Angel Dance (Danny Logan Mystery #1)

by M. D. Grayson

  Javi continued. “Like most cartels, they are very territorial and extremely violent. Unfortunately, if anything, these tendencies have gotten worse in the past several years during the Calderón administration.”

  Basically, not a nice group of guys. Unlike the American crime families, the Mexican cartels have more in common with some of the Asian criminal organizations. They have relatively more power in their countries than the American crime families enjoy here. The cartels have not had to learn how to live with a strong government and a strong law enforcement presence. In America, if an organized crime family crosses the line, someone gets busted. As a result, they work hard to stay under the radar. In Mexico, there’s no line and very few constraints. In fact, they take the opposite tack—they rely on intimidation.

  “Any idea of where Salazar fits in?” Toni asked.

  “Good question,” Dwayne said. “Seeing as how he’s having lunch with known higher-ups of the organization, then it stands to reason that he’s probably mid-level to upper-mid-level himself.”

  He was bad enough when I thought he was just a homicidal maniac. Now I find out that he’s a homicidal maniac who’s backed by a whole organization of homicidal maniacs. “Great,” I said. “What the hell is he doing here?”

  “My cousin speculates that he is here to manage cartel operations in Seattle,” Javi said.

  “Cartel operations in Seattle?” I asked. “The cartel has operations big enough in Seattle that they need to be managed by someone like him?”

  “Marijuana operations, Danny,” Dwayne said. “They grow marijuana in clearings in the forest throughout the state. They’re called grows. It’s a damn big business, and it’s getting bigger by the year. The Washington State Department of Agriculture acknowledges that marijuana is the number two or three crop in the state. It might even be the biggest, but they won’t say that. The conditions are near perfect here. We’ve heard that the cartels are pushing hard to get control of the pot cultivation business here. Eddie Salazar being sent here to help oversee that fits.”

  “I guess it does,” I agreed.

  “That could explain why he’s here,” Gus said. “And being the type of outgoing fellow that he is, he feels the need for a little entertainment, so he takes to visiting Ramon’s Cantina. It’s probably just like a little slice of home for him.”

  Dwayne added, “And since Gina was apparently looking for a little excitement, she also visits Ramon’s Cantina. Presto! The two brightest stars at Ramon’s Cantina come into contact with each other.”

  Something didn’t make sense to me. I suppose that if you didn’t know Gina, then maybe Dwayne’s theory fit. Problem was, I did know Gina, and I couldn’t see any way that Gina would have approached this guy. This wouldn’t have been in her character, at least as far as I remember her. Then again, it’s been several years. Who knows? People change. One thing’s for sure: Gina’s a very attractive woman. It’s not hard to believe that Eddie Salazar felt he needed to hit on her. The hard part was imagining her reciprocating.

  “Along those lines, I regret to add that my cousin said that Eduardo Salazar is wanted for murder in Tijuana,” Javi said. “He’s apparently a very bad man—ruthless and willing to kill someone with no hesitation for the slightest affront, real or imagined. The man has no feelings of remorse whatsoever. He’s a very dangerous man.”

  Great. After this news, the Irish breakfast didn’t taste as good as it should have.

  ~~~~

  In the parking lot after breakfast, Toni and I talked to Dwayne while we waited for Gus, who’d pit-stopped on the way out. “Does it change anything for you guys, knowing who we’re up against? Any adjustments to strategy knowing this guy could be a front man for a cartel?” I asked.

  Dwayne leaned against his car and considered this for a second. Even though it was Sunday, a steady stream of cars drove southbound on Second Avenue. “No, not really,” he said. “Not for me, anyway. We already knew the guy was a psychotic scumbag son of a bitch. Didn’t really hear anything different this morning.”

  “I suppose,” I answered. I paused, then added, “We did learn what team he plays for. And we learned that his team is in the big leagues.”

  “True,” Dwayne said. “But I don’t think it matters. We’re not after the team, thank God. We’re just looking for the missing girl. If Eddie Salazar’s linked to her, then he becomes of interest to us. But not the Tijuana-Mendez group. That’s someone else’s job.”

  I nodded. “I agree. We’re not interested in the cartel,” I said. “Let’s just hope that when we bust their ambassador to the Pacific Northwest, the cartel doesn’t become interested in us.”

  “Occupational hazard,” Toni said as Gus joined us. “Screw ’em.”

  “Spoken like my favorite lady detective,” Gus said.

  Toni smiled at him.

  “Just to play a little CYA, do you think you should notify the DEA and let them know what we’ve found?” I asked.

  Dwayne shrugged. “Probably,” he said. “But remember the DEA guys are Feds. They don’t work weekends. We’ll call them tomorrow.”

  So we decided to go ahead and pay a visit to the house where we’d seen Eddie Salazar’s car yesterday. Nothing like spending a nice Sunday morning talking to a psychotic drug cartel maniac.

  ~~~~

  Forty-five minutes later, we gathered our forces in back of the parking lot of the same convenience store where Toni and I’d stopped yesterday afternoon. Although our purpose was only to talk to Eddie Salazar, not arrest him—or anyone else for that matter—it made sense to be prepared. Dwayne had called Kent PD just in case. They sent two narcotics detectives in an unmarked car and two uniformed officers in a black-and-white to accompany us. The detectives both wore sport coats and slacks.

  We gathered around Dwayne’s car, and he laid out his game plan. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Eduardo Salazar either stays at or visits the house at 5470 East Maple Street—right across from the cemetery. We have an interest in talking to Mr. Salazar in connection with the disappearance of Gina Fiore—you guys have probably seen the case on TV. They’ve got television down here now, right?”

  Both Kent detectives laughed. “Yeah,” the tall one said. “Last year.”

  “Good. Anyway, if we can gain legal access—that is, if we can establish probable cause from outside, then we’ll go inside and take a look around, just to make sure that Ms. Fiore is not being held against her will inside the home. If that turns out to be the case, and an arrest is made for any of the occupants, then Kent PD will make the arrest. Make sense?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Will you be picking Salazar up if he’s there?” one of the Kent detectives asked.

  “Not unless he’s smoking a joint or doing something else equally as stupid,” Dwayne said. “Even then, we’d just have you bust him. We are not here to make an arrest in conjunction with the Fiore disappearance. We just want to talk to the man—let him know that we’re watching him, send him a message. If we are unable to establish probable cause, then we won’t enter. We’ll just leave our cards and call it a day.”

  “Alright,” the tall detective agreed.

  “Now, as to how we go about doing this,” Dwayne said. “We need to be careful. There’s a possibility that these guys have some sort of connection to a Mexican cartel. We should assume they are armed and dangerous. Not that they’re likely to shoot us for simply wanting to ask questions. But you never know. With that in mind, do you guys mind covering the back? If anyone bolts, detain him and call me. If we have to go in to secure the home, our first move will be to come through the house and let you in. Don’t shoot us when we come outside, okay?”

  “No shooting?” the short detective joked. “How are we supposed to have any fun then? They told me this was supposed to be a fun assignment.”

  “Wiseass,” Dwayne said. “We’ll let you in, and the four of us can clear the house safely.”

  “Okay, then,” they answered. />
  Dwayne looked at me and said, “When I say ‘the four of us’ I mean the four law enforcement gentlemen standing here before you—the ones with the suits and ties and the shiny gold badges. You and your partner are not to enter the home. Understood?”

  “Agreed,” I answered for us.

  He turned to the uniformed officers in the patrol unit. “You guys hang back a block or so away so you don’t ruin our surprise. Once we're secure outside, I’ll call on your radio, and you can roll up out front to control the front entry.”

  The officers nodded.

  “Any questions?” Dwayne asked. He paused a second, then said, “Good. Let’s do it.” He turned to the Kent PD detectives. “You guys go up the alley. I’ll call on the radio when we’re about to enter the property. If the yard is empty, I’ll let you know when we’re about to knock on the door.”

  “Got it.”

  Dwayne turned to us. “You guys follow us and park as close behind as you can.”

  ~~~~

  “Vests?” Toni asked as we followed Gus and Dwayne’s blue Crown Vic.

  “They’re in style,” I said, looking around. “The cops are all wearing them. No sense in us standing out. Let’s put them on when we stop.”

  “It’ll look a little conspicuous,” she said.

  “Putting it on or wearing it?” I asked.

  “Both.”

  “Who cares? That’s the point now, isn’t it? We want to be seen. We want them to know we’re out here watching.”

  Two minutes later, we parked on the street two cars behind Gus and Dwayne, who themselves were parked two houses east of our target. We donned our dark-blue Kevlar vests before joining them.

  “Very stylish,” Gus said, nodding toward our vests. “A lot nicer than ours.”

  “Glad you approve,” Toni answered.

  “Didn’t know they made ’em in ladies sizes,” Gus said.

  “Careful - you’re treading a thin line there, Gus,” Dwayne said. He turned to the house. “Let’s get going. They’re probably watching us. Let’s move before they get all their guns loaded.” He looked at me and said, “You two—no closer than the front porch. But make yourselves useful. Watch our backs and make sure nobody behind us gets frisky.”

  “Got it,” I answered.

  We reached the walkway from the sidewalk to the front porch and turned to approach the house. Dwayne made the radio call to the patrol unit and also confirmed that Kent PD was in position in back, ready to detain anyone who tried to bolt into the alley. Seconds later, the black-and-white rolled to a stop at the curb behind us. Three young Mexican men sat on the front porch and watched us warily. They said nothing until we reached the steps.

  “Buenos dias, amigos. What can we do for you?” the oldest of the three asked. He was probably late twenties, maybe five ten, although it was a little hard to tell since he was seated.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Dwayne said. “Sorry to disturb you on this fine Sunday morning.”

  “We’re just sitting here, enjoying the morning, minding our own business,” the man said. “Who are you? What do you want, amigo?”

  “Seattle Police Department.” Dwayne held up his badge. “We’re here because we need to talk to Eduardo Salazar.”

  “Who?” the man asked, looking as if he’d never heard the name.

  “Eduardo—Eddie Salazar,” Dwayne said again.

  The man took a few seconds and acted like he was thinking. Then he shook his head no. “Never heard of him,” he said again, with a smile.

  “That’s too bad,” Dwayne said. He appeared to think for a few seconds, and then, as if the thought had suddenly flashed inside him, said, “Maybe someone inside knows the good Mr. Salazar. How about if we ask them?” He turned and took a step toward the door. All of the Mexican men started to rise in unison.

  “Sit yourselves back down,” Gus said, using his “command voice.” “We can manage to knock on a door without your help.”

  I watched carefully to make sure none of the men reached for a gun.

  Dwayne knocked on the door. Several seconds later, it swung open and who should be standing there, but Mr. Short and Round from Ramon’s Cantina. He still wore the large bandage on his nose.

  He looked at Dwayne and Gus, then he looked past them and saw Toni and me. I waved. I thought it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t wave back. He was probably in a bad mood.

  “Good morning,” Dwayne said. “We’re here to speak to Mr. Eduardo Salazar.”

  “Don’t know him,” he said.

  “Maybe this will help,” Dwayne said. He showed Short and Round a picture of Salazar.

  Short and Round continued to stare at Dwayne without looking at the picture. He was probably an awesome poker player. His face gave nothing away. “Never seen him,” he said.

  “What’s your name? What happened to your nose?”

  Short and Round looked down and fidgeted uncomfortably before he quietly said, “Armando Martinez.”

  “Mr. Martinez,” Dwayne repeated. “What happened to your nose?”

  Martinez looked past Dwayne and glared at Toni. “I fell down some stairs,” he said.

  “That’s too bad,” Dwayne said. “You’ve got to watch that.” Dwayne looked past Martinez into the home. “Mind if we come inside and take a look around?”

  “You got a warrant?”

  “Not right now, but we can go get one,” Dwayne said.

  “Then go get it.”

  “Let me ask you this, first,” Dwayne said. “Have you ever been arrested?”

  “Why?”

  “Why? I’m guessing you have. I see the ‘M’ ink all over your shoulders. I’m thinking you’re a member of the Mexican Mafia and that you’ve spent some quality time at one of the lovely state resorts run by the Washington State Department of Corrections—maybe Walla Walla. Am I wrong?”

  “Stockton, California,” Martinez answered.

  “California!” Dwayne said. “Even better.”

  “Why do you say that?” Martinez asked, confused.

  “Because I wanted you to know that you are going to be well taken care of after today,” Dwayne said.

  “What are you talking about?” Martinez asked.

  “What I’m talking about is this,” Dwayne said. “Look behind you on that shelf.”

  Martinez turned.

  “See the plant in the red vase sitting on that shelf over there?” Dwayne asked. “See that thing next to the plant? Tell me what that is.”

  Martinez said nothing.

  “It’s a gram scale!” Dwayne answered for him, as if delighted. “That’s right. A gram scale, in plain sight from the front door. And just to the left of the scale there, what’s that?”

  Again Martinez said nothing.

  “Right again!” Dwayne said. “It’s a big-assed bong. And it looks like a whole collection of roach clips, papers, you name it.” Dwayne pointed to something else. “And what’s that rolled up in that baggie? Would that be marijuana there?”

  “Looks like he’s all set up to do some entertaining,” Gus said.

  “Sure does, doesn’t it?” Dwayne said.

  Martinez was stone silent.

  “Now,” Dwayne said, “last question. What do they call all that stuff here in the state of Washington? The legal definition? Not counting the pot, of course. We just call that pot.”

  “Paraphernalia!” Dwayne said, answering his own question. “You are too good at this, Mr. Martinez, really. Drug paraphernalia, to be exact. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

  “Yes—you’ve got it!” he said excitedly. “It means you’re under arrest for possession of drug paraphernalia. Why don’t you go on ahead and put your hands behind your back.” He grabbed Martinez, spun him around, and leaned him against the wall. He frisked him.

  The three men on the porch again started to get up, but Gus was watching them. “Sit your punk asses back down. Now!” he ordered. They sat. “Danny? You watching these
mutts?” He asked.

  “We’ve got ’em,” I answered.

  “Chingada!” Martinez said to Dwayne before turning around. “This is bullshit. I’ll be out in an hour.”

  “An hour? Really? What do you think, Gus? Think this mutt will be out in an hour?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Gus said. “Say,” he added, “you wouldn’t happen to be on parole, would you?”

  Martinez was stone-faced and said nothing.

  Gus smiled and said, “I thought so.”

  “We’ll just have to have us a little chat with your PO,” Dwayne said. “Maybe not just an hour then, huh?” Dwayne said. “What do you think?”

  Dwayne led Martinez back to a solid post at the front porch and handcuffed him to it. “Don’t go anywhere,” he said. He turned to the other men.

  “Gus, let’s cuff these other guys up just to be safe.” He asked one of the patrol officers to come up to the porch to help out.

  Between the two of them, Dwayne and Gus had exactly three remaining pairs of handcuffs; they used one for each of the remaining men. They shoved each back down into a sitting position.

  After they were through, Dwayne turned to us. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have illegal drug paraphernalia in plain view from the doorway of the residence. I deem that to mean that we have sufficient probable cause to enter the residence and seize said drug paraphernalia. When we do this, we'll need to secure the residence for our own safety. We'll be taking a quick peek around, just to make certain there are no other bad guys lurking about. Make sense?”

  “Agreed!” Gus answered enthusiastically.

  “Good,” Dwayne said. He turned to Toni and me. “Your job—” he turned to include the officer on the porch, “—and yours, too, is to watch these guys. I’ve got four bad guys here now. Count ’em: one, two, three—plus the idiot cuffed to the post makes four. I want four bad guys here when I come out. Try not to let them get away while we’re inside. And if a number five or six suddenly materializes, you sing out, you got that? Don’t be a hero.”

  “Got it.”

  Dwayne made the call to Kent PD in the back, and he and Gus entered the building.