C.J. checked Onion’s waist for a split-second. “What kind of ribs you like?”
“Baby backs.”
“I’m your man.” C.J. turned toward me. “You be okay here, Gabe?”
I shrugged and picked up the coffee he’d brought. By now, the brew had cooled. “Maybe I’ll see what’s on TV.”
“Okay Brain,” Onion said. “I’ll call from Santa Fe in the morning.”
C.J. laughed. “Brain?”
I ignored that. “Check in with Sloppy too, okay? Keep him up-to-date.”
“Done. Rest up.” Onion led the way to the door.
C.J. stopped and turned. He grabbed the magazine from under his arm and tossed it onto my bed. “In case there’s nothing good on the tube. See ya.” He eased the door closed behind him.
The current issue of Maxim, much more like it. I set it on the nearby table, right on top of People, lay back against the pillow and closed my eyes.
The cellphone woke me at nine-thirty. It was Nai’ya.
“Gabe, where are you?”
“Nai’ya—”
“You told me you’d be here tonight. You and your friend.”
“I’m sorry. Something came up. I didn’t have my phone until just a few minutes ago.”
“Where are you?”
I looked around. What could I say? “I’m in bed.”
“In bed?” There was a sharpness in her tone now. “Would it hurt to have called? I’ve been waiting all day for you.”
“I apologize.” Time for the truth. “Actually, I’m in a bed at UNM hospital.”
“Gabe!”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Everything’s fine now. Onion’s here and we’ll be up to get all of you tomorrow, I promise. He’s already gone to Santa Fe. I’m meeting him there in the morning and—”
“Are you alright?”
I tried to sit up. Everything still hurt. “Really, everything is okay.”
“No, everything is not okay. Don’t shut me out.”
“I don’t want my family hurt.”
“I’ve seen to it that Angelina and Matty are safe.”
“Not safe enough.” How could I convince her of the danger? “A chance came up here to free Rebecca, or so I thought. It didn’t play out that way. Jacob Wallace got away. Rebecca’s still gone and I ended up here. But I’ll get up to the Pueblo tomorrow night, one way or the other.”
“Do you want me to come down to Albuquerque? Angelina and Matty can stay with my sister-in-law.”
“No, don’t do that. I’ll be fine, but Wallace is loose. We don’t know who hired him. You’re safer where you are.”
“Promise you’ll call me this time if there are any changes?”
“I promise. Will you try again to convince Angelina that the cops want to protect her, not arrest her?”
“She’s still not speaking to me.”
“Then at least make sure she doesn’t leave. All of you just stay where you are. Did you get the photo of Wallace I sent?”
“It’s posted all over the Pueblo.”
“Good…that’s good. And pray for Rebecca. She may be in more danger than any of us right now.”
“I will. Be careful, Gabe.”
“We’re going to make it.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Listen, can you have dinner waiting tomorrow? My friend Onion loves to eat.”
Nai’ya forced out a weak laugh. “I’ll see what I can do. I love you.”
“I love you, too. And love conquers all, right? Get some sleep.”
“Okay,” she said.
We hung up. I struggled off the bed, stretched and grabbed hold of my IV rack. I wobbled into the bathroom.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I rode the bed-to-bathroom shuttle most of the night. During those ten hours, I drank more than I ever had before. What a shame it was all water.
But I felt more like myself with each hour that passed. By sunrise my mind was set on getting up to Santa Fe and hooking up with Onion.
For breakfast, the staff rewarded me with a small plastic bowl of diluted Cream of Wheat. I washed it down with water, like they asked. The mac and cheese on the lunch menu called to me like a three-inch thick tenderloin.
Sam stopped by around eight-thirty. He carried a cup of coffee in his hand and a large plastic bag over his shoulder.
“How’re you doing?” He slugged down a mouthful of the coffee. “Can I get you a cup? The bag is fresh clothes for later, if they let you out today.”
“They will. Could you put them in the bathroom? Under where they hung my pants.”
He disappeared for a moment and then returned to my bedside, shutting the bathroom door behind him. “Somebody die in there last night?”
“You might say that.” I propped up on my elbow. “Anything new on Rebecca or Wallace?”
Sam pulled up a chair and sat down. His unbuttoned tan jacket covered a white shirt that appeared to be stained with coffee. What remained of his hair stuck out on either side of his head. His usual tie was missing. Maybe he was auditioning for a revival of Colombo. More likely, he hadn’t slept last night either.
“I’m afraid the trail is still cold on Rebecca. As to Wallace, six-thirty this morning we found an Accord. Red, with Colorado plates. Same color and model as the one he got into at the post office.”
“Where?” I sat up the best I could.
“Long-term lot at the Sunport.”
“Damn. He could be anywhere by now.”
“Not so fast. He’s on the security video. His car entered the lot at one-fifteen this morning. That’s more than an hour after the last flight departed. One man driving.”
“Wallace?”
“Looks like him. Same size, same build, same kind of jacket Wallace had on earlier in the day. That car was dumped. We got video of a second vehicle that came in behind it. The guy I assume is Wallace got into it and they drove off at one-seventeen.”
“That’s something. Did you get a make on the second vehicle?”
“It was a large SUV. That’s all we could make out. Too far from the camera and not enough light. We’re trying to enhance the video, but it’s grainy. Might be all we can get.”
“So they left the Accord at the airport—”
“To throw us off their trail. My guess is Wallace and his friend are still in New Mexico—maybe still in Albuquerque.”
“You have the major roads covered at the state line?”
“Of course. Bus terminals, Amtrak, car rentals, all the state airports have been notified to be on the lookout for them.”
“How do you know the Accord at the airport the same one that picked up Wallace after I collapsed?”
“We found an empty envelope addressed to P.O. Box 57092 on the floor of the front seat.”
“Any poison and prints?”
Sam nodded. “Yes to the poison. Enough aconitine residue on the envelope flap to be fatal. No on the prints.” He stood, walked to the window and raised the blinds. Morning sunlight flooded the room. “You’re one lucky S.O.B.”
“I know.” I pushed the covers off. “Now if they’ll just let me out of here.”
“The weather’s changed the past twenty-four hours. Car barely started this morning. The clothes in that bag should be warmer than the ones you had on yesterday. Make sure you bundle up.”
“Yes, Mother.”
He reached into his coat pocket. “Your keys. Call me when you’re good to go. I’ll swing by or have one of my men take you home.”
I rested the keys next to my water glass.
Sam slugged more coffee. I struggled out of bed, grabbed the IV rack and headed for the john.
“Gotta get going.” Sam headed for the door, then turned around and smiled. “On my way to Pueblo-66 Casino. We got a court order to shut the place down until the murders are cleared up.” He tossed his coffee cup into the wastebasket.
“Way to go.” I turned the knob on the bathroom door.
“Hey,
Champ,” Sam called after me. “Isn’t that thing supposed to tie up in the back?”
“You must be looking in the mirror.”
“Fuck you.”
I closed the bathroom door behind me. The door to my room slammed shut.
A nurse came by twenty minutes later and drew my blood. Dr. Aguilera stopped in around ten-fifteen. He checked my chest, eyes, tongue, pulse, blood pressure, and hopeful smile.
“You bounce back pretty well for a man of your age,” he said.
“Thanks, I guess.”
“There’s no reason to keep you here any longer.”
“Great.” I stood, stretched and grabbed my bag of clothes.
“We need this bed.” Aguilera wagged a finger at me. “Be careful the next couple of days. No excitement. Watch what you eat. Go easy on the spices.”
“No problem, Doc.” I grabbed a fresh pair of jeans from the bag and stepped into them.
“No alcohol, either.”
I paused with the jeans around my knees. My legs shook visibly. “I’ll do my best.”
Aguilera’s brow furrowed. “Mr. McKenna, there’s a slight chance of weakness in your extremities and blurred vision. If either of these occur over the next forty-eight hours, go to the nearest urgent care facility immediately. Have them call me. Here.” He handed me his card.
“I promise.” I snaked a belt through my jeans and cinched it up.
“Lieutenant Archuleta asked me to call when you were ready to be discharged. I just talked with him. He’ll have a car waiting for you downstairs at eleven o’clock. Good luck.”
We shook hands. He smiled for the first time in our brief acquaintance, turned, and left me to finish dressing.
I added a flannel shirt and socks to the jeans, slipped into my shoes, put on my leather jacket, and packed all of my other clothes into the plastic bag. I made my way downstairs and checked out. Patient Services gave me back my secured items. The clock on the wall said I had fifteen minutes before Sam’s arrival. I passed on a cup of coffee. Too much beautiful sunshine to spend another minute indoors.
The cold hit me before the back of the door did. Sam was right about the change in the weather. A biting north wind swirled around me. I turned up the collar of my jacket, slipped my free hand into my pocket and took out my cellphone.
Onion sounded like he’d slept in. “Gabe?”
“They just discharged me. Gotta stop home for a bit and then I’ll haul ass up to Santa Fe. Look for me sometime between one and two.”
“Take your time, Brain. You’ve been through a lot. I’m doing fine.”
“Uh-huh.” I paused. “What’s her name?”
He whispered, “Juanita.”
“Be ready by one. We’ve got a lot to do. No time for distractions.” I hung up and turned my back to the wind.
An APD squad car swung into the front circle and skidded to a stop in front of me. Dust and leaves scattered in the air. The passenger side door popped open a few inches. A second push from inside opened it all the way.
Officer Darrell Jackson leaned out the open door. “Climb in, Professor.”
“Hello.” I eased into the front seat and tossed the clothing bag on the floor. “What happened to Sam?”
“The lieutenant’s stuck out at Pueblo-66 Casino. We’re shutting it down.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that. Hope there’s no more trouble out there.”
“Drive you home?” he asked.
“Thanks. No siren, please.”
Jackson coaxed a smile and eased onto Lomas. The smile didn’t last. “Still no word about Rebecca. Professor, I’m worried she’s—”
“Stop it,” I snapped. “Rebecca’s been in tough spots before. She’s always survived.”
Jackson blinked rapidly. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly I could see the veins.
“You care about her, don’t you?”
“Yessir.” He looked straight ahead and cleared his throat.
I stared out the side window. We turned onto Fourth Street and headed north. Nobody spoke until the squad car pulled into my driveway.
“Hang in there.” I gave him a thumbs-up. “We’ll find Rebecca. Soon, I hope.”
The rookie cop kept staring out the front window. He pursed his lips and nodded. I stepped out of the car, grabbed my bag of clothes and closed the squad car door behind me. Jackson sped out of sight before I had my keys out.
The air inside smelled stale and clung to my clothes. I started the swamp cooler fan and opened the bedroom and library windows until the house felt too cold. Once in the kitchen, I filled Otis’s food bowl and hiked back to the library.
Rebecca’s desk looked lonesome in the corner. A sick feeling settled in my stomach. I sat at my desk and my hand found its way to the lower drawer. Then Dr. Aguilera’s admonition about drinking booze echoed in my head.
“Fuck.” I took out my phone and carried it with me to the kitchen. After piling ice into the tallest glass in the cupboard, I filled it at the tap and set up the coffee maker before dialing the phone.
“Archuleta.”
“It’s Gabe. Thanks for sending Jackson round to get me.”
“He tell you I’m tied up here at the casino? Damn lawyers.”
“Yeah. Listen. I’m heading up to Santa Fe and then further north to get my people. I’ll keep in touch. Just wanted you to know.”
“Do that. You’ll be out of my jurisdiction, but I have friends if you need anything. Where exactly are you going?”
I hesitated.
“Oh come on, Gabe,” Sam’s voice sputtered. “I gave you my word. Doesn’t that mean something to you? We want to protect Angelina, not arrest her, remember?”
“I’m not the one you have to convince. My daughter doesn’t even trust me, how the hell do you think I can get her to trust the cops?”
“She’s safer here under our protection than she is hiding out on Santa Clara Pueblo.”
“Sonofabitch. How did you—?”
“I was notified last night that Nai’ya’s brother—what’s his name?”
“Estefan.”
“Yeah, that he lives on the Pueblo. Figured. Listen, if you need any help, the Tribal Coordinating Officer up there is a friend of mine. Sheriff Pedro Naranjo. I can call ahead if you’d like, tell him to expect you.”
“I guess so.” I grabbed a mug from the sink and filled it with hot coffee. The brew burned my stomach. I needed something real to eat.
“Word to the wise, Gabe—Naranjo’s a guy you definitely want on your side, not against you. One tough S.O.B.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Now what about Rebecca?”
“Not a thing. Absolutely cold trail.” A match was struck. Sam was silent for a moment before he coughed into my ear.
“Call me the minute anything breaks,” I said.
“Will do. I’m sorry, Gabe. I know how much Rebecca means to you.”
“You better keep an eye on Officer Jackson too. He’s carrying a Big Hurt.” We hung up.
I checked my mail and e-mail, paid an overdue utility bill online and rubbed Otis’s chin a few times. After five minutes under a hot shower, I ignored doctor’s orders and filled a shot glass with whiskey. One for the road.
I lifted my revolver from the library desk drawer. It was loaded. I emptied a small matchbox into the drawer and filled it with extra .38 S&W Special rounds before tucking it into my jacket pocket. Back in the kitchen, I filled a thermos with hot coffee. One more call to make before leaving for Santa Fe.
“You out already?” C.J. sounded surprised.
“I’m heading to Santa Fe. Onion and I are driving up to Santa Clara Pueblo to round up my family. I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
“Stand by in case they find Rebecca while I’m out of town. Be my legs.” I cringed as soon as the words left my lips.
“You got one sick sense of humor, you know that?”
“Jeez, I’m sorry. I’m not myself yet.”
“Let it g
o. You need me to be somewhere, this cane won’t stop me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The sun disappeared halfway to Santa Fe. I switched on the Hudson’s heater for the first time. A sharp, burning smell filled the car. Smoke poured from the vents on both sides of the dashboard. I pulled off onto the shoulder of I-25 while I could still see and breathe.
I struggled out of the car and opened both doors. My coughing continued. I opened all the windows. Thank God for the gusty winds. I zipped up my leather jacket and flipped its collar. When the air inside the car cleared, I closed the windows and crawled in behind the wheel.
Thirty frigid miles to Santa Fe. I drove one-handed all the way, blowing alternately on each of my hands to maintain some feeling in them. As I passed Santo Domingo Pueblo, snowflakes swirled in the air. At least the wipers worked.
Onion had taken a room at the Galisteo Hotel, a recently renovated establishment off the Plaza in the heart of Santa Fe. I pulled into the guest lot. The way I saw it, paying for Onion’s room entitled me to a parking spot for a few minutes.
I hurried through a massive wooden portal with hand-carved columns and stepped onto the copper tinted ceramic tiles of the hotel’s lobby. A series of burnt-red leather couches bordered the walls to my left and right. Soft flamenco music fluttered from above. A mezzanine level Spanish-style balustrade let enough light reach the lobby that I thought about my sunglasses.
A misty-eyed, stoop-shouldered bellhop struggled past me, his arms full of tan suede luggage. The desk clerk was dressed in black. He rang Onion’s room with deft fingers and a poker face. I guess he heard what he needed to hear and nodded me toward the elevators. “Room 223. Up one flight. Down the hall to your right.”
Southwestern landscape prints lined the second floor hallway. Somebody spent a fair chunk of change on the recent renovation. Might be a nice getaway with Nai’ya, once our current problems were resolved.
I turned the corner and almost collided with a black haired woman who stood outside the first door on my right. She didn’t see me at first, bent over as she was, adjusting the strap on a six-inch stiletto heel.
“Excuse me.” I smiled and pointed to the door behind her. Room 223.
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