by Jack Usher
“I want to see Al Reyes.”
“He’s here.” The man didn’t take his eyes from the far table.”
“How about telling him I want to see him,” Pelchek suggested.
The man lifted a hinged section of the bar top, passed through, and walked unhurriedly toward the occupied table in the far corner. Pelchek could hear him speak rapidly to the taller of the two players. In Spanish. The tall player put up his cue and came to the bar.
“You want to see me?”
“Are you Al Reyes?”
“I’m Reyes.”
“Elena Baker thinks I should talk to you. My name’s Pelchek.”
Reyes nodded. “What does the girl think we should talk about?”
“Her husband. She thinks maybe you can help.”
“How?”
Pelchek shrugged. As he was about to speak, two men came into the pool hall. They moved to the bar in worn work clothes, salt-encrusted crescents visible under each arm. They called for beer.
Reyes spoke to the bartender and was handed two opened beers, a glass over the neck of each bottle. He motioned for Pelchek to follow him and started for the back of the room. They went directly to a door set in the center of the back wall. Reyes opened it and indicated that Pelchek was to follow him into the dark hallway beyond. The hallway extended back of the game room wall to the end of the building, showed half a dozen doors on each side. Picking one of these, Reyes ushered his visitor into an office.
“Maybe we can talk better here,” the Mexican said. He handed one of the bottles to Pelchek and pointed to a large leather chair. He sat down on a serape-covered couch, elbows on knees, and began pouring beer into his glass.
Pelchek studied his host. Tall, probably an inch over six feet, well built and extremely handsome. Well-tailored gray flannel trousers, white shirt and foulard tie, deep brown oxfords; an over-all appearance of studied conservatism.
“I asked how,” Reyes repeated.
Pelchek met his gaze and settled back in the chair. He could hear a woman’s laughter somewhere in the rear of the building. It sounded warm and bad. “She thinks you may know something. Anyway, she said if anyone in this part of town knew anything it would be you.”
“I don’t know a damned thing,” Reyes said. He lit a cigarette, leaned back. “If I did… what’s your angle?”
“No angle, Reyes.”
“Why the trip down here? You that big a friend of Baker’s?”
“Let’s say I owe him.”
“Money?”
“My life.”
“Oh.” Reyes placed his beer on the floor. “That kind, huh? You going all the way with it?”
Pelchek just looked at him, and Reyes sighed.
“The whole case stinks, Pelchek. It smelled from the day they found Walker with a knife in his back, until they salted Baker away in the death cell. But there he is and the case is closed.”
“Not now. I’m reopening it.”
“With what? The news is around you got him thirty days, but what’re you going to use for new evidence?”
“Maybe I can get some help. Yours, for instance.”
“Not mine, my friend,” Reyes said positively. “How long do you think I’d stay in business if I stuck my face in this deal? Baker Land has too much juice around this town for me to buck ’em. I co-operate or I’m out of business.”
“I don’t expect you to get in it. Just give me a name or an idea. Anything.”
“Nope. I can’t do it, mister.” Reyes stood up impatiently.
“Elena tells me you and Cal were pretty close once,” Pelchek said.
Reyes kicked angrily at the empty beer bottle and strode to a window. It showed the unpainted side of the building next door. He whirled on Pelchek.
“Close? Yeah, we were close. My old man worked for Hunk Baker, and Cal and I were kids together. But we’re not kids now. I got a business to protect and can’t afford to get mixed up in this.” He walked over and opened the door.
“Lupe!” he called. A faint reply came from down the hall. “Go out front and bring back two beers,” he ordered. He shut the door and resumed his seat on the couch, gazing moodily at Pelchek.
“Ever live in a town like this?” He continued after receiving a negative shake of the head. “Like I told you, my old man worked for Hunk Baker. He was ranch foreman at the home place and Cal and I grew up together. You know how kids are. We hunted together, rode together, slept out in the hills together. No one ever gets as close as a couple of kids. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I know,” Pelchek said.
“We went through grade school, always in the same class. Fought each other’s fights; fought each other… even learned about sex from the same girl. We ran away that time. Figured we were both going to get diseased or something.”
Pelchek smiled.
“Jesus, did we catch it!” Reyes shook his head reminiscently. “Baker’s old man and my old man took turns beating the hell out of us. Anyway,” he went on, “we got into high school and began feeling our oats. That’s when we started to split up. We still buddied around out at the ranch, but things here in town began getting separated. The parties he was invited to didn’t include the ranch foreman’s kid. Cal tried, I guess, but…” He shrugged his shoulders.
“You remained friendly?”
“Oh, yeah, we were still friends. But it got easy to just wave and keep going in our separate directions. We played football at school and still did some hunting together. That was the year Christine spent the summer at the ranch instead of in town with her mother.”
“So?”
“You’ve met Christine?”
“I’ve met her.”
“She was a hell of a kid, Pelchek. She came out to the ranch that year and all hell broke loose. It sounds like a chunk of Southwest Americana. She got a crush on the foreman’s kid and vice versa. It got pretty sticky. Anyway, the Bakers sure as hell weren’t having any of that, so Chris was sent East for the rest of the summer. My old man moved us back to town. That was that.”
“You’d like to help Cal, huh?” Pelchek asked quietly.
“Sure. But I can’t. I have no real information, and if I did it would be considered manufactured, biased, or a damned lie.”
There was a timid knock on the door and Reyes went to open it. A colorless girl in a faded print dress stood in the opening with two bottles of beer. He took the beer and shut the door. After handing a bottle to Pelchek, he leaned against the large safe that dominated the small office.
“I’m sorry Pelchek. I wish I could help.”
“If you can’t, you can’t. Elena will appreciate knowing you’re on her side, anyway.”
“Elena? She doesn’t approve of me.”
“Maybe she doesn’t approve of pool-hall operators,” Pelchek said.
“And other things?”
“And other things.”
“So, I own a joint,” the Mexican shrugged. “I provide for some of my sex-starved countrymen, offer them a place of recreation, keep them off Fourth Street. What’s wrong with that?”
“She might not think you look or talk like a person who owns a joint.”
“Look, my friend. I made better grades in school than Cal Baker. I went up to Colorado A & M and played football a couple of years before the Korean thing, and I got sucked into that the same as you and he did…” He paused abruptly. “What was your rank?”
“I came out a staff sergeant. Infantry. Same as Baker.”
“I came out a lieutenant colonel. Air Force. Flew one of the big ones.” He laughed harshly. “You know what I can do in this town, Pelchek? Maybe I can be a labor foreman at one of the mines. Or a payroll clerk or timekeeper. I might even get a job with the city or county if I can toss enough votes in the kitty. No, I’ll run my joint. It may not be very uplifting, but it’s mine and I kiss no one’s ass.”
“You could go to a larger city.”
“Sure I could. I’ve had offers from some of the m
en I flew with, but I don’t want to leave here. It’s my town and I like being here and rubbing their noses in it. Guess who leads the parade on Armed Forces Day? Me. As of now, I rank everyone in Las Milpas, and it kills ’em.”
Pelchek stood up, placed his empty bottle on the floor. He moved to the door. “Well, in that I can’t blame you, Reyes. In fact—” he grinned—“I’m with you.”
They made their way out of the office, back into the gameroom, then past the vacant tables until they were in front of the bar.
“If you change your mind will you call me?” Pelchek asked.
“I won’t change it, Pelchek.” Reyes leaned on the edge of the bar. “Another beer?”
“Can’t make it,” Pelchek declined. “Where can I locate Allen Baker?”
“Not here,” came the flat answer.
Reyes watched the tall man leave the building. His eyes narrowed and he returned to his office. Before he shut the door he called for the girl Lupe.
“Send Carmen up here the minute she’s not busy,” he ordered, then seeing a woman further down the hallway, called, “Carmen! Come in here!” He walked into the office, leaving the door ajar.
A moment later a girl entered the room. She was dark and attractive, having a sort of sullen, tired prettiness. The red wrapper she wore was designed for men who wanted to see what they were buying. She made no attempt to close it about her.
“What was the name of that guy Romero pulled out of your room?” he asked in Spanish.
“Pablo,” she said.
“Pablo what?”
“Orrosco, I think. He hasn’t been in for a long time.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Not much. That was the first time he ever came in the back. The only reason I remember him is on account of the money,” the girl said. She glanced quickly at Reyes. “Honest, Al, I don’t know anything about the guy… except I think he has a brother.”
“His name?”
“Enrique, I think. One of the girls said something about him working for the railroad.”
“Okay, beat it. And don’t mention this to anyone, kid. No one at all.”
She nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Reyes walked to the safe and leaned against it, face set. He began whistling softly.
The man looked at Allen Baker disgustedly.
“Chris has been here asking questions,” Baker said. He sat in a big chair, stripped to the waist, sweat gleaming beneath the mat of blond hair on his flabby chest. An open bottle of whiskey and a glass were on the small taboret next to the chair.
“What kind of questions?” the man asked.
“All kinds. She almost drove me crazy with ’em. Mostly about whether I let him get railroaded.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I didn’t tell her anything.” He splashed some whiskey into the bottom of the glass and drank it noisily, grimacing as the raw liquor hit his throat.
“You’re going to kill yourself swilling that stuff in this weather.”
“Yeah? Get her off my back then. I’ve got enough on my mind without her bothering me.”
“Don’t worry about the thirty days,” the man said. “No one will find out any more now than they did before. They can’t.”
“The hell they can’t. No one ever looked very hard before. This guy Pelchek can’t be turned by me or anyone else. Maybe I oughta tell her about the—”
“You’ll tell her nothing! And don’t worry about Pelchek. There’s no one he can find out anything from.”
“Okay.” Allen Baker shuddered, took another drink. “I’ll be glad when this whole damned thing is over. I don’t know why I ever—”
“Yes, you know why. Perhaps you’d like to explain the Rodriguez girl to someone. There may be people in this town who would be interested in—”
“All right! All right! You’ve made your point. Now leave me alone… On your way out will you telephone and have that girl sent out here?”
“Again?”
“Yeah. Again.”
Elena Baker flew across the lawn to the car.
“What is it, Steven? Has anything changed the—”
“Everything is okay. I just dropped by to see if you’re all right and tell you I saw Reyes.”
“Al? What did he say?”
“He said a lot, but nothing that can help. The guy’s scared to move and I can’t blame him much. He’s got a business to worry about. He doesn’t sound as though he’d know much anyway.”
“I didn’t know whether he would help or not, Steven.” The girl looked crestfallen. “I just thought—”
“Well, don’t worry about it. As I say, he probably doesn’t know anything. Now, I want you—”
“Before you ask me anything,” she broke in, “please tell me how you managed the stay of execution.”
“I didn’t manage it,” he said irritably. “Elman merely brought in another attorney and—”
“You saved my husband’s life,” she said.
“I saved no one’s life!” he said, half-angrily. “We managed to get thirty days. That’s all. During that time we’ve got to find out who killed Walker, and we’re not getting much help so far. When I leave you, I’m going to see Mathewson. Maybe he’ll have an idea.”
“You don’t like us very much, do you, Steven?” Great dark eyes met his steadily.
“Oh, Christ! Sure I like you. But I’m doing something that has to be done. I don’t want people to think I run around being noble. I don’t. Besides, I have a business to worry about, too. For five years I’ve been building it up and I should be there to run it. As soon as this is over, I can get back where I belong. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand.” She smiled gently. “What is it you want me to do, Steven?”
“Nothing, now. Just sit tight until I call you.”
“All right. I liked your friend,” she added shyly. “Last night I needed a woman to cry on.”
“You both did a good job,” he said shortly. He looked at the girl and scowled. “Still friends?”
“Still friends, Steven.”
She turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 7
THE city hall, Police Department, and city jail were housed in a single, one-story stucco building, surrounded on three sides by a park. Pelchek had little trouble finding parking space in the municipal parking area. He pushed open double glass doors and walked to a counter halfway back in the large room. Two men in faded blue denims were waxing the already gleaming floor. Jail trusties, he supposed. As he passed, they looked up apathetically for a moment, then continued their work. There was no one behind the counter, although a burning cigarette rested in the ash tray that lay on top of the switchboard. He wondered if the official would be in his office on Sunday. If he knew anything about smalltown police chiefs, the man would check in at least once during the day to personally go over the blotter from the night before.
A uniformed policeman came out of the open door that marked the first of a line of offices extending down the left side of the large room. A prematurely bald man, he came to the counter when he caught sight of Pelchek.
“Yes?”
“My name s Pelchek. I want to see Chief Mathewson.”
“Just a minute.” The officer stared at him for a second, eyes bleak, then returned to the office he’d just left. Pelchek heard a murmur of two voices; then the policeman came back and motioned him through an entry at the end of the counter. He nodded toward the open office door and Pelchek walked in.
“Sit down.”
The man who spoke gestured with an ancient briar, pointing to a chair at the side of an enormous roll-top desk. He didn’t rise, and as the visitor took the proffered seat, swung around and faced his caller.
“So you’re Pelchek?” He extracted a kitchen match from his vest pocket and struck it.
Pelchek nodded. He studied the chief as the pipe was being lit. An elderly man. Sixty… probably sixty-five.
It was hard to judge his height, but he had to be big. Large hands, big wrists and, glancing down, big feet. Gray eyes looked out from under bushy eyebrows, and the generous thin-lipped mouth was overshadowed by a huge beak of a nose. He was wearing a shiny blue serge suit and a hat. A nondescript fedora, properly blocked and set squarely on his head. He looked cool and dry. And all his life a cop, Pelchek surmised.
“How come you’re messing in this thing, son?” Mathewson leaned back and, over his pipe, stared intently at Pelchek.
“I want to get Baker off.”
“A jury found him guilty, boy, and he had a good lawyer. Just how do you expect to do it?”
“What about that third party?”
“Not proven.”
“Listen, Chief.” Pelchek leaned forward. “At the beginning I was satisfied with what you people had done. Now I’m not. So let’s not go into what’s been proven and not proven. Besides, I’ve already been through that. All I want to do is find that witness. I think there was one.”
“How do you expect to find him?”
“I’m not sure yet.”
“All right.” Mathewson tapped out his pipe against the heel of his hand, spilling the remaining tobacco into a wastebasket. He laid the pipe carefully in a stand. “All right,” he repeated. “We’ll say there is a witness. What makes you think he lives in Las Milpas? It could be anyone… someone from out of town, maybe. In that case, where are you? Furthermore, Baker wasn’t brought to trial for three months after the killing. What in hell do you think this department was doing then? I knew that kid’s grandpa… his whole family. Don’t you think I investigated? I ran down every lead I ever heard of. No witness,” the chief concluded dourly.
“Maybe you didn’t hear of every lead.”
“Does that mean something?” Mathewson looked at him sharply.
“I don’t know. All I know is that someone knows something, and I m going to find out what it is. You going to stop me from looking?”