by Ali Vali
While Giraldi tried to wrap his brain around the multi-part question, Bea shook her head and moved on to questions about the very first steps of the investigation. She was thorough and she’d scored some points with the whole residue thing, but it wasn’t a slam dunk. When she finally wrapped up, I was about to eat my arm.
Bowser gave us one slim hour for lunch and warned us about being late. I’d hoped for longer since an hour wouldn’t give me enough time to check out any of the spots still on my hunting-for-Perez list. It wasn’t enough time to leave the courthouse at all, and as we filed out of court, I again wished I’d paid attention to Jess’s suggestion that I bring along some food.
“Going to the cafeteria?”
I looked up to see Cris standing next to me. How did she manage to continually sneak up on me like that? “Uh, I guess. Judge sounds like he’s going to keep us late.”
“A few of us are planning to sit together. Want to join us?”
I willed my mind to switch gears and conjure up a reason I couldn’t sit with Cris and the band of bland. “Thanks, but I have to take care of a few things. I’ll probably just grab a burger and make some phone calls.”
Her look told me she didn’t believe me, but she didn’t challenge my excuse. “Okay. If you change your mind, we’ll be down there.”
I gave her a halfhearted smile and walked away. I wouldn’t be changing my mind. I grabbed a burger and fries from the grill and took the Styrofoam box of goodness outside into the sunny sixty-degree day. For February, the weather was pretty much perfect, and I ate my lunch in the front seat of the Bronco with the windows down.
With the burger in one hand, I used the other to dump the contents of what I’d now dubbed the Perez Papers onto the passenger seat. I stared at all the pieces, willing a pattern to emerge. Most of the places I’d managed to identify so far were dives, but a couple were highbrow watering holes. The locations were scattered all over the city, so geography was out as a common link. Perez was up to something and these joints were the key. If I wasn’t stuck at the courthouse, I’d be able to run these down in a couple of days, but no such luck. I divided the stuff into two piles: one for the places I still needed to check out and one for the places I’d managed to visit so far.
I picked up the coaster from Shorty’s and started to toss it onto stack number two, but a twinge of doubt made me hang on. Fred’s overreaction when I asked her about Perez told me she’d seen her, and she’d seen her recently. Shorty’s was definitely worth a return trip.
I managed to make it back inside and to the jury room before everyone else and leaned back in one of the folding chairs to try to sneak in a nap, but before I could drift off to sleep, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number, but on the off chance it was a lead about Perez, I answered. “Bennett.”
“You find her yet?”
Cantoni. I looked around, but I was still alone in the room and decided it was safe to talk. “Why don’t you ask the folks that’ve been following me?”
“I don’t know anything about that, but I do know she’s a popular gal.”
Gal. I could think of many other choice words for Teresa Perez. “Did you call to give me a lead or give me a hard time?”
“Hey, Luca, just trying to pay back a debt. I don’t know what kind of intel you got so far, but if a joint named Leroy’s is on your list, you might want to bump it up to the top.”
I opened the envelope and sifted through the paper. A matchbook from Leroy’s was in stack number one. “Leroy’s on Ledbetter. Got it. I’ll check it out. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. We square?”
“Yeah, we’re square.”
I hung up the phone and checked the time. The rest of the truth-finding crew should be back any minute. On cue, the door opened and Cris walked through, followed a few seconds later by the rest of the jurors. Their boisterous conversation died the second they saw me sitting alone in the room, and Cris’s eyes shifted quickly away. I didn’t really give a damn if they were talking about me, so long as they left me alone, but I was surprised when Cris sat down next to me and whispered, “Larry thinks you have secret information about the case.”
I held back a snort. Barely. “Secret information? What does that even mean?”
She shifted in her seat. “I don’t know. Maybe you have access to the full police report, things the rest of us aren’t allowed to see.”
“And how exactly do I get my hands on this ‘secret’ stuff?”
More shifting and the faint hint of a blush rose up her neck. “Didn’t you say you lived with a cop?”
“And you assume she’s the kind of person who leaks information about a case and I’m the kind of person who would use that information?”
Before she could answer, the bailiff appeared in the doorway. “They’re ready. Let’s go.”
This time I was first in line to get back to the boring business of listening to lawyers and witnesses drone on. The sooner we were back in there, the quicker I could escape my annoying “peers.”
The first witness of the afternoon was the medical examiner. I guess he was there to prove that the dead guy was indeed dead, because otherwise his testimony didn’t add much. Two bullets from a .45 to the chest equaled homicide as the cause of death. The prosecutor spent a little extra time getting him to point out the trademark Mexican Mafia tattoo, MM, on Manny Cruz’s shoulder as a way of emphasizing he and the defendant were fierce rivals. Bea asked him a few questions, but nobody really contested the manner of death, and she wisely realized there wasn’t much point hashing out the gory details a second time.
When the ME stepped down, I watched the judge look at the clock on the wall and spend about five seconds scratching his head before he told the prosecutors to call their next witness. They had their investigator bring in a guy named Joe Donner. Joe was the bartender, and he’d heard the gunshots and called the cops. It was pretty clear this guy hadn’t seen the crime and all he had to add was context. While the prosecutor drew out the questions, I could feel the burger and fries from earlier coursing through my system like an IV of sedatives. A hazy glance at the rest of the jurors told me I wasn’t the only one who was suffering from a food coma.
“They argued?” the prosecutor asked.
“Yeah. They got pretty loud. That’s when I told them to get out.”
“Do you know what they were arguing about?”
He shook his head. “Nope. We get a lot of guys from different groups in the bar. I try to stay out of their business.”
“By different groups, do you mean gangs?”
“You call ’em what you want. Texas Syndicate, Mexican Mafia. In my bar, they’re all just customers.”
Sounded to me like Mr. Bartender wasn’t keen on being here today. Business had probably taken a dive right about the time he’d been subpoenaed as a witness, since ex-cons didn’t usually hang out in places cops were crawling all over. But I perked up at the mention of the Mexican Mafia since that’s who Teresa Perez had been in bed with when she’d traded being a homicide cop for a drug dealer. The spark of interest faded as it quickly became clear he didn’t have much else to offer about the facts of the case. After he described the rest of the crowd at the bar in vague terms, Bea asked him a few pointed questions about the area behind the building to establish that the lighting was poor and it would have been difficult for the eyewitness to see anything. She also got out the fact that everyone in the bar had been drinking, which made it likely the eyewitness’s eye-witnessing might have been compromised.
When they finally let the guy off the stand, the prosecutor announced she needed just a few minutes before her next witness would be available. Bowser shook his finger at the clock and told them they had fifteen minutes to call another witness, no exceptions. The bailiff ushered us out of the courtroom and warned us to stick close. I edged away from the rest of my group and went out into the hallway to call Jess. She answered on the first ring.
“You guys done deliberatin
g?”
“Funny. But at this rate, we might be done a lot faster than you thought. I think Bowser wears a bag so he doesn’t have to take pee breaks. I’m surprised he let us have lunch.”
“He hasn’t changed. So, he’s keeping you late?”
“Yep. And then, you know…”
“Right. You have to work. Got it.”
Her voice was flat and I detected a trace of pissed. I didn’t feel the need to explain again that I was working and didn’t really want to talk about it anymore since I was kinda sorta lying. Shit. She’d get over it or she wouldn’t, but if she’d already decided she couldn’t trust me to stay out late on a weeknight or that I would jump whenever her plans trumped mine, then we were in for years of fighting. “Okay. Well, then, I guess I’ll see you later.”
“Say hi to Bingo for me.”
She hung up before I could respond. So that was it. She thought I was gambling. Like I had any money to gamble. Well, she could keep thinking that since she’d be really pissed if she knew I was hunting Perez on my lonesome.
I turned the phone off and stepped back into the jury room, where the rest of the jurors were huddled in their special little groups. I barely had time to down a cup of thick, scorched coffee before Sam appeared and drug us back into the courtroom. The next witness was already on the stand, and Bowser swore him in. Only took a couple of questions from the prosecutor to make it clear this was the eyewitness. Finally, maybe the testimony would be interesting.
While he answered the softball questions, I gave him a once-over. Dressed in an ill-fitting suit and a too-starched, high-collared shirt, he looked about as out of place in formal clothes as the defendant did, but unlike the defendant, he seemed to relish his place in the spotlight. He answered every question with more detail than was asked for, and he smiled after each answer like he was expecting a pat on the head. Dante Guzman. Age thirty. Lifetime resident of Dallas. Worked as a contractor. Wonder if the State of Texas had purchased his suit rather than have him show up looking like he’d been crawling around in the dirt, or whatever contractors do for a living.
His story was he’d been at the bar to grab a couple of beers after a hard day’s work. He was barely into the second one when he heard the defendant and dead guy trading strong words. When the two started posturing, like they were going to exchange more than words, he slid a ten to the barkeep and slipped out. Before he could reach his truck, he heard loud voices and turned around in time to see the defendant pull a gun, fire three shots at the soon-to-be-dead guy, get in his car, and peel out of the parking lot. He shouted for someone to call 911, and then he ran to the dying guy and stayed with him until the police and paramedics arrived.
With only a few wrap-up questions, the prosecutor said the magic words, “pass the witness,” and every eye in the courtroom looked from the clock on the wall to the judge and back to the clock again. It was six thirty, way past time for anyone to be able to retain any other facts that might come out during the defense’s cross-examination, not to mention the fact that stomachs were rumbling all around me. All I could think about was where my next cheeseburger was coming from.
Apparently, Judge Bowser was hungry too and he adjourned for the day. I barely listened to his warnings not to watch the news or talk about the case as I ticked through my list of to-dos for the evening. When I was finally free and walking out the doors of the courthouse, I checked my phone and found a text from Jess.
Looks like you’re not the only one working late. Your turn not to wait up.
I read the lines several times, certain she was still angry with me but uncertain about whether to respond. This shit was new. If a woman got pissed at me in the past, the solution was simple: steer clear of her until she either got over it or moved on. But life had changed and I could no longer rely on my gut reactions. I lived with Jess. The house was hers, but there were still traces of me in every room. It wasn’t like I could just hole up in the apartment I no longer had and wait to see if she got over it. We shared stuff, including a dog.
Cash. Damn. If she was late, I needed to get home to feed him. I’d planned on heading directly to Leroy’s, but I’d have to detour.
When I walked through the front door of the house, Cash stood up and placed his big paws on my chest. “Come on, boy.” I opened the back door and followed him outside. While he did his business, I took in the view. Jess had bought this house when she’d been promoted to detective. She’d quickly moved up the ranks, which was good for her career but not so good for homesteading. She had a ton of plans for the backyard, but they’d stay plans for now: a deck here, a rock formation there.
Lately, she’d been asking me what I thought, and I didn’t have a clue. The only backyard I’d ever had was the one at my parents’ house, and it consisted of a balding patch of grass, a small grouping of aluminum chairs, and a rickety barbecue grill. And making plans seemed so damn permanent. Not like I didn’t plan on being with Jess for the long haul, but planning wasn’t my forte when it meant a change in my status quo.
All the planning I had in store for tonight consisted of feeding Cash and heading out the door. I shook some kibble into his bowl, and he skidded across the kitchen floor and wolfed it down like it was a hot dog lathered with cheese sauce. I was starving too, but I didn’t find anything grab-and-go in the fridge, so I figured I’d pick up something on the road. Besides, Jess had a thing for keeping the kitchen clean, which didn’t fit in with my schedule tonight. While Cash had his head buried in his bowl, I stepped my way to the front door, careful not to signal my departure, but the second I turned the doorknob, he was at my side, tail wagging his desire to join me. “I’ve got to work, but Jess will be home soon.”
He offered a few deep howls to tell me the promise of another woman wasn’t what he had in mind. To make his point clear, he stood and put a paw on the doorknob. I’m not usually one to fall victim to sentiment, but even I have my limits. Big blue pleading eyes and the sweet request of his begging tones did me in. I reached for his bright-red leash, and a minute later we were in the Bronco ready for adventure.
Chapter Six
I caught on to the tail a few blocks after I left the house. Another SUV, but not the same one as last time. Guess these guys had a fleet of big-ass vehicles ready to follow folks at a moment’s notice. I did my damnedest to make out the license plate, but whoever it was stayed just out of range.
I debated my options: lose the shadow or let my stalker follow me directly to Perez and give her what she had coming. My big plan was to reserve the pleasure of revenge for myself, but another part of me was curious about what they had in store. I’d seen enough news coverage to know these cartel fuckers don’t mess around. Hacked-off limbs, electric currents. Perez would be much better off in my custody, but I didn’t expect her to come willingly. I glanced at Cash on the seat beside me and knew I’d made the right decision bringing him along.
Ultimately, I let geography decide my course. The driveway to Leroy’s, the next bar on my list, was a narrow gravel road, and once I turned off the main drag, the SUV kept going, just like last time, but a second car appeared in its wake and turned right behind me. This time it was a Subaru—one of those station-wagon-looking things that cost as much as a Mercedes. Kind of a strange choice for drug dealers, but since I hadn’t shopped for cars in the last twenty years, who was I to judge? I had no way of knowing if this car was actually following me or if it had turned in behind me by chance, but if I was going to have help in my hunt for Perez, I wanted to know who I was getting it from. The fact they’d have to pull up right behind me gave me an advantage, and I pulled into a space on the edge of the lot and waited for my shadow to reveal himself.
Ten minutes passed before Cash signaled he was over this whole waiting-around act. I spun the barrel of my Colt and shoved it into my shoulder holster, and then I opened the door of the Bronco and motioned for Cash to follow. The Subaru was parked about twenty feet away—lights off but the engine running. I didn’t
bother to hide my approach. I strode up to the driver’s side and slapped my palm on the hood of the car. Next, I pulled back my jacket just enough to show the Colt and leaned down toward the window to get a face-to-face with my stalker. The window was slightly tinted, but I stared until a face came into view. The woman sitting in the driver’s seat was the last person I expected to see. “Cris?”
I doubted she could hear me through the closed window, but Cris Perez-Soria did a semi-decent job of looking guilty. Guilty about what? Had she followed me on purpose, and if she hadn’t, then why the hell was she here? I rapped my knuckles on the window until she finally lowered the glass a few cautious inches.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I growled.
She glanced from me to Cash, who at this point sensed my quest had taken a wrong turn. He weaved in and out of my legs, muttering. I snapped my fingers in her face to focus her attention back to me. “Speak. Now.”
She pulled her eyes from Cash and shook her head. “I could ask the same thing.”
I detected a trace of know-it-all in her tone, like she thought she’d caught me robbing a bank. I wasn’t having any of it. “I’ll ask the questions. Do you even know where you are?”
She wasn’t quick enough to disguise the furtive sideways glance at the bar, and it didn’t matter anyway, because I stepped up to block her view before she could make out the sign. She took my intervention like a champ. “You know where I am,” she said with a confident shrug. “But the real question is what are you doing here?”
Verbal sparring isn’t my thing. Besides, I had a job to do. Bad enough that jury duty had interfered with my pursuit of Perez during the day, but having this very concrete reminder of the interference was just too much. “It’s time for you to leave. Go home and get a good night’s sleep.”