Ruiz finally looked up at Munch and Mace. "She has just come from the morgue. They did not tell her that her daughter was also dead. I tried to explain that there was no identification on the body of the woman—the girl. No one knew it was her niña."
Mace placed a hand on Munch's shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. She didn't need his prompt to tell her to keep her mouth shut. She stared at the poor woman, wondering how anyone could endure the sight of their child laid out on a mortician's slab.
"I can see you are all very busy," Mace said. "Do you have any idea where we might find the passengers and driver of my friend's limousine?"
"After you pay the impound charges," Ruiz said, "you may take the car. We, too, are looking for the driver. She robbed her passengers and left them by the side of the road. They have filed complaints."
Munch dug her nails into Mace's arm. She hoped he'd get her message. lf Ellen had ripped off her customers, she must have had a good reason.
"How is it that you have the car and not the driver?" Mace asked, looking genuinely puzzled.
"The limousine was found abandoned eight kilometers north from the two men," Ruiz said.
"Two men?" Munch asked.
Ruiz smiled at her, flashing his gold front tooth. "The victims. The passengers. We believe the car might have developed mechanical difficulties. An unlucky break for our thief."
"So you had to tow it?" Munch asked.
"No," Ruiz said. "The car remains where it was found. Without keys."
Munch wanted to ask why she had to pay an impound charge if there had been no towing or storage involved.
"Can I use your rest room?" Munch asked.
Ruiz pointed at a wooden door in the corner. "Thanks," she said. "I'll be right back."
She pushed open the door and stepped onto the wet cement floor. The bathroom smelled of urine. When she closed the door, it was almost too dark to make out the fixtures. By reluctant feel she found her way to the toilet and sink. The seat was up, so she put it down. She turned on the faucet and ran her fingers under the dribble that leaked out.
Then she opened her purse and removed her wallet. Her money was all together in the side fold, and that wouldn't do at all. She left two twenties and three ones in the bill compartment of her wallet; then she separated the remaining twenties, folding them and distributing them in different pockets of her jeans. She still had the hundreds that Raleigh had given her. One she stashed under her driver's license; the rest she tucked in her socks. Then she flushed the toilet and reemerged.
"How much do we owe you for your trouble, Senor?" Mace asked Ruiz.
She watched the man's eye calculate. Without waiting for his answer, she opened her wallet and pulled out the two twenties.
Ruiz shook his head. "Your limousine was operating without a Mexican permit. We'll need to let the judge decide."
Munch put the twenties back and dug out the hundred. Ruiz reached his hand out. "There is also the impound charge."
With a sigh she pulled the twenties back out and added them to the hundred on his outstretched palm. '
"I'll draw you a map," he said. He didn't offer her a receipt.
"Maybe we should go talk to your customers." Mace said to Munch. "Sounds like they had a rough night."
"I believe they made other arrangements to return to Los Angeles," Ruiz said.
* * *
Munch will just have to understand, Ellen thought. I'll make it up to her someday, but I have to survive if that someday is ever to come around. Besides, didn't Munch say something about having insurance? Shit, she works it right, she am come out pretty sweet an the whole deal.
Ellen walked along the poorly paved highway, ducking into the bushes when she heard cars. Finally she arrived at a small town and risked contact with other human beings to buy much-needed supplies.
The door of the small market stood partially ajar. Flies buzzed at her face as she entered, and she swatted at them angrily. The woman behind the cash register regarded her with only small interest. Ellen found that reassuring.
A rotating stand by the front door was filled with cowboy hats. Ellen selected one made of black felt and tried it on. She studied her reflection in the small four-inch mirror embedded in the hat stand. Not quite satisfied, she went to the display of sunglasses next to the hats. She chose a pair of mirrored aviator glasses and felt pleasantly incognito when she viewed the results.
She walked to the back of the store, accompanied by salsa music piped out of AM transistor speakers. The handle of the screwdriver pressed against her spine. Munch's blanket was folded over her arm. She grabbed a bag of Fritos, comforted by the familiar orange wrapper, and then proceeded to the unlit cooler humming noisily against the back wall.
As soon as her hand grasped the handle, she knew that she was going to have a beer. She'd already broken her sobriety, so what was the big deal? Besides, cerveza was the only cold beverage the market offered. Surely, nobody expected her to swallow warm Pepsi this early in the day.
She passed her money to the cashier and received pesos in change. She had no idea if she was being ripped off, but at this point that was the least of her worries. Pocketing her change, she left the market to find a secluded spot where she could consume her breakfast and form some kind of plan.
She walked with her face averted to the street, ignoring the kissing noises directed toward her by the local men. Did that ever work for them? she wondered.
She ripped open the bag of corn chips, ate a handful, and chased it down with a healthy chug of the cold beer.
"Ahh," she said out loud, feeling halfway human again. She continued to walk, passing an array of small shops, private homes, and an old church with a whitewashed marquee entrance. A picture of the Virgin Mary kneeling in prayer before a gory, crucified Christ was enshrined behind a glass signboard. Ellen lifted her bottle in a toast.
Beyond the church was a line of warehouses. She headed for them.
A loud squeal of brakes nearly made her drop her breakfast. The ground beneath her feet rumbled; then the shadow of a large truck overtook her. She turned around. The first thing she noticed was the stack of bug-spattered license plates on the truck's grille. She took a deep breath, threw back her shoulders, and smiled her biggest and brightest. The truck stopped. The driver stuck his head out the window. The brim of his cowboy hat cast a shadow over most of his face, but Ellen didn't care. She was in no position to be choosy. .
"Hey, Texas," she said in her best Lone Star drawl. "Y'all taking any passengers?"
CHAPTER 15
He had never felt so violated. The woman had left them on the side of the road like garbage. And if that wasn't bad enough, she had touched his body while he had no means by which to defend himself, no conscious choice in the matter at all. He thought of his mother pulling down his pants, making him lie across her lap as she slapped his bare bottom. She managed to double the castigation by scorning the emergence of his pubic hair, all the while taking advantage of his helpless nakedness.
You think you We a man? Whack. Stupid, sloppy monkey boy. Whack.
Whatever minor infraction of his mother's impossible rules the punishment had been for was long forgotten. But the humiliation of her treatment still made his face burn. And now another woman had evoked all those same feelings of outrage. He knew of only one way to alleviate his angst. She was probably laughing at him still. That was intolerable. Her second mistake had been to leave them with a credit card. Perhaps he would incorporate the sharp plastic edges in her punishment. It was her fault; he had no sympathy for her. She was the one who had made it so personal. Before, he'd merely disapproved of her brashness. Now, he hated her more than he'd ever hated any woman, and that was saying a lot. She'd brought this on herself. She would pay.
Once more he studied the automobile registration card in his hand, reading again the name and address printed on it. His mind filled with the fantasies of what he'd do to the woman, how her eyes would reflect her fear. He chuckled. Sh
e'd probably wet herself.
"What's so funny?" his companion asked, intruding on his daydream.
He turned to the other man, feeling a kinship. He smiled and shook his head as if to say, never mind. He'd never had many friends. Maybe he should work to cultivate relationships with others who shared his interests. After he'd dealt with the woman, this Ellen, he might very well pursue that next and see where it took him.
"Let's go find a car rental agency that takes MasterCard," he said.
"Yes, we've had enough fun here," his companion said.
* * *
Munch followed the road signs pointing to Tecate. She found her battered limousine just where the federale's crudely drawn map said it would be, on the shoulder of the highway. ' "X marks the spot," she said to Mace, as they pulled up alongside the mud-spattered stretch. Her casual remark belied what she was really feeling. Was Ellen also lying in some muddy ditch, broken and battered?
Munch walked around her ravaged limo and did a silent calculation of the damage. The spoke hubcaps cost a hundred dollars each if she went to the dealer. No doubt she could buy back her own from some curbside booth in town. The antennae were another matter. The little cellular-telephone antenna was no big deal, but the car's radio antenna would set her back another bill. Add another twenty for the Cadillac hood ornament. The dent on the driver's door really pissed her off It would have to be pulled out, feathered with Bondo, and repainted. Besides being costly, the process would put the car out of commission for a week, and they'd never get an exact match on the color.
She walked around to the passenger side and studied the broken window. She could buy new glass for forty bucks and install it herself. The small blessing there was that the front windows weren't tinted, so she was saved that hassle and expense.
"Anything missing inside?" Mace asked.
"You mean besides the people?" She looked in through the hole where the window had been and saw the open glove compartment. "Someone went through the glove box. "
He grabbed the handle of the rear door on the passenger side, pushing the button in with his thumb. "Locked," he said. She saw that the privacy partition was up. Maybe she still had a television and a sound system in the back.
"I wonder why the crooks didn't just unlock the back doors with the power switch," Mace said.
Munch shrugged. "Maybe they got scared off before they got that far." She walked back around to the driver's door and opened it with her key. The first thing she noticed was that the dome light didn't go on. She reached down and flipped the door lock switch. Nothing happened. "The battery's dead," she said.
"Great," Mace said. "I'll see if there are any jumper cables in the Pontiac."
"We might not need them," Munch said. She reached down and pulled the hood release. The hood popped up an inch. She selected a small key on the ring of keys she'd brought with her and came around to the front of the car. Working by feel, she found the chain and lock protecting the contents of the engine compartment. She slid the small key into the lock and opened the hood.
Mace came over and stood next to her. She checked the oil, inspecting not only the level but looking and smelling for signs of coolant or fuel contamination. Next she checked the radiator level and found it full. Mace stuck his finger in the green fluid, then wiped it on his pants. She wondered what that test was supposed to prove as she replaced the radiator cap. She pointed out the limo's second battery.
"The limo has a lot of extra electrical accessories," she explained. "When it's running with two blower motors going, the TV on, headlights, whatever, that draws a lot of juice from the system and really puts a strain on the charging system. The factory puts in a hundred-amp alternator, but they still burn out quickly. By running two batteries in sequence, the alternator doesn't have to work as hard."
Mace nodded like he was understanding her. Most men did that, feeling they should automatically know anything automotive. "So does that mean both batteries are dead?" he asked, standing in front of the engine with his hands on his hips.
"Not necessarily. If the battery ran down because something was left on after the engine was shut off, only the primary battery will be dead. I can jump the car off the auxiliary battery." She pushed him gently aside and pointed at the Ford starter solenoid mounted on the fan shroud. "That's what this is for. " He stuck his hand out and touched the solenoid. She handed him the keys. "Turn the ignition on, and I'll crank it from out here."
"Okay," he said.
She waited until he was seated behind the wheel; then, using a small pocket screwdriver, she jumped the solenoid connections. The engine cranked but didn't start. She saw the accelerator linkage move back and forth and stopped cranking the motor. "You don't have to work the gas," she said. "This car is fuel-injected."
"Oh, right," he said. "You want me to just sit here and look pretty?"
She grinned. "You're getting the idea now." She opened the cap covering a fuel fitting on the fuel rail. Using the small screwdriver again, she depressed the spring-loaded shraeder valve. The fuel rail should have been full of pressurized gas, but when she held the valve open, only air escaped. "I think we're out of gas," she said.
She came around to the driver's side and flipped a lever by the floorboard.
"Don't tell me," Mace said. "Auxiliary fuel tank?"
"That's right," she said.
"What other tricks do you have?" he asked.
"A few." She thought about the tape recorder under the seat. Before she played the tape for him, she hoped to get an opportunity to listen to it privately. She went back under the hood and cranked the engine again. This time it caught. He got out from behind the wheel and came around front to watch the engine run.
"You all through under here?" he asked, hands on the hood.
"Yeah."
He slammed the hood shut and dusted off his hands. She went back to the car, unlocked the back doors, and rolled down the privacy partition.
Mace came around to the passenger side and spoke to her through the broken window. "Don't go back there," he said. "I don't want any contamination of evidence. We're going to want to go over the whole area to collect prints and trace evidence."
"How long will that take?" she asked. She leaned across the seat and pushed the yellow button in the glove compartment that released the trunk latch. There was a clunk as the lid popped open a few inches, then settled down. The boomerang-shaped television antenna bolted to the trunk lid bounced outside the small rear window.
"A day or two," he said. "Anything else missing?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. " She got up from the driver's seat and walked around to the trunk. Mace met her at the rear of the car. She lifted the lid and looked in. "I kept a blanket in here," she said. "It's gone." She rummaged around, trying to figure out what else was missing.
"Hold it," Mace ordered. "I told you not to touch anything."
"You said in the back, not in the trunk."
"Leave everything as you found it. "
"Okay, I'm sorry. Jeez."
"Before we cross the border," he said, "I need to call Cassiletti and have him cancel the APB I put out on your limo."
"You're welcome to use my mobile phone, but it probably won't work out here. Especially without an antenna."
"I'll use the pay phone at the gas station back down the road. Follow me over there."
"Yeah, okay, " she said. They got back in their separate vehicles. She was glad they didn't have to drive back to Los Angeles together. His attitude was starting to get to her. He started the station wagon and waited while she turned the limo around. They drove the short distance back to the Pemex station, where he pulled up by the pay phone.
"You want to get gas here?" he asked.
"Not really," she said, not trusting the contents of the tanks in the ancient, run-down gas station. She watched him head off to the pay phone, then resumed her inventory of the glove box.
"Why would somebody take the registration? she asked out lo
ud. As soon as the words were out, the chilling truth hit her. She jumped out of the car and ran after him. "I've got to call my house," she said. "Whoever went through the glove box took the registration. My home address is on it."
Mace handed her the phone and stepped aside.
She dialed the operator, and asked, "Do you speak English?"
"Uno momento, " came the reply.
A second operator came on the line, and said, "Hello?"
"I have to make a collect call," Munch told her. She gave the operator her name and number. When the call finally went through, she heard her own voice on the answering machine's outgoing tape.
"I'1l guess you'll have to try again later," the operator said. "There's no one home to accept charges."
"Can I charge the call to my home number and leave a message?
"Is there anyone at your home phone number to verify payment?"
"No," Munch said. That was the problem.
"You'll just have to try again later, ma'am," the operator said.
"But this is an emergency," Munch said.
"I'm sorry," the operator said. "But I cannot put your call through at this time."
"Wait," Munch said, hearing the desperation in her voice. "I'd like to try another number." She gave the operator Derek's number, but there was no answer there either. She hung up in frustration and turned to Mace.
He picked up the phone, and said, "Don't worry, l'll call Cassiletti and have him send out a patrol unit to the house. Nothing's going to happen to your kid."
* * *
Ellen watched as all the trucks and buses leaving Tijuana were funneled into the far right lane. Billboards and lit signboards flashed the word Bienvenido. Welcome. Open booths lined the side of the road, selling every kind of kitschy bright-colored thing known to man. Electric yellow ceramic Tweety birds vied for space under Aztec plates and fluttering piñatas. A plaster of Paris life-size Jesus with blood dripping from his side wound rested in the arms of a blue-robed Virgin Mary.
Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella Page 12