by Wolf Riedel
“Shit. Where’d he get that?” came the voice from the speaker.
“No idea but he caught me by surprise with it so I fell back on the old no comment bullshit and you know how mealy-mouthed that sounds. I told him he should speak with you before he runs it.”
“Yeah. Well, thanks. I’ll try to stall him a bit until we can get our act together up here. I don’t think releasing the information now is going to hurt the investigation but I’d rather have held this close until we’ve got back everything that we can from our forensics. Shit.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks. . . . I’ll give Dunn a call. Maybe he’ll have a bright idea.”
“Take care,” said Mark and pressed the phone’s Speaker button to hang up.
Sal looked at Mark.
“What?” Mark asked.
Sal shrugged. “Look on the bright side,” he said. “Maybe it will shake something loose. We could use a break.”
“There’s no bright side for Megan. This could get her killed if she’s still alive.”
“Shit.”
CHAPTER 20
W Spruce St., Tampa, Fl
Saturday 10 Mar 07 0830 hrs EST
More and more each day Tuffy got the feeling that his relationship with Sandy was fucked up. He’d been fighting that feeling from very early on when he and Sandy had first started hanging out together at school. She’d been, and accordingly still was, a year older than him; she’d turned eighteen a few weeks ago.
They’d first met when he was only thirteen just after he’d started the ninth grade at Jefferson High. The fact that he’d never noticed her before had always been a surprise for him since she lived only around a half mile away from his mother’s house and they had both attended Madison Middle School and West Tampa Elementary albeit one grade level apart at all times.
He’d first noticed her at a tryout for the school’s junior basketball team where his attention was drawn more toward the girls at the cheerleader tryouts which were taking place concurrently at the other end of the gym. By the end of the day he’d learned that a young, short Hispanic, who’d shown promise in middle school, had very little future in a high school filled with taller and much more athletic competitors. He’d also learned the name of the elfin Anglo cheerleader with the bleached-blonde—almost white—pixie cut who, as one of last year’s cheerleading team, was bouncing around demonstrating moves to this year’s crop of hopeful applicants.
Sandy—Sandy Jones—had been easy to talk to. Friendly and outgoing she’d responded brightly to his hesitant and stumbling overtures. Much to his surprise he’d come away with a date with the older girl notwithstanding that she had made no bones about the fact that she was already hooked-up with a boy from the eleventh grade.
The first date had been an eye-opener for Tuffy. They’d walked the almost two miles to the AMC to see a movie—Once Upon A Time In Mexico with Antonio Banderas—where she had handed him a condom. They had ended the night amongst the dense bushes next to the shed in her father’s backyard. She’d made no bones either about the fact that he wasn’t the first who’d been there with her nor that she had any intention of giving up her other boyfriend even though she certainly wanted to keep going out with Tuffy too. Over the next few months they’d hung out regularly at school, at the malls and around the street corners and continued to date and visit the bushes.
It was inevitable that there would be a confrontation between Tuffy and the older boy, a confrontation that went all Tuffy’s way once Tuffy’s boys ensured that the other guy’s friends didn’t interfere. The loser wasn’t gracious about it either, walking away with a: you might as well have her; everyone else has too.
The comment rankled Tuffy but he’d already come to understand that Sandy was a friendly sort and shortly after the fight he found out just how friendly. He’d known for some time that her mother had died of a fast moving cancer when she was nine and that she had been living alone with her father, a carpenter who had been unemployed for the last year and was living on disability benefits from an industrial accident. Sandy casually mentioned one day that within a year of her mother’s death her father had started visiting Sandy’s bedroom late at night. What had started as an infrequent event now happened on a regular weekly basis.
For Tuffy the information had brought confusion. Inherently he knew that what was going on was wrong but to Sandy the whole thing was just very matter of fact. She liked her father although she wasn’t sure that she loved him; a family kind of tolerant love maybe, but not a sexual love, for sure; that was pretty much one sided in her view. For her, sex had always been a multi-faceted recreational activity, not one signaling the creation of an exclusive monogamous relationship. Within Tuffy’s palomilla women weren’t equals; their protection and their status was a derivative of whoever they hooked up with. Until recently, while Tuffy was respected for his talents he didn’t hold high status. Nonetheless, she had been neither considered a frog or toss up for the gang, nor had she been beat or sexed in; although at some of the parties at times things got a little loose all around.
His confusion had lessened after the first few months as their own relationship continued and as Sandy continued to make light of the relationship with her father. By the time that she had first introduced them to each other, the confusion had almost been resolved. He knew that he liked his own relationship with her too much and that the prospect of it being an exclusive relationship was minimal. He actually got to like her father a bit and their respective roles in her life stayed buried between them by tacit consent.
That relationship had been going on now, without a crisis, for four years. While Sandy had drifted from him a few times in the early years, she had always come back to him and, without hesitation, he’d always taken her back. The last year there had been no one else, unless of course you counted her dad, but, as Tuffy grew older, he’d slowly come to realize that things were truly fucked up even if Sandy hadn’t come to that conclusion yet.
They were sitting on two patio lounge chairs on the front porch of her dad’s house drinking Millers for breakfast. Next to them, the car port—which usually held her dad’s 2002 Toyota—was empty. He’d been gone all night. While the front yard was more public than the back, the front had a nicer breeze and nicer trees and plants than the unkempt back. The buzz of the city’s Saturday traffic intruded intermittently from the nearby commercial roads and the I-275.
Sandy had been telling him how well things were going in her second semester of studying health sciences at the nearby Dale Mabry Campus of the Hillsborough Community College. She’d lucked in with her high school education grades and her dad’s disability so that a large part of her tuition and school expenses were paid by way of a partial scholarship, a grant and some financial aid. The fact that the campus was a short bike ride away meant she could live and eat at home and in the end, a little less than a thousand dollars was needed to cover her first year’s expenses.
In a mistake of one-upmanship, Tuffy had also shared with her his most recent accomplishments. Sandy had been less than impressed. Perhaps less than impressed wasn’t quite the right term for it; it was more like that she’d been surprised at the level to which Tuffy had risen. She had no illusions about Tuffy’s involvement in MQ-27 and in fact many of her friends over the years had been members or hangers on of the gang. The fact that she now had made new acquaintances in college didn’t change that. She still liked who she and Tuffy hung with and she knew what they all did for a living. Becoming a hit man, however, had given her some initial pause.
Tuffy had realized his mistake almost as soon as the words had come out of his mouth. It was conventional wisdom amongst the members of the raza that there were the girls and then there was the business and you just don’t talk business with the girls. The old man had been a huge proponent of that but then, in Tuffy’s eyes, the old man’s attitude about girls and women was severely compromised by the business he was in. On the other hand, the rule was broken a
lmost as much as it was followed and, as far as Sandy was concerned, she had shared everything about herself with Tuffy—much of it not pretty—and to this point he had never hesitated to share his life with his diminutive Anglo. Quite simply, he loved her.
“I don’t like this,” she said. “Drugs I don’t care about. If stupid people want to use drugs then one ought to make some money off them. But killing people and kidnapping girls. I don’t know.”
“They had to go,” he said and took a drink from his beer. “They were members of another gang in direct competition with us.”
“His wife and kids weren’t,” she shot back.
“The wife probably was too. As for the kids, well, they were witnesses that Adolfo couldn’t leave behind.”
“But you didn’t leave them behind. You gave them to Adolfo.”
“I didn’t give them; he took them all by himself.”
“But you knew what he’d do with them.”
“That’s better than killing them.” The whole argument sounded much weaker now than when he had convinced himself in the garage that the old man might have had a point when he said it would be a waste to kill the kids.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “If you two idiots had gotten your shit together before this then you should have been able to arrange something where only the guy would have been taken out.”
Tuffy resented her grouping him in with the old man as idiots but had to admit that she did have a point. The hit on the Lewises had been anything but professional. He sat back in his chair.
“Yeah. Well, I can’t argue with the fact that the old man’s plan sucked. That’s why his last task was to get rid of the girls and why I’m now doing his job. The good news is that the money’s gone up a lot.”
Money. It always turned to money. Money for Sandy’s schooling. Money for his mother and the rest of the family. Enough money so that they didn’t all have to live in neighborhoods that had bars on the doors and windows and where the drive-bys happened on a weekly basis.
“Yeah,” she said. “There is that.”
They sat quietly. The wind rustled the leaves in the palmettos beside the porch. He sensed that while she still wasn’t happy with things she was becoming accepting of the situation. Maybe with time . . .
Tuffy’s reverie was broken by the vibrations of the cell phone in the thigh pocket of his cargo shorts.
The call had come from Meraz who had told him to show up at his house immediately, given him the address and nothing further.
Tuffy was scared shitless. He’d never been called to Meraz’s house before and had never expected to be. In his haste to get there he had done something he’d never done before; called a taxi. He was surprised how short the drive had been. A quick trip south on N Himes and then west on W Swann until the end of the road. From here a short trip down S Westshore Blvd and then onto W Bay Way Drive, a subdivision that surprisingly wasn’t gated but was replete with neat manicured lawns and opulent plantings fronting Spanish-style McMansions and sprawling bungalows each with its own water frontage on Old Tampa Bay.
The cab pulled up in front of a broad white stucco bungalow with a gated forecourt. Before he had even finished paying for the ride, Meraz had come to the gate and stood waiting for him.
Tuffy walked up. “Jefe,” he said nodding his head toward Meraz. Much to Tuffy’s relief, Meraz clasped Tuffy’s right shoulder with his left hand and shook his hand with his right.
“It’s good of you to come so quickly,” he said. “We have a problem that needs you.” He propelled Tuffy through the forecourt, through the house’s massive wooden front door and into the marble covered foyer that led straight through into a great room with a high cathedral ceiling and twenty feet of glass sliding doors that overlooked a tiled pool and the waters of the bay beyond. To his right was an elaborate cherry wood kitchen with a white marble topped island against which Enrique Hernandez was leaning holding a short and wide crystal tumbler filled with ice and an amber drink. Like Meraz, Hernandez was sporting tan linen trousers and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt.
“Antonio,” he said holding out his hand to Tuffy. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s an honor, Jefe,” said Tuffy taking the hand.
“Would you like a drink? Bourbon?” Hernandez asked pointing at his own glass.
Tuffy had taken in at a glance that Meraz was not holding a drink but that another glass was sitting on the counter.” He wasn’t sure what the right protocol was at this point and decided that he’d let Meraz’s example point the way.
“Thank you, Jefe,” he said. “Bourbon and ice would be fine”
Hernandez poured the drink while Meraz gave Tuffy an almost imperceptible nod. Tuffy took the drink and made a mental note to nurse it.
Hernandez pointed Tuffy toward three white leather couches that were set in a U around a wrought iron and glass coffee table and facing the glass doors. They sat.
“We’ve got a problem with Herrera,” he said. “Have you read the morning paper?”
“No, Jefe,” he said noting in the back of his mind that the boss was using Alfonso’s last name rather than the more familiar first name or his nickname.
Hernandez reached down to the table and passed a copy of the Tampa Tribune to Tuffy and pointed out the column. “Here. Read here.”
Tuffy took the paper and read the indicated section:
Mystery of abducted Ocala girls continues
By Alonso Tejeda - Tribune Staff
March 10, 2007
OCALA - The autopsies of the grizzly, charred remains of two young girls discovered four days ago in a wooded area of the Ross Prairie State Forrest adjoining CR 484 ten miles southwest of Ocala have now been conducted. Investigators had believed these to be the remains of Megan Lewis, twelve, and her sister Emma Lewis, ten, missing since the murder of their parents James and Carlie Lewis at their home in Ocala on March 6th.
The bodies of the two girls were taken for autopsies to the District 5 Medical Examiner’s offices in Leesburg. Detectives from the Ocala Police Department and the Marion County’s Sheriff Office and special agents from the Army’s Criminal Investigation Command—who have all been conducting a joint investigation into the murders and abductions—fully expected that the bodies would be those of the two missing Lewis girls. Instead, sources close to the investigation who have asked to remain anonymous have said that while dental records of one of the victims have identified her as Emma Lewis, those of the second body did not match those of her sister Megan. In addition the physical characteristics of the second body were more in keeping with an eleven to thirteen-year-old African-American girl than a Caucasian one. Samples from each body have been sent for DNA identification and the results of those tests are still outstanding.
Representatives of the OPD, the MCSO and the CID declined to make any official statements with respect to the findings or the ongoing investigation. . . .
Tuffy scanned the rest of the article which was inconsequential. He had immediately understood the story’s import. The old man had been told to get rid of both girls and it appeared he had only done one. Where was the other and why would he show such disrespect to Hernandez? It seemed to be that the old man had a death wish. Tuffy turned his eyes first to one of the men then the other.
“I have read it, Jefe,” he said.
Hernandez didn’t respond but took back the paper and reviewed the article himself. The room sat in an uncomfortable silence throughout which Tuffy furiously attempted to marshal his thoughts.
“We have decided that Herrera has to go,” Hernandez said at last.
Tuffy nodded.
“Are you prepared to do this job?”
“Si, Jefe, I am,” replied Tuffy.
“Good,” said Hernandez with some finality. “I’ll leave it to you how to get this done.”
Tuffy nodded and paused for a few seconds and then said, “With respect, Jefe. I have several questions.”
Hernandez glanced at Mer
az before saying, “Go on.”
“Again, with respect,” Tuffy started. “I expect that you have considered the fact that while the story says that one of the girls was not one of the Lewis girls, that does not prove that Herrera didn’t in fact kill her and dispose of the body elsewhere.”
“You are correct Antonio,” said Meraz. “We did consider that.”
Tuffy continued, “Therefore I assume that your instructions about Herrera are based primarily on the fact that he failed to carry out your order to make the bodies disappear.”
“Go on,” said Meraz.
“What if Herrera did not kill her.” Tuffy said. “Why did he also kill and burn another girl if not in some simple way to try to make it look like both girls were dead? He did a bad job of it but I think that there is a possibility that he might have thought he’d get away with it and thereby keep the one girl alive for himself.”
Hernandez sat quietly and nodded slowly.
“What do you recommend?” he asked.
“That I expand your orders to also look into whether or not the girl remains alive. If dead then to ensure that her body is beyond recovery and if alive then to get rid of her as you ordered initially.”
Hernandez nodded again.
“Done,” he said. “Do it. Anything else?”
“Yes, Jefe. There is Herrera’s vieja. The woman is the muscle behind his puta operation. She’s the one who controls and manages the girls; collects the money, keeps them in line. Unfortunately she also loves Herrera and if I take him out she may become a problem for whoever takes over for Herrera. Unless of course you intend to use her to take things over. My question is this. To get to Herrera I may have to go through her. How far can I go? Do you have plans for her so that I must keep her safe or do I take her down too if I consider it necessary?”
Hernandez looked at Meraz who looked back and smiled. “Didn’t I tell you, Jefe,” Meraz said. “He’s a thinker.”