you can see where they might find themselves in dire financial straits.”
“And you?” I prodded.
“We are doing well,” Aranda replied.
“Then why do you want Burke?”
“Because I cannot tolerate anyone who steals from me,” Aranda growled. “I let fools and tyrants take what I had when I was young and naïve, but I will not tolerate that now.”
“Fair enough,” I assured him. “And I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any of the Chuchos Locos or the Reyes Dorados.”
I started to back towards the door but Aranda held up the hand with the cigar.
“Whatever those fools are planning, it won’t be limited to just you,” he declared. “The wife and the daughter are likely targets, even with the FBI nearby. You’ll need my help, Creed, if you want to keep everyone safe.”
“I’ll consider it,” I hedged. “And I need to check with my client.”
Aranda gave me an evil grin.
“Attorneys always say that,” he laughed. “It makes it easy to be indecisive. I wouldn’t take too long with your client, though, or you could all end up dead before the FBI even realizes that the war has already started.”
And somehow, we had ended up in the middle of it.
Chapter 13
After the conversation with Aranda, I convinced Perrin to spend her nights at a friend’s place in Malibu. It was a large house that five other people already called home. Perrin was welcomed with open arms, and I had a sneaking suspicion that they spent most nights partying. Geoffrey-slash-Peter moved in with Gloria though I tried to encourage them to at least head to a hotel instead. Gloria had scoffed at the idea, refusing to back down when she was so close to her goal.
Sofia and I were on guard as well, checking the office and our respective homes every morning and evening for suspicious characters. Yet none of us spotted any gang members hanging around, and I was able to convince myself that Aranda had only been trying to scare me so I would turn over any information I had about Burke.
By the time our court date rolled around, we were back to our normal routines. We were first on the docket that morning, and Gloria had agreed to meet me in front of the courthouse. I drove straight there from my apartment and spent the time in my car rehearsing what I wanted to say to the judge.
I was early enough to catch a good parking spot on the street, and I made it to the courthouse with time to spare. I stood on the steps, waiting for Gloria, along with a gaggle of other attorneys, all of whom were checking their watches and scanning the sidewalks for their clients as well.
Gloria’s arrival drew everyone’s gaze. She had opted for a red power suit with a pencil skirt, black pearls, Louboutin heels, a slender black purse, and sunglasses straight from the Jackie O. collection. She ignored every other human being gathered outside the courthouse and presented herself to me with a small dip of the head.
“I thought I should look determined today,” she announced.
“That you do,” I laughed. “Maybe the judge will decide to ignore all us poor lawyers and just grant you whatever you want.”
“That would be acceptable,” Gloria replied with a smile. “Maybe I could talk her into giving me a back-up divorce, just in case.”
“Not sure how that would work, but there’s a first time for everything,” I agreed.
We marched up the steps and joined the queue for the x-ray machines. The officers on duty were quick and efficient, and we moved through the line quickly. There was another line for the elevators, and most days I would have opted for the stairs instead. But Gloria’s heels were not designed for trekking up dark stairwells so we joined the crowd that stood watching the numbers click by as the elevators moved between the floors. We managed to squeeze inside the second one to arrive with about an inch to spare.
The courtroom was still quiet, with only a few of the court watchers seated near the back. They perked up considerably when they saw Gloria walk towards the petitioner’s table, and one of the men checked a copy of the docket sheet to see who we were. A moment later, an attorney from the AG’s office entered the courtroom. I’d seen him around the courthouse, but we hadn’t gone up against each other before.
“Jim Sellers,” the man said as he shook my hand.
“Vincent Creed,” I replied.
We took our respective seats and I tried to reassure Gloria. Her leg was bouncing slightly, a sure sign that she was starting to get nervous. She took a deep breath and forced herself to sit still until the bailiff stepped into the room. We all stood up as the bailiff called the session to order and I heard Gloria suck in another lungful of air.
The bailiff was only midway through the call when the judge dropped into her chair. I hadn’t tried a case before Judge Maynard yet, but she had a reputation for being quick and fair. She also hated long speeches. Attorneys and witnesses alike were expected to get to the point and do so without a lot of exposition.
Judge Maynard reminded me a bit of Ruth Bader Ginsberg. She had the same slight frame, the hair bun, the large-framed glasses, and a piercing gaze. She also had a large mole on the side of her very long nose and a voice that sounded like sandpaper scraping against metal.
“All right,” she declared as she glanced at the summary the clerk had handed her. “Let’s get to business here. Mr. Creed, your client wants to have her husband declared dead?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I replied.
“And the appropriate measures have been taken?” she asked.
“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. “This is the second time the family has placed the required ads without success. We can establish that neither the wife nor the daughter nor any acquaintance, friend or other family member has received any communication from Matthew Burke since his disappearance six years ago.”
“I understand that he was on a boat which was found drifting in the Pacific by the Coast Guard,” she noted.
“That’s correct,” I agreed. “The Coast Guard conducted a search of the area after the discovery but no body was ever found. The Coast Guard believes Mr. Burke was swept overboard during a storm.”
“Anything else I should know about?” she asked.
“We hired a private investigator,” I added. This was where it got tricky, and I was still trying to formulate how to say this. “He hasn’t found any recent evidence that would indicate Mr. Burke is still alive.”
“Your Honor, if I may,” the Sellers cut in. “Mr. Creed isn’t providing you with all the facts.”
“Is that so?” Judge Maynard said as she stared at Sellers over the rims of her glasses. I gritted my teeth but held my tongue.
“Mr. Creed’s private investigator confirmed what the FBI already knew,” Sellers continued. “Mr. Burke survived the storm and made it to shore in Mexico.”
Judge Maynard turned her gaze on me, and her frown made me feel like I was ten years old again.
“Is this true?” she demanded.
“We have found evidence that Mr. Burke arrived at a port in Mexico the day after the storm,” I conceded. “We haven’t found any evidence to suggest that Mr. Burke is still alive however.”
“Was there any sort of ransom note?” the judge inquired.
“No, Your Honor,” I replied.
“Evidence suggests that Mr.
Burke was not kidnapped,” Sellers added. “We have reason to believe that this was prearranged with an associate of Mr. Burke’s.”
“Would this be a criminal associate?” the judge asked.
“Someone with known ties to certain criminal elements,” Sellers replied.
“But not someone you’ve ever been able to indict,” the judge noted.
“No, your honor,” Sellers admitted.
Judge Maynard turned her hard stare back on me.
“So what has your investigator learned?” the judge demanded.
“Not much,” I conceded. “We know Mr. Burke maintained an apartment in Mexico, north of the port where he was seen, but we haven’t been able to find any evidence that he arrived there.”
“So rather than being swept out to sea, you’re now suggesting that he was killed by some of his associates,” the judge declared.
Gloria let out a small whimper at that.
“That would seem to be the case,” I agreed.
“Your Honor,” Sellers cut in again. “There have also been regular payments from an account owned by Matthew Burke to his daughter’s account, beginning a month after he disappeared.”
The judge looked at me again and Gloria let out a gasp.
“Well, Mr. Creed?” she demanded.
“We have no evidence that it was Burke who made the payments, or that he hadn’t set them up in advance,” I said with a shrug. “None of the witnesses at the bank describe someone who looks like Burke as the owner of the account.”
“Why would someone else make monthly payments to his daughter?” Sellers demanded.
“It could easily have been arranged ahead of time,” I sighed. “If he planned to leave the United States in order to avoid an FBI investigation, which is what appears to have happened, he may have made a deal with an associate in Mexico to ensure his daughter would continue to receive some funds.”
“Just the daughter and not the wife?” the judge asked.
“Just the daughter, not the wife,” I confirmed. “It was a secret account, of sorts, that Burke set up for his daughter years before. The monthly payments were small.”