SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Nah, I’d leave her alone for now. She’s spooked out of her gourd. I need her cooperative.”

  In the early afternoon, Mayfield got a call from Woodward. They’d found a trash bag in the back of the complex. It contained a cellophane wrapper with one pair of black pantyhose remaining, size medium. It had been a two-pack.

  And there were dustable prints all over it.

  Hilber dropped by Mayfield’s office, without his buddy this time.

  “You guys done with the Hummer yet?” Hilber looked as though he was trying to whistle or do something to look as if he wasn’t as interested as he clearly was.

  “Haven’t heard back from forensics. Should be soon, though. Maybe tomorrow morning.”

  “And I’m guessing no one’s called about it?”

  “You mean called to claim it?”

  “Yup.” Hilber checked his fingernails as he leaned into the doorframe.

  “That’s a Roger that,” Mayfield returned.

  “All his equipment still logged in?”

  “Everything I was given.” Mayfield wondered why Warren was concerned about the guns and shit.

  “Got the coroner’s or crime scene reports yet?”

  Mayfield wasn’t going to tell him about the pantyhose wrapper they’d found. He leaned into his desk, throwing down a pen. “Hilber, suppose I refrain from asking you what the hell you’re doing over here, sticking your nose into my business? How about you quit interfering? You’ll get your goddamned report soon enough.”

  The cold blue stare Mayfield got froze his bones. Given the chance, this man would put a bullet in the back of his head rather than get caught.

  “How did you boys in the Sherriff’s Department manage to get the impound order?” Mayfield asked.

  “Jurisdictional hospitality. You scratch my back, I scratch yours.” Hilber had leaned back. Mayfield didn’t like the man’s sneer.

  “Who signed it?” Mayfield wanted to know who Warren’s accomplice was. He could check the records, of course, but he wanted to see the man spew it out.

  “Carpenter.”

  Now there was another man Mayfield didn’t trust. Carpenter was known to be a little heavy-handed, especially with the swabs, but he was hell on wheels with the ladies too.

  He was beginning to understand the real enemy in this game.

  Chapter 26

  The little team was driving through a seedy part of San Diego. Fredo had given Gunny the directions to his informant’s neighborhood.

  “Not sure it’s a good idea to be seen talking to him. Might make him shy,” Fredo said.

  “So call him,” Cooper squawked.

  “Oh, yes. Let me just call 4-1-1 and see if AT&T has the numbers to the Gang Information Directory.”

  “Think we’d better drop you off a few blocks away,” Kyle offered.

  “That’s what I was thinkin’,” Fredo replied.

  “You wired, Fredo?” Gunny asked.

  “Got my Invisio right here.” He flicked his finger hard on his right ear. Coop jumped in his seat, swearing. “And Coop has the earphones, as you can see.”

  Cooper bore an expression as if he were going to eat the earphones or throw them out of the window.

  “Ladies, please,” Kyle pleaded.

  They passed over several railroad tracks filled with rail cars spray-painted with colorful gang graffiti artwork. A local news crew had done a series on street art. Some of the members were talented and could have made a living as artists if the drug money wasn’t so lucrative.

  Surrounding buildings were in a sorry state. Everywhere there was rubble: broken bottles, broken windows. In spite of it all, a small group of five and six-year-old boys was trying to play soccer in one of the alleyways they passed. Laundry hung between windows. Dogs were barking inside apartments that had bars over the windows, many of which were boarded up or coated with tinfoil. It reminded Kyle of some of the killing zones in Afghanistan, except without all the incessant sandy dust that seemed to blow right through him. Kids played soccer there too.

  But there were not many dogs. People had goats, but those weren’t pets.

  Gunny parked the beater where Fredo indicated. Fredo exited the truck and wandered through the rubble that was the sidewalk.

  Cooper slouched back in the seat, donning his baseball cap, which covered the earphones. Kyle used a small set of binoculars he’d fished out of his pocket. Without his usual uniform, including his bulletproof vest, he felt hairless and naked. He didn’t like the feeling one bit.

  “You got me?” The small radio speaker squawked. Cooper was hearing it in stereo and recording it.

  “Yeah, you little spic. You know there’s a hole in your jeans right where your butthole is?”

  Cooper and Fredo had a routine that kept them from getting nervous.

  “Musta been that quickie last night.” Fredo exaggerated his hip swing.

  “Nah, I think it was your farts, Taco Man.”

  “Well, even rotting goats smell better than yours. Too many vitamins.”

  “I’m going to break Gunny’s record. I’ll be getting it up when you can’t see yours.”

  “Okay, ladies. We got incoming,” Fredo whispered.

  Fredo spewed off Spanish slang no one could follow. The guy could talk faster than an automatic. He spliced in some English, and as the other speaker followed suit, they continued in English.

  “Yo. I got some Franklins here for you. Thought you might want a little party. Thought I’d make a donation to your college fund, or an investment in your future,” Fredo said.

  “What’d you have in mind?” the male voice asked. “Minding the girls, Fredo?”

  “Nah. I got that covered. Too much, as a matter of fact.”

  “Ain’t no such thing.”

  “I hear you. Okay, now for the reason I’m here. Word has it you got some information, and I’m buyin.”

  “Didn’t take you for a buyer.”

  “Information.”

  “No ladies, man? We gots the best.”

  “I’m saving money for a little chiquita I knocked up in LA. You feel me?”

  “Shit, Fredo. It’s free. They got a free clinic here.”

  “No free clinic. She’s not legal. And I’m having this baby.”

  “You’re having it. Thought the lady did all that.”

  “You know what I mean. Trying to get respectable. Make an honest woman of her.”

  “Get in line. They don’t even ask, if you want to go the other way.”

  “I’m not doin’ it that way. Don’t want any complications. And I love the chiquita.”

  There was silence for a minute. Fredo pushed, “Hey, sorry man, if you’re not comfortable with this. I’ll just move on. What was I thinking?”

  “No, it’s cool. Who’re you lookin’ for?”

  “Calls himself Caesar. Runs girls, and guns too, I hear. I need to find him, man.”

  “I don’t know no Caesar.”

  “Right. And I’m not Mexican. How much?”

  “Three, maybe four.”

  “How about one to start and then if you got more, you get more.”

  “Okay. He works out of his bar, the Los Ladies.”

  They could hear Fredo peeling off a bill and handing it to the informant. “Here’s a Franklin. What else you got?”

  “I’m not too comfortable with anything else. There’s a guy you might want to talk to.”

  “He buying?”

  “Maybe. He works out of Los Ladies.”

  Kyle rolled his eyes as he looked at Cooper. The topless bar that specialized in bathroom sex, forged papers, and drug deals. Quite the place.

  “I’ve been there a time or two.”

  “But you don’t ask for Caesar. You ask for his woman, Mia.”

  The team heard Fredo stutter. “Mia, is it? Sure, I’ll ask for her.”

  Kyle heard the banter in Spanish and a slapping handshake. They heard the familiar crinkle of paper.

  Makes t
wo hundred.

  Fredo questioned the male. “Hey, when was the last time you saw Caesar and this Mia?”

  “Haven’t seen Caesar for a few days. I’ve only seen Mia at the Ladies. She dances there sometimes.”

  “Uh huh.” They could hear Fredo breathing fast.

  “He’s been flashing around some green. Had a very successful few days, I’d say.”

  “So if he wasn’t at the Ladies, where would he be? I’m kinda in a hurry.”

  “That’s an expensive question.”

  “How much?”

  “Another two at least.”

  Fredo sighed, breathing heavy into the microphone. He lowered his voice and, in a whisper, added, “Okay, this better be good. I got three hundred here. Where does the dude live?”

  “He lives with his mama, and don’t the fuck tell him I told you. The yellow house on Greenwich.”

  “I know it,” Fredo said. Kyle did, too. It was a block away from Armando’s mother’s home.

  “If you boys are smart you’d get in on this. Gonna get yourself rich, man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just thought you were going to sell something to Caesar. He’s buying. Big time.”

  “I considered it.”

  “I’ll bet you did. Hell of a lot more than Uncle Sam pays. You military types are sitting on a gold mine. Caesar buys the stuff cheap too. Sells it back to the gangs and makes a buttload of green.”

  “It’s a good business model.”

  “Might as well secure your retirement. War’s going to be over soon. You guys will be out of a job.”

  Not in your dreams, dickwad. Kyle was amazed how naïve people were, even gang-bangers.

  “That’s for sure.” Fredo played along.

  “Thanks, man. Be safe.”

  Kyle was worried he’d already asked too many questions. Now that they knew where Caesar was, finding Armando might not be hard. He hoped. He heard Fredo whistle as he walked back and came into view. Kyle covered him with his sidearm just in case. The informant did not accompany him.

  “Gunny, get in the passenger seat. Now,” Kyle barked. Gunny’s frame barely made it by the time Fredo opened the driver’s side door and got in.

  Fredo fired up the beater, which backfired. They turned around and went back the way they’d come in.

  “They’re buying guns and shit all right,” Fredo said in disgust. Everyone was quiet for what they knew was coming. “And they’re using Mia.” Fredo turned and looked at Kyle over the back of the seat. “You think she’s back there already?”

  “Fredo, she made her bed.” Kyle said the obvious.

  “The woman’s like a cat with nine lives, and wasting all of them. All at once.”

  “Some people do that.” Kyle added, “Can’t help those who don’t care.”

  Cooper was carefully winding the wires of the headset around a white plastic cone. He positioned them inside a small case that held the miniature recorder. He leaned against the window. “So what’s up now, boss?”

  “I gotta make a couple of calls.”

  Kyle had been places that had scared him shitless. This was even more frightening. He dialed Christy, who picked up on the second ring.

  “Hi there,” he said.

  “Kyle! Oh, my God, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.” He hoped he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

  “I was worried. I still am.”

  He had to be careful. “I told you not to worry. I said I’d call you.”

  She was sniffling on her end of the line. He heard the strain in her voice as she tried to settle herself. “When can I see you?” she whispered. Her need poured all over him.

  He inhaled. This was more difficult than he’d thought. Thank God he had enough sense not to go over to her condo. “Better for you if I stay away. Just didn’t want you to worry.”

  “But the police, the sheriff, and even the Navy—everyone’s been saying some…very disturbing things. I’m…”

  “Don’t believe them.”

  “But you said to cooperate with the police.”

  “Look, Christy, things got kind of crazy. I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake getting you involved.”

  “Kyle, don’t…”

  “I wasn’t using my head.” He could do this. He told himself it was better if she got hurt now. Maybe it would send her back to San Francisco. Best place for her. Safest place right now.

  “Don’t say that. You know I don’t feel the same way about this. I want to be involved.”

  There was no easy way out of the box he’d put himself into. Only one right thing to do, and damn, it was going to hurt her in the short run. But way better for her in the long run.

  “Christy,” he began, “you’ve got to just forget about all this. I’ve changed my mind about us.”

  The deafening silence on the other end of the phone gave him the shivers.

  He continued, “I need to focus on finding Armando before it’s too late.”

  The phone went dead.

  Chapter 27

  Next morning, Christy tried to focus on anything other than Kyle. She cleaned her condo thoroughly, even scrubbing her toilet. She cleaned her oven, which had hardly been used over the past few weeks. She tried to read one of her romance novels, and threw it across the room when she came to a love scene. She cranked some Candy Dulfer sax music up until she got a call from downstairs telling her to lessen the volume, and even kneeled on the floor and gave in to the need to just sob, to get it all out. She knew that, in time, it would get better. Everything got better in time. But today she had to occupy herself with awful things she hated doing. Just get through today.

  To her amazement, she started to feel better as the Sunday morning dribbled away.

  But then she got stir crazy. How long would she be confined to her apartment now that Kyle had given her the brush-off yesterday? Just because he said so, was she really now no longer involved? It sure seemed to her that the SDPD or the Sheriff’s Department would still be interested in what little information she had. She had taken the call with Simms last night and had told him what had happened with the authorities and that she was done with the Navy guy. She said she would be back at work soon. He told her to take as much time as she needed and that he was sorry.

  Sorry didn’t begin to describe how she looked, she realized, as she washed her hands in her bathroom lavie and re-tied up her hair. She thought she had aged ten years since last she’d last examined her face. But again, she knew it would get better.

  Maybe she should leave San Diego. Would she ever see a Navy jet or a ship or those well-developed bodies running down the beach and not think of him? Wouldn’t it be easier to just get away from any memory of him?

  But no, she wasn’t made of that kind of stock. She had never been a quitter. San Francisco was a one-way street going nowhere. Her mother had given her a ticket to paradise. She’d just have to find it alone, and not in the arms of the most handsome, wonderful guy she had ever met.

  There must be someone else out there for me. I thought it was Kyle.

  But no. It wouldn’t be Kyle. Not now. And this time, even if he did come back to her, she’d have to say no and mean it.

  Though he was the bastard who broke her heart, she still couldn’t see him as a rogue killer, like the cops said.

  No, couldn’t be. I just can’t go there. For as much pain as she was feeling, she just couldn’t see him killing for sport or profit. She couldn’t see him killing at all. He was dangerous, yes. Dangerous in all the ways—and here it comes again. A flood of tears sprang up and she gasped.

  Damn. Her mother would be furious with her. Look how she was treating her mom’s gift.

  Maybe she knew this would happen. Maybe she had even caused it, thinking how much it would hurt if he left. And now he had, and so it hurt. But she knew she’d survive.

  Somehow.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Ch
eríe?” Madame M’s voice cheerily greeted her on the other end of the line.

  “Madame! How wonderful to hear from you. How have you been?”

  “Oh, très bien. Very well. Business has begun to pick up. I’m flush with customers.”

  Christy had a brief moment of regret for having left the woman behind. She was like a second mother to her. And now the closest thing to a mother she would have for the rest of her life.

  “Christy? You are well?”

  “Yes. Yes, Madame. I’m very well. My mother’s place is just perfect for me. I’m enjoying real estate,” she lied. “I’m still, you know, getting settled, but it’s coming along.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, I was hoping you could come up here and help me for a bit.”

  “Oh, Madame, I can’t.” Then Christy thought about it.

  Why not? Kyle has just turned me out to pasture. Why shouldn’t I get away from all this? If it gets worse, a little break would do me good. If it improves, well, it sure as hell wouldn’t have anything to do with her. So why not?

  “Cheríe, I have to go in for some surgery. I have no one here who knows our shop like you do. You should know I’ve not really been able to replace you…”

  “Madame, that’s nice of you to say, but…”

  “It’s true. You know my customers, you know the business. My reps still ask about you.”

  Christy was silent, collecting her thoughts, remembering the happy days there, those days sandwiched between the lonely ones when she knew there was more to life than catering to a bunch of rich men who bought beautiful lingerie for the women in their lives.

  “Is this surgery serious?”

  “Non, ma chère! Just a little female work.”

  Approaching sixty years of age, Madame M was the most striking older women Christy knew. How she managed to stay single after the death of her young husband, years ago, was a mystery to Christy. Madame M had offers for dates and expensive travel with eligible, wealthy men whom she turned down frequently.

  “I’m holding out for a duke, a prince, or perhaps a king!” she would tell Christy. And they would laugh. Madame would ask her sometimes, “And you? Who are you waiting for?”