Bullseye

by Virginia Smith

Mrs. Garcia pulled back, though she did not release Karina’s arm. “Come inside. Have a cold drink. We talk, you and I.”

  Karina turned an unspoken command toward Mason to follow her as she was pulled forward and through the front door. Mr. Garcia stepped back to let them enter, then closed the door behind them, his movements slow and heavy.

  She looked at the man as she performed the introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Garcia, this is my friend, Mason Sinclair. He flew here from Atlanta this morning to try to help me figure out what really happened the night José was—” a hard swallow “—killed.”

  Mr. Garcia maintained his silence while he shook Mason’s hand. Then José’s mother released Karina to pull Mason into a tight embrace. She collapsed over his shoulder, crying over and over, “¡Mi hijo!” My son!

  Mason tossed a startled glance toward Karina, and then patted the woman’s back awkwardly as she cried.

  After a moment she pulled away. “Lo siento. I am sorry to cry on you, señor.”

  “Uh, no problem.” He glanced at José’s father and ducked his head. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

  A trio of faces appeared at the doorway as Mrs. Garcia invited them to be seated on the couch. José’s brothers and sister. Karina smiled in their direction. The little girl, probably around four, giggled and disappeared down the hallway at a run. The two boys followed more slowly, their expressions solemn.

  “Alex is a good boy, a good friend to José,” Mrs. Garcia told Karina as soon as they were seated. “I tell the policía, but they arrest him anyway.”

  “Thank you for doing that.” Karina glanced at Mason, who sat there with his lips a tight, silent line. It looked like the talking would be up to her this time. “Mrs. Garcia, do you know what happened that night? When did the boys leave the house?”

  The woman shook her head. “I did not hear them leave. They were watching the television. We go to bed around ten o’clock.” She glanced at her husband for confirmation, and he nodded. “The police wake us up at three to tell us our José is dead. Shot with a gun.” Fresh tears filled her eyes.

  So they hadn’t heard the boys leave the house. She hesitated before asking the next question. What if they hadn’t been told the results of the lab report yet? She didn’t want to be the one to tell them that their son had drugs in his system.

  “Have you noticed any changes in José lately? Anything at all?”

  Both parents nodded without hesitation.

  “He has money now. He gives us money for the food, and the…” She waved her hand toward the lamp, searching for a word. “The electric. And he buy clothes and toys for the little ones.”

  Mason had apparently decided to break his silence. “Did you ask him how he came by the money?”

  “He get a job, work after school and every Saturday.” Mr. Garcia spoke for the first time, his voice a high tenor, his accent even more prominent than his wife’s. “A good boy, my José. A hard worker.”

  Mason leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs. “Where did he work?”

  “Casa del Sol Restaurante. He clean the tables, wash the dishes, sweep the floor, whatever they want him to do. He never complain.”

  “Do you mind telling me how much money he gave you?”

  Karina narrowed her eyes. Where was he going with that question?

  “Three hundred dollars every month.” The man straightened in his chair, his chest swelling with pride. “Is makes more than me.”

  Three hundred dollars? Karina was impressed. Alex had also gotten a job at the beginning of the summer, bagging groceries and stocking shelves at a small grocery store in the neighborhood. He had also given her money to help with the bills, about thirty dollars a week. Karina had felt guilty taking that, because it was more than half of his take-home pay.

  “Hmm.” Mason nodded. “Any other changes? Was he moodier than normal the last few months? Depressed, maybe?”

  Both shook their heads.

  Mason pushed. “Or overly energetic?”

  Karina gave him a cautious look. The Garcias needed to hear about the blood test from the police, not from them.

  Again they shook their heads.

  “And no fights with Alex,” Mrs. Garcia added. She looked at Karina. “The policía ask, and we tell them. Alex is like a brother to José.”

  Before Karina could thank her, the doorbell chimed. Mrs. Garcia leaped up from her chair and rushed to answer. Another woman stood on the front stoop, a big covered bowl in her hands and a mournful expression on her face.

  “Apesadumbrado para su pérdida.” I’m sorry for your loss.

  At the woman’s expression of sympathy, José’s mother once again dissolved into tears. The grief offering was passed off to Mr. Garcia while the two women embraced, their tears mingled. The spicy aroma of cooked onions and peppers filled the small room.

  Karina caught Mason’s eye. It was time to leave. She’d

  accomplished what she wanted from the visit, to express her deep sympathy and to make sure the Garcias didn’t blame Alex for their son’s death. Mason nodded, and they stood.

  “Thank you for talking with us,” Karina told Mr. Garcia. She gave the woman a final hug, and said, “You will be in my prayers.”

  “Gracias,” she muttered before returning to her new visitor. “And Alex will be in mine.”

  Karina left the house, Mason close on her heels. Neither of them spoke until they were in the car and heading down the road.

  “Remind me never to do that again. My shirt is soaked from all those tears.” His voice snapped with irritation.

  She glanced sideways at him, angered by his tone. A sharp retort died on her lips when she caught sight of his strained expression. No doubt he’d found the visit upsetting. The Garcias’ grief probably stirred up memories of his own loss.

  He hasn’t gotten over his wife’s death.

  The thought brought none of the anger she occasionally still felt when she thought of Mason’s wife. Instead compassion stirred within her. He must have loved her very much to still feel her loss so keenly after four years. How hard these past years must have been for him.

  She schooled her voice. “Well, at least we know the Garcias don’t think Alex shot their son.”

  She pressed on the gas pedal, and the car responded sluggishly. Oh no. I hope it’s not getting ready to die again. I can’t afford a big car repair bill.

  “Not only that,” Mason replied, “but we found out something even more important. José had a lot of money recently.”

  She glanced at him and pumped the gas pedal to keep the engine from dying. “Of course he did. He got a job at the beginning of the summer, just like Alex.”

  “Oh, come on. You don’t think he made three hundred dollars a month working after school and on Saturdays, do you? Plus they said he was buying clothes and stuff for the younger kids on top of that. Minimum wage for students in New Mexico is $6.38 an hour. Even if his boss was paying him regular minimum wage, which is $7.50, you have to figure in taxes and social security and all that stuff. He would have had to be putting in a lot of hours.”

  It was true. Karina saw that immediately. Alex didn’t bring home nearly that much, and she didn’t think José had worked any more hours than Alex.

  “So if he didn’t get the money from his job, where did he get it?” She hated to ask the question, because she already knew Mason’s answer before he said it.

  “He could have been selling drugs.” He glanced sideways at her. “Which might mean Alex was involved too.”

  Even though she’d anticipated his answer, she shook her head. “No. I don’t believe it.”

  The car’s forward speed slowed, and she pumped the gas pedal. No! I can’t afford to have car trouble.

  Mason sniffed. “Do you smell gasoline?”

&nb
sp; The moment he said the words she realized she’d smelled gas since she’d started the engine.

  “I think I’m having car trouble,” she told him. “The engine keeps trying to die.”

  “Pull over.” He pointed to an empty place along the curb. “Pop the hood and let me take a look.”

  She did as he requested. He put on his sunglasses, got out of the car, and disappeared from view when he raised the hood.

  “Give some gas,” his voice shouted.

  Karina did.

  In the next instant an explosion shook the car. At the same instant, she saw his body thrown sideways, into the street.

  “Mason!”

  SEVEN

  Mason sat on the edge of a stretcher. His shirt lay in shreds on the pavement, compliments of the EMT who stood in front of him swabbing at his shoulder with a moist sterile pad. A crowd gathered on the sidewalk across the street to gawk, drawn by the flashing red lights of the emergency workers. A couple of police officers had asked a few preliminary questions, and were now inspecting the damage to the car’s engine along with the firemen. At least the fire was out, though it had probably rendered Karina’s car a total loss.

  It had almost done the same to him.

  The EMT’s pad scraped across his abused skin and Mason couldn’t hold back a hiss. The pain from the burns hurt more than he wanted to admit.

  The young man immediately pulled back. “Sorry. There’s some dirt in that one. I’m going to leave it alone and let the Emergency Room folks handle it.”

  “No, go ahead and clean me up, then slap a bandage or something on it. I’m not going to the hospital,” Mason said for the third time.

  “Yes, you are.” Karina stood directly in front of him, hands on her hips, glaring like a drill sergeant. “Those burns are going to get infected if they’re not treated properly.” Her eyes moved as her gaze swept his face. “And they’ll scar, too. You don’t want that, do you?”

  When she called attention to his face, he became more aware of the burning pain there, as well. He’d lost some hair on the left side of his head, his ear stung like crazy and he probably wouldn’t be able to shave for a while, judging by the burning on his left cheekbone. Thank goodness he’d been wearing sunglasses, or his injuries might have been more severe.

  He gave her a rakish grin, ignoring the pain the movement caused his damaged skin. “A scar will make me look like a pirate who’s been in a sword fight, don’t you think?”

  She didn’t return the smile. “No, I don’t. Burn scars aren’t the same as sword scars. Your skin will get all puckered and you’ll look like a lizard.”

  A lizard? He killed the grin. Maybe he’d run along to the hospital after all, just to let them check it out. Judging by the sharp pain every time he took a deep breath, he might have cracked a rib when he hit the pavement, but he wasn’t about to let on to Karina about that.

  Another siren sounded, and a white Charger with blue lights flashing from the front grill pulled up behind the fire truck. Ah, the investigating detective must have arrived. Wouldn’t it be an amazing coincidence if the detective turned out to be—

  Mason stiffened, and the movement sent pain through the damaged, burned skin of his shoulder and chest. The man who emerged from the driver’s seat of the Dodge was none other than Curt Grierson, his former police sergeant.

  Standing beside his car, Grierson scanned the area and his gaze came to rest on Mason. Recognition dawned, but not surprise, which meant he’d already been given their names. He slammed his car door and crossed the distance between them with long, purposeful strides.

  “When you decide to make a comeback you don’t waste time, do you, Sinclair?”

  Mason forced himself to control his features, though inside he seethed with indignation. No greeting. No How’ve you been? from his former boss, not that he’d expected a friendly reception. Four years ago Grierson had made no secret of the fact that he thought Mason was on the take, and that his illegal activities were somehow responsible for Margie’s death.

  “Well you know me, Sergeant,” he responded with forced ease, “I never could keep a low profile.”

  “It’s detective.” Grierson’s lips tightened beneath his moustache. “Has been for four years now. Since shortly after you left, in fact.”

  What was that supposed to mean? That getting rid of Mason had been good for his career? The jerk was baiting him. Mason dropped all semblance of politeness. “Congratulations on the promotion. Since I wasn’t available, who’d you have to frame to get that?”

  The EMT packed up his gear and made a quick escape toward the back of the ambulance. Beside him Karina’s expression froze.

  Mason halfway hoped Grierson would rise to the insult. Being nearly blown up left him in a bad mood, and a verbal argument with the guy who had treated him like a criminal during the worst episode of his life might be just the thing. Instead Grierson actually smiled. The expression looked foreign on his stern lips.

  “Still the same smart aleck tongue, I see. What are you doing in town, Sinclair?”

  “Visiting some old friends.” He sent a warning glance to Karina. No sense telling this guy anything if they didn’t have to.

  “Looks like some of them aren’t too happy to see you.” Grierson’s glanced slid pointedly to the car. The blackened residue of the fire could still be seen on the raised hood from this distance.

  “Oh, just a little engine trouble.”

  “It was not!” Karina glared in his direction and took a step toward the detective. “My car was blown up, Detective, and Mason could have been killed.”

  Great. Now she’d stirred up a hornet’s nest. Mason returned her glare with disgust. She never could keep her mouth shut when she should.

  “Blown up? As in, with an explosive device?” Grierson’s eyebrows rose.

  Mason didn’t bother to hold back a sigh. Being evasive with this guy, jerk or not, wouldn’t do any good. He’d get all the information he needed from the police reports anyway. And Mason wasn’t stupid enough to hold back on a police report. Especially when Karina’s safety might be at jeopardy.

  “Not a device. Somebody cut a hole in the gas line right next to the catalytic converter, which was hot from our driving around town. The harder we stomped on the pedal, the more gas squirted directly onto it. I happened to be looking under the hood when the gasoline ignited.” Mason’s head went a little light at the memory. If he hadn’t seen what was happening and jerked backward at the right moment, his injuries would have been much more severe. A close call, much too close for his liking.

  “What do you mean somebody poked a hole?” The detective’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds like a faulty fuel line to me.”

  “My car was not having any mechanical problems.” Karina folded her arms. “It was the man who’s been following me. It must be.”

  Grierson’s head jerked around to give Mason a hard stare. “I think you’d better start at the beginning, Sinclair.”

  Mason did, succinctly and with clipped words. “Karina noticed a man in a black car parked outside her apartment yesterday, watching her. Today she and I visited her brother in juvy and when we came out we found the same guy in the parking lot, surveilling her car. Big guy, arms like a wrestler. He drove off before I could get his plates. The car drove fine when we left there.” He glanced at Karina for verification, and she nodded. No need to mention the visit to Parker’s house. “Then just now we were paying a visit to a house a couple of streets over. Couldn’t have been inside more than ten minutes. Long enough for someone to mess with the gas line, if they knew what they were doing.”

  Though Grierson’s expression had not changed when Mason mentioned juvy, he pounced on that detail, as Mason had known he would.

  “Who’s the brother, and why’s he there?”

  “His n
ame is Alexander Guerrero.”

  Recognition dawned on the detective’s face. He folded his arms and stood in front of Mason with his feet spaced at shoulder’s length. “The kid who killed his friend this weekend.”

  Karina’s hot reply was instant. “He did not.”

  Mason allowed a cold smile as he returned Grierson’s stare. “Innocent until proven guilty, remember, Sergeant?”

  Grierson ignored the title jab. “All right. Suspected of killing another kid in a gang-style shooting. I’m familiar with the case, since my team handled the arrest. Or did you know that already?”

  A prod for information, but one Mason wasn’t going to fall for. No way would he say anything to get Parker in hot water. Instead he fired back a snappy reply. “Really? You handled the arrest? You’ve expanded your area of expertise from innocent patrol officers to innocent teenagers, then?”

  “One of my officers did.” His eyes narrowed. “Your old partner, Harding.”

  Mason worked hard to keep his face impassive, and he thought he succeeded. After a long silence during which they engaged in a staring contest, Grierson cocked his head sideways, his gaze shrewd.

  “You know what I find interesting, Sinclair? You pop up after several years, and suddenly we have another gang-style shooting on our hands. Don’t you find that interesting?”

  A sudden and nearly irresistible anger flared, clouding any snappy reply Mason could have made. His hands tightened at his sides. He’d been completely cleared of all charges in Margie’s death, but Grierson still treated him like a suspect.

  Karina thrust herself between them, fury evident in the corded muscles in her slender neck. “That’s ridiculous. Mason didn’t get here until today. The only reason he came is because I asked him for help. I knew if my brother’s fate was left up to people like you,” she spat the word, “who rush to believe he’s guilty without giving him a chance, he’ll be convicted of a crime he didn’t commit.”

  The force of Karina’s fury dampened Mason’s. Several strands of thick hair had come loose from their binding, and stood out around her head. She looked like a feral cat, back arched, fur standing at attention and spitting mad.