I drained my glass of its now lukewarm water. I checked every book in Aunt Nellie’s library. Nothing. No more maps. No more pictures. No more secrets.
By the time I fell into bed, morning sunlight spilled through the windows.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
April 9
Someone pounded on my front door and matched the hangover pounding in my head. I managed to stand, hitch up my jeans, and stagger to the door.
It was Carmen, in uniform. She eyed my wrinkled undershirt and made a sour face.
“Sorry,” I said. “This is what I look like when I wake up in the morning.”
“No. It’s what you look like when you wake up in the afternoon.”
“Huh?”
“Gabe, it’s one-thirty in the afternoon.” She shook her head but managed a smile. “I’ve got news. We lifted prints from that car out near Grants. Found those of the deceased and one other clear set, plus partials.” She took out a small notepad and consulted it. “One set belongs to a repeat offender. Name’s Jason Damien, alias Jay Scurry, alias Jack Scant, alias Babyface.”
“Babyface?”
“He was serving twenty years for Murder Two when he was paroled from New Mexico State Penitentiary in August of 2009, after only eight years. No sign of him since he got out.”
“And the other prints?”
“Too smudged to be of any help.”
“Anything else on Damien?”
“Yeah. A shooting incident as a juvenile. He ran that time. Eluded capture for more than a year. He’s a hard case.”
“You have a photo?”
“Not yet. I’ll bring it tonight,” she said.
“Tonight?”
“When you take me out to dinner and tell me what you learned about Aunt Nellie and her secrets.”
“Will there be two or three of us?” I thought of her husband.
Her voice had an edge to it. “My husband is still in L.A. Let me go get out of this uniform. I promise I’ll look better tonight.” She checked me up and down. “Hope you do, too.”
“I’ll pick you up about 6:45.”
As soon as she left, I booked a late dinner at Vernon’s, a steakhouse nearby in the North Valley. The guy on the phone gave me the password we would need to get in.
I showered and checked my closet. The dress shirts and slacks that hung there looked too old or too wrinkled for fine dining.
I drove to Cottonwood Mall and purchased half a dozen Gant shirts, a black sport coat with tan slacks, and half a dozen boxers in assorted colors. Then I stopped by a liquor store across from the mall and picked up a couple of fifths of Black Bush.
On my drive home, I wondered what Holly would have said to such a spending spree. Her steadying influence over our twenty-two years together persuaded me to be concerned about things more important than clothes. She and I had never been fashion-conscious. She didn’t need to be. Holly was beautiful, regardless of what she wore.
I made a couple of calls once I returned home. First, to Jack Case, who told me the Hudson wouldn’t be ready for another week. It wasn’t the kind of vehicle I could drive to a remote ranch in Catron County anyway. Not a good idea to run my rental out into the wild, either. I needed my own SUV.
My other call was answered on the second ring.
“C.J.?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Gabe. How about breakfast tomorrow? Nine o’clock?”
“Let me check with Charmaine.” He muffled the phone. I heard him in negotiations with her before he returned to the line.
“Where do we meet?”
“How about El Camino Café on Fourth?”
“See you then.”
Nearly five o’clock, time for a drink before my dinner date. My hand fished around in the sink for a glass. I opened a new fifth of Black Bush and let a good swallow of it swirl around my mouth. The booze felt smooth all the way down. The bags of my new clothes sat on the counter. It wouldn’t matter that much which ones I wore. I put the glass back in the sink and strolled to the master bathroom.
After another shower, I dragged a razor across my face and around my goatee. New silk shirt, tan slacks and black sport coat. The night was young. I was ready, but I felt uncomfortable. I hadn’t been out like this with any woman but Holly in twenty-four years.
I rang Carmen’s doorbell and took a deep breath.
A different kind of Carmen answered. No uniform, shorts, or tank top tonight. A red rose set off her ebony hair. Her full lips were highlighted in a dark shade of red lipstick. A low cut black dress with spaghetti straps caressed her body, accompanied by a glittering gold bracelet. A sultry goddess stood before me, perched atop four-inch heels.
I opened the passenger door of the rental SUV and she flowed inside. The Sounds of Sinatra on the XM radio accompanied us on the ride to Vernon’s. Maybe that dated me in Carmen’s eyes, but I didn’t care.
After the opening piano bridge of One for My Baby filled the car, I sang along sotto voce. She didn’t let me get too far.
“You like Sinatra?” The tone of her voice put a stop to my singing.
“Nobody sings lonely the way he does.”
“I never got into him.” The windows were open. Her long, dark hair danced to its own music.
“It helps to be on the wrong side of fifty, I guess.”
“I like dance music with a good beat. Grew up on disco.”
I squeezed the steering wheel, noticing the veins and wrinkles on the backs of my hands as I turned into the parking lot.
A valet met us at Vernon’s front door. I traded my SUV for a claim check numbered 1142, same as the address of Ricardo Ramos’s house on Ybarra. A chill ran up my spine.
I took Carmen’s arm and led her under a grape arbor toward a dark oak door. I knocked and a small peephole slid open. I told the eyeball: “Joe sent us.” And with that declaration, the door opened and we walked inside.
The maître-d’ escorted us to a small table in a dark alcove on the far side of a half-full room. We sat close enough to the piano to enjoy it, yet far enough away that we could talk quietly. It was dark, discreet and felt expensive, even before I saw a menu. A waitress came over and took our drink order.
“Did you bring Damien’s picture with you?” Not my best opening line.
Carmen reached into her purse and handed me a wallet-sized photo of an angry young man.
“That’s the guy who shot at me. Even without his hat, I’m sure of it. Nail him.”
“We have to catch him first. By the way, that license plate, ARF-386?”
I nodded.
“Stolen off some old lady’s car two weeks ago down in Magdalena. She didn’t report it until Monday. Hardly drives, I guess. I’ll share more details as we get them.” She paused. “You and I are partners now.”
Her last sentence and the way she said it drew my glance from the photo to her eyes. But just then, the apple-cheeked young waitress arrived with our drinks and segued into a recitation of the nightly specials. Carmen ordered Colorado lamb chops; I chose a New York steak. The waitress informed us we’d both made “very good choices” and set off for the kitchen with our orders.
I proposed a toast: “To truth, justice and the American way.”
“Feel like Superman tonight, do you?” Her voice was velvet, and rich with possibility.
I gently cleared my throat and felt my cheeks do a slow burn.
Carmen looked down at our crisp, white tablecloth. “Gabe, I have to warn you about someone.”
“Oh? There’s somebody else I have to worry about?”
“Curtis Jester.”
“C.J.? I used to worry about his left hook. What’s the problem now?”
“A.P.D. has been watching him and his place for some time. We suspect he may be involved in illegal activity. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I wanted to warn you.”
“What kind of activity?”
“I’m sorry, Gabe. I can’t. I’ve already told you more than I should. Just
be careful.” She stared into my eyes.
“Okay.” I wondered what kind of history there might be between C.J. and the cops. One more worry.
We sipped our drinks and chatted about nothing until our perfectly prepared entrees arrived. As the evening wore on, I began to relax and enjoy a woman’s company once again. With my eyes closed, I imagined dining out with Holly, like we used to do.
“Gabe? What are you thinking about?”
I came back to the moment. “Sorry, just drifted off. Nothing really. Trying to get things straight in my mind for our drive out to Catron County on Saturday.”
She held me in her gaze.
“No,” I said. “It’s not that at all. Just takes time to move on, I guess.”
Carmen reached across and took my hand. I looked down at her evenly well-tanned fingers, and at my own wedding ring, wondering if my feelings for my deceased wife were stronger than Carmen’s feelings for her still-living husband.
We drove home. Like a responsible date, I walked her to her front door. Facing me, she waited for a kiss.
She got one.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
April 10
When C.J. isn’t on time, he’s early. I entered the El Camino and found him seated in a booth by the front window, working on a cup of coffee. He flipped me the bird.
“Steal that from Jimmy Buffett?” I pointed to his shirt, an over-sized, radiant blue, parrot-covered monstrosity.
“I’m a colorful character. Deal with it.”
He’d already ordered. When his smothered breakfast burrito arrived, I asked for huevos rancheros.
“You called this meeting, chief. So, what’s up?” He checked his watch and dove into his burrito like he was gunning for a World Record.
I told him about finding Red Gold and about James McKenna claiming to have found the Lost Adams fortune.
“You believe what he wrote?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I plan to find out. It could explain some of what’s been going on.”
After my order arrived, I mentioned my planned Catron County trip with Carmen. He dropped his fork and leaned back from the table.
“I took her out to dinner at Vernon’s Steak House last night,” I said.
“How come you didn’t take her to my place?” His face looked pained. “Let me guess. A quiet table for two in a corner?”
I stabbed at my beans.
He stared at me. “You didn’t tell her about the book, did you?”
“She saw it on my desktop, but I haven’t told her what it says.”
“Don’t.”
“What’s your problem with her?”
“She’s a cop, and I don’t trust cops. You shouldn’t either, especially her.”
I let that comment pass. “You’re the only one I told about Red Gold.”
“Okay.” He turned his full attention back to what remained of his breakfast.
“You got some free time this afternoon?” I said. “Gonna buy a new car.”
“You just found one in your barn.”
“That’s for special occasions. I need something for off-road, maybe a Toyota Land Cruiser.”
C.J. scraped up the last of his burrito. “My Caddy’s all I’ll ever need.”
“That’s right. They can even drive you to the graveyard in it. So, you want to come with me?”
“I can’t, man. We’re catering a big party tonight.” He pushed his empty plate aside, and stood up. “Listen, check with me before you leave this weekend, okay?”
I handed him a napkin and pointed to his shirt. “You got some salsa on one of your parrots.”
Dabbing at his shirt, he then feinted a playful shot to my jaw before he dragged his leg out of the restaurant.
I finished my coffee and wondered what to make of the warnings C.J. and Carmen had given me about each other. Before our waitress came by with my bill, I dropped a couple of twenties on the table and left.
My cellphone rang as I pulled out of the El Camino’s lot. It was the home security company I’d hired.
“Mr. McKenna?”
“Speaking.”
“Eloise at Apex Home Security. We’ve just had a cancellation. Would you like to push your appointment up and have us come by this morning?”
“Absolutely. I’m on my way home right now.”
“Great. You’re next in line.”
I felt relieved as I drove north on Fourth. Of course, Aunt Nellie never needed an alarm system. Everybody had loved her.
The Apex installation team arrived minutes after I made it home. Two hours later, they showed me how to operate my new security system and left.
Before they were out of my driveway, my moving company called. The van from New York would arrive tomorrow, a day early. If I wanted to get a new SUV before my trip to the cabin, I had to act fast.
My old high school textbooks held more sketches of cars than underlined words. Big cars. Cars with menace and muscle. Cars with tailfins and hood ornaments, billows of smoke exploding from exhaust pipes, leonine growls beneath snarls of chrome. But I had ended up with a string of safe, dull vehicles appropriate for a married history professor of moderate means.
Not anymore. I had a classic Hudson in hand and enough cash to buy a car that could take me across high deserts and up road-free canyons.
I strolled around a Toyota dealership on Lomas and checked out a handful of Land Cruisers parked together on the eastern side of the building. A breathless young salesman with an earring and a pink silk shirt intercepted me like a heat-seeking missile.
“Looking at Land Cruisers? That’s our flagship SUV. I can get you the best price. Financing can be arranged, too.”
“Thanks, but if I buy I intend to pay in cash.”
He nodded. “Here’s my card. Look around. Let me know if you have any questions.” He backed off, but remained within striking distance at all times.
I admired a demo model with twenty-two hundred miles on it. No sense trying to break in a new car off-road in Catron County. The window sticker read eighty-two grand and change. I leaned against a side door and wrote out a personal check for seventy-eight thousand dollars.
My young salesman squinted at it when I gave it to him. He turned it over a couple of times and took it to his manager.
Boss Man, a rotund bundle of brown wool, had no qualms. He winked at me and checked his watch, maybe to determine if the banks were still open. “We can deliver this vehicle to you with temporary plates, registration, and transferred insurance by this time tomorrow.”
It must take twenty-four hours to add that new car smell.
I drove home along the stretch of Fourth Street where my would-be killer had followed me on my third day in town. Reaching up with my left hand, I felt the still-tender crease on my neck where his bullet grazed me.
I considered Catron County. It’s still a wild place, more saloons than churches, libraries, or schools. Combined. I’d feel more comfortable being able to carry concealed there, but that would have to wait. My gun would ride in the glove compartment this weekend. No sense flaunting the law when you travel with a cop. But a gun in my car also meant I couldn’t carry any liquor. Damn.
There are about a dozen shooting ranges in Albuquerque, if you don’t count the high crime neighborhoods. I drove to the one closest to my house, a metal barn-like indoor facility with a mostly empty parking lot. It sat just west of town near a dormant volcano, an apt visual metaphor for my skills. Only one other shooter on this afternoon, and she had to be at least seventy-five.
I imagined the outlined figure on the target was wearing a Stetson, and I destroyed him. My decent marksmanship scores surprised me, as I know my hands and eyes aren’t as steady or sharp as they used to be. I felt a lot better when I walked out into the dusk.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
April 11
The doorbell rang halfway through my first cup of morning coffee. Then it rang again and didn’t stop until I opened the door, discovering fifty years
and five-and-a-half feet of animosity standing on the patio in front of me.
“Cable guy!” he said.
He pointed to an ID card on the breast pocket of his work shirt and then wiped a bit of donut from the side of his mouth.
“You gonna let me in or not?” Nine A.M. and already the world had done him wrong.
I looked at his ID more closely. “Come on in, Justo.”
He complained at length about the marginal wiring in my house, but eventually did manage to hook up high-speed broadband that promised even faster speeds than I’d had in New York. Their enhanced TV sports package was a must, but I passed on his Special-Offer package of fourteen channels worth of lousy movies.
Ten minutes after Justo left, an unfamiliar car horn out in my driveway drew me to the window. My Land Cruiser was here, delivered by the same young Toyota salesman I’d met the day before. He handed me the keys and gave me an armful of manuals, brochures, and oil-change coupons. Then he jumped into the passenger seat of a dark blue Camry that had followed the Land Cruiser, and drove out of my life.
I was about to tool over to C.J.’s and show off my new wheels when the van from New York pulled up out front. The screech of its air brakes startled dozens of birds from the nearby trees. I slipped my Cruiser into the carport and walked back out to meet the movers.
I’d donated most of my New York furniture to Volunteers of America. The small van contained my computer, flat screen TV, clothing and books. Lots of books
With my cracked ribs still on the mend, I couldn’t do much more than tell the muscle guys where to put the boxes. I hooked up my computer to the new broadband cable in less than half an hour. The rest of my stuff would stay packed, plenty of time mañana for all of that.
For the rest of the afternoon and early evening, I surfed the internet and checked into James A. McKenna, the Lost Adams’ gold, Catron and Bernalillo County property records, and related information.
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