Serpent Gate kk-3

by Michael Mcgarity

  "You have something to tell me, Antonio?"

  "Not good news, I'm afraid. The New Mexico State Police have seized a large quantity of drugs in Santa Fe and arrested a man named Watson, who has confessed to being one of your distributors."

  "Where is Watson now?" Enrique asked.

  "In jail."

  "How much merchandise was confiscated?"

  "The street value is reported to be over a million dollars."

  De Leon knew immediately that Bucky had held back some product from the Chicago shipment. He would deal with him harshly.

  "Such things happen occasionally," he said.

  "It is the cost of doing business."

  "There is more, Enrique. Records of Tortuga International were seized in Las Cruces by the New Mexico State Police this morning. A United States judge has been asked to freeze all your North American corporate assets."

  "What else do you know?"

  "Stolen art worth many millions has been recovered from your Santa Fe house. The authorities believe you are behind the theft. They are seeking your whereabouts in Mexico. Of course, I have suggested that they look for you in all the wrong places."

  "You give the Americans such wise counsel," De Leon said with a smile.

  "I can do no less in light of your past generosities," Antonio replied.

  "May I offer some advice, Enrique?"

  "By all means."

  "A request has been made to the State Department to declare you persona non grata, which would bar you from any future visits to the United States. It will be favorably acted upon. Additionally, the Americans are prepared to ask our government to strip you of your diplomatic status and extradite you for prosecution.

  I have been told on highest authority that we will be sensitive to their demands. It is a difficult time for trying to sweep such issues with the Americans under the rug."

  "These political manipulations can be dealt with."

  "In time," Antonio said.

  "But if the Americans fail to get what they want, they may come after you on their own. The new drug laws passed by their Congress give their federal agents that prerogative."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "Perhaps a trip abroad is in order, until matters settle.

  I would not wait long to decide, Enrique. The American ambassador plans to discuss your diplomatic status at the highest level of our government before day's end."

  "Thank you, Antonio. You have been most kind to bring these matters to my attention. Do one small favor for me. Find out the identities of the persons overseeing the state police investigation. Perhaps they would not be unresponsive to an offer to become rich men, if an arrangement can be made."

  "I'll get back to you," Antonio said.

  Vallaverde departed and De Leon went to the library.

  Antonio's report was troubling. The loss of the Tortuga assets would sting, but hardly ruin him. He doubted the complexities of the company could be easily unraveled by the police in a short period of time. If he moved quickly, millions of dollars could be saved.

  He rang for Carlos, who answered promptly.

  "I want arrangements made to have Bucky Watson killed immediately,"

  Enrique said.

  "He is in the Santa Fe County jail. I do not want him to live to see another day.

  Report to me when your plans are complete."

  "Si, patron."

  De Leon disconnected and dialed a different number.

  Several hours passed before he put the telephone in the cradle. The time had been well spent; Tortuga's remaining cash assets had been transferred out of the United States through a series of complex banking transactions.

  The phone rang almost immediately. He punched the speaker button.

  "What is it?"

  "It is Antonio, Enrique. The man responsible for the police investigation in Santa Fe is Kevin Kerney, the deputy state police chief. Several related arrests have been made by his investigators; a nephew of the governor and a prominent attorney have been charged with money laundering."

  "Continue."

  "One of his detectives was killed in a shoot-out at a Santa Fe residence. I do not think Kerney can be bought."

  "Do you have a dossier on Kerney and his investigations?"

  "A slim one, yes."

  "Please send it by courier to the hadenda."

  "I will do so immediately," Antonio replied.

  "Thank you, Antonio."

  "Bur, patron, he could not have survived so many bullets."

  De Leon patted the file folder on the top of his desk.

  "You killed a state police sergeant named Martinez."

  "But it was Kerney's car." Carlos caught himself.

  There was no point making excuses. He lowered his head submissively.

  "I am sorry, Don Enrique. What are your orders?"

  "Delfino and Felix will meet you at the airport in an hour. You will assist them in locating Kerney. Both he and Watson must be killed.

  What progress have you made on Watson?"

  "He is in a seclusion cell at the jail. A court hearing has been scheduled for late this afternoon."

  "Will he be heavily guarded during the court hearing?"

  "Only one officer has been assigned to transport him."

  "Excellent."

  "What other orders do you have for me, patron?" De Leon held out the file.

  "None. Felix and Delfino will instruct you in all matters. Do not keep them waiting."

  Carlos took the file, risked a glance at the icy stare in De Leon eyes, lowered his gaze, and quickly left the room, wondering if there was any way the patron would let him live. officer Yvonne Rasmussen gave Kerney a pleased smile when he came into her hospital room.

  "I'm sorry it took so long for me to come and see you," Kerney said as he shook the young woman's hand.

  "I hear you're healing up nicely."

  "I get to go home tomorrow," Rasmussen replied.

  "The doctor said I start light duty in a week."

  "That's good news. You kept an old friend of mine from getting killed.

  I want to thank you for that."

  Rasmussen's gray eyes clouded over.

  "I didn't do enough. Chief. If I had responded sooner, Sergeant Martinez might still be alive."

  "Don't beat up on yourself. You did all that you could."

  "That's not the way I feel," Rasmussen said.

  "Would you like to talk about it?"

  Rasmussen hesitated and shook her head slowly.

  "Not yet."

  "I need to ask you a few questions. When you were patrolling Fletcher's house, before the gunfight, did you notice anything unusual?"

  "Nothing."

  "Did you run license plate checks on the vehicles parked in the immediate area?"

  "Yes. All but one of the cars were registered to neighborhood residents. The one that wasn't belonged to an elderly Hispanic-surnamed male with a south-side address. I ran him through NCIC and there were no wants or warrants. It didn't seem suspicious."

  "Where did you see the car?"

  "On the street behind the lane to Fletcher's house."

  "When?"

  "Around dusk."

  "Was anyone in it or nearby?"

  "No."

  "Did you see the vehicle again?"

  "No. When I got the 911 call, I came in from a different direction."

  "Did you log the information on the car?"

  "Dispatch has the record. Do you think the car was used by the killers?"

  "It's possible. I'll check it out. Take care of yourself."

  "Chief Kerney."

  Kerney stopped at the door.

  "What is it?"

  Rasmussen flashed him a small smile.

  "Thanks for not treating me like a kid sister. Everybody else has. I really appreciate it."

  "You don't strike me as an officer who needs to be coddled," Kerney replied.

  "I'm not." with particulars in hand on the car Rasmus
sen had spotted near Fletcher's house, Kerney drove down Airport Road. Ruben Contreras, age sixty-eight, owned an older-model full-size Buick, and lived in a trailer park behind a strip mall and a car wash. Most of the trailers were shabby-looking. Gravel lanes bisected the rows of trailers, and in the center of the park stood a cement block building that housed a coin-operated laundry. A loose dog sniffed around an overflowing trash can at the front of the laundry.

  Kerney found Contreras's trailer. Contreras answered the knock at the door and squinted at Kerney through thick glasses. A tube ran from his nose to a portable oxygen tank on wheels. The smell of beans cooking filled the air.

  "Mr. Contreras?" Kerney asked with his badge case open.

  "Yes?" Contreras wheezed as he spoke.

  "Do you own a Buick?" Kerney described the car.

  "I sold it. The doctors say I can't drive anymore. My granddaughter gives me rides. I don't like not having my car."

  Kerney held up Carlos Ruiz's mug shot.

  "Did this man buy it from you?"

  Contreras nodded.

  "He paid me cash. He said he would change the registration." A worried look spread across the old man's face.

  "If he had an accident, it's not my fault. I cancelled my insurance."

  "There's been no accident, Mr. Contreras," Kerney said.

  "I just needed to identify the buyer."

  "That's him."

  "You're sure?"

  Contreras nodded once more. Kerney left while the old man stood waiting for another question. jbsus wanted Robert to leave Nita's house. With his cracked rib and broken arm in a cast, Robert couldn't get both thumbs in his ears to fight off the voice inside his head.

  He'd been awake all night in the guest bedroom with the door locked and the window open, smoking cigarettes.

  Robert had tried to obey Nita's ban on smoking in the house, but he couldn't do it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and an ash fell on the new shirt Nita had given him. She had bought him a whole new set of clothes, including a winter coat. The smell of something burning made Robert look down at his chest; he spit on his finger and rubbed it on the burn hole in the shirt to make sure it was out.

  Robert's legs felt nervous and itchy. Walking back and forth all night in the bedroom didn't make the feeling go away. He had stopped pacing when Nita came to the door and asked if he was awake. He didn't answer and soon heard the sound of her truck leaving the driveway.

  He stayed in the bedroom for a long time. When he finally went out, the living room with the long row of windows that looked out on the road and the rangeland beyond made him nervous. Somebody could be out there watching, spying on him.

  He went into Nita's bedroom, where the curtains were drawn, and searched through a chest of drawers until he found her panties and underwear. He took each piece out of the drawer, smelled it, and dropped it on the floor. Nita's panties had no scent, but Robert liked the feel of them in his hands.

  The telephone rang and he ignored it until it stopped. He went into the bathroom with a pair of panties, sat on the toilet, and masturbated. He wiped himself with the panties and dropped them in the toilet.

  He felt better: Jesus had stopped talking to him. But his legs were still jittery and itchy. He needed to walk.

  Robert dressed to go out. He took the laces out of the shoes-they were some kind of insulated boots-and slipped his bare feet into them.

  He draped the coat over his shoulders because the sleeve was too small for the cast on his arm.

  At the front door, he stopped, unsure of where he should go. Maybe if he talked to Kerney, he could go back to jail. He liked jails with bare walls, small cells, and no windows. Jails helped him relax.

  Robert dug through all his pockets until he found his wallet with Kerney's phone number in it. He called, but Kerney wasn't there. A woman asked him to leave a message.

  "Tell him I'm going away," Robert said.

  "May I have your name, sir?" the woman asked.

  "Satan," Robert said.

  Outside, heavy clouds hid the sun and a cold wind blew in his face. He put the hood of the coat up, lowered his head against the wind, and started walking. the two men traveling with Carlos said nothing to him or each other.

  Carlos knew he was way out of his league; both men were former Mexican intelligence agents who had been trained by the U.S. Army Special Forces, the CIA, and the FBI. Each had carried out a number of high-profile political assassinations under contract with the Mafiosios.

  Relegated to the role of driver, Carlos cruised past the county jail on Airport Road and then up to the courthouse, near the downtown plaza.

  Felix, the older of the two men, sat in the front seat, while Delfmo rode in the back.

  Carlos circled the courthouse. At the rear of the building warning signs restricted parking to police vehicles only, and a single security door was the only access to the inside. Parked against the curb was a television transmission truck with a satellite dish mounted on the roof.

  "Go around again," Felix said.

  "Slowly."

  Carlos drove past the church on the corner before turning down a narrow street of old brick houses used as offices. An elementary school stood at the end of the block, catty-corner to the courthouse. A row of small casitas and an apartment building faced the rear of the courthouse. A rental sign was posted on the porch to one of the casitas.

  "Drive past the school and let me out at the traffic light," Felix ordered.

  "Park in front of the post office, and wait for me there."

  Ten minutes later Felix returned.

  "A cottage across from the courthouse is vacant," he said to Delfino.

  "I can enter through a back door without difficulty."

  "Unseen?" Delfino inquired.

  "Yes. A wall behind the alley blocks the view." Felix handed Carlos a pair of binoculars.

  "You are my spotter.

  Make certain, this time, you identify the correct man.

  Park across from the school facing the courthouse. It provides the best view of vehicles approaching from any direction."

  He gave Delfino a radio transmitter and stuck a receiver with an earplug in his coat pocket.

  "I'll need no more than ten seconds after your signal to make the kill.

  As soon as you see Watson fall, have Carlos drive slowly to the alley.

  I'll be waiting."

  "And if the police should return fire?" Delfino asked.

  "Only Watson dies, unless something goes wrong," Felix replied as he grabbed his briefcase and opened the car door.

  "But if necessary, we will kill them all."

  He turned back to Carlos.

  "Do you understand what you are to do?"

  "I will follow your orders," Carlos replied.

  They had to wait an hour before Felix could put his plan into action. nita let the telephone ring repeatedly before hanging up in frustration. She'd been calling home between appointments and Robert hadn't answered. She was worried about him, but couldn't break away from the office. After her arrest and all the press coverage that came with it, she'd expected business to fall off, but exactly the opposite had occurred. Not only were most of her regular clients sticking by her, a flood of new appointments had come in from area residents she had never seen in the clinic before. They came with their household pets, wanting annual shots, de worming or examinations.

  She knew damn well they were there for the gossip value the visit would generate, but she took the cases anyway. And while none of them dared to raise questions about her status as an accused murderer, she felt their intense curiosity when they brought their perfectly healthy dogs, cats, and gerbils into the examining room. Being in the presence of an indicted cop killer obviously had high entertainment value.

  Nita finished her last case for the day and called home again, with no luck- She drove west at high speed into a setting sun shrouded by clouds, worried sick about Robert. Maybe she'd made a mistake in bringing him home. But he
'd seemed so coherent in the hospital, and so pleased with the idea of staying with her.

  She ground the truck to a stop in front of her house and hurried inside. Robert was nowhere to be found. In her bedroom, all her underwear had been scattered on the floor. In the guest bedroom, even with the open window, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered. The bed hadn't been slept in. In the bathroom, she found a pair of her panties floating in the commode.

  She had to find Robert, and she needed help to do it. Calling the county sheriff wasn't an option. She doubted any of the deputies would be willing to assist a confessed cop killer. Her only course of action was to call Kevin Kerney. He was unavailable when she tried to reach him, so she left her name, and a message reporting Robert's disappearance.

  Light snow had begun to fall and the temperature had dropped by the time she got in her truck. There were hundreds of miles of back roads that crisscrossed the rolling plains between the two state highways that cut south to Mountainair. Robert could be on any one of them, or so far away that it would be impossible to find him.

  If bringing Robert home resulted in his death, she would feel like a murderer twice over. buckt watson lay facedown on the pavement with his hands cuffed to the small of his back and his skull blown apart. Brain matter and blood splatter fanned out in an arc that spurted up the stairs and flecked the glass courthouse door.

  Both the parking lot and the house across the street had been roped off, portable lights had been set up, and crime scene technicians were working the area. A state police agent and a city detective were talking to the officer who had brought Bucky to the courthouse.

  Kerney stayed outside the police line and waited until they finished before calling the officer over.

  The man came toward him shaking his head. Dried blood covered the front of his uniform shirt.

  "I don't know what to tell you. Chief. It happened so damn fast, I didn't see it coming."

  "You weren't supposed to see it," Kerney replied.

  Although he had a good idea what the answer would be, he asked his next question.

  "Did you hear the shot fired?"

  "I didn't hear a damn thing. The back of Watson's head just exploded.

  I hit the ground, rolled in front of my unit for cover, and drew my weapon. But there was nobody there."