by Jeff Siebold
They had rented the room Saturday late, and spent much of the evening keeping watch. It was Sunday morning, now, and they had decided that some leisure time in the lobby wouldn’t seem out of place to the hotel staff.
So far, neither of them had seen the Accountant. Clive had signaled when he saw a short man exit the elevators, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Zeke looked over at Clive from across the room, and shook his head.
* * *
“Jefe?” said George.
“Si,” came the reply.
“I haven’t found him yet,” said George in Spanish, out of respect.
“I know.”
“If I had, he would be dead, of course.”
They were speaking on cell phones with mobile call encryption, which assured that the conversation remained private. It was another cost of doing business.
“Of course,” said Jefe. He was on the porch of his villa, overlooking the green grass of his oasis, his lawn and the trees that had been brought in and planted in this dusty place. Most of the roads in San Luis del Colorado were dirt roads, or gravel at best. Sandy and dusty and hot. Some paved roads had been installed by the municipality, but they were in rough shape. Except, naturally, for those roads that Jefe had paid for. Those paved roads circled his compound and provided direct access to the airport, to Sonora 40, the major road south, and to Sonora 10 that led into Baja, California.
And that he had provided many good paying jobs to his neighbors in Sonora Rio was not lost on the community. Jefe enjoyed the esteem and recognition of a hometown athlete, people seeing him in the street and stopping to thank him, to pay their respects.
More than once, Jefe had escaped to Baja when the Federales were closing in, and always because he received a timely tip from a well placed source in the police department. And always, that source found himself to be quite a bit richer within a few weeks. At first, he would escape by car, driving his black Mercedes E-class sedan into the desert. Anymore, though, he preferred to travel in his Learjet 75, a vehicle that he was truly proud to own.
With his success, Jefe had upgraded his escape plans, and acquired a home in Grand Cayman, a country that had no extradition agreement with Mexico or with the United States. The Cayman Island government was glad to see wealthy business owners populating their islands, and encouraged property ownership by offering residents no income taxes and private, offshore bank accounts. The island was within easy reach with Jefe’s Learjet.
Jefe looked at Carlos, who was standing in the family room, his AR-15 rifle slung across his back. It was a double benefit that Carlos could both fly the LearJet as well as act as Jefe’s lieutenant and protector when it was called for. Carlos had been Jefe’s friend since elementary school and had always had Jefe’s interests at heart. Like the big brother that Jefe never had, Carlos acted as Jefe’s protector, confidant and friend from before the time that Antonio Herman Gurrerra was known as Jefe, which was a long, long time ago. Having Carlos close by made Jefe feel much more secure.
“There is one other small problem, Jefe,” said George. “One of Mr. Cruz’s friends, the man who took the backpack from the coffee shop, was in the lobby of my hotel. I saw him, but fortunately he didn’t see me. He spent several hours sitting in the lobby, talking on his phone and reading a newspaper. I think that he might be searching for me.”
“Is he a threat?” asked Jefe.
“I don’t think so. But he was at the scene of the accident, and then he left with the backpack. I followed him, and he went into an apartment building. When he came out, he was carrying a different backpack. I followed him, and when he left the school library that backpack was empty.”
“How do you know it was empty?”
“I took it and examined its contents. Nothing there.”
“Are you compromised?” asked Jefe.
“No, just being careful. This man looks competent. And he’s been in the wrong place a number of times,” said George. “I inquired with the apartment management…apparently his name is Zeke Traynor.”
“Will he find you?” asked Jefe.
“No, I’ve moved out of the hotel.”
“You may use one of my houses,” Jefe said, “if it will hasten things.”
“That is a good thought, Jefe,” George said. “Thank you.”
“I’ll have Carlos arrange it and get you the information, OK?”
“Yes, I can rent a car here,” said George, “and get to the house.”
“Good,” said Jefe.
“Thank you, Jefe. I’ll take care of the Cruz thing,” George said.
“I know you will,” said Jefe, and hung up the phone.
George waited until he heard the click of the distant cell phone breaking the connection. Then he pushed the red button and hung up his phone.
George walked quietly around the perimeter of Centennial Olympic Park, just east of the Omni Hotel that he had left earlier. The air in the park was cool, particularly in the shade.
The trees were beginning to turn color, but the leaves hadn’t started to fall yet. They were scrawny trees for a park as large as Centennial Plaza, disproportionally small. George chose a long bench facing east, away from the hotel, beneath a man-made stand of oak trees, and he sat on one end. The concierge was keeping his single travel bag for him, and George would retrieve it later on his way to Jefe’s safe house. In the meantime, George stilled himself and thought about Zeke Traynor. He seemed to think and act quickly. He seemed to be a man to respect.
* * *
Manny Lopez was a natural. The Marine Corps had found one of their own, and Manny had found the family that he’d never had. He thrived on the chain of command, the mutual support, the “band of brothers” mentality that permeated every activity.
Manny sailed through boot camp in the Marine Corps Recruit Depot in San Diego, next to the San Diego International Airport, and found his place in the Marine Corps Infantry with two tours in Iraq. During the second tour he won the Navy Cross for dragging two wounded Marines from a bomb site, and then returning to take out a nearby enemy personnel carrier with an M67 hand grenade. Witnesses to the skirmish said that Manny Lopez was relentless, even zealous in his attack.
Later promoted to Gunny Seargent, Manny planned to be a lifer in the Marines until his closest friend in the service died in a training accident. They had called it “friendly fire” and the frustration and the sense of loss took its toll on the young man.
At his next opportunity, Manny left the Marines and moved to Yuma. A month later, a friend told him that the Maricopa County Sheriff’s office was hiring Deputies, and Manny drove to Phoenix and applied. With his service record he was hired quickly and went to work.
Chapter 25
“4273,” she said.
“Hello, Susan,” Zeke said. It was Sunday afternoon.
“Hello yourself,” said Sally in a breathy voice. “What’s the latest?”
“There’s been no sign of my friend for a while,” said Zeke, “and I haven’t had any luck with the other thing, either.” He was referring to his efforts to locate George at the Omni.
“Well, you’re here, and Eric asked if you’d stay around a few days and help him with another issue that came up.”
“Sure,” said Zeke.
“Thanks. You’ve got an appointment this afternoon with someone who’s actually going to be there,” said Sally, wryly. “Three o’clock at Brown’s restaurant. You can walk, it’s just east of the Interstate.”
“Nice day for it.”
“You’ll be meeting Mary Anderson. She needs protection from her ex-husband,” said Sally.
“OK, what do I need to know?” asked Zeke.
“It’s a divorce situation, heading for court next week to divide up the property. The divorce was final several months ago. The ex-husband is ex-army, some Special Forces guy, I’m told, and apparently, he’s not happy about the split or about the division of property.”
“Got it,” said Zeke.
�
��He’s been physical, but only in private. We need to protect young Mary from the possibility of harm until this is finished and she can reposition herself elsewhere.”
“Any kids in the picture?”
“Nope,” said Sally, “but she’s a looker. I just sent a photo of the young lady to your phone. Have fun!”
* * *
At 2:55 PM Zeke was seated in a vinyl booth in the quiet restaurant, with his back to the sidewall of the building. From there, he could see the front door, through the front glass, and the entire dining room, except for the bar and restrooms in the adjoining area. The kitchen was also out of direct view, although he was watching an unexpectedly active server moving in and out of the swinging doors that were fanning warm air and a smell that had to have come from the cooktop.
Zeke had ordered coffee and a slice of apple pie with a thick slice of cheddar on top, and he was enjoying the wait for his three o’clock client. The cheddar softened and had melted perfectly on top of the warm pie, and Zeke admired it as he took another bite.
Mary Anderson entered the restaurant. She glanced at the “Please Wait to be Seated” sign, looked behind her, then looked around and walked directly to Zeke’s booth. She sat down heavily, although she didn’t appear to be a very heavy girl. Zeke estimated that she was about 5’4” and maybe 120 pounds at most. She had brown hair and wide brown eyes and a very open face. It was a face that reminded him of innocence and trust. It was a pretty face, fine features with clear skin and there was the hint of the smell of lavender lingering, as if it had followed her into the restaurant. It was a face you instinctively didn’t want to disappoint.
“Hi, I’m Zeke,” he said as he stood to greet her. Nothing was happening outside and no one had followed her, he noted with a glance.
“I know, I’m Mary Anderson,” she said. Mary smiled a wide, white smile. She had nice, even teeth. “Good to meet you,” she said. They shook hands over the table.
“How can I help…?”
“Oh, call me Mary. It may be nothing, and I don’t want to be any trouble, but I may need protection from my ex-husband.”
She looked down. “I hope I don’t,” she said. She looked back at Zeke. “That’s what you do, right?”
“We do.”
“The court date is next Wednesday,” Mary Anderson said. “The judge will be hearing from both sides and dividing up the property.” She pouted a little bit.
Her presence had a South American flavor, just a taste Zeke noticed. She could have been from Rio, or Sao Paulo, he thought.
“So, my ex-husband isn’t happy. It hurts his ego that I left him, and even more so that I won’t do what he tells me to do, and be a good little girl, the submissive wife.”
“How long have you been divorced,” asked Zeke?
“It’s been about four months, and it’s time to get past this, and move on. But he doesn’t want to do that.”
“OK, tell me about him.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone and showed Zeke a photograph of herself and a young, light haired man on a beach, sipping tropical drinks with an ocean in the background. It was a classic vacation photo, a typical Facebook selfie.
“This was three years ago in Cancun,” she said. “He looks pretty much the same today. Short light brown hair, blue eyes, over six feet tall. Steve is very fit, Zeke. He’s in the Army and he trains all the time.”
“Steve Anderson. He’s been physical with you?” Zeke asked.
“Only when we’re alone, and only a couple of times, when he was frustrated and angry.”
“Did he hurt you badly?” asked Zeke.
“He grabbed me and pushed me this last time. I fell and bruised my side.” She rolled her left sleeve cuff up a couple of rolls and showed him a yellow-green bruise outlining four fingers marks and a thumb mark on her forearm.
“Ouch,” said Zeke. “OK, we’ll make arrangements to keep you safe though the court hearing, and we’ll help you get out of the area after that. You’ll need to stay with us in a safe house, and you won’t be able to call or talk with anyone during that time. I understand there are no children involved?”
“None but my ex-husband,” she said and looked at Zeke. He thought he saw her eyes smiling at him a bit.
“You still love him?” asked Zeke.
“He can be charming,” said Mary, “but I know that I need to move on.”
“Forgive me, but have you been intimate with him since the divorce?”
The blush began to crawl up Mary’s neck and reached her ears. She looked away.
“Where are you staying?” asked Zeke.
“I’ve been staying in our house about ten minutes from here. Why?”
“Your and Steve’s house?” Zeke looked at Mary and she nodded. “I suggest that you don’t go back there. We’ll arrange to get your clothes and personal items for you. What’s the address?”
Mary told him. She handed him a key from her key ring.
“I do have one question, Mary Anderson. It’s rare that we’re hired and the fee is paid in full, in advance. Rather unusual.”
“Yes, I would think so,” she responded. “And it’s not Anderson any longer. I’ve taken my maiden name back. My name is Cruz, Mary Cruz.”
“As in Alberto?”
“My father.”
Chapter 26
This time Zeke entered his apartment building through the front lobby, and with Mary following him he took the elevator to the third floor. Zeke navigated the hallways while Mary followed alongside him.
“Your father prepaid for your protection,” Zeke said, pondering. “So before he left town, he arranged for you to be guarded. Interesting.”
“He said that he was concerned for my safety,” Mary explained, “but he said that he had to leave to avoid some trouble with his business.”
“And you’re certain that he left town?” Zeke asked.
“Yes,” said Mary. “He called and told me he was on the road. Said we should be able to get back together after this divorce thing is resolved next week.”
“Did he tell you where he was heading?” he asked.
“No,” Mary said. She looked away.
“So, to keep you safe, we’ll start by hiding you in my apartment, while we work out a plan,” Zeke said, putting his key in the lock. The “tell” on the door was in place, Zeke noticed; no one had entered while he was away. Still, he had Mary stand around the near corner in the hallway while he checked the apartment. It was clear.
“OK, come on in,” Zeke called in a low voice.
Mary stepped around the corner and into Zeke’s entry area. She noticed that the apartment was modern and clean, bright and spacious. She passed the kitchen on her left, a bedroom on her right, and entered the open living area ahead of her. Zeke pointed to the sofa and said, “Make yourself comfortable,” and Mary stepped around the coffee table and sat down. Zeke locked the door and joined her in the living area.
Zeke checked his cell phone for messages, but there were none.
“Do you have any close family around here?” asked Zeke.
“No, I’m an only child. My mother moved to Miami a few years ago.”
“Alberto’s ex-wife?” Zeke asked.
“Yes.”
“OK, a few rules. You probably already know this, but I need to be sure we’re on the same page, OK?”
“OK,” said the girl.
“Stay indoors, in the apartment at all times, right?”
“Right.”
“Don’t tell anyone where you’re staying, or even allude to the fact that you’re in an apartment. Don’t answer your phone, if you can possibly avoid it. If you do answer, don’t mention my name or anything about your protection. OK?”
“OK.”
“Make up a story in advance about where you are. You went to visit a friend until the court session. Or you’re staying in a hotel room because you’re afraid. Be ready with the story in advance, before someone asks. If you’d like, I�
�ll work with you on that,” Zeke said.
“OK.”
“We’ve got a few places that we use to hide people, and we’ll set one of those up and move you tomorrow. In the meantime, Clive and I will take turns staying here with you. Clive Greene owns The Agency, and he’s my friend. Totally trustworthy and competent.”
“OK.”
“You can have the bedroom, Mary,” said Zeke. “We’ll get your clothing and a toiletries kit from your house. Feel free to use the soap and shampoo in the bath. What kind of food do you like?”
“I’m pretty easy when it comes to food,” she said. “No allergies, so just about anything. I don’t eat meat, though.”
“All right, we’ll be Vegan this week. Coffee?”
“Yes, espresso, or very dark roast, if I have a choice. Café Cubano.”
“We can do that,” said Zeke.
There was a knock at the apartment door.
Zeke looked at the monitor and saw the small woman smiling up at him. “It’s Kimmy,” he said.
“Hey, Zeke,” Kimmy said through the door.
Zeke turned to Mary and mouthed, “Neighbor. She’s OK.” He opened the door.
“Wine time,” said Kimmy. Already moving and not one to allow psychological barriers like a doorway to deter her, Kimmy stepped in past Zeke, down the hall and into the kitchen.
“Oh, I didn’t know that you had company,” she said as she opened the wine fridge and selected a fresh bottle of Pinot Grigio from inside.
“Hi, I’m Kimmy, from across the hall,” she said over her shoulder to Mary. Kimmy turned and busied herself with the corkscrew. “Two glasses or three?” she asked, filling one glass as she spoke.
“Kimmy, this is Mary, a friend of mine. Mary, meet Kimmy. Would you care for a glass of white?” said Zeke.
“Glad to know you, Kimmy,” said Mary. “Yes, please.”
“Then three,” said Zeke. Kimmy poured wine into the other two glasses, and handed them around.
Today, Zeke noticed, Kimmy was dressed in a loose, short sleeve tie-dyed wrap with flat sandals and a white skirt with gold thread trim. The skirt was belted with a wide, purple belt that sported a large gold buckle. As she reached over the coffee table to hand Mary her wine her hair fell away and Zeke noticed her gold earrings, rings decorated with small, colorful feathers.