Chapter Nineteen

A long day of detailed investigative work had been followed by a late night of drowning their sorrows. Kristen’s death and her connection to the Deltone family had weighed mightily upon Jamie and Cookie, and they’d relieved the pressure the only way they knew how—at the helm of Marty’s bar.

Marty had been a bit heavy-handed with the pours.

Jamie woke up the next morning facedown on her bed with Deuce snoring loudly on the floor next to her. Her hair was a tangled mess of random strands sticking out every which way. She pushed it out of her face and glanced around the room. The room spun, and a touch of nausea washed over her, so she retreated to her pillow, facedown once again. After a few seconds, she tried again, more slowly this time, and when she looked toward her small living room, she saw Cookie scrunched up on the couch, his ass hanging halfway off the cushions. He could hit the floor at any moment. What the…

Tequila shots. It was all coming back now.

She remained on all fours while she gently slid off her mattress. Then she stood still for a few moments so the floor would stop moving. “Jose Cuervo is not your friend,” she muttered. Jamie took her sweet time in getting to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and cleaned up the hot mess that was her hair.

After pulling herself together, she walked over to Cookie, leaned over, and shook him firmly. “Cookie, wake up. I feel like crap, and it’s all your fault.”

Cookie’s breathing stuttered, but he didn’t move. She shook him with more force, her hands on his shoulders, rocking his entire upper body in an effort to jar him awake.

“Stop it, Jamie. I hate you right now.” Cookie’s voice was muffled by the couch cushion in which his face was buried.

“No, hate comes your way, Cookie. You’re the one who pushed the tequila shots.”

He tilted his head upward. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” His head plopped back down on the safety of the cushions. “And Marty wasn’t helping, either. His pours were heavier than a barbell.”

“Cookie.” She pushed his legs aside and sat on a tiny corner of the couch. “We need to talk about what I asked you to do last night.”

“Nothing happened last night,” Cookie joked. “I mean, I’m sorry. I don’t see you that way.”

She reached over and pinched his arm hard. “You should be so lucky.”

She then rested her arm on his leg, which took up most of the couch cushion. “Seriously, Cookie. You know what we need to do today.”

That did it. Cookie groaned and turned his body, which prompted Jamie to move off the couch. He sat up, mostly, revealing his Hawaiian shirt, which was a wrinkled flurry of flowers. His hair fared far better than hers. “I know what you want me to do, and I’m telling you that I don’t want to go.”

“I know, but I think it would be good for you. It isn’t his fault, you know.”

Cookie looked her in the eye for the first time. “If he had been a better friend, maybe Manny would still be alive.”

“There’s only so much one person can do,” Jamie replied. “You know that better than most people.”

Cookie brushed his hair to the side and rubbed the alcohol-fueled sleep from his eyes. “I haven’t seen him since the funeral.”

“I know he’s reached out to you, and you never responded.”

Cookie remained silent.

“I think it’s time,” Jamie continued. “You have to admit that he’s a solid lead. He can give us information on the Deltones and a read on what’s going on right now when it comes to family territories.”

Cookie remained on the couch, his gaze traveling past Jamie. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Let me get cleaned up, and then I’ll come back.”

“So you’ll do it?”

He nodded. “Okay. Let’s go see Albert.”

 

It had been almost two years since Jamie had last visited this neighborhood. Her dashboard clock told her it was almost lunchtime, and the sunlight streaming through her car windows proved bright and fierce. This particular area housed an eerie mix of hope and despair, much like the halls of most high schools. She glanced over at Cookie, who had been unusually quiet on the drive over. The combination of a fading hangover coupled with apprehension kept his mood more subdued than usual.

They sat in her Tahoe for a good fifteen minutes, deciding when the time would be right to walk up the steps to the neatly kept house with its fresh butterscotch-colored paint and mended fence. A new row of violet flowers had been planted by the front porch. Care had been taken there.

The neighbors seemed a bit out of place for the area, but that was precisely the point. Stepford wife starter home on the outside, but on the inside… not so much.

Jamie kept her eyes on the front door, and it opened. A Hispanic man emerged. He was bald and had full-sleeve tats on both arms, so colorful that she could see them clearly from her car window. His stare would have melted snow in Denver upon first glance.

Jamie remained still, watching him come closer. She rolled down the car window, her eyes studying him as he walked to her car. He rested his forearm on the open space. “If you’re doing surveillance, you suck at it.” Then he cracked a smile and extended his hand to her. “It’s good to see you, Jamie.”

She squeezed Albert’s hand then released it. “How’s it going, Albert? I wish I could say I’m here just to chat.”

“Mija, nobody ever comes here just to chat.”

He glanced at the passenger’s side. “Hey, Cookie.”

Cookie cleared his throat. “Hey” was all he offered in return.

Albert signaled to the house. “So, you want to come in?”

Jamie shook her head. “No, too many ears in there, I bet. How many kids you got right now?”

He smiled. “Four. Just got two brothers trying to break from gang life. We may need to send them farther north, though. They got people lookin’ for them. So here we are… hiding in the suburbs. At least our anonymous benefactor keeps us covered.”

“Anonymous benefactor?”

“Yeah. He makes sure we have everything we need.”

Jamie thought about a halfway house for gang members smack in the middle of this little neighborhood. “I don’t think anyone will look for you here.”

“The kids are good. They work hard—painting, fixing stuff, helping neighbors with projects.” He held his hand up. “All closely supervised, of course. I’m working on some job training for them in San Antonio. We’ve got several kids out of the life and living straight now. Sometimes we lose a few, but what can you do?”

“Must be tough.”

“Losing Manny was tough,” Cookie said.

“Yes, it was,” Albert replied. He seemed to consider saying more then looked at Jamie again. “So, you didn’t come to talk about the old days. Why are you hanging out in front of my place?”

Jamie explained how Boxer had kidnapped Marissa and planned on handing her over to Acuna thugs in exchange for business. Then she told him about finding Kristen with a two-dollar bill in her pocket.

“Wow, when you jump in it, you’re in it.”

Jamie nodded. “You know how it is. Sometimes you don’t go looking for trouble. It just finds you.”

“Girl, it’s got your address.” He looked down at the street. “So, what do you want from me?”

Jamie tapped her finger on her steering wheel. “Look, I know you still keep your eye on what’s going down in that world. You have to. I need you to tell me what you know about Marissa Deltone.”

Albert let out a low whistle. “Wow. You jump right in there, don’t you?”

Jamie nodded. “I helped her with something, and she owes me.”

“She’s the baby, but she’s tough, you know? You piss her off, and it’s lights out.” He then added, “But she follows the family code, makes a big deal about it on the street. No kids, no wives. Only one for one direct. The Deltones run things old school, and they’re not afraid to take out one of their own if they betray the family.”

Jamie had heard the rumor that the Deltone family had put a hit on one of its own, an uncle that wasn’t following the family creed. The guy hadn’t been seen in person for a couple of years. The official Deltone line was that Big Mike Deltone was running some business in Mexico City, but others on the fringe of the business speculated the fishes in the Gulf of Mexico had digested him long ago.

Albert knew more than he was telling. She knew it, and he knew she knew it. Keeping his pulse on the families meant keeping his own kids off the street. Keep your enemies closer and all that…

“I think my niece, Kristen, was involved with a guy named Ritchie. Does that name mean anything to you? Maybe Ritchie Mendoza?”

Albert rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I know him. The guy has a reputation for being a loose cannon sometimes, you know? Gets hot fast, jumps too quick at small stuff, not much discipline.”

“Who does he work for?”

“Right now, he works for the Deltones. Manages their street soldiers, the young kids coming up. I think he worked for a Jersey family a few years ago.”

“Why would the Deltones keep him if he can be a problem?”

“He’s a top enforcer. He gets results, keeps people in line. Plus, his grandfather was friends with Abuelo Deltone. Family courtesy.”

“You ever hear the name John Constantine?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think he runs with our group. Maybe his crew is north.”

“Here’s the thing,” Jamie said. “I need to talk with Marissa.”

Albert waved off her comment with both hands. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Word gets out that I’m talking…”

“Look,” Jamie reasoned. “We saved her ass from Boxer. She owes me.”

“And you owe me, Albert,” Cookie added.

Albert’s eyes locked with Cookie’s. He glanced down at the street then looked directly at Cookie. “All right, look. Marissa’s abuela is at St. Mark’s Senior Care in Corpus. She visits her every Sunday afternoon after church.”

Jamie wrinkled her brow. “Drug runners going to church?”

Albert shrugged. “Hey, we’re all sinners. God doesn’t grade on a curve, you know?”

A part of Jamie hoped Albert was wrong about that. Stealing from a grocery store and murdering a family shouldn’t get the same consideration in Heaven. That was her position, anyway.

“You didn’t hear it from me, right? I don’t need Marissa coming up here and putting my head in a vice.”

Jamie nodded. “You’re a good guy, Albert.”

He tapped the car door then stood up and pointed a finger at her. “Yeah, don’t be spreading that around.” He looked at Cookie. “You know, we named this place after Manny.”

“Too bad he isn’t around to see it,” Cookie replied.

“That’s why I’m doing what I do here. Manny was my best friend. You know that.”

“You should have been a better friend to him before he died, Albert.”

Jamie jumped in. “Cookie—”

Albert stopped her. “It’s okay, Jamie. He’s right. We were both in the life, and even though I thought about getting out, I didn’t have the courage to do it, not until Manny was gone.”

Cookie nodded, his face softening. “At least you admit it.”

Albert hung his head for a moment. “Manny was my friend, and I’d do anything to have a second shot. I know I failed him. And you.”

Jamie watched as Albert turned away from the car and walked up the steps back inside his suburban halfway house for wayward teenage gangbangers. She wondered what Manny might have become if there had been a place like that for him. Cookie looked out the window, and Jamie believed that he wondered the same thing. Manny’s death was the catalyst that helped others like him, and while it was a cold comfort, it would have to do.