by Tim Maleeny
Chapter Seventy-eight
Sally walked alone on the beach but she had plenty of company.
Lightning flashed across the sky. She couldn’t hear the thunder over the sound of the wind. Rain stung her face.
The best thing about being a half-Japanese, half-American girl raised by the Chinese Triads was that Sally could embrace or reject the best and worst of her rich cultural history.
The Chinese cherished nobility but made political corruption an art form, oppression by the emperors leading to subjugation by the communists. That was why all their stories about personal loss and sacrifice were so beautifully sad. Everyone dies in the end. Chinese had survived without hope for centuries, which is probably why they still cherished it so much.
Americans were unapologetic cowboys, though fewer would admit it, even to themselves. One person could make a difference. Sally loved their optimism and confidence as much as she hated their absolute certainty they were always right, especially when they were wrong. Americans still wanted to buy the world a Coke, even if they insisted on drinking bottled water.
Sometimes Sally thought the Japanese were all crazy, and she could feel their blood coursing through her veins. From the noble perfection of the samurai to the rape of Nanking, everything Japanese was measured by extremes. They could soar to heights that surpassed the imagination and sink to soulless depths from which there was no return. Perfection was a goal, not an ideal that could never be realized. A samurai that fails blames no one—he disembowels himself to regain his honor. There were no half-measures in Japan.
Sally looked at the windows of the castle as she stepped carefully between the rocks of the tide pool and remembered her lessons from school.
In the 16th century a ninja army scaled the walls of Kyoto castle to overthrow the ruling Shogun, an assault considered utterly impossible. The victory led to the unification of Japan. The ninjas used grappling hooks wrapped in cloth, scaling the castle walls silently in the middle of the night. No one then believed it could be done, and even today it was considered more legend than fact.
The Japanese are crazy. Better to blame her heritage than herself.
Sally reached the rock face and felt for a handhold. She thought she saw an opening and thrust her hand into it, then cursed as she jammed her fingers.
The American in her just knew she could do it, though that side of her didn’t have the slightest clue how. The Chinese in her said there was no hope, which made her more determined than ever to try.
She asked herself how her old instructor would teach her to scale this wall. She cursed again, already knowing the answer.
Sally took a step back and untied the scarf from around her neck. Carefully she wrapped it around her eyes until she was completely blind. Then she tied it fast behind her head.
She raised her hands to the wall and felt the shape of the rocks.
Sally started to climb.
Chapter Seventy-nine
Cape sat on the couch and dried his hair while Enrique served drinks and Julio cleaned his fingernails with a hunting knife.
Enrique arranged a silver tray on one of the low tables. A bottle sat in the center, surrounded by a perfect circle of shot glasses. The bottle was beautiful—shaped like a conch shell, inlaid with silver and gold thread. Enrique did a quick count with the fingers of his right hand, tapping each with the pad of his thumb as he muttered a name under his breath.
Cape took a wild guess. “Tequila?”
“Very expensive.” Enrique adjusted one of the shot glasses. “This bottle cost over a million pesos.”
Cape did the math and figured he must have gotten the exchange rate backward. “That’s over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Sí.” Enrique moved a glass a few centimeters to the right, then shifted it back to its original position. “Pure agave, fermented for six years.”
Cape was about to ask a question when Rebecca stepped into the room.
She came through the door behind the desk and saw him right away. Cape was on his feet and headed toward her when she ran over and gave him a hug. As she squeezed the life out of him, Rebecca pressed her lips to his ear and whispered fiercely.
“They’re going to kill you.”
“I know.” Cape held her close and inhaled deeply. Jasmine and coconuts. She didn’t smell anything like scorched pig. He held her at arm’s length and smiled. “You OK?”
“Better now.” Rebecca’s eyes were bright, almost panicked. “My f—”
“Santiago!”
Cordon was standing in the door, looking back into the hallway. Cape heard a muffled response, then the sound of footsteps. The steps were uneven, each footfall followed by the hard tap of a cane.
“Vamanos, Santiago.”
“Godammit, stop calling me that, Luis.”
Cape heard the voice and felt his stomach do a somersault. He had listened to audio clips on his computer for days, watched newsreels for hours.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
Senator James Dobbins looked just like his picture. He stepped over the threshold with an expectant look on his face like a man who spent a lifetime making entrances at fundraisers and rallies. His white hair was shorter, his face more tan, but otherwise he might have just stepped out of one of his campaign posters. Cape thought he looked damn good for a dead man.
The Senator was graceful despite his obvious discomfort from the new prosthetic. It took most people several months to get used to an artificial leg, but vanity required hard work, even for a politician.
Dobbins scanned the room, eyes resting on his daughter for a long minute before turning their attention to Cape.
“Aren’t you the trouble-maker.”
“Pleasure to finally meet you Senator.”
“You’ve fucked everything up by coming here, detective.”
“How’s the leg?”
“What leg?” Dobbins hobbled over to the nearest chair and sat down, his right arm shaking from the strain of supporting his weight.
“The one they cut off and threw into the water hazard to throw off the investigation.”
“Hurts like hell.” Dobbins scowled. “Sometimes I’d swear it’s still there.”
“You’re a brave man.”
Dobbins ignored the sarcasm. “Not like I had a lot of choice in the matter. The people that I’m hiding from don’t stop looking unless they think you’re already dead.”
“The tattoo give you the idea?”
“Is that why you came to Mexico, to ask me about my leg?”
“I came to find your daughter.” Cape looked at Rebecca, who was watching her father with nervous eyes. “You were just a Lucky Strike extra.”
Cape felt lightheaded. He knew his chances of escaping the castle decreased exponentially with every new shred of information, but he was past caring. Dobbins was alive, and Cape wanted to know everything no matter what the cost.
“What business is it of yours where Rebecca goes?” Dobbins shifted in the chair and adjusted his grip on the cane. “She’s my daughter.”
“You lied to get her to come to Mexico. You used my name.”
“To protect her.”
“From Salinas?”
At the mention of the name, Cordon moved further into the room and stood behind his desk. He watched the exchange between his two guests with mounting interest.
“Of course from Salinas.” Dobbins rapped his cane on the floor. “That bastard murdered my son—who else would threaten my little girl?”
My little girl. Cape saw an opening and decided to jump in with both feet.
“Is that why you sent your little girl to boarding school?”
“I wasn’t going to let those bastards touch my daughter. I knew eventually they’d forget she even existed—and they did.”
“That’s why you changed her name.”
“Of course.”
“Not exactly the witness protection program.”
Dobbins narrowed his eyes
and his voice dropped several degrees. “Are you trying to goad me, detective?”
Cape shrugged. “You never told her why—ever think what that might do to your little girl?”
“Don’t you dare lecture me on parenting.” Dobbins’ face turned red. He surged forward but couldn’t get the momentum to stand up. “You know how hard it was to say goodbye to your only daughter—make that kind of sacrifice?”
“Must have felt like cutting off your own arm—or leg.”
“Fuck you.”
“But apparently not as hard as giving up your political career.”
Dobbins got enough steam to stand up. He staggered forward, dragging his cane in his rush to get his hands on Cape. It looked like he might make it until Cordon grabbed Dobbins by the shoulder and shoved him back into his chair.
Cape watched as the Senator’s face ran through a range of emotions, finally settling on something that resembled self-loathing before he regained his composure.
“Let’s have a drink.” Cordon waved at Enrique, who began pouring. He turned to Cape. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t at first.” Cape steered Rebecca over to the couch, where he sat down next to her. Enrique brought them both drinks. “And even after I figured it out, I didn’t really believe it until I saw Dobbins walk through that door.”
“I told you Luis—”
Cordon silenced Dobbins with a wave of his hand. “The photographs.”
“You saw them.” Cape glanced at Rebecca. “One showed Rebecca as a teenager, her arms wrapped around her father’s waist. Probably taken the summer before she went to boarding school.”
Rebecca nodded. “I remember that picture. They told me the week after that I was going away.” She looked across the room at her father but he didn’t meet her gaze.
“Rebecca looks much younger, but you can still recognize her. But it’s a clear shot of Dobbins.” Cape looked at Cordon. “The other photo showed Dobbins with Danny and Rebecca. Figured I should cover all the bases.”
“You showed them in town, sí?”
“I thought word would get back to you—I dropped your name, too. It made people nervous.”
“This is my town.” Cordon didn’t say it with any hint of bragging. It was a fact, a simple statement of ownership.
“And I thought Dobbins might get antsy cooped up in your house. So I asked around.”
“Did anyone recognize him?”
Cape nodded. “I got a few maybe’s, a lot of no’s from people who didn’t even look at the picture. A couple of people told me they thought his name was Santiago—I thought I was striking out until I remembered that Santiago is James in Spanish.”
“Muy bien.” Cordon clapped slowly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. “But why so suspicious?”
“I was more confused than suspicious.” Cape leaned forward on the couch. “I only recently became paranoid.”
“Fish in the toilet will do that to a man.”
“I have you to thank for that practical joke?” Cape looked over his shoulder at the piranha. Their teeth reminded him of Dobbins’ smile and he wondered if piranha ate their young, too, or if only politicians did that.
Cordon glanced at his prized fish. “I was hoping you would go home.”
“On a stretcher?” Cape shifted on the couch as he unconsciously laid a protective hand over his crotch.
“The odds of the candîru fish actually swimming up your aparato are very small.”
“Have you seen my aparato or are you generalizing?”
Cordon smiled. “Had you been in the water, swimming, that would have been a different story. Besides, if I wanted you dead…” He gestured at the tank set into the wall. “There are so many possibilities.”
“Why did you want to scare me off? I’m not that hard to kill.”
“Now you are being modest, Señor Cape. I am beginning to think you have nine lives.”
“But I’m on number ten. You didn’t answer my question.”
Dobbins cut in. “Nobody cares about a detective who drops a case. The client goes home disappointed, people forget there was ever an investigation. If you had minded your own business—”
Cordon raised his hand, then let if fall to his lap. “But when a detective gets killed working a case…”
Cape nodded. “Maybe the case deserves a second look.”
“Exacto.”
“You had it all figured out.”
Cordon raised his glass. Cape lifted his own and out of the corner of his eyes saw Rebecca do the same. He heard her gasp as she took a sip. He drank and the liquid seemed to evaporate without ever touching his tongue. It didn’t burn like most tequila, even the expensive stuff he drank with Garcia. This infused his mouth with something primal. He looked at the glass in his hand, both terribly sad and relieved that he couldn’t afford to drink it even if he won the lottery.
Cordon raised his glass again. “I think you are the one to have it all figured out.”
“I’m still not clear about something.” Cape took another sip and had an out-of-body experience. He felt like he had nothing to lose.
Cordon held his glass to the light. “What isn’t clear?”
“Why did you kill Danny Dobbins?”
Chapter Eighty
The man at the door pulled the hood tighter around his head and knocked loudly.
A small hatch opened at eye level.
“What do you want?” The guard behind the door sensed he should speak English to the dark figure, though he couldn’t say why.
“I want you to invite me in.”
The guard started to laugh. “And why would I do that, señor?”
The stranger pulled down the hood. His priest’s collar was clearly visible. Lightning flashed, illuminating his teeth as he smiled.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Chapter Eighty-one
Time stopped.
Rebecca’s heart froze.
Enrique looked like a bug staring at a fly swatter. Julio’s eyes swiveled like gun turrets, zeroing in on Cordon, awaiting orders.
Dobbins dropped his shot glass, which bounced off the rug and rolled under the desk.
Cordon finished his drink. As he lowered his glass, he revealed a pair of eyes that had lost all their warmth.
“What did he say?” Dobbins rocked forward in his chair.
Cape held Cordon’s gaze. Neither one of them answered the question.
“What did he just say, Luis?”
Cape kept his eyes on Cordon. The drug lord remained silent.
“Salinas killed my son.” Dobbins was clenching and opening his hands, over and over. He looked at Rebecca. “Salinas was threatening my daughter.”
Cape broke the silence. He turned so he was facing the former Senator.
“Dobbins, if you were going to kill someone, would you do it in your own backyard?”
Dobbins blinked and refocused. He looked at Cape with a confused expression.
Cape tried again. “If Salinas wanted to kill Danny, why dump the body in a water hazard on a golf course? Why not bury it in the jungle? Or feed it to the sharks? They might even drain water hazards once a year, looking for lost clubs or balls. I don’t know, it just seems like a piss poor place to hide a body.”
“He didn’t want to hide it.” Dobbins clenched his hands until the knuckles turned white. “He wanted to send a signal.”
“I think you’ve got your drug lords mixed up.” Cape stole a glance at Cordon, who was watching him the way he looked at his fish, a rare specimen in his collection that lived or died at his whim. “Salinas wasn’t the one sending a signal.”
“I don’t understand.” Dobbins looked like he might get sick.
“Why dump your leg in the same pond?” Cape looked at the empty glass in his hand. “Say that Salinas did kill Danny—once word gets out that you’re dead, too, Salinas is going to wonder what’s going on. Because he didn’t kill you, did he?”
Dobbins
sat up straighter in his chair. “He would have—if Luis hadn’t given me sanctuary. Helped me disappear.”
“He brought you here to kill you.”
“Luis could’ve killed me anytime, at home in California.”
“And it would have been investigated as a murder of a U.S. politician on American soil. Very high profile—if papers in your office or financial records led back to a Mexican drug lord, what do you think happens? The FBI, DEA, and even the CIA can’t let that slide. They have to come down here and kick ass.” Cape took a deep breath. “But if some crackpot Senator has a mid-life crisis and disappears to Mexico, then winds up dead under mysterious circumstances—”
“—the press has had a field day. You’ve seen the papers.”
“Newspapers have a short attention span—I used to work for one. They lose interest as soon as the next teen celebrity shaves her head or dumps her boyfriend. But the police investigation, Dobbins, that’s the real issue. Cordon has friends in the Mexican government, probably with the federales. By the time they sorted out jurisdiction with the States, nobody would even remember your name.”
“Then why am I still alive? You didn’t find me on that golf course.”
“You were bait.” Cape laid his hand on top of Rebecca’s, which was ice cold. “You were bait for Rebecca and she was bait for me. No loose ends.”
“You were right, you are paranoid.”
“You left documents behind for Rebecca, and maybe something in a safe deposit box. Either way, Cordon doesn’t have to worry about it now. If no one’s left to pursue the investigation, go to the press, or testify in court, then all you’ve left behind is a stack of papers.”
“Nonsense.”
“We all came here to die.” Cape tried to put some sympathy into his voice but discovered that he’d run out. “How did Cordon know where to dump the leg? If he didn’t kill Danny, how did he know where the body was going to be found?”
Dobbins was shaking his head back and forth like a metronome. “One of Luis’ men was found in that pond, remember—Salinas killed him, too—how do you explain that?”
“You’re right.” Cape let his voice grow quiet. “A man like Luis Cordon would never kill one of his own men.”