by Don Travis
“I want to shake on it.”
He hesitated a moment and then engulfed my hand in a big, rough fist. “Name’s Gunner.”
“Good to meet you, Gunner. You picked up that tag in the military, didn’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes sir, the Corps. Copter gunships mostly.”
“Should have recognized it. That was my service too.”
“Officer material,” he said flatly.
“I had my silver bar.”
Gunner straightened his spine and came to attention. “We’ll find this fella for you, Lieutenant.”
“When you do, protect him, okay? Somebody else may be after him.”
“Official?”
I considered the question for a moment and then answered honestly. A man’s entitled to know what he’s getting into. “The FBI and the County Sheriff are looking for him.”
“Them’s the two guys that was here a few days back. They didn’t learn nothing.”
“And there’s somebody else too. Don’t know exactly who, but I’m not sure he wants my man in good health.”
So help me, Gunner saluted. I returned it automatically. It was exactly the right thing to do. Semper Fi.
I left the area and set about finding the “loony toons” camp along the Animas River Gunner told me about. It was after midnight by this time, so most of the camp inhabitants were already wrapped in blankets, newspapers, cardboard, or whatever else they could find to conserve body heat against the brisk night air. Some of them didn’t stir when I flashed a light in their direction; too drunk or stoned to react. The remainder cursed or fled into the brush. I made a complete round of the small camp without coming up with Lando or anyone who remotely resembled him. Discouraged, I returned to the motel.
I cut my headlamps as I turned into the Trail’s End and drove by using the ambient light from the lot’s lampposts. The parking spot I had vacated was still open, so I backed into it, hoping my watcher, when he checked, would figure I never left.
Before going inside, I plucked the magnetic bug from the gutter and reattached it to my wheel well. While I do not use electronic tracking devices in my cases, if I did, I’d check the vehicle sometime during the night to make sure my bug was still in place.
I felt good about having Jazz and Henry on the lookout for Lando, and now the rather rowdy-looking homeless vets were also on the prowl for him—more of the local assets. If they happened to find him, I just hoped they wouldn’t rough him up too much. Maybe I should have made more of a point of that.
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Chapter 27
MY CELLULAR telephone roused me early the next morning, and the gruff voice on the line brought me wide-awake.
“Lieutenant? I get you outa the sack?”
“Gunner? Yeah, but that’s okay. Hold on a minute, will you?” While I had taken a quick look through the place yesterday, I wasn’t equipped to perform a bug sweep. Whoever was dogging our footsteps had planted a GPS device on my car, so he might have installed something in the room as well. I rushed into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. “Okay, go ahead.”
“Mission accomplished, sir. The package is a little busted up, but it ain’t because of us. What you want me to do with him?”
“You sure it’s the right package?”
“Spitting image of your handout with some dirt and bruises and whiskers added. It’s him.”
“Any trouble?”
“No, sir. No sign of hostiles. It was a plum assignment.”
“Where are you?”
“Outside of Walmart on West Main.”
“Okay, sit tight. I’ve got some arrangements to make.”
“He’s a little panicked, so you better get a move on. He raises a ruckus, we’ll have to lay him out. You know, for his own good.”
“Stay by the phone. I’ll call you back. Your number’s in my recent calls list.”
“Uh, I guess we earned our pay, right?”
“That you did, Sergeant.” I probably promoted him by a couple of stripes.
I hung up and called Jazz, who came on the line complaining about a lack of sleep. Like me, he’d been out looking for Lando the night before, but he perked up when I told him our quarry had been run to ground.
“Look, I’ve got a minder on my tail, so I don’t want to pick up Lando. Can you and Henry go get him?”
“Yeah, sure. Henry stayed in town with a girl last night. If he’s not all worn out, he’ll give me a hand.”
“Tell him the deal still goes if you take care of Lando for a little while. Someplace safe.”
“Great. What do you want me to tell him—Lando, that is?”
“As little as possible until I get a chance to talk to him. Right now, pick me up at the Farmington National. I’ve got to get some cash and give you instructions. Have Henry meet us at that little park west of the bank.”
“Okay. Give me thirty minutes. Uh, better make that forty-five.”
I didn’t argue because that gave me time to take care of business at the bank. I hung up and had a quick shower and shave. Then, unwilling to attract my tail’s interest by moving the car, I hiked to the bank. The nut I had to handle this morning was sizeable, so I made a cash withdrawal on my credit card.
Jazz pulled the Wrangler to the curb as I walked out of the bank and slowed down enough for me to hop in. Henry, looking a little less virile than usual, was waiting in the park when we arrived. I handed over the money I had promised the two of them, plus $1,000 in twenties sealed in an envelope for Gunner and his crew. They’d earned a bonus for accomplishing in less than twelve hours what the FBI and I had not been able to do in a week. I ran over the situation with Jazz and Henry twice to make sure we were all on the same wavelength.
“Have you come up with a safe place to stash Lando until I can lose my shadow?”
Jazz glanced at his brother, who answered my question. “Yeah. There’s this old hogan where Grandpa Secatero used to live. It’s abandoned now, but it’s way off the regular path. Ought to be safe enough. You know the one I’m talking about, Jazz?”
“Yeah. Good choice.”
“Okay, Henry, draw me a map before you guys go pick up Lando. Jazz, he knows you, so you calm him down. Tell him about me, but don’t say anything about his father hiring me. Give him any story you like, but it’s important that you do not mention his father or any of the family until I’ve had a chance to talk to him. And don’t talk about Dana. If he brings him up, change the subject fast.” I didn’t want a confession putting these two in a box if this thing came to trial. “Are we clear?”
Jazz spoke for the two of them. “Got it.”
“One more thing. The FBI and the sheriff are both looking for Lando, so technically, you’re breaking the law by not turning him in. After I get a chance to debrief… uh, talk to him, I’ll turn him over to Gaines myself. Is that a problem for you guys?”
Both men shook their heads.
“Okay, you take off for Walmart. You know who you’re looking for, right?” Even though they assured me they did, I repeated a description of Gunner. “As soon as you leave, I’ll call and let him know you’re on your way.”
“Good enough,” Jazz said. “You need a lift anywhere?”
“No, I’ll walk back to the motel. I don’t want anyone to see us together.”
“Maybe somebody’s got an eye on us right now,” Henry said.
“Don’t think so. I’ve been keeping a watch for a tail. He’s relying on that bug on the car to let him know when I move. When I figure out how to give him the slip without alerting him, I’ll head out to the reservation.”
I watched Jazz’s Wrangler and Henry’s bike out of sight before pulling out my cell and dialing the number Gunner called from earlier. He answered on the first ring. I filled him in on the plan, described Jazz and Henry, and let him know they had an envelope full of greenbacks for him. He grunted in satisfaction.
“Good doing business with you, Lie
utenant. Anything else you need, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks. Just out of curiosity, where did you locate Lando?”
“I asked around and heard about this guy living off by himself down in an arroyo on the Animas. Sure enough, it was him.”
“Good job, Sergeant.”
I scanned the area for anyone taking too much interest in me before leaving the park. I decided to skip breakfast and stopped at a gas station mini-mart for a big Styrofoam cup of coffee in case I was observed returning to the room.
I had no sooner closed the door behind me than the phone rang.
“Where are you?” Aggie asked.
“Still in my room.” That sounded a little lame, so I added, “I was out late last night looking for Lando.”
“Any luck?”
“Found a place he’d been, but he’d cleared out by the time I got there. How about you?”
“Your PI friend and I found the guy Shifty called Young’un Two, but it wasn’t Lando. Of course, that was no surprise. We were just covering the bases, weren’t we?”
“Right. Let me know when to expect you back.”
“I’m already here. I’m at the Four Corners airport right now.”
I didn’t need this. I had to get to Lando as soon as possible, but I couldn’t just blow Aggie off. I needed to come up with something to keep him busy while I slipped off to the hogan. In the meantime, I’d have to trust Jazz and Henry to keep Lando on ice.
“Hold on, and I’ll come get you,” I said.
“I’d rather have my own set of wheels. I’ll rent a car. You still at the Trail’s End?”
“Yep.” Why did he want his own car? But maybe that was good… mine was bugged.
“Had breakfast yet? Or lunch?” he asked.
“Just coffee.”
“Good. I’m starved. I’ll meet you at the usual place after I rent a car. About thirty minutes, I’d guess.” Our usual place was a café down the street called the Bean Bowl.
I phoned Buster Orville, the Salt Lake PI, and received a report on the hunt for Young’un Two. Despite what Gaines said—or at least implied—nobody from the Salt Lake FBI office had contacted them. Before hanging up, I asked his opinion of Aggie.
“He’s aces, BJ. You’d expect a fellow with his money and background to sit on his fanny and let the hired help do all the work. Not him. He was right there beating the bushes with me every step of the way.”
As I walked down Main Street toward the restaurant, I dialed Del’s number, updated him on this morning’s development, and asked him to come up. He agreed to clear his calendar and see if Jim Gray’s Cessna was available. He called back five minutes later confirming it was.
I hung up feeling marginally better. Although I wished Aggie was still prowling the homeless camps in Salt Lake City, he was another pair of eyes, and I’d make use of those eyes, even if I didn’t totally trust them. Maybe he could divert attention away from me—unless, of course, the bird dog I was trying to elude was his.
I arrived at the restaurant before Aggie and selected a corner table that promised a little privacy. The Bean Bowl had two separate dining areas, one of which was closed due to the early hour. The other abutted a side room filled with games to occupy restless children. The eight-year-old twins darting back and forth between their parents’ table and their two older siblings playing a noisy electronic game grated on my nerves.
The dining room was probably fifty-by-fifty with whitewashed walls almost totally obscured by an eclectic display of artwork and artifacts. Miners’ picks shared space with oilfield tools and framed black-and-white and color photographs of various local carbon-based activities. The amateurish landscapes and still lifes by local artists in varying styles and mediums, each with a small label in the lower right corner to let the patrons know it was for sale, would normally have drawn me to the wall where they hung. I like art, even bad art. I try to imagine the craftsmen laying down each brush stroke and wonder if they believe they’re this century’s Rembrandt or Picasso. On some level I shared their struggle to make each picture better than the last. Today I was unmoved.
Aggie showed up with dark bags beneath his eyes and pupils shot with red. The stress was taking a toll on him. But was he worried about his brother or about me or the law finding Lando before he did? His clean-cut, earnest face triggered a pang of guilt that I managed to shake off. Paranoia goes hand in hand with this job.
Despite his evident distress, he greeted me with an enthusiastic handshake and a tired grin. “Any news?”
My conscience sonar pinged as I shook my head. “Not much.”
He accepted my spare comment, and we picked up menus with a hand-drawn picture of a steaming bowl of soup—presumably bean soup. The Bean Bowl was grossly misnamed; it boasted a broad menu of surprisingly good food.
After we ordered, he launched into a narrative of his trip to Salt Lake City. When he finished the story of his hunt for Young’un Two, Aggie sat back and leveled a gaze at me, one that was hard to read.
The arrival of our food took the heat off me for a minute. By the time our waitress sorted out the orders and set the plates in front of us, I’d decided Aggie was entitled to something. So I sketched the events of the last couple of days, including Shirttail Bob and Phil rolling his brother in an alley.
“That means he’s alive.”
I was impressed. He had focused on what was important instead of getting twisted up in the assault. “Yes, he is.”
Aggie worked halfheartedly on a rare steak—and he’d claimed he was starving—as I gave him a few other details, going so far as to let him know of my contact with the homeless vets, but withholding the fact they had delivered—literally. Between sentences I bolted down my liver and onions. I like calves’ liver, although I rarely indulge myself. This morning I felt in need of the iron.
As I finished the last bite and prepared to make my escape, Aggie pushed his platter away, leaving half of the steak uneaten. “You said you didn’t have much to report, but that sounded like a lot. BJ, what’s going on?”
His question made me wonder if he was picking up on my impatience. If so, maybe I could turn it to my benefit.
“What’s going on is someone besides us is still after your brother, and it’s not the FBI.”
“What are you talking about? Who?”
“Probably whoever killed Dana. Someone sent Santillanes looking for Lando. And now his replacement is on the job. Somebody’s been tailing me. Planted a bug on my rental.”
“Who?” he repeated.
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out—regardless of where that takes me.”
“Regardless?” He stared hard at me.
Crap. Why did I say that? Now I’d have to take the time to explain my way out of that unfortunate slip. “Think about it. It doesn’t have to be one of your family, but it’s sure as hell somebody interested in the De Falco acquisition.”
His dark eyebrows climbed. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would anyone kill Dana if that’s what he’s interested in?”
“Any number of reasons. Maybe Dana was trying to protect Lando and got killed for his efforts. Look, your brother was opposing the acquisition, wasn’t he? Or more to the point, he was opposing the use of your mother’s trust to finance the buyout.”
I took a surreptitious peek at my wristwatch. Two hours. Jazz and Henry had gone for Lando almost two hours ago. They were probably at the hogan by now. I should have told Jazz to phone me when they were safe.
“That’s true.” Aggie rubbed his eyes as if that would help clear his brain.
“It’s likely that someone just wanted to get control of Lando, and Dana was in the way.”
“But if that’s what happened, it would have to be someone in favor of the acquisition, and… and that’s my father.”
“He’s not the only one. Your brother-in-law, for example. And any number of people on the De Falco side. On the other hand, the FBI doesn’t think this has anything to
do with the acquisition.”
Aggie waited for me to explain while I silently willed Jazz to take the initiative and call me.
“A $100,000 deposit showed up in Dana’s bank account. Gaines thinks it was money for a drug buy, but—”
“Lando and Dana buying drugs? Bullshit!” Outrage flared in Aggie’s eyes.
“That’s what Gaines believes, but it could have been deposited to make it look like they were dealing.”
“Lando hated drugs. Loathed drug dealers. He wouldn’t put up with it if Dana wanted to deal. He’d have walked away. No, that money was a false lead to divert the FBI. Has to be.”
“That means somebody is willing to spend a large amount of money to lay a phony trail, which brings us back to the big money issue on the table.”
“The acquisition.”
“And there’s another possible explanation,” I said. “What if someone was paying Dana to influence Lando’s decision on the buyout?”
Aggie’s reaction was surprisingly bland. “You’re talking about my father again.”
I tried out some of the Napa Valley gossip Charlie had dropped on me back in Albuquerque. “Not necessarily. Despite what we said about Lando opposing the buyout, there was talk he had changed his mind and was going to lend his support.”
“That’s nonsense.” Then Aggie seemed to reconsider. “If that’s true—and I don’t believe it—you’re saying it could be someone opposed to the purchase. Someone like me. So it could be anyone on either side, provided the acquisition’s the motive.”
“Exactly. Lando suspecting someone paid Dana to influence him could have endangered the entire deal.”
“And Dana’s benefactor had to take care of him before he spilled the beans.”
“That’s one theory, anyway.”
He took a deep breath. “This is taking too long. What can we do to speed things up? We need to find Lando and get him to California.”
“That kind of talk is dangerous. There are probably outstanding federal and local warrants for Lando’s arrest in connection with two murders. I know, I know—it’s wrongheaded, but that doesn’t alter the facts. We have to turn him over, not spirit him out of the state.”