Fern Bush put down her book and hurried toward the front door, wondering who was calling. Her longtime neighbors had mostly moved or passed away, replaced by people who never waved when she took her daily walk. She felt isolated and alone as they sped past in expensive vehicles to and from their bespoke homes.
The person ringing the doorbell wasn’t a neighbor. Rod Stone grinned and held out a bunch of tulips.
“I didn’t know you were coming. How nice.” Fern accepted the flowers and held the door for him. “Won’t you come in?”
He wore a gray suit, pale blue shirt, and black Gucci loafers, and carried a thin black briefcase. “I was nearby seeing another client, and thought I’d stop by.”
He strode past her and stopped in the living room. “You’ve got a real nice house here,” he said, looking through the picture windows at the Catalina mountains.
“Would you like something to drink?” She thought about calling her bank to find out if the funds from the mutual fund sales had been deposited in her checking account.
“I’m fine,” Rod said. He picked up a framed photo on an end table. “That’s your husband Sam and . . . “
“My son Clark. That was taken ten years ago when we went to the Grand Canyon. Before Sam passed on.”
“How is Clark doing?” he asked. “He lives out of state, I recall.”
“He’s doing fine. He’s actually coming down from Albuquerque.”
“Really.” Rod looked interested. “Is he coming for any particular reason?”
Fern’s face felt hot. Clark had quizzed her about Rod Stone’s investment proposal, and she had resisted what she perceived as her son’s prying. She picked up a magazine from the coffee table and fanned herself.
“He likes to keep tabs on his mom.”
“You had said you were selling stocks to fund your new portfolio. I wanted to remind you the deadline is coming up to invest in the new round of loans. If you can get me a check this Friday, I’ll make sure you’re in. Then you can start earning good interest.” He smiled, eyes riveted on hers.
Fern looked away. She felt embarrassed she couldn’t write a check right then and there. “I’ll have to stop by my bank.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed her threadbare carpet and out-of-style furnishings.
Stone brushed a hand over short silver hair. “I should tell you about another of our investments that’s been a lifesaver for some of our retired clients. It’s similar to a reverse mortgage, where you get monthly payments based on your home’s worth. This beautiful place could earn you quite a payout, I’d say. The income is pegged to the market value of your home, so as long as you maintain it and local real estate continues to do well, your payments will remain at a certain level. Should the market or the value of your house fall, payments could be somewhat reduced.”
“That sounds good. Although I’m more interested in the loans you talked about.” Fern hoped to replace the aging roof and unreliable AC unit before summer’s triple digit heat and wild monsoon storms descended on Tucson.
“Do you have time now to go over paperwork?” Rod asked.
“Sure, why not? Have a seat.”
Fern sat on a chintz flower-patterned couch. Stone drew up an arm chair near her and put on a pair of reading glasses.
“It’s very simple,” he said. “Some pages to fill out. A month later, you start receiving payments.”
“Can you leave it for me to look over?” Fern asked.
“I don’t know that you would get much out of it,” he said, looking at her over his glasses. “It would put you to sleep. I can summarize it for you, if you want to get into the program.” He put on reading glasses. “Would you like to sign up?”
“Let me think about it.” Fern felt a headache coming on. Rod Stone had a way of talking down to her. She wished she could talk about all this to Sam. He had been careful and methodical with financial matters, and always knew the right questions to ask.
“Ok then, I better get to my next appointment. We’ll deal with this later.” Stone put the paperwork back in his briefcase and stood. At six feet, he towered above Fern, who felt a little uncomfortable.
“Please call me if you have any questions. Don’t delay, or you’ll miss out on all that interest.”
“Thanks again for the flowers.” Fern accompanied him to the front door. “Who is your client in the neighborhood?”
“Lovely day.” He ignored her question and headed out. She watched him drive off in a late model Lexus, curious about the client who lived in the area. Probably someone who could afford one of the big, fancy custom homes that were always sprouting up.
***
Alfredo Costa listened impassively as Jason Gonzalez spilled out his story. How he’d joined Los Brutos in his last year of high school, and had witnessed the murders of two rival gang members.
The pair had been shot execution-style by two hardline Los Brutos members, who later disappeared themselves. The bodies were left in a vacant field out on the West Mesa, in the same area where police had uncovered bodies of missing women years ago. The killers didn’t bother burying their victims, who were left where they would be quickly spotted. The killings would be splashed all over the news, terrorizing residents of the Duke City, especially those who knew about Los Brutos.
Costa knew the gang wouldn’t release Jason from its clutches. Once you’re in, you’re in for life, unless you die.
Now tears welled up in Jason’s eyes as he sat in Costa’s living room and described the threat from Sonny Para. How he’d found his parents dead in the kitchen of their taco shop.
“Why didn’t you go to the cops?” Alfredo asked.
“I did. I’d been meeting with two detectives. I told them about the guys Los Brutos killed, everything I knew about Para, which unfortunately wasn’t a lot. After my parents died, I got out of there. Then I heard what happened to those cops.” Jason looked down at his hands. “You don’t understand.”
“I do understand,” Alfredo said. “You kill a snake by cutting off its head. I joined a gang when I was young. It wasn’t easy getting away from them. So I’ve been there. Running solves nothing. What we are going to do is set a trap for these guys. Your aunt,” he looked Mirabel, “will be safe staying in my home with my wife. Jason, you and I will go back to her house and take care of any troublemaker who shows up.”
Jason’s eyes grew wide. He goggled at Alfredo Costa, a bulldog of a man with short grizzled hair and severe eyes. “We’re going to shoot them?”
Costa looked charged up. “Maybe, maybe not. We could hold them for the cops. I’ve got some buddies on the force.”
Mirabel had kept silent until now. She clucked her tongue and waved a hand. “What if these guys get the better of you? They sound cutthroat.”
“They don’t know we’re on to them,” Alfredo said. “They think Jason is staying in your house, and they’ll be back. Trust me.”
“I don’t know.” Mirabel held her hands over her cheeks. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I’m sorry,” Jason said to her. “I should never have put you in this situation.”
“What’s done is done,” Alfredo said. He unlocked a door to a closet that held a large gun safe. “First things first. What kind of gun are you most comfortable with?”
“Not sure.” Jason admitted.
“It’s time you found out. Come take a look.”