When Doubt Creeps In: A Harry Bronson Suspense Thriller

by L C Hayden

  Susan stared at both of them, swayed on her feet, and grabbed hold of the chair’s back. She looked down and shook her head. “Tell us exactly what the chief said.”

  “The bullet that killed Finch came from Mike’s gun.”

  “No, that can’t be. Maybe he’s been framed.” Gene’s eyes searched the room as though the answer lay hidden within the walls. “I know I’ve only worked with him for a couple of days, but he’s got this reputation. He’s a good man.”

  “Maybe so, but we need to arrest him and take him back to Dallas. Chief’s orders.” Even though Dave’s face was flushed with confusion, his eyes remained as hard as crystal. “I thought maybe both of you would like to come with me when I arrest him.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Gene ruffled his hair, but this time not because of the way it looked.

  “One more thing.” Dave reached for the doorknob. “The chief wants me to stay for a while and explain things to Chief Schemmel. Maybe say, ‘Thank you’ for hosting us. I’m not sure what Chief Kelley wants me to do here. Either way, both of you are to take Mike back. Can I count on you to do that?”

  Both Gene and Susan nodded and looked away.

  “I know,” Dave said. “It stinks.

  They headed toward Mike’s room. Dave took a deep breath and knocked. All three planted themselves beside the door, waiting for Mike to open.

  Mike didn’t come to the door.

  Dave knocked a bit louder. “Mike, open up. It’s us. We want to know how you’re feeling.” Dave stared at the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the doorknob. He knocked again.

  Still no answer.

  Susan tried twisting the doorknob. It was locked. She pointed to herself then down the hallway toward the reception desk.

  Dave nodded. “Hey, Mike. Open up. You’re worrying us.”

  The door remained closed.

  Minutes later, Susan returned with a youthful-looking clerk following close to her. He carried a set of keys in his trembling hands.

  Dave withdrew his weapon and placed it against his thigh. He nodded to the clerk. The youth opened the door and stepped aside.

  Dave burst into the room. Susan and Gene followed close behind.

  The room was empty.

  18

  Early the next day, Bronson pulled off the main highway and retrieved his cell. “Hey Google, what motels are there in Hobbs?” From where he was parked, he could see the Hobbs, New Mexico city limits sign.

  Google informed him that he had a choice of about fifteen motels.

  “Google, are any of those Choice Motels?” Bronson knew that whenever possible, Mike would book a Choice Motel so he could earn points for a free night.

  Google informed him that Hobbs had two choice motels.

  Hot-diggity-dog! His search had just been drastically reduced. He jotted down the addresses and headed for the nearest Choice motel.

  Ten minutes later, Bronson stood in front of the reception desk. The youthful clerk at the Sleep Inn had a small mustache, which he probably grew in an attempt to hide his youth. “Hello? What can I do for you?” He didn’t bother to look up from his paperwork.

  Bronson read the clerk’s name tag. “Top of the mornin’, Felipe.”

  Felipe glanced up but didn’t say anything.

  Bronson retrieved a folded piece of paper from his wallet. “I need to get this information to my friend. Would you mind puttin’ it in his mailbox or handin’ it to him?”

  “Sure thing.” Felipe reached for the note. “What is your friend’s name?”

  “Mike Hoover.”

  Felipe’s hand froze halfway to the note then quickly withdrew it as if he had been burned. “Uh … uh …”

  “It’s okay, Felipe. I got this,” a voice behind Bronson said.

  Bronson turned and vaguely recognized the face. His mind searched for the correct name. “Detective De La Rosa.”

  Dave offered him his hand. “Call me Dave.”

  Bronson accepted the handshake and noticed the fancy ring on his hand. “Call me … Bronson. Everyone does, even though my first name is Harry.”

  “I knew that.” Dave smiled. “I also know you love coffee. Right across the street, there’s a restaurant. They serve great coffee. How about it?”

  “You don’t have to ask twice.”

  * * *

  They chose a window seat and waited for the waitress. When she arrived, they each ordered coffee. Dave took his black, Bronson’s as white as a virgin sheet. When the waitress served them the coffee, Bronson smothered his with sugar.

  Dave shook his head. “How you manage to survive drinking your coffee like that is beyond me.”

  “But somehow, I’ve managed.” He stirred his coffee. “Do you know why I’m here?”

  “I can imagine.” When Bronson didn’t say anything, Dave added, “Mike.”

  Bronson nodded. “What can you tell me?”

  Dave told him about talking to the Hobbs’ chief-of-police and how she suspects Finch was involved with a drug drop-off ring, and how she wanted the four Texas detectives to sniff around the city for leads. He mentioned Mike’s migraine, the call from Chief Kelley, and how they had gone to arrest Mike only to find an empty room. Dave told him that Susan and Gene had returned to Dallas, but he had stayed behind to fill in Chief Schemmel.

  Bronson listened to the entire narrative without interrupting. When Dave finished, Bronson took a sip of coffee and set the cup down. “Doesn’t look good for Mike, does it?”

  Dave shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. It’s hard to believe he’s gone rogue.”

  “Has he now?”

  Dave’s eyes widened. “I know he was your partner, and you two are tight. Naturally, you want to believe in him. But the evidence speaks for itself.”

  “Tell me, Detective De La Rosa, what that evidence says about a seasoned detective who would use his gun to kill his partner.” He signaled for the waitress to refill his cup. “Tell me that he wouldn’t know the bullet would be traced back to his gun.”

  Dave leaned forward. “What are you saying? That the gun was stolen and that Mike’s been framed?”

  “Exactly.”

  “If he’s innocent, then why didn’t he report it missing, and why is he on the run?”

  “That’s somethin’ he’ll have to explain when we meet up with him.”

  Dave expelled some air through his mouth. “So what do you think we should do?”

  “I’m thinkin’ I should talk to those drug dealers.”

  Dave waved his hand. “Hold on. No offense, but you’re not in the force anymore, and you’re not a detective either. You can’t go meddling somewhere you don’t belong. I can arrest you for obstructing an ongoing investigation.”

  “You could do that, but you won’t.”

  Dave smirked. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because deep down you believe that somethin’ bigger is goin’ on. Mike is the key to this puzzle. You are desperate to find out what’s happenin’, but your hands are tied. Me, on the other hand, I’m just a friend tryin’ to connect with his buddy.”

  The clock ticked away while Bronson waited for an answer. Dave took a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll treat this like you’re my informer. Go talk to them, but do nothing more. You report back to me immediately.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Maybe not a very good one.” Dave’s forehead wrinkled as it often did when he focused on a hard item. “If they Google you, won’t they find out you were once one of Dallas’ finest?”

  “I’m one step ahead of them.”

  Dave set his coffee cup down and stared at Bronson. “What does that mean?”

  “I didn’t register under my name, you know, just in case.”

  Dave nodded, but his frown spoke of disapproval. “So you had this entire thing all planned out. What name did you give them?”

  “Alex Bentley.”

  “All right, Mr. Bentley, I want you to remember that you’re just my informer. Nothing else. Is
that clear?”

  “As clear as a clean lake.”

  Dave frowned but ignored his comment. “There’s something else you need to know.”

  Bronson looked up at Dave.

  “The consensus is that all of this involves drugs. It doesn’t.”

  Bronson remained silent.

  “After Susan and Gene left, I had a free afternoon. I went to Antonio’s Happy Place to have a nice, relaxed drink. I babied a Gin Tonic and kept my ears open.”

  Again, Bronson remained quiet, waiting for the rest of the story.

  The waitress approached, refilled Bronson’s cup, and handed them the bill. After she left, Dave looked straight into Bronson’s eyes. “I found two men there. Both of them were a little intoxicated. No, make that a lot intoxicated. They were either drunk enough or stupid enough to discuss things that shouldn’t be mentioned except in private. After they left, I asked the bartender who they were. He told me he only knew their first names: Raul and Jose.” Dave paused to make sure Bronson was following.

  Bronson remained silent, staring at him.

  Dave continued, “They were talking about some Egyptian treasure, and how that was going to make them rich. I got the impression they were smugglers, but I kept my cool. I let them talk. They lowered their voices, and I couldn’t make out much of what was said. But I did pick up something about a ‘dead policeman.’”

  “Finch?”

  “My guess.”

  Bronson retrieved his notebook and pen from his pocket. “What was the name of the bar?”

  “Antonio’s Happy Place.”

  Bronson wrote that down. “That’s an unusual name for a bar.”

  Dave half-smiled and nodded. “What are you planning to do?” Dave watched him record the information.

  “I’m goin’ to talk to this Raul and Jose. See what information they can give me and then report back to you.”

  “Do you plan to go after the smugglers?”

  Bronson shrugged. “If as a result of my meddlin’ we bring down a smugglin’ ring, more power to us—or really to you since you’re the one who will be doin’ the real work. But as for me, that’s not my purpose. I simply want to know if they can lead me to Mike.”

  Dave reached for the bill. “If they don’t?”

  “I’ll dig somewhere else. Isn’t that what informants do?” Bronson took out his wallet and pushed two one-dollar bills toward Dave.

  He accepted the money. “Chief Schemmel told me their group consists of a bunch of dangerous men.”

  Bronson wrote down in his notebook: jerks. “I’ve had my share of bringin’ down tough men. This should be no different although I’m not goin’ after them. As I said, it’s Mike I want.”

  “If you find him, will you talk him into turning himself in?”

  “It’s the right thing to do.” Bronson stood up. “Apparently, I’m goin’ to face a tough gang that will probably not want anythin’ to do with me. Will you back me up, as your informer?”

  “Always.”

  19

  As far as bars went, Antonio’s Happy Place wasn’t exactly a happy place. It was dingy and poorly lit. The bartender, a college-age student, busied himself mixing drinks for the three men who sat at the far end of the bar. Behind him, the large mirror failed to fully reflect the bar’s images. Its caked-on crust offered poor visibility. Bronson headed for the isolated end of the bar, flopped down on the stool, and placed both open hands in front of him on top of the counter.

  “What can I get cha?” The bartender wiped the area in front of Bronson.

  Bronson scooted his right hand to reveal a fifty-dollar bill. He leaned forward and spoke so softly that only the bartender could hear. “It’s yours for some information.”

  The youthful man took a step backward but didn’t remove his eye from the bill. “What kind of information?”

  “I’m lookin’ for two men, Raul and Jose. Can you point me to them?”

  The bartender’s eyes widened long enough to show a flash of fear. He looked away from Bronson. “Don’t know anybody by those names.”

  Bronson covered the bill with a slight movement of his hand and drew it toward him.

  “Wait. I meant to say I do know them, but they’re not here yet. They normally hang around here each afternoon.”

  “What else can you tell me about them?”

  “They are part of a gang known as Los Muertos—The Dead. I imagine they got that name because of all the people they supposedly killed.” The bartender stroked his goatee. “Look, you seem like a nice enough guy. If I were you, I’d stay away from them.”

  “Thank you for your concern. What else can you tell me?”

  The bartender shrugged. “Not much. I take my own advice and stay away from them, except to serve them their drinks.”

  “Where can I find them?”

  “You’re in luck. They just walked in.”

  Bronson’s glance shifted to the mirror. He could barely make out the two images of the men as they headed toward a table to his right. “Get me a coffee, would you, please?”

  The bartender glared at him.

  “Okay, make it a Coke. Better yet, diet Coke, but make it look like alcohol.” Bronson removed his hand and the bartender grabbed the bill with a speed of an animal who didn’t quite trust the person feeding it.

  When the drink arrived, Bronson took a sip, headed toward the men, and stood looking down at them. “Hola. Mind if I join you?”

  Raul’s hand slid under the table. Maybe he was reaching for a gun.

  Bronson remained still, his hands in plain view. Coming from behind him, he heard the clinking of glasses and the murmur of voices between the bartender and three other men at the bar. More scattered voices came from the dark recesses of the bar.

  Bronson smiled and looked at his drink as he spoke. “Raul, I have somethin’ to offer you.”

  The man sitting to his left swallowed a short breath. Good. Now Bronson knew which one was Raul. Bronson focused on the other man. “So, Jose—” He looked at his companion. “Raul, can I join you?”

  “Who are you?” Raul kept his right hand hidden under the table.

  “All in good time. Right now, all I want to do is to sit down. I’ll even buy both of you a drink. What’d you say?”

  Raul and Jose exchanged looks. “You talk. We listen,” Jose said.

  “That’s all I ask for.” Bronson signaled for the bartender. He then reached for the chair and sat down so that he was equidistant to each.

  20

  Bronson waited until Raul and Jose ordered their drinks before he began to speak. “You can call me Alex, but my name is not important. It’s what I have to say that is of interest to you.” He sipped his Coke. “Ever heard of El Dorado?”

  The bartender arrived with the hoods’ drinks and set them on the table. Bronson handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Keep the change.” Carol was going to kill him for giving away all of their hard-earned money, but he had no choice. She’d have to understand.

  The bartender nodded and left.

  Raul’s hand reappeared from under the table. He gulped down almost half of his White Russian and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are you talking about the City of Gold?”

  “Exactly.”

  “It doesn’t exist.”

  “I beg to differ.” Bronson lowered his voice. “True, it’s a legend, but legends are often based on loose facts.”

  Both men kept their eyes glued to their drinks, but Bronson could tell they were listening. He waited a few breathless moments before he continued, “I will start at the beginnin’ so that when you repeat the story to your boss, he will know where I come from. Fair enough?”

  Both nodded.

  “The story goes that in Columbia a king so rich existed that each day he covered himself in gold from head to toe. Each evening, he would wash it off in a sacred lake.” Bronson paused and sipped his drink. “Now legend has it that when the ruler died, the people of Muisca carried a rig
ht of passage ceremony.

  “On the day of the ceremony, the highest four priests adorned themselves with feathers, gold crowns, and gold body ornaments. The new leader—the designated ‘golden one’ would stand naked, except for a coverin’ of gold dust. He would then set out to make an offerin’ to the gods by throwin’ gold objects, emeralds, and other precious objects into the sacred lake. At the edge of the lake, a gold raft held four fires and when the priests extinguished them, the people who had gathered to watch the ceremony cheered on their new leader.”

  “Good story, but what does it have to do with us?” Raul asked.

  Bronson drank his Coke and wished it were coffee. “In 1969, three villagers found a gold raft located in a small cave in the hills south of Bogota. The carvings on it showed a man covered in gold and going out into the sacred lake to offer it gems and gold. That discovery led to the belief that El Dorado does indeed exist, at least it does in the deep waters of Lake Guatavita.”

  Jose rubbed his chin. “1969, eh? That’s a long time ago.”

  Bronson nodded. “I’m not finished with the story.” He looked around, making sure no one was listening. “They tried to drain the lake but all they managed to do was to lower the water level enough to find hundreds of pieces of gold along the lake’s edge. These finds are worth millions of dollars.” He left out one small detail. That happened in 1545. “These were good finds, but the real treasures found in the deeper water remained beyond anyone’s reach.” He took another sip of his so-called alcohol drink. “Until now.” He set the glass down with a loud thump. “Modern technology, you know.”

  Jose and Raul jumped at the unexpected noise.

  “What do you mean?” Raul asked.

  “It means that my friend and I are very anxious to get all that gold and jewels out of Columbia and into the hands of U. S. collectors. Are you willin’ to help us?”

  Jose licked his lips, and Raul looked around as though the answer could be found hidden somewhere in the bar’s walls.

  “I repeat. Will you help us?” Bronson spoke a bit louder.