Murder in the Tenderloin (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  He gave her a critical stare, then looked away, hooking his chair with a foot. He sank into it and leaned over to see the computer screen. Peyton’s cell phone buzzed on the desk by his hand.

  “What you got?” he said, pointing with his chin at the computer.

  She tilted the screen with the back of her hand, keeping a firm grip on the sundae. “Alberto owned a moving company. They had two trucks and operated out of a warehouse on 16th Street.”

  “I’ll bet they weren’t moving furniture.”

  She licked her spoon. “Guess who his partner of record was?”

  Marco’s head tilted down. “Eduardo Jiménez.”

  She touched her nose with the tip of her index finger. “Him without the head.”

  “You got an address on the warehouse?”

  Peyton reached for the mouse and clicked a few times. “Write this down,” she said, pointing at it with her spoon.

  He gave her a scowl, then grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling down the address. “I can see my beautiful Saturday of football and barbecue disappearing.”

  Peyton’s cell phone buzzed again. She tilted it and glanced at the screen, then put it down. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour to check it out.”

  “That’s what you said before.” He tapped the cell phone with his finger. “Who keeps calling, Brooks?”

  She rolled her shoulders. “Devan.” She picked up the phone and typed in a text, then set it down again.

  “You avoiding him?”

  “Not precisely.”

  “What precisely?”

  “I just don’t want to talk about what happened yesterday with him.”

  Marco frowned. “I’m no expert, but I think you’re supposed to tell your boyfriend these things.”

  Peyton chewed her inner lip. “I’m not sure he’d understand.”

  “What’s to understand?”

  “That I lost control. What I did yesterday was unprofessional?”

  Marco leaned an arm on the desk and edged closer to her. “Defino never said a word about it. She didn’t fault you. If your boss didn’t have a problem with it, why would Devan?”

  “Because he never loses control. He never even raises his voice. He’s always polished and professional. I wasn’t.”

  “Devan’s never had to face the man who killed his father. Who the hell could do that without wanting to take the bastard’s head off?”

  Peyton smiled. “That’s what Jake said.”

  Marco lifted a brow. “I’m beginning to like him better and better.” Then he pointed a finger at her. “I still don’t think he should be living in your house, but…”

  She rose out of the chair and kissed his cheek. “Always watching out for me, Marco Baby.”

  He flashed his million dollar smile and unfolded his long body from the chair. “Let’s go check out your warehouse.”

  * * *

  El Griego gripped her arm with one hand as he entered the restaurant, the other hand was tucked out of sight, under his jacket. She knew he griped the handle of his gun. His fingers dug into the sensitive flesh at her elbow and she wanted to pull away, but she knew better.

  Some of the patrons watched them cross the room, and El Griego swept them with his eyes, but kept on moving, headed to the back. A few booths lined the edges of the restaurant, but all were empty, the diners all crowded in tables in the center of the room.

  But one booth wasn’t empty. A man sat in the very back of it, his arms stretched out across the top of the red leather chair. He had ŁĦȺ tattooed on his neck and he was chewing on a toothpick.

  El Griego shoved Magdalena into the booth, then grabbed a chair from a nearby table, turned it around backwards, and straddled it. The man smiled at Magdalena and reached out to run his fingertips across her arm. Magdalena shivered and resisted the impulse to pull away.

  “The girl, she for me?” asked the man.

  El Griego made a face. “She not for you, vato. She’s for El Viento.”

  He removed his hand.

  “What you got for me? El Viento is going to want something more.”

  The man produced a small, white package and slid it across the table with two fingers. El Griego picked it up and pulled the zipper open. He dipped a finger in and touched his gums. After a moment, he glared at the man.

  “El Viento’s gonna want to know who all you got pushing his stuff. You gotta get them to stop with this local crap. He’ll be bringing it ‘cross the border now.”

  The man nodded. “He get the warehouse yet?”

  “Almost. He’s just getting things set up for us, like we got a business or something together. Then I’ll be able to drive the truck to the warehouse and leave it for you. I’ve got the contract drawn up to make the business legit.”

  The man gave an ironic shake to his head. “Legit. We regular Wall Street guys now. This is gonna go big, man.”

  El Griego scanned the restaurant once more. “Don’t get smart, cabrón. One slip and we sitting in San Quentin too.”

  Magdalena kept her head down, but she stared at the small, white packet. She knew what was in it. It was bad enough what they made her do for money, but this…this was something worse. This would go to young kids, ruin families. Her priest had talked about the drugs killing this country. Her health teacher had told her it was an epidemic. And to the south, in Mexico, it was destroying an entire nation.

  The man’s attention suddenly focused on her. “If you so worried about getting caught, why you bring a puta to our meeting?”

  El Griego curled his hand in Magdalena’s hair and gave it a tug. “Told you, she’s a present for El Viento. He likes them young. Catholic schoolgirl young.” He pulled on Magdalena’s hair until tears started in her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound. She knew better. He had his hand on that gun. “Besides, I own her. Don’t I, puta?”

  Magdalena closed her eyes and gave a short nod.

  CHAPTER 11

  Peyton and Marco parked the Charger on Florida and walked down to 16th, turning the corner. Peyton scanned the front of the buildings for addresses. The facades of all the buildings were industrial, steel and concrete with rolling doors, no windows. She pointed to the other side.

  “Over there.”

  They crossed. On a Saturday there didn’t seem to be too much traffic in this part of the City. They came to the warehouse address listed on the scrap of paper Marco had, but a chain link fence had been erected across the front to keep people out and scorch marks around the rolled door indicated a fire had occurred recently.

  Peyton stepped back and scanned the buildings on either side. They were two story warehouses, while the one before them was single story. Neither building on either side showed fire damage.

  “Is this the place?” asked Marco.

  Peyton shrugged. “I saw you write the address.” She reached for her phone and turned it on, then pulled up her contact list.

  “Who you calling?”

  “Stan Neumann. I have his private cell phone number.” Stan was the precinct’s tech god. If anyone could find out information, Stan could. There wasn’t a system he couldn’t hack into, he said. He was around thirty with curly brown hair, glasses, and Peyton had never, never seen him without his sneakers on.

  Marco leaned on the chain link fence. “You’re just hot to ruin everyone’s weekend. Why do you have Stan’s private number?”

  “He asked me on a date awhile back.”

  Marco smirked. “You never told me that.”

  She shrugged and then pressed the button to call.

  “You go?”

  “Yeah, beer and pizza. Some idiot at the bar made a comment about my ass and Stan felt he had to defend me. I begged him to let it go, but he wouldn’t. When the guy threatened to throw him through the plate glass windows, I had to flash my badge.”

  Marco chuckled. “And?”

  Peyton pointed a finger at him. “We agreed never to talk about it again, so you keep your mouth shut and especially, y
ou keep your mouth shut around Holmes.”

  “I’m guessing he never asked you out again.”

  “He did, but he wanted me to pull my gun the next time. It was all a little too kinky for me.”

  Marco laughed outright.

  The phone stopped ringing and Stan’s voice came on. “Hello?”

  “Stan, this is Peyton.”

  “Hey, Peyton. Pretty cool you calling on a Saturday.”

  “Yeah, well, let me tell you why and then you can cuss me out for ruining your weekend, just like Marco’s been doing for an hour now.”

  “What you need?”

  “I’ve got an address for you. I need you to find out anything you can about it. It’s a warehouse and looks like it had a recent fire.”

  “Hm, give me the address. You know I love a puzzle.”

  Peyton read it to him, then waited. She could hear his fingers clicking on the keyboard. She wondered if he carried his laptop everywhere he went and had a sudden mental picture of him taking it into the bathroom.

  “I found a report from the Fire Department. The fire happened about a month ago, possible arson. They suspect an accelerant was used, but everything was so fire damaged that they are still investigating. Apparently there was a truck inside, some packing crates, and a large number of tires. The tires made the fire particularly difficult to put out.”

  “Insurance fraud?”

  “Mmm,” said Stan, his fingers clicking some more. “I don’t think so. They think it may have been racially motivated.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. This is strange, Peyton. Hold on a minute.”

  Peyton waited while Stan typed away. Marco gave her a questioning look. “He’s tracking something down. The fire department suspects arson. What would it take to get a search warrant?”

  “Not much, since our two bodies were tied to this place. You want me to work on it?”

  “Yeah, let’s get one.”

  Marco took out his phone and stepped down the block a way to make his call.

  “Hey, Peyton, the warehouse was apparently the headquarters of some small scale moving company.”

  “Yeah, I got that off our vic’s records. The owners were Eduardo Jiménez and Alberto Flores, right?”

  “Yeah, but they aren’t the ones on the rental agreement.”

  “Who is?”

  Stan typed some more. “An outfit named Los Hermanos.”

  Peyton’s fingers tightened on the phone. “You sure about that, Stan?”

  “Am I sure? You know who you’re talking to, girl?”

  Peyton smiled. He was a lot bolder talking over technology than in person.

  “Hey, Peyton.”

  “Yeah, Stan.”

  “Los Hermanos is based out of Mexico.”

  Peyton went still. No, vato, that…that’s cartel. She had seen the look in Garza’s eyes. The contempt and arrogance had been replaced by fear.

  Marco came back to her, a puzzled look on his face. “The judge won’t consider our warrant until Monday.”

  “Monday?”

  “Yeah.”

  Peyton looked back at the warehouse. They needed to get inside, but she didn’t see how without a warrant. She wanted to do this by the book. If they were dealing with something as big as a cartel, they needed to cross all their T’s.

  * * *

  When she got home, the living room was empty and Pickles wasn’t around. She took off her shoulder harness and hung it on the peg by the door, then walked across the room to the hallway. She could hear Jake’s music behind his closed bedroom door. He spent a lot of time by himself or with Pickles, listening to music and uploading his photos onto his computer.

  She left him alone. She knew he was still grieving his wife and liked his moments of solitude. Kicking off her shoes, she curled up on the couch and reached for the remote. She didn’t watch much television, but sometimes she liked the noise. She clicked it on and surfed channels until she found one about animals. Settling back on the couch, she rested her head on her arm and let her thoughts go blank for a blessed few minutes. Before the first commercial, she fell asleep.

  A knock woke her. Peyton switched off the television and uncurled herself from the couch, padding across the hardwood floor to peer through the peephole in the door. Devan’s handsome face stared back at her.

  She pressed her forehead to the door and then unlocked it, pulling it open. “Hey,” she said, forcing a smile.

  He didn’t return it.

  “Come in.” She stepped back, allowing him room to pass. In her stocking feet, she came to the middle of his chest and she had to look up at him to talk.

  “Are you avoiding me?”

  So direct, so much a lawyer in everything he did.

  She looked down. “No, I just…”

  He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her face until her eyes met his. “Peyton?”

  She curled her hand around his and pulled it away, but she didn’t release his fingers. “I am avoiding you, but it’s not for the reasons you think.”

  He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest, the lines of his coat pulling against his broad shoulders. “Then why?”

  “Marco and I had to question Luis Garza yesterday about the case we’re on.”

  “The man who shot your father?”

  Peyton chewed on her lower lip. “That’s the one. I didn’t handle it well. I wasn’t very professional.”

  “Does he have a bullet in his brain?”

  “No,” she said in surprise.

  “Then I think you handled it well. If it was my father and I had to question the bastard who killed him, I’m not sure he wouldn’t be dead by the time it was over.”

  Peyton let out a breath in relief. She hadn’t even realized she was holding it. “I thought…” Her voice trailed off.

  “You thought what?”

  Peyton looked down again, pressing her toe into a knot on the wooden floor. “You’re always so together, the consummate professional. I wasn’t sure how you’d react if you knew what I did.”

  He stepped closer to her and curved his hands around her hips. “Peyton, I would never judge you. Our jobs are so different. I deal in the manufactured part of it, the made up laws and the man-made penalties. You deal in the reality, the blood and the gore and the broken lives. Don’t for a minute think that I don’t know how much professionalism your job takes. I could never do it. I would snap.”

  Peyton slid her hands up the lines of his chest. He was staring at her with such intensity, so much devotion. She didn’t remember ever having anyone treat her like that before. “Okay, I promise I won’t keep you out anymore.”

  “That’s all I ask,” he said before lowering his head and kissing her.

  She lifted on tiptoes to meet him, sliding her arms around his neck. It felt so nice to be held this way, protected and safe in his embrace. She hated weak women, but she didn’t think it made her weak needing another human being. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers.

  “Devan, why would Judge Bogert put off a hearing for a search warrant until Monday?”

  “He probably wanted a weekend and didn’t feel anyone was in immediate danger. Did you petition for a warrant?”

  “Yeah, to search a burned out warehouse, but he put it off until Monday.”

  Devan shrugged. “I’m thinking it’s just standard routine, Peyton. I wouldn’t worry about it. The warehouse was empty right?”

  “I’m guessing. It was fenced off.”

  “Then he’ll grant it to you on Monday.” He curved his hand around her cheek. “Come on. I’ll take you to dinner and then we’ll go back to my place. You can stay the night, right?”

  “Yeah, I can stay the night.” She pulled out of his hold. “Just let me tell Jake and ask him to watch Pickles.”

  Devan’s brow furrowed, but Peyton didn’t stop to question why. She turned on her heel and hurried into the hall. She knocked on Jake’s door.

  “It’s o
pen,” he called.

  She turned the knob and leaned in. Pickles lay stretched out on the bed, but he rolled over when he heard the door open. Jake was sitting at his desk, working on his computer. He swiveled around and watched her cross to the bed and pick up the little dog, cuddling him.

  “I’m going to dinner with Devan and then back to his place. Can you watch Pickles for me?”

  Jake gave her a narrow-eyed stare.

  She stared back at him. “Well?”

  “Sure,” he said after a moment. “I thought you weren’t seeing him anymore.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you ignored his calls all day.”

  Peyton frowned. Why were the men in her life acting like idiots? “We’re fine,” she said. “Are you okay with Pickles?”

  “Are you kidding? Pickles and I have some wild ass plans tonight. We’re gonna go for a walk, then eat some kibble…well, Pickles will, not me so much. Then we’re gonna take a nap.”

  Peyton laughed and settled the dog on the bed again. “Don’t get too crazy, okay?”

  “You got it, Mighty Mouse,” he said as she left the room.

  * * *

  Jake realized he hadn’t done anything on the computer in a minute or so. He shook himself and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Why the hell did he care if Peyton spent the night at Devan’s house?

  He didn’t.

  He swiveled in the chair and looked at Pickles, lying there with his head between his paws. “We don’t care, do we, boy?” he said.

  Pickles cocked his head at Jake, then his attention shifted to the door. Jake heard the outer door open and close again. The floor creaked as someone moved toward the kitchen. “Heya, soul sista’, Marco and I thought we’d come by to cheer you up,” came a loud, male voice.

  Jake pushed himself to his feet and cautiously walked into the hallway, peering around the opening into the kitchen. A tall, dread-locked black man was puttering around the kitchen, grabbing glasses and a blender.

  “Peyton?” he shouted, then reared back in surprise when Jake appeared in the opening. He gave Jake a once over, then a smile burst across his face. “You must be Jake Ryder.”