Dead On

by Michael Paulson

  Chapter 23

  After getting medical treatment for my glass-related lacerations at McAllen's hospital, I made a quick stop for lunch and then returning to my motel room. There I showered, shaved and had a cigarette before crawling into bed. Sleep never felt so good—as long as I didn't move, or breathe, or sneeze, or...

  It was nearly dark when I awoke. I caught a quick bite at a fast-food joint and then drove the rental to the Daisy Diner. I went in the back way and caught Tanya's attention.

  She hurried over to wrap her arms about my neck. "When you didn't come back I thought you'd found better digs."

  "I took an unexpected detour." I winced and eased from her grasp. "Is your shift over?"

  She nodded. "What's the plan?"

  "Drink or three?"

  She cocked her head and gave me a warm-all-over smile. "Is that all you want?"

  "I'm a little tense."

  She moved against me enticingly. "I'm an expert at fixing that—or have your forgotten?"

  "I was hoping you'd offer. But, be gentle this time. I have a small leakage problem—in several hundred areas."

  She gave me a long wet kiss before whispering, "Let's go upstairs."

  Forty minutes and six changes of bandage later, Tanya and I were parked in the asphalt lot behind a long low brick building of rather pinkish heritage. On its flat roof a huge neon sign spelled out 'Snake Pit' in blinking red script. There were a dozen other cars in the lot. And, through one of the building's half-curtained windows, I saw couples seated at tables, and others clinging to each other in romantic dance. All wore jeans and wash-faded shirts.

  "I take it this isn't frequented by McAllen's Who's Who," I remarked as I got out of the rental.

  "It may look a little rough," she said, "but it's all right and we won't have to worry about Delaney showing up."

  "I suspect our fearless cop is long past giving anyone worry. If his impromptu meeting with the Portellos went as I hope."

  "Delaney's a survivor. Don't underestimate him."

  Inside we faced a long, horseshoe-shaped bar. Behind it was a lanky fellow in a black t-shirt who had not shaved in several days. He was serving stool-bound patrons while dancing in a rather wobbly fashion—a good indicator he was a connoisseur of his own creations.

  "What's the draw for this place?"

  She laughed, slightly embarrassed. "My husband used to take me here. It has memories."

  The bartender abruptly stopped his rendition of the Frug, grabbed a liquor bottle, and then took a swing at the bar-top. I could not tell if he was demonstrating his talents for drum-rolls, or killing a creepy-crawly. His entourage clapped drunkenly when the bottle shattered, so I assumed it was the former.

  "Memories of what?"

  She smiled sadly. "Just memories."

  The place had a band dais adjacent to the bar. The small stage had become a storage area for broken chairs and crumbling tables rather than the focal point for entertainment. From somewhere else a jukebox provided dance music. To the left of where we stood was a long row of shadowy booths. Nervous couples with darting eyes occupied most of those. They huddled together in whispers while covertly watching, lest they be recognized by curious stares. Beyond them was a pool table—the only alternative entertainment to body movement. A dozen men stood around it as cues rattled, balls clattered and angry voices rose over wagers changing hands.

  Tanya led me to a vacant table near the dancers. We sat down and a buxom brunette waitress descended upon us. I requested a Manhattan on the rocks with bitters. Tanya asked for something to rev her engine. The waitress said she had something that would put the 'H' in horny, and then hurried away after giving me a naughty grin.

  "When I was first married," Tanya murmured, nostalgically, "my husband and I took dancing lessons. He didn't like it much. But he went through the motions to please me. He was very sweet that way. These days I don't get out often enough to enjoy what we learned."

  "You're not dating the right kind of people."

  She drew a deep frustrated breath. "I'm not dating anybody."

  "I don't count? Hell, I'm an excellent dancer—if you don't have toes."

  Her eyes wavered against my stare and then softened. "You count. I'm just not sure if our arrangement does."

  One of the drunks at the bar called loudly for service as he honed his fly-catching skills. From where I sat, I could see he had a system whereby he would lean forward, purse his lips and then blow softly—presumably to force the fly to clamp down its wings. Then, he would make a quick swipe, clench his fist, hold the victim up to his ear and grin. It seemed to be a plan for success because at each grab his fellow inebriates cheered loud, and long. After which, the flycatcher would release his captive so he could catch it again.

  I reached across the table and touched one of Tanya's hands. "Cheer up. Things could be worse. I could have you out on the floor giving your feet a workout with my heels."

  She laughed. "I was just wondering what was going to happen between you and me. So, far our relationship amounts to me keeping you bandaged—in between ash-haulings."

  "Am I a fun guy or what?"

  "By the time you get back to Fort Worth you'll have forgotten me."

  "Don't underrate yourself, Tanya."

  The waitress returned with our drinks. She gracefully accepted the tip I offered. The look on her face suggested it fell far short of expectation. I pretended not to notice and gave Tanya my most endearing leer.

  "Let's get down to cases, Bishop," she said over the rim of her Daiquiri. "You're not the marrying type, so you didn't bring me out to propose. I don't have any money, so this isn't a buildup for a loan. You've already ravaged me twice, so seduction isn't on your mind. This leaves the night's real agenda a great big question."

  I gave my Manhattan a finger-stir. "I had a speech all worked out—something cute and memorable. You jumped the gun and dumped my program down the sewer. I guess I'll have to try the truth and hope for the best."

  She rubbed the frosty glass against the tip of her chin. "Something new for you?"

  "It only happens when I'm short on time. Leon's still in trouble and if Delaney's still alive, so are you and I. What it comes down to is I need your help to pull off a small miracle."

  "Doing what?"

  "To start with, providing information. I'm interested in what you can tell me about the Mayor of McAllen."

  She leaned forward on her elbows while giving my right leg a playful nudge with her toe. "For all your wayward charm, I don't think you're Philip Woods' type."

  "You haven't seen me in a dress. I've got killer legs and an ass you could crack walnuts on—at least when I'm wearing a padded girdle."

  She set down her glass, chuckling. "Okay. Where should I start?"

  I tasted the Manhattan before saying, "Married, I take it?"

  She leaned back and wagged her head. "Widower. Ten years, give or take. He's got a daughter. Nadine, I think. I've never met her. But, she made the news a few years ago when she won some middle-school award for beekeeping. It actually made the front page in our little burg. Gives you some idea of how exciting life gets in McAllen. What's your angle on him?"

  "He's part of the Eli Huggins cocaine-coop."

  Tanya's mouth gaped in disbelief. "No way."

  "It gets better. Daughter Nadine is a coke addict and used to be one of Eli's playmates: probably one of the blondes you saw at his party."

  Tanya slumped back in her chair. "I don't believe it."

  "I would've had videotaped proof from Eli's remembrance library, but Delaney beat me to it. The other kid was Betsy Huggins, Eli's niece."

  She made a disgusted face. "My god. His own niece?"

  "How close is Enrique Rodriguez to the honorable mayor?"

  "As far as I know, they don't even shake hands. Is he involved in this thing, too?"

  I nodded. "Probably the successor to his recent partnership with Delaney. What
are Woods' chances of reelection?"

  "He hasn't been caught with his pants down—at least not until your news hits the presses. Are you certain he's hooked up with Delaney?"

  Again, I nodded. "Any rumors of a violent streak?"

  She eased forward and let one finger trace the rim of her glass. "As far as the local gossip goes, our honorable mayor is the epitome of social conscience. The papers'll want proof before tearing down his lily-white façade."

  "When you were at Eli's party, did you meet Salvator Portello?"

  Tanya gritted her teeth. "That, creep from Dallas has a brother? Jesus, his mother was short on brains as well as birth control."

  "Sal was Anna's first kid. Dominic was her mistake. You'd remember Sal. He's short, gray, and slightly built, wire rimmed glasses and jet black eyes that don't miss a thing."

  "Nobody by that description was there. But I didn't stay long. I got fidgety after the creep tied up some woman. When he started getting his kicks burning her with cigarettes, I knew it was time to leave."

  "How did the blondes react to Dominic's sadistic hobby?"

  She thought for a moment before saying, "I don't think they believed it was real. You're not planning that for me, are you?"

  I wagged my head. "But keep the thought. According to Betsy, and indirectly confirmed by Nadine, Mayor Woods' little girl is now involved with Dominic Portello."

  "Why, for god's sake? He's old enough to be her father."

  "It could be love. Nevertheless, Nadine's got some funny kinks and a nasty habit that only Dominic can tend to, now that Eli's dead. I think she latched onto Dom knowing Eli's taste for the underaged would soon put her out of his circle of special friends."

  "That poor kid."

  "My choice in suspects for Eli's killing keeps changing. If I believe Betsy's need to speak with Nadine before telling me what happened, I get a picture of either Nadine or Woods or Dominic at the trigger. However, if what Nadine told me is true, it falls to someone hired by our fearless cop—and that points the finger at Enrique. I can link up all the connections to the drug business but I still don't have anything firm on the murder."

  "It has to be Delaney and company."

  "After my diversion in Mexico I'm not so sure. He couldn't have done the job himself, considering his driver was along all morning—a kid with a weak stomach and eyes on being the best cop McAllen ever had. Moreover, the only one he could have safely hired to kill Eli is Enrique. However, Enrique was like a rabbit dancing in front of a fox every time I brought up the Portellos. No way did he have spine enough to take out their man without making immediate plans to take a lifelong vacation someplace below ground."

  Tanya made a dismissive gesture. "If Woods is your next guess, he doesn't have the balls for it."

  "If you're right, that leaves Nadine or Dominic. And Salvator is a stickler for clean kills. Leaving Eli's body on the lawn would not be Dominic's style—and not tolerated by Sal. Which leaves me with Nadine—whom I can't see plugging the old bastard."

  "Maybe it was somebody else? Somebody we don't know about yet. Or, maybe it was Leon." She took a sip from her drink.

  "If you're trying to make me feel better, you're doing a lousy job."

  "Now you look worried."

  "Why should I be? I've got clean underwear and matching socks on."

  "One sock's navy and the other's black. Let's consider the possibility the Portellos made a bad decision in their hiring practices. Let's say they paid some local to do the job and he got sloppy. That would give you a long list of potentials. Because border towns like this are swarming with low-life's, looking for a quick buck."

  "The Portellos make a practice of killing their own, very privately, so to speak. If they wanted you dead they'd hire it out. Someone they knew like me, or someone who worked for them like Eli, they'd do themselves—and, Dominic would've been the shooter. But there would have been no body: no way, no how."

  "Maybe Eli was so coked up he pulled a gun on Dominic. Maybe Dominic killed him in self-defense and before he could deal with the body, you and Leon showed up."

  "Now that you bring it, up that could be a possibility. Actually, Dominic's done it before—I couldn't prove it, mind you. But in my own mind I was satisfied he was responsible."

  She set her elbows on the table, made a bridge with her fingers upon which to rest her chin. "Murder of a drug dealer?"

  "Bar owner. It was about twenty years ago. I was with Dallas P-D Homicide. We got a call on a poisoning—strictly amateur work. The killer had used an over-the-counter pesticide. The bar owner's wife claimed it must've been an accident. Unfortunately for her theory the dead man had drunk too much of the bitter tasting stuff for that to be the case. A regiment would have died with the amount he had in his stomach. Initially, I was satisfied the wife had done it. She was having an affair with one of the barmaids who worked for her husband. Moreover, on several occasions the bar owner had been physically violent with her to the point of hospitalization. In addition, the pesticide used was the one I found in the family garage—purchased by her just days before. That gave her means, motive and opportunity. Nevertheless, as the investigation progressed it became clearer and clearer she hadn't done it. I was still convinced she knew a great deal more than she was saying, but she had not been the killer."

  "Who was?"

  "Her daughter. The girl was a cokehead about Nadine's age and the bartender's wife was protecting her. Anyway, I started digging and after about a month, I picked the girl up on a narcotic's bust. She was carrying three kilos of smack in her rucksack. When the kid learned from her attorney she would be looking at twenty years in the joint, she got scared and offered a deal. She'd roll over on who ordered her father's murder if she got immunity on the drug tag. I wanted no part of that, but the prosecutor took the bait and ran with it. That's when the girl claimed she'd killed her father on the instructions of her drug-dealer."

  "The creep?"

  "One of his underlings. I got my warrant and picked the pusher up. Once he realized what he was facing, he offered to cop a plea in exchange for something bigger. I agreed to consider it. That's when he told me the order to kill the bar owner came down directly from—Dominic Portello."

  "Then why is the creep still on the street?"

  "Without corroboration it would be the dealer's word against Dominic's. And, I couldn't find a motive for Dominic to want the bar owner dead. Dominic has his faults, but he doesn't put contracts out on civilians for kicks. Moreover, the bar was small potatoes—too small for the Portellos to want, even for money laundering. In addition, brother Salvator was extremely sensitive about the family image. Which meant a mistake like that could put Dominic at the wrong end of a contract. The prosecutor decided not to pursue Dominic's role in the murder and settled for the pusher."

  "Which left the girl free?"

  "She got unexpectedly absent, soon after. And before we could get to trial, so was her pusher. Both killings went unsolved because we had no bodies—typical of the Portello style."

  Tanya took another taste of her drink. "But if you knew Dominic was responsible, why couldn't you bring him in for questioning?"

  "I did. In fact, that used to be one of my hobbies. I would haul him in. Ten minutes later his lawyers would show up and haul him out. But for ten minutes I had the bastard by the short hairs and he knew it. Not that it got me anything. My point in this trek through history is the slim possibility that Dominic may have run a variation on that game with Nadine. He points at Eli and she pulls the trigger."

  Tanya shifted on the chair, cocking one arm over its back. "But, how could Dominic con Nadine into taking that risk? If you're right about it all, the bar owner's daughter probably had her drug supply cut off until she did the deed. Eli would have kept Nadine well dusted to ensure continued access to her favors."

  "You're forgetting that Nadine had aged beyond Eli's taste in female flesh. In time there would be little reason for h
im to continue supplying her. He would've had other fields to furrow."

  She rattled her blond curls in disagreement. "Who says Eli had another piece somewhere? Both Nadine and Betsy admitted being there when he was killed. It only follows they were invited."

  "Betsy told me Moira ordered her to visit Eli. She was supposed to go alone but got cold feet and called Nadine. Leon claims Eli had an important meeting that morning—something unexpected. Something that meant Eli could not meet me and he sure as hell did not want Leon hanging around for."

  Tanya made a disgusted face. "Moira sent her own daughter?"

  "Moira was after the cache of cocaine Eli had in the lab. I think she figured if the girls kept Eli busy, she'd have a chance to empty the lab without anyone being the wiser—at least until the Portellos wanted to take delivery. And by that time Eli would have no idea who had done it."

  "Moira volunteered all this?"

  "Considering she tried to kill me, it's the only way the figures."

  She rolled her eyes in amusement. "You do have a way with women, Bishop."

  "It's a curse. But, the side benefits are unbeatable."

  Tanya leaned forward, her hands in her lap. "So Moira has the cocaine?"

  I shook my head. "Had. I've got it, now."

  Her voice cracked as she gasped, "All of it?"

  "I had some free time between ash hauling sessions."

  Tanya snapped her fingers, her eyes wide, he cheeks flushed with the feeling of success. "Eli caught her at it and she killed him."

  I shook my head. "She didn't take it. Delaney did. Moira was just storing it for him—you remember how that goes."

  The music on the jukebox changed tempo and Tanya glanced over at the dancers. Then as she turned back, one hand quickly reached under the table and pressed my knee. "Here comes trouble."