“Give us a few minutes,” Raylan said.
Nora waited till the waitress walked away. “Why don’t you let it go? It’s over and done with.”
“You’ve got to be able to trust your partner.” Raylan drank his beer.
“And you’re saying you don’t?”
“No, I’m not saying that. Look at it from my point of view. We’re after Jose Rindo who was involved in Frank Tyner’s murder. I just want to know what happened.”
“Frank was a GS twelve bringing home seventy-eight thousand dollars a year, plus bonus. He told me his wife was making forty. So together they earned about one hundred thirty thousand and their mortgage was almost two grand a month. With me so far?”
“Should I be taking notes?”
Nora gave him a dirty look. “One day we’re doing surveillance, his sleeves were rolled up, I notice he was wearing a gold Rolex.”
“What’d you say?”
“Is that a real one? He said it was a present to himself for ten years with the Bureau.”
“Maybe he’d been saving for a while.”
Nora finished her wine.
“Want another one?”
“I better.”
Raylan raised his hand, signaling the waitress.
“A couple weeks later—it was a Saturday—I see him at the farmer’s market, driving a BMW, and now I’m wondering, what’s going on?”
“What was?”
“I don’t know. But I trusted Frank and decided to let it go.”
The waitress brought them fresh drinks, glanced at Raylan’s open menu on the table and walked away.
“Frank had been telling me his marriage, after seven years, was falling apart. Claire was out of town every week, and when she was home they didn’t do anything together, slept in separate bedrooms. You get the idea?”
“So he was setting you up, huh?”
“You know how it is, you spend a lot of time working together and talk about your lives. We had been partners six months. Frank started flirting with me, started saying we should go away together. At first I thought he was joking, but he kept it up. Working the hours we work, it’s tough to meet people, and even if you do, it’s tough to maintain a relationship.” Nora sipped her wine. “I joined an online dating service and went on a few dates. At first they were like, ‘Wow, you’re an FBI agent. That’s cool. What kind of gun do you carry? Do you have it on you? Can I see it?’ More interested in the gun than me. We’d be out to dinner and the guy would want me to draw my Glock and hand it to him. Let him pretend he was a kid again, playing guns.” Nora picked up a chip, dipped it in salsa. “We would go out a couple times, I am guessing the guy wanted to make it with an FBI agent, tell his friends. Why didn’t he just go to a gun store, get his rocks off, and save the cost of buying dinner?”
“You probably intimidated them. Or maybe you’re too critical.”
“It really doesn’t matter, they weren’t going to cut it anyway.” Nora put the chip in her mouth, swallowed it, and said, “When’s the last time you went out with a woman? I’m not talking about meeting a girl in a bar and taking her home.”
“That doesn’t count, huh?”
Nora picked up her wine glass. “Are you going to answer me, Mr. Smart Ass?”
“I’m thinking.” Raylan sipped his beer. “It’s been a long time.”
“While you’re trying to remember, let me finish my story. What I didn’t tell you, Frank was a nice-looking man, and I was attracted to him. He liked to have a good time. He was fun to be with.” Nora stroked the stem of her wine glass. “We had dinner and a lot to drink, skinny-dipped in his pool, dried off, went inside, had another glass of wine, and got in bed.”
“Listen, that’s a wonderful story, but you don’t have to tell me the rest of it.”
“I’m coming to the best part.” Nora’s eyes held on him while she sipped her wine. “As it turned out I wasn’t attracted to him, and he was a terrible kisser. I couldn’t go through with it. I was trying to think of what to say when I heard him snoring and thought: there is a God.”
“Why didn’t you leave?”
“I was blowing a two. I got dressed and slept on the other side of the king-size bed away from him. It was either that or get in his wife’s bed and that seemed like a worse choice. I thought I’d sleep for a couple hours, sober up and drive home.”
The waitress stopped by again.
Raylan said, “Want to order?”
“I’ve lost my appetite. But I’ll have one more glass of wine.”
“And a beer.”
“When I opened my eyes, it was just starting to get light. I was hungover, had a helluva headache. I got up and looked at Frank. He was on his back, snoring. I went into the bathroom and took three Excedrin. I was going back into the bedroom and thought I heard the sliding door in the kitchen close. I stopped and listened and heard the faint sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor in the family room. Somebody was in the house. I looked around for my bag, my gun, but didn’t see it and remembered I left it in the TV room.” Nora paused. “I looked through the open bedroom door and saw someone, the silhouette of a man approaching. I went back in the bathroom and lay down in the tub, holding my breath. I heard voices, someone talking to Frank. I heard, ‘Plata o plomo.’”
“What’s that mean?”
“Silver or lead.” Nora’s eyes held on him. “The translation: take the money or you’re dead.”
“So Frank wasn’t involved?”
“Or maybe he was but wanted out.”
“The shooter said, ‘Jose Rindo says is too late for explanations. Que Dios te ayude,’ which means ‘may God help you,’ and shot him twice.”
“Too late for explanations, doesn’t that implicate him?”
“Or it means he couldn’t be bought. After he shot Frank, I heard him come in the bathroom, his shoes making a clicking noise on the tile floor, coming toward the tub…”
Nora stopped talking as the waitress put their drinks on the table and walked away.
“I thought he knew I was there. My heart was about to explode, and he stopped at the toilet, relieved himself, walked out of the bathroom and left. I ran into the TV room, grabbed my gun, ran outside and down the street, chasing a silver VW sedan that sped away.”
Raylan pictured Diaz on the train.
“Now you understand the problem.” Nora drank some wine. “Frank was dead and I wasn’t supposed to be there. I went home, showered, changed, went back a couple hours later, and called it in.”
“What was Frank’s connection with Rindo?”
“Same as all of us. He was after a fugitive with a couple warrants against him.”
“Did you tell anyone about Frank’s sudden wealth?”
“I thought about it and decided not to. I didn’t have any proof, evidence of wrongdoing. I liked Frank. Why ruin a dead man’s reputation and give the Bureau a black mark?”
“Did you ask his wife? Maybe she inherited money or won the lottery.”
“She didn’t.”
“The man who killed Frank was a contract assassin named Joaquin Diaz.
I don’t know if this’ll make you feel any better, but he’s dead. Came to Detroit after we arrested Rindo.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know he was the one who shot Frank till you mentioned the silver VW. That’s what Diaz was driving.”
They finished their drinks and went back to the hotel. Walking down the hall, Raylan said, “Want to come in for a nightcap?”
“I better not. I’m exhausted.”
He watched her all the way to her room. Nora unlocked the door, turned, looked at him, and waved.
•••
Half an hour later, he was in bed, watching a movie, and thought he heard someone knocking on the door. He tur
ned down the volume, put his Levi’s on, looked through the peephole, and opened the door.
“You want some company?” Nora moved past him, untying the sash and letting the robe slide off her shoulders onto the floor. He followed her into the bedroom. Nora sat on the side of the bed. “I hate to barge in on you, but I couldn’t sleep. You mind?”
Thirty-Four
Here’s the latest from Bobby Torres.” Raylan was staring at a Facebook photo of Jose Rindo sitting at a table at an outside cafe, posing, a drink in front of him. The caption read, “Hola, amigos.”
Nora said, “Do you know this place?”
“It’s a restaurant in Mexicali,” Big Country said. “Dude’s flaunting his freedom.”
“Let’s go down and get him,” Raylan said.
“Whoa, time out.” Big Country rubbed his jaw. “Rindo’s now an international fugitive. There’s a shitload of rules we’ve got to follow, and the first one is you’ve got to work with a deputy marshal, a Mexico Investigative Liaison who knows the Mexican authorities.”
Raylan said, “You have one in your office?”
“You’re looking at him,” Big Country said. “There are things you can and can’t do when trying to apprehend a fugitive in the Republic of Mexico. Basically, you’ve got to have your shit together. Is Jose Rindo a US citizen born in the USA?”
Raylan couldn’t remember.
Nora said, “I am almost positive.”
Big Country said, “Or is he a naturalized US citizen born in Mexico? If that’s the case we can’t deport him, we’ll have to extradite him, which is more difficult.”
“He was born in Detroit,” Nora said. “Father was a US citizen. But his mother was a Mexican citizen, and Rindo spent time in Mexicali, growing up. Does that complicate the situation?”
“I don’t know. But what can make it really tough is if Rindo has a Mexican wife and Mexican kids, owns a residence south of the border. It’ll be harder to deport him. I’m gonna have to run all of it by the Marshals Internal Investigations Branch, get their approval.”
Raylan said, “We give the Mexican authorities a copy of Rindo’s résumé, you think they’re gonna give him immunity?”
“You’re forgetting one thing,” Big Country said. “Rindo’s got money. He can buy influence and protection.”
Nora said, “All this Marshals Service bureaucracy is going to slow us down. What can we do keep the case moving?”
“Get a warrant with a judge’s signature on it.”
“I’ve got them from Detroit, Columbus, and Tucson,” Raylan said. “Take your pick.”
“I’m gonna need a copy of the dude’s birth certificate, his driver’s license, photographs of him, mug shots, distinguishing marks, tats, Facebook page, criminal history, border crossing history for the past couple years, and anything else about him you think’s important.” Big Country took a breath. “Oh yeah, and we need his address in Mexico.”
“We don’t know his address,” Raylan said. “We did, we’d go down and get him.”
Big Country frowned. “You hear anything I just said?”
•••
Raylan and Nora sat in the conference room across from each other with their laptops, getting together the items on Big Country’s checklist. He came in a little later and said, “I’ve notified the Marshals Service in Mexico City. We’re opening an International Lead on Jose Cardenas Rindo. I’ve reached out to the Mexican LEOs, good guys, state cops who’ve helped us in the past.” Big Country sipped his coffee. ”What do you have so far?”
Nora leaned across the table and handed him a stack of printouts. “Everything except the address of his Mexican residence.”
Big Country’s cell phone rang, He took it out of his shirt pocket, listened for a couple minutes, said, “Que hora?” listened and said, “Gracias, amigo.” He turned off the phone and glanced at Raylan. “Memo, my Mexican liaison talked to a CI who has it on good authority that Rindo is going to be at a club in Mexicali tonight. It’s the fiesta de disfraces.”
“A costume party,” Nora said.
Raylan said, “How’re we gonna recognize him?”
•••
Crossing the border that night, Big Country said, “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. Without written consent from the Mexican government, Rindo can’t be arrested or deported. Our objective is to find the man and locate his residence. Nothing else.” He took a beat. “And watch yourself. Anything can happen in Mexico.”
Nora said, “What does that mean?”
“It’s a crazy place and you’ve got to be aware, on your toes.”
Big Country introduced Raylan and Nora to Guillermo Cepeda at the Mexican immigration offices. “This is my buddy, Memo. He’s with the Baja State Police.” Big Country put his arm around the little guy who was about five six, weighed maybe one thirty and smiled a lot.
Memo wore Levi’s, Ray Bans, and a Heckler & Koch .45 in a holster on his right hip. They followed him out to the parking lot, watched him open the trunk and unzip a duffle bag that was filled with guns: matte black semiautomatics and tactical shotguns. “My friends, whatever you like is for you.”
“Why don’t we each take one but be cool,” Big Country said. “Last thing we want to do is injure an innocent civilian, start an international incident.”
Raylan reviewed the situation. The Marshals Service had yet to give them permission to pursue Jose Rindo in Mexico, and here they were on a tip from a confidential informant. What they should’ve done was gone back to El Centro and waited till everything got sorted out. But Jose Rindo was in a club not far away and if they missed this opportunity, they might not get another one. So they took the guns and rolled the dice.
Next to the duffle was a bag of masks. Memo had thought it through, planned ahead, which made sense. If you were going to a costume party looking for an armed fugitive, you better disguise yourself. “Pick your favorite,” Memo said.
You could be a zombie, a nun, an alien, a skeleton, Hannibal Lecter, Darth Vader, or the Phantom of the Opera. So they each took a mask.
Now they were in Memo’s sedan parked across the street from the club. It was 10:20 p.m. The scene reminded Raylan of Mardi Gras in New Orleans, the crowd of costumed partiers spilling out onto the sidewalk, people drinking and dancing. The smell of cigarettes and marijuana hanging in the hot night air. There were lights strung high in the trees across the veranda where the mariachis were kicking it out, their bright festive notes floating up into the dark sky.
“Listen, I’ll go first,” Nora said. “If Rindo’s in there I’ll find him. He may be in costume, but I know him, how he moves, his voice, his tats.”
“He knows you too,” Raylan said. “That’s the problem.”
“But he’s not expecting me and he’s not going to recognize me.” Nora took lipstick out of her bag and outlined her mouth dark red. Now she put her hair up in a bun.
“Who are you?”
“Wait,” Nora said, turning her back to him, fitting the purple eye mask over her face and turning to show him. “What do you think?”
“I don’t recognize you, so how will Rindo? All you have to do is spot him and walk out.”
•••
Nora moved through the tables across the crowded veranda. It was loud, the mariachis’ horns piercing the night. She could see men checking her out as she pushed her way to the crowded bar and tried to get the bartender’s attention. A voice behind her said, “Algo de beber?” Nora turned to see a man wearing a black eye mask, black hat, cape, and a sword at his side. These people took their costumes seriously. “Zorro, a tu servicio.”
She smiled, Zorro, of course. Nora shook her head, signaled the bartender and ordered a margarita.
Now, with a drink in her hand, another man dressed as a federale in a khaki uniform, a brown military holster on his hip,
stepped in front of Zorro. “Este es problema.” It was Rindo. “Tengo una tabla ven sientate conmigo.”
“Me estoy reuniedo una novia.”
He smiled but didn’t seem to have a clue who she was. “Acompanarme hasta que ilega.” He lightly gripped her bicep and escorted Nora inside the club to a table where two men, one black, the other Mexican, were dressed as bandits, drinking tequila out of short jelly glasses. There was a bottle on the table between them. The black guy wore a straw hat low over his eyes and now she recognized him as Demarco Hall, aka Thunderbird. Rindo didn’t introduce himself or his friends.
Nora said, “You speak English?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“My Spanish is a little rusty. I’ve been living in Phoenix the past fifteen years, just took a job with Gulfstream here in Mexicali.” Nora drank the margarita, trying to calm her nerves.
“That’s why I have not seen you here.” Rindo poured himself tequila. “But with the mask, how can I be sure? Why don’t you take it off?”
“That would ruin the mystery, don’t you think?”
Rindo nodded at the Mexican with the mustache. The man got up and moved away from the table.
Nora finished the margarita and glanced at her watch trying not to be obvious. It was 10:46 p.m. Just a few more minutes, she told herself. She had to find out where he was staying. “Is there a story behind the uniform?”
“How did you know? My grandfather was federale. This was his. Now I am the federale, my friends are banditos. What do you think, uh?”
“I think you’re having fun.”
“But you don’t believe it?”
The bandit returned and placed a margarita in front of her.
“Gracias Lalo,” Rindo said.
Nora picked up the glass, licked salt from the rim, and took a big drink. “You live here in the city?”
“Yes, of course, how about you?”
“I’m in a hotel for the time being, looking to buy a house. Maybe you can help me.”
Raylan Goes to Detroit Page 21