by L C Hayden
Mike waited until he finished brushing his teeth before he answered. Nah. Since I was up, I headed to Hobbs and found us a place to stay. I got us rooms at the Sleep Inn.
You’re in Hobbs? What the hell, Mike?
Figured if I got us settled in, when you all get here, we could immediately get started on finding the bastard that did this.
OK. See you at Hobbs.
Do yourself a favor. Stop for breakfast. There’s no good place to eat between here and Dallas. Going back to sleep while I wait for you all to arrive. Text me when you’re half an hour away so I can get dressed.
Will do.
By the time he received that last text, Mike was dressed and ready to face Los Muertos.
* * *
El Patron drummed his fingers on his desk. He glared at Pedro, making him feel as important as a speck of dust.
Pedro sat up straighter and tried not to grimace. One wrong move and his boss would shoot him on the spot. He knew this because he had seen him do it before. Countless times. “Yo te digo—”
El Patron slammed his fist on the desk. “English. We must speak perfect English so no one will bother us.”
Pedro swallowed hard. He should’ve remembered that. “His name is Mike Hoover. He killed his partner, Finch, because supposedly Finch turned against us. Mike said he could set up things so that we’re never in danger. He’d let us know when it is safe to schedule delivery of the goods.”
El Patron walked around his desk and sat at its edge. He leaned forward, close to Pedro’s face. “What does he want?”
“He wants the Osiris and Isis statues.”
“How does he know that Cleopatra’s statues are included in the merchandise that is scheduled to arrive?”
Pedro gripped the edge of his chair so hard that his knuckles turned white. Is this the time and place he’d die? “I … don’t know.”
El Patron bolted to his feet and headed for the window. He gave Pedro his back.
Pedro’s nerves at the base of his neck quivered as if he had ants marching under his clothes. Was El Patron at this very moment reaching for his gun? Should Pedro run out of the office while he still could?
El Patron took a deep breath and returned to his desk. “Maybe you’re right.”
Pedro had to keep from giggling like a child at a funeral. He was going to let him live. He almost smiled but thought best not to.
El Patron rubbed his chin. “I’ve talked to my contacts and they’re spooked. They saw the place crawling with police so now they don’t want to deliver unless I can provide them with a fancy, safe plan. Maybe Mike can do that.”
“So I tell Mike he’s in?”
El Patron nodded.
Pedro bit his lip and hesitated before adding, “Mike wants to meet you. He wants nothing to do with me. Just you.”
El Patron’s jaw stiffened and his animal-like eyes bored into Pedro’s. “No. Can. Do. You know the rules. Only you know who I am. If Mike doesn’t like that setup, then kill him.”
Pedro nodded. He’d been prepared for this.
El Patron threw his head back and laughed, a sound halfway between a bark and a snort. “You tell Mike to set things up. If he can, he’s in.”
“What about the Lapis Lazuli statues?”
“They are his.”
“Both of them?”
“Yeah.” El Patron placed a finger to his lips and gazed up at the ceiling, as though doing mental arithmetic. “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Pedro nodded, pleased with himself. He had shown his boss his worth. “I’ll tell him.”
“Before you go, are you sure Mike was the one who killed Finch?”
Pedro raised his head, trying to show his boss his confidence. “Me and my men, we saw him do it.”
“Good. We’ll give Mike what he wants after he sets up the drop-off. He can then sell them to his contact and after he gets the money from the buyer, we’ll take it from him. Then we’ll anonymously contact the police about Finch’s death. They will arrest him. We’ll have the money from the sale and be rid of that pest all in one smooth move.” A faraway look came over El Patron’s eyes. Gradually, they widened as if a thought in the horizon had crystallized. “In fact, there’s something specific I want you to do.”
8
Pedro could no longer deny the whisper at the base of his spine. Every day, El Patron grew more violent. Today, he had thought El Patron was going to kill him. He needed to tread carefully, especially when dealing with Mike, and speaking of the devil, there he was, entering the garage. Several large droplets of sweat formed on his forehead, and he wiped them away. He couldn’t let Mike know how nervous he felt.
“Did you talk to him?” Mike spoke even before he had completely entered the garage’s office.
Typical Mike. Always all business. Pedro remained sitting behind his desk. He nodded and two mechanics stepped in behind Mike.
Mike side-stepped them. “What’s with the clowns?”
“Relax.” Pedro offered him a wide grin. We’re amigos. “I don’t want any trouble. They’re here to frisk you. There will be no guns while we conduct business. You’ll get your weapon back before you leave.”
“That’s new,” Mike said.
“Not really. That’s always been the rule. It’s just that the last time you were here, I wasn’t sure if you were carrying.” He nodded at the two men standing by Mike.
They turned toward him.
Mike took a step back. “You could just ask.” Mike eyed the hoods and quickly shifted his sight to Pedro.
“If I ask nicely, would you give me your gun?”
Mike nodded before removing his gun from the holster. He set the weapon on the desk.
Pedro’s heart skipped a beat. The Glock. It had worked. Simple plans always did. He looked up and dismissed the mechanics.
Without uttering a word, both left.
“Now, we talk.” He indicated the chair on the other side of his desk.
Mike sat.
Pedro opened the top drawer and placed the gun inside. “To answer your question, yes, I did talk to El Patron. He’s not sure he wants to work with you. He told me to tell you to set things up for the delivery of the goods. If he’s satisfied with your work, then he’ll talk to you. Face-to-face.” Pedro shrugged. “That’s the best I could do.”
Mike let the seconds tick by. Then, “That works for me.”
Pedro stood up. “I’ll relay your message.”
Mike also stood. “My gun.”
Pedro curled a smile. “I had no plans to keep it.” He opened the middle drawer and handed him a Glock.
Mike holstered it and walked out.
Pedro kept his eyes glued to Mike’s back until he was out of sight and then let out a sigh of relief. He sank onto the upholstered office chair. He opened the top drawer and eyed Mike’s Glock, wanting to reassure himself that it was still there. He took out his cell and punched in El Patron’s number. “I have it.”
Harry Bronson
9
The bad thing about vacationing with a camper was the constant driving, and that was something Bronson strongly disliked. Tomorrow, he faced more tedious time behind the wheel even though his lovely wife every-once-in-a-while drove long stretches of the road. The Bronsons had enjoyed vacationing in Pennsylvania and visiting with Ellen, Mike’s ex, but now it was time to head to Canada.
When Bronson was still a Dallas detective, he had always let Mike drive. But now he was forced to do his own driving. Nothing he could do about it, so why complain?
Instead, he’d take advantage of the lazy afternoon and lie in bed and relax. Soon as his head hit the pillow, his eyelids drooped. He gave in to sweet slumber.
The soft pitter-patter of feet on the carpet and the dip on the edge of the bed beside Bronson’s head called him from sleep. He had a moment before his dog, Honey, began to whine. Being mostly a Basenji, Honey seldom barked, but her whine was a high-pitched sound that ripped the air and pierced the eardrums
. Bronson smothered a groan, refusing to open his eyes to grant Honey the satisfaction.
Carol’s accompanying stomps followed as she ran in, grabbed Honey, and pulled her back. “Hush. You’re going to wake your Daddy up.”
Bronson peered at the dog through half-lidded eyes.
Honey wiggled her way free and once again positioned herself beside Bronson. She whined again.
Carol’s attempt to hold her back failed, and the dog bolted away from her. “Hush. He’s asleep.”
“Not anymore.” Bronson sat up and stared at the dog he was still trying to get used to having. “What’s wrong, Honey? Do you want a treat? Do you want to go outside?”
Honey yelped, bouncing around on her paws, her curly tail wagging hard enough to resemble a spinning wheel.
“Okay. Okay.” Bronson swung his legs down and put his shoes on. “You win. I’ll take you for a walk.” He stood up. As soon as he did, the dog jumped on the bed and made herself comfortable on the same spot Bronson had vacated. She closed her eyes.
“Well, I’ll be.” Bronson stared at Honey, and then turned to Carol who was trying very hard not to laugh. “What kind of dog did we get?”
“There’s no we to this.” Carol threw out her hands, shaking her head. “You found her and brought her here.”
Bronson wrapped his arms around his wife. “True, but you’ve got to admit, when you saw her, you thought she was one heck of a cute dog.”
Carol raised her index finger and waved it. “Not quite true. I saw her and by the look on your face, I knew you wanted her to stay. But I said, ‘No,’ Remember?”
He did remember. “‘No way,’ you said. Yet here we are, new parents to a wonderful dog.” Bronson tightened his grip around Carol. “Thank you for lettin’ me keep her.” He kissed his wife’s cheek.
“I didn’t have a choice. Within hours, my heart was hers.” Carol stared at Honey and remained quiet. A small smile formed on her lips.
Bronson continued, “I knew you would love her. That’s why I brought her home.”
Carol’s smile broadened into a grin. “I’ve got to admit. She is a cute dog, but a dog with a big attitude.”
Bronson nibbled his lower lip in deep contemplation. “Do you think I should let her get away with it, or should I make her get down?”
Before Carol could answer, Bronson’s phone buzzed. He looked at the caller I.D. A frown wrinkled his forehead as he turned his attention away from Honey. “It’s Ellen.”
“Ellen? Like Mike’s ex?” Carol’s voice remained neutral, but the dread behind it seemed ready to explode straight into panic.
“The one and only,” Bronson said.
Carol rubbed her fingers together, a habit she had when she felt unsure. “I’m her best friend. She always calls me, never you. Not unless something went wrong. You don’t think something happened to Mike, do you?”
An image of Bronson’s ex-partner flashed through his mind. Mike, his best friend. More than a friend. A brother. Bronson’s hand shook as he slid the phone icon and tapped the speakerphone on so Carol could also hear the conversation. “Ellen? Are you okay? Is Mike okay?”
A small pause followed, ramping his heartbeat.
“Ellen? Speak to me.”
“It’s Mike.” Her voice quivered.
Bronson held his breath. God, please let him be okay. In his line of work, so many things could go wrong. He knew because he too had been a police detective for the same department Mike continued to work for. “What about Mike?”
“He called me yesterday—” Ellen choked on her words and failed to finish the thought.
Bronson massaged his eyes with his fingertips. “So he’s okay?”
“Yes, well, no. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her confusion seemed to drive a nail through Bronson’s heart.
He drummed his fingers on the bed as he waited for her to continue.
“He … he …”
Bronson held the phone closer to his ear, straining to hear the smallest of sounds. When nothing happened, he said, “Tell me what’s goin’ on.”
“I will. Just stop interrupting.” Her voice spiked.
Bronson raised his arm in surrender even though he knew she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’m listenin’.” Carol’s hand on his shoulder eased the tension stiffening his shoulders, and he released a slow breath.
“Mike told me he found a way to make a lot of extra cash. If he was successful, he could retire in less than one year instead of two. Then we can once again be husband and wife like we were meant to be.”
Bronson stared at Carol. Maybe she understood what that meant. Carol’s face remained neutral. “That’s bad news?”
“No, of course not. If it were strictly up to me, he’d retire now. I don’t care about the money. I just want my ex-husband back, but as long as he’s on the force, our marriage is doomed, like it was before.”
Bronson waited for her to continue.
“He’s over-focusing on the money, making sure we have enough to live comfortably for the rest of our lives.” Ellen didn’t vary her tone. She simply stated a fact that drove a wedge between her and Mike.
Bronson envisioned the tears that streamed down Ellen’s cheeks. “He wants the best for you.”
“I … I know, but this kind of thinking is making him do things he wouldn’t do under normal circumstances.”
When Bronson was still a Dallas city police detective, he’d encountered many people who had fallen in this trap. But not Mike. He would never do that. Bronson would be willing to swear to that. “What exactly did he tell you?”
“It’s not so much what he said. It’s what he didn’t say that worries me.”
Carol moaned, and Bronson reached for her hand. “Meanin’?”
“Meaning I sensed he’s in some kind of trouble.” A small pause followed and when Ellen spoke, her voice was barely audible. “When you were going on a major case, you never told Carol.”
Bronson raised his head to see if Carol was listening. She shrugged. Bronson continued, “That’s right. I didn’t want to worry her.” This was more for Carol’s benefit than Ellen’s.
“That’s the same with Mike. He never calls when he’s facing a dangerous curve. So why the call now?”
Bronson shrugged, not sure what to say. “What case is he workin’?”
“I don’t know. He was tight-lipped, but somehow I got the impression that he’s doing something illegal.”
Bronson digested Ellen’s comments. Mike was a straight arrow. Bronson, on the other hand, was the one who deviated from the rules. Mike was the one who kept him in line. Mike—doing something illegal? No, that didn’t sound like him at all. “I wouldn’t worry. We both know him. He follows rules to the T. He would never think of deviatin’ from that straight line of his.”
“I’m afraid he has this time.” Her voice was firm. Almost authoritative. “Please help him.”
Bronson nodded. No ands, ifs, or buts about that. He’d be there for Mike. Bronson could see—could even rationalize—why Mike wouldn’t answer Ellen’s call. But why hadn’t he been answering his calls? The lump in his gut returned. The one that told him something had gone wrong.
He would call Mike right now, and this time, Mike would answer the phone. They would discuss whatever it was that plagued him and then come up with a solution. Bronson was one call away from helping his buddy. “I got this, Ellen. Don’t worry. I’m going to have Carol call you from her cell.” Bronson’s glance bounced to Carol who nodded.
Bronson disconnected and waited until Carol dialed Ellen’s number before heading out of the bedroom. He made sure he was several feet away from the camper before he dialed Mike’s number.
Mike’s cell buzzed once.
Two times.
No answer.
Three times.
Pick up, Mike. It’s me.
Four times.
Pick up.
The phone continued to ring. Bronson stared at it as if the cell had grown teeth and was
ready to devour him. Pick up, Mike. Pick up.
Even as he urged him to do so, deep down Bronson knew the situation was hopeless. Mike would not respond. Why? Are you hurt? What’s going on?
“Speak,” Mike’s familiar voice said. “When I can, I’ll get back to you,”
Bronson waited for the beep. “Call me.” He disconnected and stared at nothing. What’s going on? Ellen is right. My gut is right. Something is wrong. Something is terribly wrong. Bronson felt it in his bones.
10
After wandering around the campground, hoping against hope that Mike would return his call, Bronson gave up and headed to the camper. Carol sat on the couch, deep in conversation with Ellen. Not wanting to disturb her, Bronson went to the bedroom and set the cell down on the bed. He clasped his hands together and tapped them against his chin. He called Mike again. The call went straight to voice mail. Bronson had now left him three messages.
Three unanswered messages.
Why wasn’t Mike returning his calls? That wasn’t something he would do. He might ignore Ellen’s urgent calls begging him to tell her what was going on.
That, Bronson understood. Sometimes, not knowing was heaven sent.
Even under the most strenuous circumstances, Mike would never ignore his calls. Together,
they would tear apart the problem and solve it piece by piece. Why was this different?
Honey entered the room and laid her head on Bronson’s lap.
“You know, don’t you, girl?” He rubbed the area behind her ear. She let out a small whine as she locked her gaze on Bronson’s. “I agree with you. Somethin’ is wrong. I don’t want to scare Ellen, but I need to go to Mike.” He stood up and bent down to retrieve the suitcase from under the bed.
“Going somewhere?”
Carol entered the room so quietly that Bronson hadn’t heard her. He shot up to his feet. “I … Honey …”
Carol’s gaze bounced from the partially retrieved suitcase to the phone on the bed and back down to the suitcase. She stepped forward and rubbed her husband’s arm. “Did Honey roll her ball under the bed again?”