by Jeff Shelby
Costilla gestured in my direction. “Check him.”
The one to his left stepped forward, slung the gun to his back, and patted me down, just as Ramon had done.
“Ramon cleared me already,” I said.
Costilla said nothing. The man finished patting me down, then nodded quickly in Costilla’s direction. He backed away from me, returning to his original spot, his gun again pointed at me.
“I’m surprised you came,” Costilla said.
“Needed to see you.”
He rose from the bench. “You don’t think I’m going to kill you?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I was honest. “I have no idea. I hope not.”
He smiled. “Good to have hope. How is your friend?”
“Alive,” I said. “How is your man?”
“Alive,” he said. “You know, it was supposed to be you that ended up in the hospital. Or the grave.”
“Figured that,” I said.
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got balls, Mr. Braddock. Bigger than your brain, probably.”
I shrugged.
He extended his arms out to the sides, palms up. “So here I am. What is it you want to talk to me about?”
I felt isolated on the hill, probably as they intended. If they were going to kill me, there was nothing I could do about it. I figured I should at least try to get what I came for.
“Are you responsible for Kate Crier’s death?” I asked.
“You are still working on this? Even after I told you to stop?” Costilla looked incredulous.
“Yeah.”
“And now you think I killed this girl?”
“I think it’s a possibility.”
He smiled, squinting into the sun. “And if I tell you I did, what are you going to do?” He waved his arm around. “What are you going to do to me?”
There was nothing I could do at that moment and he knew it, too. I didn’t say anything.
He shook his head and ran a hand over his bald scalp. “You think I killed your friend because she was working for your government?”
“So you did know what she was doing,” I said, his statement confirming my guess.
“Of course,” he said, as if only a moron wouldn’t have known. “I knew immediately.”
“How?”
He frowned. “You think I’ve gotten to this point without being smart? Without being careful? No one gets close to me without my knowing who they are.” He shook his head again. “You disappoint me, Mr. Braddock.”
A knot formed in my stomach, and I couldn’t untangle it. I waited for him to continue.
Costilla walked back to the bench and sat, leaning back on his hands and crossing his outstretched legs at the ankles. “I didn’t kill her.”
That surprised me. He had no reason to lie to me. I was at his mercy. I thought he would enjoy telling me about her death, how he’d done it and how he was happy she was gone. And how I was next.
“But you knew what she was doing,” I said. “That she was an informant.”
He nodded. “Yes, I did. I made a mistake the last time your government tried to get inside my people. I killed that person.”
It wasn’t making sense. “Why was that a mistake?”
His head gleamed in the sun. “Let me ask you a question. Let’s say you are trying to hide from someone. That someone tries to get information about where you are going to hide.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Tell me, is it easier to just try and hide or to give that someone information that might make them look elsewhere?” He raised his eyebrows. “Send them looking in places where you aren’t.”
Now I was getting it. “So you fed Kate bad information?”
“Ask your police friends,” he said, laughing. “Ask them how they like looking for ghosts.”
“They wired her,” I said, still not entirely believing him.
He rolled his eyes. “Naturally. Ask them about what they heard, if anything they heard helped them catch me.” He looked at himself, mocking. “Oh, wait. Here I am.”
I don’t know how one comes to trusting someone that can’t be trusted, but there was no doubt in my mind that Alejandro Costilla was telling the truth.
36
“Do you know who killed her then?” I asked.
Costilla pointed a finger at me. “Therein lies the problem, Mr. Braddock.”
“I don’t get it,” I said, shaking my head.
He stood and motioned for me to walk to the edge of the plateau with him. I looked at the men and their guns, hoped they weren’t going to shoot me, then joined Costilla where he stood.
“I don’t know who killed her,” he said, gazing out in the distance toward the ocean. “If I did, I would’ve already taken care of it.”
“Mr. Costilla, I don’t understand a word of what you’re telling me,” I said.
He dropped his hands back into his pockets. “Ms. Crier had something that belonged to me.”
“Drugs?”
“Money,” he said, turning to me. “Half a million dollars.”
The knot in my stomach tightened.
“Now, of course, it’s not the amount that mattered to me,” he continued. “Rather a small amount when you look at the big picture. But it was mine and she took it.”
“You’re certain it was her?”
He nodded. “Yes. And even though I am not the one that killed her, I would have if I’d found her first. I can’t tolerate people stealing from me.”
The knot felt cold in my stomach. Kate had managed to operate in Costilla’s world without getting herself killed, even though the man she was informing on knew who she was. Now he was telling me that she stole from him and he’d planned to do what someone else had already done.
“Why’d she steal the money?” I asked. “There’s no way she’d think she could get that past you and her handlers.”
He rubbed his chin. “I’ve wondered that, too. But I don’t know why she did it. Maybe she was going to try and outrun me and her government.” He smiled. “Brave girl.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Brave.”
“When I told you I wanted you to stop looking into this,” he said, “it was because I wanted to find my money. I figured, you or your police find it, I lose it. And also because I will kill whoever took my money and killed our friend.”
“I don’t think she was your friend,” I said.
Costilla shrugged. “No, but she was useful to me. Her death inconvenienced me and disrupted my plans. That doesn’t please me.” He paused, then turned to look at me. “I think I misjudged you, however.”
“How’s that?”
“I figured, if you were trying to solve all this, you would turn in the person that killed your friend,” he said. “But now I see something different.”
His observation irritated me. “You don’t know me.”
“True, but I know it when I see it,” he said.
“See what?”
“Someone looking for revenge,” he said and smiled.
We stood there for a moment, looking at one another, remaining silent. I didn’t like his trying to get in my head. Or the fact that he might have been right.
“You beat up one of my men, you shoot another,” he said. “You come here to meet with me after your friend is hurt. These are things someone does only if he is dumb or determined. And you, Mr. Braddock, are not dumb. I am confident of that.”
I looked away from him. I knew that what he was saying, what he saw in me, was the truth.
“So where does that leave us?” I asked.
He rocked on his heels, jingling some change in his pockets. “I’m going to let you keep looking.” He grinned at me. “I know, you didn’t need my permission. Whatever. I think you are the person who will figure it out. The way I see it, the person that killed your friend has my money.”
“You think I’m going to get you your money back?”
He
shook his head. “No, it’s clear to me that you would not do such a thing. I thought at first, maybe. But I’m not going to waste either of our time by suggesting that.” He looked at me. “But I’ll be watching you.”
“So I can take you to your money?” I said.
Costilla shrugged. “Perhaps. But to be honest, I just want to see if I’m right.”
“Right about what?”
He looked at me, his eyes cold and hard like the first day I’d met him in San Ysidro. “To see if you are going to kill this person. Because I think, from what I see, you are.”
“You a psychology major?” I asked, again irritated with his analysis of me.
“No, but you are working in my area now,” he said, smiling again. He rubbed his scalp. “Now, we have one more thing to attend to.”
“We do?”
He nodded. “Yes. When I said that I was going to find your friend after she stole my money, you understand why?”
“I think so,” I said. “Doesn’t look good to have someone show you up.”
He pointed at me. “Exactly. Yesterday, on the freeway, you and your friend showed me up.”
The knot that had been in my stomach doubled in size.
“I can’t have that,” he said quietly. He turned and waved over my shoulder.
I turned around to see Ramon and my other two escorts approaching us. They passed the armed men and stood in front of me.
“I’m not going to kill you, Mr. Braddock,” Alejandro Costilla said. “I actually like you. And it’s easier for me if you take care of your friend’s murder. I get to watch and cheer you on. So I’m not going to kill you.” He paused and stepped closer to me, his mouth right next to my ear. “But it might feel like you are going to die.”
The driver’s hand shot out toward my chest. I managed to knock it away and drove the palm of my hand into his nose. A fist caught me in the temple, and my vision blurred. Another exploded into my kidneys, and I fell to my knees.
I stayed there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, trying to fight the reds and purples that were swirling in my eyes. Something cold and hard smashed into the back of my head, and the colors changed from red to yellow to white and, finally, to black.
37
I came back slowly to the world, feeling as if the car that had run over me was still parked squarely on my body.
I tried to open my eyes, but they felt like they were sealed shut. I tried to sit up, but could only manage a groan that sounded distant and ugly, as my body rattled with pain.
“Noah?” a voice said. “You awake?”
I forced my right eye open and made out a fuzzy image of Ernie. I groaned again.
“You awake?” he asked again.
I brought my hand up to my eyes and rubbed them, slowly opening the other. Ernie came into focus.
“Ernie?” I said, my throat dry and raw.
“Yeah, it’s me, dumbass. How you feel?”
My arms felt heavy, my legs felt like lead, my back ached, and my head throbbed.
“Alright,” I mumbled. I cleared my throat. “Where am I?”
“My house,” he said. “Somebody called me, told me where to find you.”
I blinked my eyes, then tried to sit up. A fire roared up my spine and into the back of my head. I fell back down.
“Easy,” Ernie said. He was sitting on a chair and I was on a bed.
“Where was I?”
“Out on the beach in IB,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess they dropped you there when they were finished.”
Slowly, I remembered that I’d gone to see Costilla. I remembered the conversation.
“Imperial Beach?” I said. “I thought we were in TJ.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I got a call. You were where they said you would be, by the pier.”
I tried to sit up again, held still as my head caught fire, and managed to make it up to a hunched-over position. Ernie handed me a glass of water.
“Thanks,” I said, sipping it. “How do I look?”
“Like somebody kicked the shit out of you,” he said, shaking his head. “But I gotta say, I was wrong. I thought they’d kill you. But somehow you made it back.”
I nodded, drinking more of the water. I knew that the only reason I was alive was because Costilla had wanted it that way. He easily could’ve fulfilled Ernie’s prediction.
“I called Liz,” Ernie said.
I felt my eyes widen. “What? Why?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. “Carter’s in the hospital, he can’t help. I figured you didn’t want to go to the hospital. You told me you’d been talking to Liz about all of this.”
What I’d forgotten to mention was that I wasn’t supposed to go see Costilla.
“What did you tell her?”
He frowned. “That I dug you up off the beach after Costilla had pummeled you.”
“You said it was Costilla?”
“Yeah.”
“Shit,” I said. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, invisible spikes digging into the backs of my thighs. “Help me up.”
“Whoa, dude,” Ernie said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You are in no shape to go anywhere.”
“Liz on her way?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then help me up.”
“Why?”
“Because I gotta take off before she arrives.”
I pushed up off the bed and stood slowly. I felt like I had parts where they weren’t supposed to be and an awful case of the flu.
“Noah, you told me Liz knows what’s going on,” Ernie said, confused.
I braced myself on the back of his chair. “What I didn’t tell you was that I’m not allowed anywhere near Costilla.”
He looked at me, then realized what I was getting at. “Aw, Jesus. I’m sorry.”
I waved a hand at him. “Not your fault. You didn’t know. Help me to the bathroom.”
He hunched forward and I put my arm around his shoulders and we slowly made our way to the bathroom. I was encouraged that nothing seemed to be broken. The small things in life.
I stood in front of the sink and turned on the faucet. My reflection in the mirror didn’t scare me as much as I’d anticipated. A small cut over my right eye and a bruise on each cheek. Dried blood at the corner of my mouth. Most of the damage had been done to my legs and torso. I lifted up my shirt. Reds, pinks, and purples dominated my ribs and back.
“You can take a punch, I’ll say that,” Ernie said.
I grunted at him. I cupped my hands under the cold water and brought them up to my face. The water shocked me, and my head started to clear. I rinsed my face a couple more times and wiped my face with the towel hanging on the wall.
Ernie reached into the mirrored medicine cabinet on the wall next to us. He pulled out a bottle of aspirin and shook four out and handed them to me.
I swallowed the pills, drank another handful of water, and shut off the faucet.
Leaning gingerly against the sink, I said, “My car’s at the border. Can you take me?”
“You sure you can drive?” Ernie asked.
“I’ll be fine. I’m sorry I got you into this. Get me to my car and I’ll be out of your hair.”
“And you’ll owe me.”
“Big time,” I said.
He offered his shoulders again, but I waved him off. If I was going to drive, I’d better walk first. I limped behind him. I felt more awake, but I felt the swelling and bruising a little more, too. I silently pleaded with the aspirin to kick in.
Ernie led me through the single-story bungalow that he owned. It was a couple of blocks from the youth center. He’d bought it a couple of years ago, saying that he wanted to live in the neighborhood he worked in. It would’ve been dangerous for a guy like me to move into the neighborhood, but for Ernie, it was like the mayor living among his constituents.
As he reached for the door, a knock came from the other side of it.
He turned and
looked at me.
I had momentary thoughts of looking for the back door, hopping a fence, and trying to get the hell out of there. Then I realized how long it had taken us to get from the bathroom to the front door.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Let her in.”
He opened the door and Liz stood there, glaring at us. In black slacks and a black blouse, she looked like a hot, female version of the Grim Reaper.
“Gentlemen,” she said. “Going somewhere?”
“No,” I croaked. “We were just both so anxious to see you.”
“Right,” she said. “And you look great, by the way.”
“I know.”
Ernie stood between us, unsure of what his role was.
I looked at him. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” he said, and I knew that he meant it.
I pushed open the screen door and limped out onto the porch. I looked at Liz. “You gonna cuff me?”
She put her hand behind my elbow to steady me and help me to her car. “No, you don’t look like you can do much damage right now.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So why arrest me?”
“Because it gives me pleasure to Mirandize you,” she said.
Then she read me my rights.
38
Liz let me ride in the front seat.
“You’re really gonna do this?” I asked, as we zipped up I-5, passing the Mile of Cars exit in National City.
“Yeah,” she said, without looking at me. “I am.”
I shifted in the seat, a new wave of aches and pains surging through my body. “Maybe I should go to the hospital.”
“You look fine to me.”
“You’re not looking at me.”
“Well, then, you sound fine to me.”
I could see the anger in her face and in her body language. She’d told me what would happen if I went near Costilla again and apparently she was going to follow through on her promise to sit me in jail. I wasn’t pleased with that idea, but I knew that I was making her job harder. Not only because of what I was doing, but also because of who I was. I knew that her fellow officers were probably enjoying the fact that her ex-boyfriend was screwing up her investigation.