by Max Austin
“This looks like a Mexican place,” Ryan said. “They’ve got waffles?”
“Best in town.”
Ryan looked around as they got out of the car. The freeway bridged the street a block to the north, and traffic hummed there, even at this hour. In the other direction, downtown office buildings loomed. He realized they were only three or four blocks from Lucky Penny Bail Bonds.
“So this is your regular place?”
“I got lots of regulars. For waffles, this is the place.”
“I would’ve just gone to IHOP.”
Vic frowned. “Don’t give your money to those chains. Look for local places like this. That’s where you find the good stuff.”
A bell jingled as they went through the door into a wall of warm air and murmured conversation and clinking cutlery. A middle-aged brunette in a sunny yellow uniform met them at the door.
“Hello, Vic.” She gave him a big smile. “You’re up early.”
Vic winked at her. “I heard the early bird gets the waffles.”
“You’ve come to the right place.”
She plucked a couple of menus off a stack next to the cash register and led them into the dining area, which was populated by men in baseball caps and boots, blue-collar guys sucking down calories and coffee, bracing for another long day on the job. Tinsel and strings of lights drooped from the ceiling, the diner’s nod to the approaching yule season.
Ducking past the tinsel, Vic said, “Darla, could you put us in that booth in the back? We need some privacy.”
She smiled over her shoulder. “Top-secret business?”
“I’m going to give this young man a stern talking-to,” Vic said. “See if I can get him to shape up.”
Darla set the menus on the table of the last booth, then turned to look Ryan up and down. “He’s in pretty good shape already.”
Ryan felt his cheeks warm. They were talking about him while he was standing right there, the way people do with children.
Vic handed the menus back to her. “We both want waffles with my usual sides. And lots of coffee.”
“You got it, darling.”
She breezed away. Ryan sat across from Vic, both hunched over the table as if they were about to play chess with the condiments clumped in the center. Vic faced the noisy room. Ryan had a nice view of a paneled wall.
“They know you here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Vic said. “Waitresses know me all over town. I don’t cook, so I’m always in places like this.”
“I would’ve figured you’d keep a low profile.”
“Look around. Does it get any lower profile than this? Of course, at lunchtime there’s a line out the door. But the secret to this place is the breakfast. Wait and see.”
The waitress brought coffee in heavy white mugs and two short glasses of orange juice. As she set them on the table, Vic said, “How’s your nephew doing, Darla? He staying out of trouble?”
She gave them the high beams again. “He got a job at that new supermarket downtown. Now he’s shopping for an apartment of his own.”
“Excellent,” Vic said. “You and your sisters keep him in line now.”
“Oh, we will.”
As she bustled away, Vic said to Ryan, “Her nephew Esteban got popped on a trafficking charge. The little shit. I put Darla together with Penny and helped her bail him out. I’ve been getting extra bacon with my orders ever since.”
“So you’re a bail bondsman to these people.”
“Not even that. I just work at Lucky Penny, pushing papers. You tell people you’re a paperwork guy, they stop asking questions. It’s too boring, too much like their own jobs.”
Vic picked up his orange juice and drank it down in one long swallow.
“Ah. That hits the spot. Vitamin C, kid. Very important.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You don’t want to be out on a job, trying to be quiet, and you’re sniffling from a fucking cold.”
“Sure, I see that—”
“Not that you should be pulling these kinds of jobs.”
Vic made a show of looking past Ryan to make sure no one else could hear.
“People got romantic ideas about what I do for a living.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Too many movies and books making it look glamorous, making people think there are lots of us running around capping people. That’s bullshit. It’s a specialized field. Only a handful of guys in the whole country make their living this way.”
“But you always hear about people who hire—”
“You know why you hear about them? Because they’ve been arrested. That’s how you get a big headline. Successful jobs? The target is found dead, no suspects, no clues.”
Vic leaned in, whispering. “Most guys who say they’re contract killers? They’re undercover cops. That’s their job, to troll for people desperate enough to need a hit man. The client hands over the cash, they clap the cuffs on him.”
He stopped talking as Darla returned with their food—waffles and bacon and syrup—and arranged the plates on the table. It was enough to feed a family of four, but Vic seemed undaunted.
“You fellas need anything else?”
“More coffee when you get a chance, my dear.”
“You bet.”
As they poured syrup over the steaming waffles, Ryan said, “They can’t all be cops.”
“The rest are psychos. They’re into killing anyway, so why not get paid for it? But they’re careless, these crazy guys. They pull one job, maybe two, before the cops nab ’em.”
They stuffed chunks of waffles into their mouths. Ryan moaned in appreciation.
“I told you,” Vic said. “Best waffles in town.”
He looked around again, then resumed, his voice nearly lost in the hubbub of the diner.
“Guys like me, who last over the long haul, we tend to stick to a certain region. I grew up here, so naturally this is my turf. I work New Mexico, Arizona, Colorado, West Texas. Sometimes up to Utah, though business is sparse in Mormon country.”
Ryan was wolfing the waffles, and he paused long enough to say, “So you choose to stay in Albuquerque?”
“It’s my home. Besides, it’s a nice town. Just the right size. Easy to navigate. Lots of sunshine.”
“And nobody would think to look for a hit man in Albuquerque.”
“Of course not!” Vic displayed his well-practiced smile. “People hear the term ‘hit man’ and they think of mobsters in pinstriped suits. New York, Chicago, Detroit. But most of these jobs are small-town affairs. Business partners doing each other in. Wives getting rid of husbands. Somebody’s got to provide that service, or what have you got? Mayhem in our streets, that’s what. People killing each other in loud, messy ways.”
They chewed that over for a while. Finally, Ryan said, “You guys have your turf, but there’s room for one more, right? No shortage of business?”
Vic dabbed at his mouth with his napkin.
“Look, kid. You really don’t want any part of this. It’s not exciting. It’s not glamorous. The pay’s not even that good.”
“You seem to be doing all right.”
“I’ve been at this a long time. I’ve built up a reputation. I mean, not by name. Clients just know they can call Penny, arrange payment, and their problem disappears. Poof.”
“They pay well for that.”
“But there are expenses. Travel, cars, weapons. Even if you clear ten grand per job, how far will that take you?”
“I’d take ten grand,” Ryan said. “Anytime.”
“How much money do you need for a decent lifestyle? Fifty grand a year? You’d have to pull a job every other month, on average. That’s a lot of bloodshed, and it would get the attention of the cops.”
“Sure, there are risks—”
“More than you know. For fifty grand a year? You could make more than that selling insurance door to door.”
“Insurance is crooked. Your job seems more honest. More direct, anyway.”
“If you’re selling insurance,” Vic said, “there’s little risk of somebody putting a bullet in your head. But every time I go out on a job, there’s a chance I won’t come back.”
Ryan took another big bite so he wouldn’t have to reply.
“Granted,” Vic said, “I take as many precautions as possible. I’m careful. I pace myself. These jobs you witnessed, back to back like this, that’s not my usual method.”
“Lucky me,” Ryan said. “Guess I’ve got good timing.”
“Or really bad timing. We don’t know yet, do we? It remains, as they say, to be seen.”
Chapter 13
Penny had just arrived at her office when Vic came blowing through the door, some young hunk in tow.
“This better be good. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”
“Oh, it’s good,” Vic said. “This is the guy who bugged your office.”
The young man blushed, which would’ve been cute under other circumstances. He was a handsome kid, dressed like a biker, and he had pale blue eyes like Vic.
“Where is it?” she said.
“Under your desk. Want me to get it out?” the kid asked.
“Damned right I do.”
She stepped away from the desk to make room for him to crawl under it. Penny wore blue today, a business suit with a snug skirt, and black shoes with three-inch heels. The kid checked out her legs while he was down there. She’d known he would.
“Pay attention to what you’re doing.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned to Vic and said, “This is what you caught?”
“I would’ve called, but it was nearly three o’clock in the morning before he sprang the trap.”
“Why’d he wait so late?”
“I had a date,” the kid said from under the desk.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” She touched Vic’s arm. “You’ve been up all night? Is that why you look like hell?”
“That’s only part of it. I’ve had something of a shock.”
From under the desk: “I’m his son.”
“What?”
The kid sat up, careful not to conk his head on the center drawer.
“I’m his son.”
Penny was stunned. She’d never even considered the possibility that Vic Walters might have a child somewhere.
“That’s why he bugged the office,” Vic said, “why he showed up at my jobs. It’s his way of making contact.”
“You didn’t know about him?”
“No. Me and his mother, we dated a long time ago, while I was doing some work in Tucson. I was moving around a lot then, and we lost contact.”
Penny smiled. It was funny to see Vic flustered.
“You get that bug?” he said to the kid, who still sat on the floor.
“Yeah.” He held up what looked like an oversized thumbtack, the shiny head the size of a dime.
“How did you get in here to plant it?” she asked. “The whole office is wired with alarms.”
“Not the skylight in the hallway. I unscrewed six screws, lifted off the cover and dropped right in. I put everything back like I found it, but you should have a talk with your alarm company.”
“I will,” she said. “Is that the only bug you planted?”
He nodded, and Vic held out his hand to take the gizmo. He dropped it in the pocket of his suit coat.
“I’ll get rid of this. Ryan, you should apologize to Penny.”
The kid rolled his eyes, but he said, “Sorry.”
“Ryan? That’s your name?”
He clambered to his feet.
“That’s right. Ryan Mobley.”
He wiped his hand on his black jeans before shaking hands.
“Penny Randall.”
“Oh, I know who you are. I’ve seen your face on those billboards all over town.”
“Not to mention, you’ve been listening to my private conversations in my private office.”
“I said I was sorry.”
She looked over at Vic and saw he was smiling, like he was proud of this punk for trying to make nice.
“What?” Vic said. “Something’s wrong?”
“You’re glowing,” she said. “You look positively paternal.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Puffed up with pride. A father at last.”
“Please,” Vic said. “Enough. I’m trying to absorb it all, trying to work it out in my mind. And I’m trying to discourage Ryan, who’s eager to get into my line of work.”
“How did he find out about that?”
Vic sighed. “His mother kept a scrapbook. It’s a long story. Let me tell you the full version some other time. I’m beat, and I still have to take him back to his car.”
“Okay,” she said. “But I want to hear the whole thing later. Maybe Ryan can tell me about it himself.”
“That’s what I need,” Vic said. “You two conspiring. Let’s get out of here, kid, before she offers you a job.”
Ryan grinned as Vic ushered him toward the door. Penny was smiling, too, until she remembered why she’d come to work so early.
“Vic? Could I have a word before you go?”
He told Ryan to wait for him outside, then shut the office door and came back to her desk.
“What’s up?”
“I got a phone call, late last night. Some people from Phoenix. Friends of the late Harry Marino.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Seems Harry was better connected than we knew.”
Vic’s mouth was a taut line.
“I’m sorry, Vic. I had no idea, but Harry was part of a trafficking ring on this side of the border, connected to one of the Mexican drug cartels. I don’t know which one. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is we apparently were hired by his competition.”
“I’ve always told you, Penny, no organized crime. Let them kill each other, but we don’t—”
“I had no way of knowing. They used a blind. Guy told me it was strictly a business thing.”
“This is not our problem,” he said. “If they’re in a mob war, we want no part of it.”
“We may already be part of it. Because of Harry.”
“I didn’t drown Harry.”
“We collected for the job. They’re not going to just take our word for it now.”
Vic ran his hands over his face.
“I’m too tired to think about this. Maybe it will blow over. Let me know if you hear from them again.”
“Okay, Vic. Get some rest. But I don’t know how you’ll sleep, now that you know you’re a dad.”
Chapter 14
Ryan tensed as Vic cut across three lanes so he could make a right turn onto Lomas Boulevard. Somebody honked behind them, but Vic pretended not to hear.
“You all right?” Ryan asked.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You seemed strung-out after you talked to Penny. Bad news?”
“Too soon to say. If a problem does arise, we’ll take care of it.”
That sounded final. Ryan stuffed the urge to ask more questions about Penny. Instead, he said, “What happens now?”
“I drop you at your car, then I go home and get some sleep.”
“Sounds good. I’m beat.”
“Later,” Vic said, “we’ll get together and talk some more. How about dinner?”
“Is that all you do?” Ryan grinned at him. “Go from one cafe to another? That’s your workday?”
“Even the Grim Reaper takes a coffee break, kid.”
Ryan laughed. Vic didn’t.
“What do you say? Dinner?”
“Sure. I’ll bring pictures of Mom.”
“That would be nice. Where you staying? I’ll pick you up around seven.”
“Desert Rose Motel. Room eleven.”
“That place by the freeway? It’s a dump.”
“It’s the closest motel to your office. That’s what I was going for at the time.”
“Too bad we left your car in the Valley. We were both within a
couple blocks of our own beds.”
“That’s a big deal to you, sleeping in your own bed?”
“The older you get, the more a good night’s sleep becomes this rare and wonderful thing.”
He steered the Cadillac past Old Town. Ryan tried to see down side streets to the historic plaza.
“Have you been to Old Town?”
“Not yet,” Ryan said.
“Don’t waste your time. It’s all tourist shops and overpriced restaurants. Santa Fe in miniature.”
“I haven’t done much sightseeing so far.”
“Too busy spying on me.”
“Now that we’ve met, maybe you can show me around.”
“Sure. I’ll take you to Old Town, buy you a fuckin’ snow cone. How’s that sound?”
“I’d take some enchiladas instead.”
A pause, then Vic said, “I know just the place.”
“I’ll bet you do. And all the waitresses know your name.”
“I’m a friendly guy.”
“They might not be so friendly if they knew what you do for a living.”
“I keep the two separate as much as possible. Having you show up the way you did, mixed up in my business, it feels like my separate identities are colliding.”
After they turned onto Candelaria, Ryan pointed down a side street to where he’d left his car.
“That black Mustang? Nice ride.”
“I had some money after I sold Mom’s house. So I got rid of my motorcycle and bought the Mustang. A new car’s the one indulgence I allowed myself.”
“What about coming here, hunting for me? That’s an indulgence, too. And not a cheap one.”
“I don’t look at it that way.”
“How do you look at it?
Ryan grinned. “As an investment.”
He popped open the car door to get out, then remembered something.
“Can I have my gun back now?”
“Certainly,” Vic said. “I’d forgotten about it.”
He reached behind his back and pulled the .45 out of his waistband. He spun it in his hand, gave it to Ryan butt-first.
Ryan tucked the pistol inside his jacket as he got out of the Cadillac. He leaned in and said to Vic, “You must’ve come to trust me a little, handing me a loaded gun.”
“Oh, it’s not loaded. I emptied the clip at Penny’s office. See you at seven, kid.”