Devil's Deal

by Terri Lynn Coop

  “No, I’m assigned to Dallas. The answer to your question is that you used the c-word: cubicle. I discovered I’m not a creature of Quantico. I don’t like being leashed. After a few discussions about my attitude, I was sent out to the field to grow up. The assumption was after mucking around busting motorcycle gangs for meth, me and my sterling linguistic skills would go scurrying back to the puzzle palace. Problem is I haven’t looked back. But, yes, that is one of the reasons I was selected, because of the NSA chatter.”

  “One of the reasons?”

  The scowl surprised me. “Don’t look behind the curtain, Jewel. I don’t want to shut this conversation down. And as for your doorstep, I volunteered for that duty. I wanted to meet you.”

  I reached out and did the same thing he did the other night. I tapped the back of his hand. On the second tap, he hooked my finger with his and held it there.

  Meeting his eyes, I said, “Has it lived up to your expectations?”

  “In ways you can’t even imagine. C’mon, baby, let’s hit it.”

  CHAPTER 49

  It was about one when Austin came into view. Since it was still too early to check into the fleabag near Mike’s bar, Ethan took me on a little tour around the city. Like too many places, I’d only been there on business and not checked out what had to be the quirkiest place in Texas. We ended up near the UT campus and he kept up a steady stream of stories from his undergrad years.

  “Jewel, are you hungry?”

  “Not really, breakfast is still hanging around.”

  “Me neither, but we may not want to go out later. Do you like hummus?”

  “Of course, although some of what was served in Africa was pretty sketchy.”

  “Then you are in for a treat.”

  No pilot ever executed a carrier landing cleaner than Ethan parallel-parking the Challenger in a space that seemed to be only inches longer than our bumpers. He offered me his arm and steered me through the lunch crowd to a tiny storefront on a side street. The mixed smells of cooking meat and unfamiliar spices made my mouth water.

  “Yes, it’s still here.” He pushed open a plain screen door sporting Arabic characters in faded white paint. Inside was dark and warm and it was obvious that much of the wonderful smell on the street came from the tiny kitchen in the back.

  Ethan wasn’t kidding when he said he was fluent. Within a minute, the owner and his wife had come from the back and they greeted each other like long-lost friends. Soon, containers filled with yummy looking dishes. Some I recognized: hummus, rice, and stewed vegetables. Others just smelled good. I didn’t get a word of the exchange and nodded and smiled when something was presented for my approval.

  We carried two bulging bags and a gallon jug back to the car.

  “Ethan, there’s enough here for a week. That was outrageous.”

  He beamed. “They remembered me from my school days. Mom and Dad weren’t too hot on my educational choices, so there wasn’t much help from home. I made a deal to wash dishes and carry trash in exchange for leftovers. Before long, the family sort of adopted me. I got bags like this all the time, making me easily the best-paid dishwasher in Austin. By the way, they approved of you. Part of the reason the order was super-sized is because she said I need to put some meat on your bones.”

  “Price, you are a bastard.”

  As always happens when surrounded by delicious food, I was starving by the time we pulled into The Lucky Star, or T_e Luc_y _tar, if you went by the neon sign. It was a few blocks from Mike’s club and a good place to base this crazy mission.

  “I’ll go in. I’ve stayed here before, you know, frequent-flyer miles and stuff. Plus we’re probably better off with you watching the car.”

  “I think you can handle it. Hold out for the whirlpool suite.”

  The combination of the screeching screen door and buzzer made sure no one caught the clerk behind the Lexan shield off guard. She looked up from her magazine and gave me the once over.

  “No, I’m not a hooker. I need the best you’ve got. Two beds, quiet, away from traffic. Make it for five days. We have local business.”

  “No refunds if your business clears up sooner.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. There’s also a fifty in it for not paying any attention to us.”

  She turned toward a computer monitor showing Ethan lounging against the Challenger.

  “I dunno, sweetie. There’s all sorts of attention I’d like to pay him. Send him in here and y’all might get a discount. I’ve got the corner room open. It even has the kitchenette, but between you and me, don’t use the coffee maker. I’ll give you the week rate, which means no maid service interrupting your ‘business.’ If you need towels, just come to the office. Will that do it?”

  She pushed a check-in card toward me. “Add another twenty and I won’t even look at the card. Whatever’s on there is all right by me.”

  I filled out the card, giving a made-up Dallas address and non-existent tag number for a beige sedan. I swapped a week’s worth of rent and her tip for the key on a heavy plastic tag.

  “Jiggle the key when you put it in the lock. It’s old, but solid. Nobody will bother you.” She tucked the tip into her bra.

  “I’ll make sure I post a five-star review.”

  The screech-buzz combo didn’t quite drown out her snort of laughter. After the smoky fug of the office, the factory-tinged air was warm and gentle.

  “Hey, Price, we’re in business. Number six, on the corner away from the street, The Presidential Suite. I’ll meet you down there.”

  CHAPTER 50

  After two jiggles, the surprisingly stout lock clicked open and we walked into a blast of warm musty air. Evidently, not many of the motel’s clients opted to pay extra for the luxury accommodations.

  “Ethan, this is all on vid. Be discreet with the bags.”

  He nodded and didn’t say anything until our gear was inside and the door was locked behind us. Two beds with scarlet velveteen bedspreads that clashed with the stained maroon carpet, a couple of chipped side tables sporting equally chipped lamps, and a flat screen bolted to the wall made up the living area. The optimistically named kitchenette was a dorm fridge and microwave in an alcove next to a surprisingly nice sixties dinette set. The bathroom, an eye-blasting mix of lemon yellow and lime green tile, was tolerably clean.

  “Well, Martin, you do know how to show a guy a good time.”

  “Price, for you, the sky’s the limit.”

  I think we both pretended not to notice we put our personal bags on separate beds. Boundaries are delicate things and we were trying to create some that worked. I knew one hint of an invitation and both the beds would be tossed by the time we were done. I liked the tension. I’d found that instead of being a distraction, it made me feel sharp and attractive. Just my luck. I’d shared a city with Ethan Price for years and only met him when my dad was facing the death penalty.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking Styrofoam containers as Ethan laid out our feast. He held out one of the chrome and vinyl chairs for me.

  “Dinner is served.”

  Looking over the array of dishes, I had to ask, “Okay, what do I want?”

  “All of it. But, how about I make you a plate? It works better with the right mix.”

  “This is one time I won’t argue with the police.”

  We ate companionably, our silence broken only by comments about the food. When I pointed, he spooned out more of the heavenly concoctions. I decided to let him serve because when I grabbed what I thought I was a vegetable, it turned out to be a chunk of curried pepper. Ethan laughed at my coughing fit and forced me to sip sweet mint tea until the burning subsided.

  I was still dabbing my watery eyes when he dished out a slice of gooey cake.

  “Martin, it’s your turn.”

  “My turn for what?” The tea and honey was like velvet on my scalded throat.

  “Tell me a story about yourself.”

  “Come on, Ethan, y
ou have my file. You probably know the name of my high school chemistry teacher.”

  “Not chemistry, but you took Torts from Clarice Williams and got a B. What happened?”

  I flipped him off and took another bite of cake.

  “Tell me something that isn’t in your file. First, I’m interested. Second, according to your story, I’ve been tapping it for six months and like it enough to break several dozen laws and a couple of UN treaties. By now, I’d know something about you that wasn’t common knowledge.”

  The fact he was right didn’t make this any easier. I’m reticent by nature. Clients, especially the more sociopathic ones, always tried to get under my skin, so I’d developed a public image and kept the private one buried deep. Then a thought made me smile.

  “Well Price, I’m one-quarter Mexican and family lore has it that my dad won my mom in a poker game. Will that work?”

  That earned me a surprised look and a gesture for me to be quiet until he’d swallowed and drained his tea glass.

  “Okay, that one I have to hear. Give it up.”

  CHAPTER 51

  I warmed to the thought.

  “Mom’s family is old-school Tejano who rode oil leases from dirt farming to raising horses. Around then, a far-sighted developer, betting on the growth of Houston, offered a fortune for the ranch property. My great-grandfather wisely decided that apartment buildings were more useful than a fleet of Cadillacs with horns on the grille and, ta-dah, in less than a generation, the Delgado clan was part of the moneyed elite.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “I’m getting there. The great family rift occurred when grandpa married a white woman. Since your Spanish is probably better than mine, you can imagine what they called her.”

  Ethan winced, but didn’t say anything.

  “Even with all the sniping, my mom was still a princess, from her gold-plated baptism to the mayor of Houston leading the first waltz at her Quinceañera. She was first runner-up for Miss Texas and pledged to marry the son of one of grandpa’s business partners, another up-and-comer Mexican family. It was going to be a royal wedding-slash-business merger.”

  “Now your dad makes his appearance?”

  “You got it. He was an associate at the firm handling the family business and decided a tall, willowy, Tex-Mex heiress-in-training was just what he needed to take it to the next level.

  “He tracked down the fiancé and got him spectacularly drunk and flamboyantly laid before taking everything he had in a poker game. Then Dad gave boyfriend a choice: the photos and markers would go to his father and family priest, or he would break the heart of the ethereal Rachel Delgado. The way cleared, the rest is history. Dad’s first leveraged takeover.”

  “I love it. It sounds like boyfriend was a wuss anyway.”

  “Yeah, Mom’s heart and soul are made of much sterner stuff. She would have buried him in the garden before their first anniversary. But, without prompting, she’d never have defied her family. It turns out a white-blond Protestant was just the stake she was looking for to drive into the collective Delgado heart. They eloped and ripped up the Dallas social scene through the rad bad eighties. Mom and Dad called a cease-fire to their version of World War Three when I was fourteen. Quite tidy, as long as you ignore that family-loathing thing.”

  “Except your Uncle Jimmy.”

  I didn’t answer.

  I wonder if I can ask for my file as part of the negotiation.

  Ethan offered me half of the last piece of cake. Since I’m no fool, I put out my plate. I could tell he had something on his mind.

  “Out with it,” I said.

  Surprise mingled with amusement spread over his face.

  “Cough up whatever it is you’re thinking about, unless it’s some you’d-have-to-kill me secret.”

  He smiled. “It’s nothing big. I was thinking you’d never asked me how we found you.”

  “I assumed DMV records on the camper.”

  “Nowhere near that high-tech. We started with your mom and when that turned up empty, we looked into your life. You play your cards close. I went back to your office for a second search and found a photo album in a box at the back of the closet. Photos of you as a kid and a couple of Christmas cards marked Uncle Jimmy. Some brilliant deduction on our part, as in the return address, led us to James Delgado and then to his death. On a hunch we checked out his registered address with the Texas bar and, lo and behold, his lovely niece. You know the rest.”

  I hadn’t thought of that album in years.

  “I’d like that back when this is over.”

  “Fair enough.”

  The silence turned awkward. The sun was barely down, we still had over five hours before the meet with Mikey. We’d stretched the subject of food as far as we could and I didn’t want to talk about the case or myself anymore. I was about to suggest turning on the TV when a beep sounded. Ethan pulled a phone out of his pocket and swiped the screen.

  “Hey, I thought we agreed your federal phone wouldn’t be coming along.”

  “Martin, this may surprise you but I have my own phone and my own life. Before you get your panties all bunched up, it’s just as anonymous as yours.”

  Another text came in and his face darkened.

  “I have to go deal with this. I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

  Before I could say anything he’d grabbed the key and was out the door. A few moments later I heard his angry voice and then the Challenger pulling out of the parking space.

  What the hell?

  I picked at the leftovers, but nothing tasted good, so I snapped the lids onto the containers and stowed them in the tiny refrigerator. Curiosity and stress quickly morphed into boredom. I rearranged my backpack, flipped through the channels, and wished I’d brought along a book. After looking out the dusty curtains so many times I lost count, I decided to take a bubble bath. I had some shampoo that ought to do the trick.

  CHAPTER 52

  It took a couple of tries to get the water to run clean, but it was hot, and the old tub was fairly comfortable. With my hair braided and wrapped up in one of the ratty towels, I sank up to my chin in the steamy bubbles and was daydreaming when there was a sharp knock on the bathroom door.

  “Martin, are you in there?” The ragged edge to his voice chased away my mellow mood.

  “Yes. What’s the problem? I’m in the tub.”

  “You’re in the tub? Well, isn’t that just fucking sweet? Maybe you can squeeze in a manicure as well. We certainly want you to look your best.” Heavy footsteps stomped away from the door.

  Baffled now, I dried off and tossed on a pair of loose shorts and an oversized jersey. Ethan was at the window with his back to me. He was bouncing lightly on his toes and his frame jangled with tension.

  I’m rarely at a loss when I read a room, but this situation had me floored. I figured it was Fisk. It had to be. Without thinking much about it, I walked up behind him.

  “Ethan.”

  At that single word he whipped around, his left fist at full cock. I jumped back, stunned.

  “Dammit, Jewel, don’t sneak up on me like that.” He relaxed his stance, but kept his hand balled into a fist.

  My heart cratered. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before, or maybe I had and refused to acknowledge it. It made perfect sense. The texts. The mood swings. The unexplained rage. It was bright neon now. I licked my lips and choked out the words that changed everything.

  “Ethan, how long have you been separated from your wife?”

  His shoulders sagged and he dropped his hands. Emotions flashed across his face almost faster than I could read them: anger, bewilderment, and oddly, defeat.

  Hot tears flashed and a half-sob choked my voice. “Don’t lie to me, please. No tan line, so it’s been off for a while, but no other kind of ring leaves a mark like that on your left hand.”

  Ethan didn’t say anything as he walked around the room. The only sound was him smacking his left fist into his right
palm. On the second lap, he opened the door and stepped outside. I expected to hear the car engine. Instead it was the clink of coins dropping into the soda machine near our room.

  “I assumed you like diet,” he said, putting two cans on the table.

  I sat across from him and popped the top. The cool sweetness took some of the cotton out of my mouth. Ethan was drinking with his right hand and keeping his left out of sight.

  “How do you do that?” I could barely hear him.

  “Do what?”

  “We barely know each other and you read me like a damn book. There are people I’ve worked with for years who don’t know.”

  So, it was true. Guessing and knowing are two different things. I took a deep breath and tried to reconcile my new reality. Ethan was married.

  I didn’t say anything for at least a minute. Pride was the only thing that kept me fighting back the tears. When the initial rush of blistering disappointment subsided and I had control of myself, I chose my words carefully. I knew it was self-torture, like picking at a scab. I couldn’t leave it alone.

  “Do you know why people pay obscene amounts of money to lawyers like my father? It’s because he gives them what they need. Within minutes of shaking your hand, he’s ferreting out your hidden agenda. Over the years, I’ve gotten good at it myself.”

  I took a long drink, wondering if I really wanted to say what was on my mind.

  “Since I met you, your moods are all over the place. And those damn phones tweeping every minute. Somebody is under your skin. Seeing where your ring used to be just iced it. Do you want to tell me about it? Another thing lawyers are well known for is our ability to listen and keep secrets.”

  I wished my knees and my heart were half as steady as my voice.

  CHAPTER 53

  “I met Wendy a couple of years ago at a school thing here in Austin. We hit it off.”