Key Witness

by Sandra Bolton

  “Meet me in back of the club when you’re finished here.” Abe released his hold on the twenty. “I’ll tell you all about it. Come alone.”

  She took the money and sauntered off to work the crowd, but turned her head, tossed her hair seductively, and hissed at him, “Half an hour.”

  Abe stood and walked outside. When he reached the sidewalk, he looked over his shoulder, but didn’t see anyone following him, and made his way to the alley. He could barely make out the outline of the Bronco parked near the corner, partially hidden behind a Dumpster. Abe found the back door of the club and leaned up against the wall, wishing he hadn’t given up cigarettes. He didn’t see Emily. Maybe that’s good, he thought, feeling a chill. He stuck his hands in his pockets and waited.

  Fifteen minutes passed before Juanita de la Cruz stepped out the back door. She didn’t come alone—the big guy who had taken Abe’s first twenty followed behind her. He walked up to Abe and grabbed him by the jacket front.

  “The lady says you got something belongs to her.”

  “I told the lady to come alone and I would talk to her. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

  “Let him go, Chulo.”

  The giant released his grip on Abe and shoved him back.

  “He’s just doing his job, cowboy. Rico told him to look out for me. Now where is the key?”

  “I’m the messenger.” Where the hell is Emily, anyway? “Tell Rico Corazón to show up at a bar in Bisbee, Arizona, at nine p.m., next Friday night. The place is called Dick’s Hot Licks. He can’t miss it. Tell him to ask for Jesus Eyes.”

  “That’s it? Jesus Eyes. You’re kidding. How do you know Rico, anyway, gringo?”

  “That’s not important. Give him the message. The key will cost him ten grand. Either he brings the money and comes alone or no deal. Take it or leave it.” Abe waited for her to swallow the bait then added, “Might be somebody else interested in that key.”

  Chulo jumped in his face again. Abe could feel the splatter of sour saliva from the guy’s mouth as he pulled him close, eyeball to eyeball. “Tell this loser Jesus Eyes he can lick my dick.”

  Abe saw the fist and tried to dodge it. He landed his own bare knuckles on the goon’s chin and felt like he had punched a cast-iron skillet. Chulo flinched, but only briefly, and Abe caught the full effect of the bodyguard’s fist in his gut. He felt the wind whoosh out of him like air from a deflated balloon. He fell to his knees, bracing himself for the kick he saw coming. Juanita de la Cruz made no move to stop her psycho-pet this time. Abe rolled over and grabbed a leg, but couldn’t escape the sharp end of the brute’s pointed cowboy boot as it hit home in his left kidney. Groaning in pain, still holding on to Chulo’s leg, he tried to pull him down, but it was like toppling an oak tree. Then he heard a vehicle screech to a stop and a car door open. He could barely make out the person standing next to the Bronco, but recognized the calm, even-toned voice with the slight melodic lilt.

  Emily, her police-issue Glock pointed squarely at the big guy’s head, threw a quick look at Juanita. “If either of you make a move, somebody will have to scrape this goon’s brains off the wall.” Abe crawled into the backseat and she hopped in beside him.

  Sally drove like the lead car in the final stretch of the Grand Prix with someone hot on her tail. They zoomed around corners, zipped through red lights, and hit the I-10 ramp going west.

  Abe felt a searing pain in his kidneys and rib cage. His head felt like it had been used as a bass drum by a rock band. He leaned back and closed his eyes, resting his head on something soft and sweet smelling, and felt Emily’s strong fingers caressing his cheek.

  “Abe, Abe. Come on. I came as quick as I could, and I never had you out of my sight.”

  Abe heard her voice, but thought he dreamed it and didn’t respond. Patch whined softly and licked his hand.

  Sally twisted her head around from the driver’s seat. “I hope that boy didn’t get another blow to the head on top of that concussion. Try to keep him sitting up and awake.”

  “The creep hit him in the face and there’s a cut below his eye, lots of blood. The knuckles on his left hand are cut. I saw the asshole kick him in the side, too. We need to pull over, Sally. I want you to take a look. There’s a first aid kit under the seat. I’ll keep an eye out for anyone that might be following us.” Emily took Abe’s face in both hands. “Come on, Abe. Don’t pass out on me.”

  Abe’s eyes fluttered as he tried to focus on the face looking down at him. “Emily, I landed one. Scored with a left,” he mumbled. “They got the message.”

  “I know, you were great.” She bent over and kissed him gently on the forehead.

  Did I imagine that?

  “Stay with me, Abe,” Emily said. “Keep talking.”

  “Did you . . . nah. I had a dream; I thought you kissed me.” He closed his eyes and felt Emily shaking him. “Tell Sally I’m sorry. I think I lost her husband’s cowboy hat.”

  Sally took an exit and turned down a side road. “It don’t matter. I had three husbands and there’re two more cowboy hats at home. Actually, that one never was my favorite.”

  The vehicle stopped and Emily took over the driving while Sally slipped in the backseat. She cleaned his cuts with something that burned like hell, and put on a couple of bandages. He felt her fingers probing his ribs and winced. Then she pulled up his eyelids. “Pupil’s aren’t dilated; nothing broken. I think he’s all right, a little roughed up. Here, swallow these. Don’t have any water right now, so swallow them quick.” Abe forced the pills down his dry throat and tried to lie down, but Sally kept him upright.

  All the way to Bisbee the women talked, waking him whenever he attempted to close his eyes and sleep. He tried to concentrate on what they said but lost the thread of conversation. He remembered Emily saying she had contacted a prison guard she knew from the rez who agreed to spread the word among the Aryan Brotherhood about a missing key.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone followed us,” Sally said. “Let me drive the rest of the way.”

  Emily bought three coffees from an all-night diner outside Lordsburg, and Sally switched places with her, taking over the driver’s seat.

  By the time they turned off I-10 and hooked up with Arizona State Highway 80, the car clock read one a.m. Every inch of Abe’s body ached. “Shit,” he said. “How’d I ever get in this mess?”

  They were back on the road, another hour from Bisbee. The coffee tasted like yesterday’s leftovers. He took a few tentative sips and let the hot liquid burn his throat. “This is when the shit hits the fan, Emily. We have a week, if they don’t show up sooner. How do we even know they’ll come?”

  “They’ll come. It’s a gamble, I know. But I gave the guard the same story we gave your porn queen. Told him nobody would be around if they come looking for you any sooner. I have a feeling someone out there would do anything to get that key back.”

  “Yeah, like kill me.” Abe shook his head, as if trying to reject the idea. “Then this is all coming down at Dick’s? Shouldn’t we let Paco know what’s going on?”

  “Of course. We should have checked with him first, but Paco is an old friend of Will’s. He’ll do what he can to help. If he has to close down for the night, he will. Look, Dick’s is a place anyone can find, and we’ll be ready for them. I’ll call Paco and fill him in.”

  In the silence that followed, Abe wondered how you get ready for a killer, and if Emily even knew herself. Sure, she had training as a cop, she acted tough, but he also felt she used her toughness to hide vulnerability. “Emily,” he said, his voice low, “have you ever lost someone you cared deeply about?”

  She looked startled by the question and averted her eyes, but not before he saw the flicker of pain. “Don’t change the subject.”

  20

  When the Bronco reached Sally’s little ranch house, Abe stumbled from the car and collapsed on the sofa. Nothing had ever felt so welcoming or comfortable as that old, worn leather. He wrapped himsel
f in the Mexican blanket and sank into the soft concaves left behind by the butts of Sally’s cowboy husbands, swearing, as the sofa yielded to his body like a waiting lover, he could still smell the sage-scented open range and the sweat of horses. Emily disappeared in the confines of the guest bedroom and Sally to her own room. No one wanted any more talk tonight, just sleep, and in less than two minutes, with Patch curled near his feet, Abe was snoring.

  At some point in the gray predawn light, he awoke to that mysterious sense that tells our sleeping minds another presence is in the room. He opened his eyes and saw Emily looking down at him, her long, black hair undone and falling past her shoulders to rest on her breasts. She wore an oversize T-shirt and shorts, and looked beautiful.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Want to talk?”

  Abe sat up and rubbed his eyes, patted the couch, making room. “Sure. Have a seat.” He waited for her to settle beside him, then wrapped the blanket around both their bodies. He wore only boxer shorts and was distinctly aware of the warmth of her body and the swelling of his erection as their bare legs touched. They sat that way for several minutes before Emily broke the silence.

  “Remember when you asked me if I had ever lost someone I loved?”

  “Yes,” said Abe, thinking back to the pained expression in her eyes when he first asked the question. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and felt her tremble.

  “In high school,” Emily began, “I went with a lot of boys. I don’t know—maybe I wanted to prove something, or find something—whatever. My mom tried to help, but she had to work all the time after our dad died from cancer caused by his work in the uranium mine out by Shiprock.”

  Abe let the silence hang between them. He didn’t know if he should keep quiet and let her talk or encourage her to continue. He waited, knowing how it felt to lose your father when you’re young, but made no comment.

  “I hung out with a wild crowd, lots of drinking, some drugs, crazy stuff. Will warned me, tried to set me straight, but I wouldn’t listen to my ‘faggot’ brother, you know, even if he was older and smarter than me.” Emily looked down at the floor, pausing, then pushed her hair back and faced Abe. “Right before I turned sixteen I ended up pregnant. I didn’t know who the father was.” The sigh that followed sounded like a moan.

  Abe felt her body tense and knew the telling cost her, and also that she had more to say. “Emily, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter what you did when you were a kid. It’s over now. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “All right.”

  “I had the baby—a beautiful boy. I named him Christopher, and gave him a secret name, his Diné name. But, I still didn’t change my behavior, not then. Mom tried to keep me in school, but I dropped out and moved in with another guy. His name doesn’t matter—I can’t even say it. Anyway, he drank, and beat me on a regular basis. He felt jealous of my baby because he knew it wasn’t his. One day he beat me so badly I realized I had to get away or he would kill me, so I called Will to come and get us. My little boy had just turned two.”

  Silent tears streamed down her cheeks. Abe tried to brush them away, but she gripped his hand to stop him.

  “It’s all in the past, Emily.” Not wanting to hear how this might end, he put his fingers over her lips.

  “Let me finish, Abe.” Emily turned her head toward the window. The breaking dawn transformed the sky into a glorious explosion of fire. “It had been raining all week, and the arroyos were full of water.” The words were coming in a torrent. “I started packing and this bastard grabbed Chris and ran out the door. I chased him, and saw him trip and fall into the arroyo with my baby, my little boy, still wearing his blue Superman pajamas and crying for his mama. I screamed like a crazy woman and ran back and forth on the edge of the arroyo looking for Chris. When Will arrived he jumped in the water. Will went under time and time again, but he couldn’t find my baby. My son was gone.”

  Abe wrapped his arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Emily.” He knew the terrible feeling of losing the one thing you love most in the world, but he didn’t say that, not now. “I feel your pain, sweetheart. I am so sorry.”

  She let him hold her for a few minutes before meeting his gaze. “They found the bodies three days later, several miles downstream. That’s when Will started drinking, and I stopped. I moved back with my mom, finished high school and two years of nursing school, then switched to law enforcement. Will is the one with all the brains and he went on to get his degree in mining and geology, despite the alcohol he consumed more and more. He blamed himself for not being able to save Chris, but I know it was my fault, Abe, not Will’s. And he has paid for it every day.”

  Emily slumped against him and closed her eyes, her body shuddering with silent sobs. After a few minutes, she dropped off to sleep.

  Abe held her close, then leaned back against the sofa—two wounded souls seeking comfort in an old Mexican blanket and their shared melancholy. His heart ached for her. Exhaustion swept over him and he, too, slept. When he awoke again the bright sun of midday streamed through the window and Sally rattled pots in the kitchen. The clock on the wall said 12:30. He whispered Emily’s name and her eyes popped open. She jumped up and skittered into the bedroom.

  Reemerging later, freshly showered and looking as if nothing happened, Emily sat at the breakfast table with Abe and Sally. For once, Sally held her tongue.

  Emily peered over the steaming coffee cup. “We have a lot to do today.”

  “Right,” the other two agreed, nodding.

  They ate ravenously without discussing what they needed to do, though, and spent the afternoon taking care of the animals and immersing themselves in small chores. Emily said she would check in with her contact at the prison, and Abe took his turn in the shower, luxuriating in the hot water while trying to sort out his conflicting feelings. He emerged from the bathroom, freshly shaven, his face still pink from the steaming water, feeling almost new—except for the black eye, the bump on his head, and pain in his kidney and ribs—and glad he had a week for his body to recuperate.

  Sally flashed him a grin and wink.

  Emily, busying herself at the kitchen sink, kept her back turned. “Joe, the prison guard, gave me an interesting bit of information. Got it from his stoolie.”

  “Oh yeah, what’s that?” Abe filled a water dish for Patch.

  “The rumor spread among the Aryans. According to Joe’s stoolie, a Kansas City branch of the Mafia has a big interest in getting their hands on that key.”

  “I keep hearing talk of this ‘key,’” Sally said. “It’s gotta unlock the whole cockeyed mess. What’s the story, and where is it?”

  “It’s locked in the evidence room at headquarters. We need that key.”

  Abe carried the water to the door, whistled for Patch, then turned back to Emily. “What else did your buddy at the pen say?”

  “It gets complicated. Turns out Easy Jackson had been providing information to the Feds concerning the Aryan Brotherhood’s involvement in the drug trade. That’s how he managed to get a transfer and shortened sentence.”

  “Jackson wanted to go to Bisbee,” Abe said. “And he knew someone was on his tail in Clayton. He jumped like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs every time he heard a sound. Kept looking over his shoulder like he expected trouble. It could have been either Corazón, the Aryans, or the Kansas City Mafia who made the hit on him then. Maybe they all wanted the key, or maybe they had other motives. We’ll have to wait and see who bites the bait.”

  “I’m calling a cousin of mine at headquarters, the other token female cop. Let’s see what they’ve learned, and if we can get that key back.”

  Sally scratched her head. “Must unlock something important—a safe-deposit box, or maybe a locker with cash or drugs. Aren’t many places with lockers in Bisbee—closest bus station is Tucson, and we don’t have any gyms, except the high school.”

  Abe and Sally sat at the table while Emily picked up the p
hone and placed a call to the Crownpoint substation. Shortly thereafter, they listened to Emily in a one-sided conversation with her coworker cousin.

  “Mabel, it’s Em. I’m calling from Arizona. Will’s doing better, thanks. Look, I’m calling because I need a quick lowdown on the Easy Jackson case. Any new developments? . . . Uh-huh . . . No shit . . . So the Staties are still handling it? You know the key that turned up on that guy, Abe Freeman?” She grinned at Abe. “Did they get a trace on it?” Emily held the phone to her ear and raised her eyebrows. “Yeah . . . sure . . . okay.” After a few minutes she said, “I need a big favor, Mabel. I want a duplicate of that key, and I need it right away. If you can’t make a copy, get the original. You can slip a dummy in its place . . . I can’t explain anything right now, Cuz, but it concerns helping Will and Grandma . . . I knew I could count on you. I’ll meet you tomorrow night at Mexican Springs, Uncle Jim’s place, six o’clock. Thanks, Mabel.”

  After she hung up, Emily turned to the expectant faces of the other two. “Clans stick together. We’ll have that key when Corazón or anyone else shows up.”

  “Well, don’t stand there grinning like a mule eating briars,” Sally said. “Give us the scoop.”

  “Yeah, Em. What’s the story on the key found on that Freeman guy?” Abe raised his eyebrows.

  “Let’s go outside and I’ll tell you about it. I’m getting stir-crazy.”

  “Good idea. I’ll feed Patch first, and join you. I could use some exercise and fresh air.”

  Sally jumped up from the chair. “Well, don’t think you’re gonna leave me behind. I want to hear this.”

  The sun burned through a milky sky that did nothing to alleviate the midafternoon heat, but Sally led them behind the barn to a twisting trail shaded with ironwood and paloverde trees. Patch skip-hopped in front, pausing to check out each new smell and to make sure he left his mark in its place.

  “This gets more and more complicated.” Emily plucked a seed from one of the trees and began chewing it. “The state transferred Easy Jackson to a small prison facility near Clayton, New Mexico, for his own protection. It worked for him because he was close to his girlfriend, Marilu DiMarco, who rented a little house in Dumas, Texas.” She paused and studied the sky. A ridge of clouds had formed over the mountains, and the first flashes of heat lightning danced off their tops. A slight breeze ruffled the vegetation, stirring up the sweet scent of coming rain. “Here’s the big news. Marilu’s father is Vicente DiMarco, boss of the Kansas City Mafia. Maybe Marilu stole the key from him and hid it in a safe place for Jackson. She must know how valuable that key is and what it unlocks. The first place Jackson went after his early release was to Marilu’s house.”