They laughed. The new situation had made them all enthusiastic. Peter was to go to the TV station, where Sonny had landed him a part-time job. Busboy was to work in Rita’s Cocina. And Rita planned to take Marta and Cristina shopping. She was already thinking of school for the little girl.
“A big change for my familia,” Diego said when they finished eating.
“Yes,” Sonny agreed.
“We appreciate what you’re doing, compa,” Diego said. “We’ve tried it before, but—”
Sonny understood. “Hey, we’ll try again. The río isn’t safe.” He clasped Diego in an abrazo of friendship; then he and Peter drove away.
Diego had told him they had tried coming out of the river camps before, doing odd jobs around town, sleeping for a week in the shelters downtown, trying desperately to get back on their feet. But lack of education, no home address, lack of references, all made it difficult to break out of the cycle of poverty. He worked construction for a while; then he broke a leg and had to quit. Businesses just weren’t hiring unskilled workers. The streets became a way of life, and each day more and more were caught in their web.
Sonny delivered Peter to Francine Hunter. Her cameraman had just quit, so she could use Peter for a couple of weeks, and Peter accepted the assignment gladly.
“I’ll play dumb,” he whispered to Sonny as they parted, “but it’s going to feel like heaven to have a camera in my hands.”
“You’ll do fine,” Sonny said as he dropped him off. He was glad all of Diego’s familia was placed, and safe for the moment.
Now there was work to do, and he headed for the library downtown. He needed to leave the list of names Madge had given him with his old high school friend Ruth Jamison, the librarian. She greeted him warmly.
“Research?” she asked.
“Got a puzzle,” Sonny said, handing her the list. He had circled those he needed researched. “Need to know all I can about these folks.”
“Yes, sir.” Ruth smiled.
She had helped Sonny with his research the past few years, not only because it was part of her work, but because she had admired him from the time they were in high school. Sonny also brought her more interesting requests than the usual term paper questions.
“The balloon fiesta murder,” she whispered when she glanced at the names.
“Yes.”
“Someone else has already called in a request for information on this man. John Gilroy. He’s ex-CIA.”
“Who wants to know about him?”
“Police Chief Garcia.”
Good, Sonny thought. He’s on to Gilroy. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Any time.” Ruth winked.
Sonny promised to check with her later, then he walked down to Lindy’s for coffee.
He needed to know a lot of things. Like where Raven got the balloon. He would check out the suppliers, but hell, Garcia would also do that. And Raven would either use a false name or send one of his followers anyway. Someone like Sweatband or Scarface. Sonny had fought them in an Estancia bar and beaten them. But Scarface died at the Arroyo del Sol bridge. That left Sweatband, the more sadistic of the two.
Sonny was convinced the key lay in the strange array of characters who had shown up at the Alburquerque balloon fiesta. The Fioras’ story was a cover-up, and they were probably paid to be out of town by now.
Raven needed transportation, and he was probably buying guns. He was up to something new. He needed new allies. Who? Beneath the question lay the nagging suspicion that the game was bigger, more complicated than the murder of Veronica Worthy.
Tamara was frightened, Sonny thought as he finished his coffee and drove to the North Valley, something he didn’t expect from the woman. He peered up into the clear sky. A perfect day for ballooning.
The cool morning breeze that washed down from the Sandia Mountains usually blew from north to south. If conditions were optimum, the balloons took off and stayed low, floating south; then they sought higher altitudes for the wind that would return them to the vicinity of the balloon park. Their flight pattern formed a big rectangle—the “Alburquerque box.” In this kind of setting, an experienced pilot could actually choose a course for the balloon.
But today the easterly breeze was pushing the balloons toward the river.
Sonny was listening to Selena on KABQ when the announcer, Gomez, cut in. Sonny tensed as he listened to the report.
“We’re at the scene, confirming reports of shots fired at balloonists during the flight this morning. One balloon is confirmed down. I’ve just talked to an officer here at Fiesta Control. No one knows exactly what has happened, but witnesses have confirmed a shooting. A man in a black balloon was reported shooting at other balloons. The balloon of Mario Secco, an Italian, is confirmed down. Mario Secco has been rushed to University Hospital. He is reported in critical condition. Fiesta Control officers have issued an emergency call. All balloons associated with the fiesta are ordered down. I’m trying to talk to the director of the fiesta …”
“Ah, damn,” Sonny groaned. Unbelievable! Raven wasn’t the type to go up in a balloon and start shooting at people. Had the man gone bananas? Killing Veronica was one thing, but to go up and fire randomly on people? What the hell was going on?
Sonny’s phone rang and he lowered the volume of the radio.
“Sonny, I’ve been trying to get hold of you,” Howard said.
“Tell me it’s not real,” Sonny answered. Howard had access to the police channels; he would know.
“It’s real. The sonofabitch went after Secco!”
“Do you have confirmation?”
“Yeah. Secco died before he got to the hospital. A woman in his balloon is slightly wounded, in shock. She brought the balloon down. Dozens of witnesses saw the black balloon. It’s Raven all right.”
“Why? Why?”
“Who the hell knows. All I know is it’s a mess!”
“I’m headed over there now,” Sonny said as he roared up a freeway ramp. “Keep in touch.”
“Ten-four.”
Sonny switched on his police radio scanner. Harsh voices broke through the airwaves, shouting commands. The black balloon had been spotted drifting over the river. All units in the northwest quadrant were alerted. The alleged gunman piloting a black balloon was reported armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme caution.
Lots of luck, Sonny thought. The breeze was still holding, still pushing the balloons across the river. Raven could quickly disappear into the river bosque whenever he brought the balloon down.
But no, Sonny cautioned himself. Think straight. A balloon is slow, cumbersome. Why would Raven go up, take a chance of the prevailing winds to get him away from the cops after the shooting? Something wasn’t jibing.
Sonny’s phone rang again. “Sonny, I need to talk to you,” a shaken Madge Swenson said. “Have you heard?”
“I’m on my way to your place now,” Sonny answered.
“Hurry,” she replied, pleading.
Fiesta Control was in an uproar when Sonny drove onto the dusty field. Since the Fiora news conference, Veronica’s death had been confirmed as an accident, and that had tempered the initial fear. But now someone had opened fire with a rifle, and a few balloonists in the air had actually seen the shooting.
Sam Garcia was coming out of Madge’s office when Sonny arrived.
“You again,” the chief said brusquely.
“I was invited.” Sonny shrugged.
“Sure, invited.” Garcia scowled. “Just don’t get in the way. Whoever in the hell is doing this is a looney. Bien loco.”
“I knew that Saturday, chief. But you bought the Fiora story.”
“I had nothing to do with Fiora!” Garcia exploded. “Don’t you even suggest I had anything to do with Fiora!”
He gritted his teeth. Both knew the Fiora story had been concocted, and those who helped construct it were going to have to answer some tough questions now that a second murder had taken place.
Sonny
didn’t back down. “You knew he was lying,” he repeated.
“There was no cover-up, Sonny,” Garcia growled. “My department doesn’t deal that way!”
“You knew Raven wouldn’t stop,” Sonny replied:
“I’ll get that sonofabitch sooner than he thinks!” the chief snarled. “What’s your interest?”
“Homeless people,” Sonny answered.
The chief arched an eyebrow. “Homeless people,” he grumbled. “Just stay out of our way, Sonny” was his parting shot. “And you better stay out of their way.” He nodded toward the two FBI agents surveying the crowd.
Sonny watched the angry chief hurry away. Then he turned to greet the two FBI agents who were walking toward him. Mike Stevens, also known as Gorilla for his strong-arm tactics, and Eddie Martinez, one of the few Chicanos in the agency. Sonny’s mouth went sour. He tried to stay away from the agency boys. They didn’t like private investigators, and they were just too much hassle to deal with.
They worked for Matt Paiz, the regional director of the FBI, with offices downtown. Sonny looked for Paiz, but he was not around. He was letting Stevens and Martinez do their thing.
“Hi, Sonny.” Mike put out his hand, acting friendly. They were both dressed for ballooning, bright nylon pants and parkas. They had been mixing with the frightened crowd, sniffing around. Garcia had set up a desk and several officers to question the pilots who had gone up that morning, but Mike and Eddie were undercover.
“Didn’t know you guys flew,” Sonny said, and shook hands. He tried to be friendly.
“We don’t. Heard you do,” Martinez shot back.
“Hey, I’m not a pilot. Just here because Madge invited me.” Sonny smiled, acting innocent.
“You gonna chase the guy who killed Secco?” Stevens asked.
“If they hire me,” Sonny replied. They too, were acting coy. They had to know Raven was involved.
“So what do you know?” Martinez asked.
“Only what I read in the paper. And you?”
Stevens drew close, his eyes narrowed as he whispered. His breath was sour. “Secco was a foreign citizen, Baca. That’s why we’re here.”
“Secco also ran dope,” Sonny reminded the agents.
“So you think he was running dope? Is that what you’re saying?” Stevens asked.
“I told you, I read the papers.”
“You walk a thin line, Baca,” Stevens said. “I know the fiesta board is going to ask you to help. I don’t mind you earning a living, just don’t go fucking around with something you can’t handle.”
“I know the rules,” Sonny replied. “But if I get a job here, I might take it. Times are tough.”
“We just wouldn’t want them to get too tough,” Martinez said, and Sonny detected a threat in his voice. “Stay cool.”
“Yeah, you too,” Sonny replied.
He watched them walk away, disappearing into the line that stretched out of the lobby into the parking lot.
By now all the pilots had brought down their balloons and were returning to Fiesta Control for questioning.
Sonny shrugged and headed for Madge’s office. Okay, Raven had now taken to the air, in a hot-air balloon, brazenly sporting his emblem, daring Garcia and the local agency boys to get him. But why attack Mario Secco?
“Sonny,” Madge Swenson called and pressed through the crowd in the lobby. She took his hand. “I’m glad you came.”
She was visibly shaken. The confident, assured blonde who never had a hair out of place was upset. She was a woman with a big problem.
“Your face?”
“I bumped into a door,” Sonny replied, touching the bruise.
She shrugged. “Come in here,” she said, taking Sonny’s hand. “I want you to meet with my board.”
Sonny thought a moment. What did he have to lose? He, too, needed to find Raven, and if he got help from the fiesta board, so much the better.
“Lead the way.”
Madge smiled. “Thanks, Sonny. I won’t forget this.”
She led him into a conference room filled with twelve solemn-faced board members.
Sad disciples, Sonny thought, recognizing most. Local business people, hot-air balloon enthusiasts, all wealthy and powerful players in city politics and economics.
A tall, energetic man rose to meet Sonny. Dr. Stammer, Sonny thought. He didn’t know the heart surgeon was into hot-air ballooning.
“Sonny, I’m glad you could come.” He shook Sonny’s hand.
“Dr. Stammer,” Sonny replied.
“Jerry, please.”
“You two know each other?” Madge asked.
“Through his mother,” Stammer replied. “Dr. Branch operated on her. I just happened to go by one morning. Found the dutiful son sleeping. You’d been there all night.”
Sonny nodded. “She’s home now. Doing great.”
“A wonderful woman, a wonderful woman,” Stammer repeated.
Sonny remembered Stammer had come in with Dr. Branch. Stammer seemed to be hounding Branch, demanding something. Finally Branch had harshly told Stammer that they couldn’t talk in the room of a patient, to see him in his office. Stammer stormed out.
“You fly?” Sonny asked.
“I let Madge talk me into it last year. Once I went up the first time, I was hooked. I love it, and I help on the board. Sit down, please. We’d like to talk to you.”
Dr. Jerry Stammer, it turned out, more than helped out. He was the president of the board.
Sonny read the city newspapers to keep track of things. He had not made the connection a few days ago when Stammer stepped into his mother’s hospital room, but now the articles on Dr. Stammer came filtering from his memory file.
When he first came to Alburquerque, Stammer had made a big splash at the Presbyterian Hospital, a hospital well known for its pioneer work in open-heart surgery. Stammer was not only a surgeon; he did research, and he had convinced a lot of people that the next step in heart transplants was putting baboon hearts in people.
There simply weren’t enough human hearts to fill the need, so Stammer had set up a laboratory to raise baboons.
“I’m going to put Albuquerque on the map,” he was quoted. “We’re extremely close to finding the agent that will stop the body’s rejection of a foreign heart. In fact, we have isolated the agents. I’m ready to go.”
But the hospital board didn’t see it his way. Baboon heart transplants were experimental at best, and there was no way they would approve Stammer’s project. Stammer had invested millions in a laboratory to raise baboons, but his peers wouldn’t let him go through with his scheme. Too dangerous.
Stammer struck back with fury, accusing the hospital board of medieval practices. For that he was ostracized, and he was on the verge of losing his business and his right to practice in the hospital.
Stammer introduced Sonny. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Sonny Baca. You know him as the private investigator who was responsible for stopping the planned explosion of a WIPP truck this summer. He saved this state from a catastrophe.”
Solemn faces smiled and nodded. Anyone who kept up with the news knew how Sonny had averted the disaster.
“I want to thank you for coming. You may not know everyone here, but I think it’s safe to say we know you.” Stammer leaned across the table and stared at Sonny. “You know the mess we’re in.”
“Yes,” Sonny replied, looking into the intense blue eyes of the man.
Stammer was tall and muscular, about fifty, his graying hair in a crew cut. He looked athletic in his flying outfit, but as intense as the time Sonny had seen him in his mother’s room.
“I’ll come to the point,” he said, and glanced at Madge. “We need help. We made a mistake when we believed the Fioras. Now one of our official entrants is dead. We need professional advice.”
“The police are investigating,” Sonny interrupted. “Mario Secco was an Italian citizen. The FBI is also investigating—”
“We know, we know,�
� Stammer interrupted. “But we don’t have the kind of time those investigations might take!” His eyes bore into Sonny. “We like to think of our fiesta as a safe place where balloonists can come to fly. They can bring their families. Ballooning is a family sport. It’s nice, clean fun. But today we have a lot of scared people out there. Half the entrants are getting ready to pull out. We face financial collapse. We need to catch this murderer now! Today! My board is prepared to pay whatever fee you set, plus your expenses.”
“Any fee?” Sonny asked.
“Within reason,” Stammer responded.
“Can you build a home for a homeless family?”
Stammer frowned. “We’re not a construction company. This is serious.”
“I’m serious, too,” Sonny responded, and stood. “You want to catch a murderer, I want a home for a family of six. Your balloons fly over the bosque, and up there the world is bright and clean and beautiful! But down in the bosque people are living in cardboard shacks.”
He paused, realizing he had gotten carried away. He looked at the faces of the people on the board. Their blank expressions told him they didn’t know what he was talking about. As Stammer said, they weren’t into building homes.
“A hundred thou,” Sonny whispered. With that he could build a home for Diego’s family. Habitat for Humanity built homes quickly and on the spot. He could have Diego and his family in a home by Christmas.
The members of the board stiffened. They leaned to whisper to each other.
Stammer looked at his colleagues, and in a rough voice he cut through the hushed whispers. “We have no choice,” he said, glaring at them. “We must cancel all flights until we can guarantee the skies are safe. People are leaving right and left. This is a disaster, folks, a goddamned disaster!” He turned to Madge.
“What do you think?”
“He’s worth every penny,” she replied. “As you say, we have no choice. It’s not just canceling all future flights and losing the entries this year, it’s our reputation that is at stake. If this isn’t cleared up quickly, we could be dead next year. People don’t come to a balloon fiesta where there’s danger.”
She turned to Sonny. “The city police and the FBI are looking for the person who shot Mr. Secco. If they find him first, we don’t pay.” Here she looked at the board members. “If Mr. Baca finds the man who shot Mario Secco and clears this up before the police, we pay.”
Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring Page 51