Como Rico sat at the kitchen table, listening to the sounds of early morning traffic on Bridge Boulevard a block away. His wife was passed out in the bedroom after a sleepless night for both of them.
They had covered the living room window with plywood after bullets had shattered it two nights ago. His wife was convinced that the shooting was connected to Como’s job.
He wasn’t so sure. Their neighborhood had always been sketchy, neglected houses mixed in with nicely maintained properties. The shot-out window could have been the work of local toughs daring each other to try out automatic weapons.
We all die someday. Maybe his time was up. In his younger days he’d been a wild child. Neither he nor Zena had ever been church-goers. The Virgin would either take pity on them or deem them unworthy, leave them to their fates. It was too late to turn pious now.
The warehouse job had put food on the table and paid the bills, but he had to find another way to get by. Working for Sonny Para’s drug operation was going to get them killed. But the couple’s options seemed limited. Zena didn’t make much working as a teacher’s aide. His job applications had been rejected at both big chain operations and small stores, probably because he was old. And he was too weak for construction work.
This is it. I’m joining forces with Jason Gonzalez. Anything I learn at that warehouse, I’m passing it on. If they find out and kill me, then so be it.
The phone on the kitchen counter rang and he picked it up.
“Como?” Joe Tafoya’s voice made his hair stand on end.
“Si.”
“Be here at nine.” It was as if the man could read his mind.
“This morning?”
“Of course this morning.” Tafoya sputtered an obscenity before hanging up.
Como buried his face in his hands for a minute, then stood and pushed the chair against the table. He threw together a refried bean sandwich, stuck it in a plastic bread bag, and rounded up change for bus fare.
His wife still asleep, he tiptoed out the front door. On the sidewalk in front of the house, he looked at the boarded-up front window. If it was replaced, how long before it was shot out again? Maybe he would paint the plywood a similar color to the stucco, and leave it in place. In morning light, the neighborhood seemed benign. Birds chirruped, a dog barked, and the scent of frying bacon wafted from a nearby home.
He splurged on a bowl of menudo at a corner taqueria, then took a bus across the Rio Grande to Broadway Boulevard, and got off by Hemi Road.
When he arrived at the warehouse at nine, the front door was locked. He knocked, then walked to the gate to the back area. Joe Tafoya was in the rear lot with two men Como didn’t know. They all stood arguing by a large white SUV, their voices rising and falling.
He backed away from the fence but not before Tafoya saw him and gestured for him to go back to the front. Como memorized the license plate number from the SUV. The vehicle belonged to customers, suppliers or cronies of Tafoya’s, identities that would be useful to the authorities.
The front door clicked and swung out with a whoosh. Tafoya stood aside to let Como in. Eyes downcast, Como headed for the box where he kept a long-sleeve shirt, gloves, and protective mask.
“Wait.” Tafoya stalked after him. Blood chilling in his veins, Como turned to face the man.
“Si?” Como hunched like a dog about to be kicked. Coming to work had been a huge mistake. His house had been strafed by automatic weapons for a reason, maybe on Tafoya’s orders.
He feigned a neutral air, wondering if death would be quick, or slow and agonizing.
“You’re married, right? Your wife works at a school?” Tafoya stroked his chin as if pondering something.
“Si.” Como forced himself to meet the man’s gaze.
“She knew the Gonzalez couple who was killed? The ones who were in the news? I heard she went to their funeral.” Tafoya watched him closely.
“I don’t know.” Como’s throat constricted. “I don’t remember anyone like that.”
“You see a lot, working here. It worries me.” Tafoya looked him over. “No matter. It’s time to get busy.” He turned and headed for an office in a corner of the warehouse.
Como choked back bile as he stumbled through the motions of donning safety gear and repacking and boxing the candied drugs. Something was terribly wrong. As soon as he got home, he would call Jason Gonzalez and give him the SUV license number and a description of the men in the back lot. There had to be a way out of this. All he wanted was a safe place in the world for his wife and himself.
***
“He’s awake. Go right in.” The nurse ushered Cait and Jack into Clark Bush’s hospital room.
“Hey.” Cait forced a smile to cover her shock at the patient’s bandaged head and brutalized face. What wasn’t covered was mottled with reddish purple bruises. One eye was swollen shut. Stitches held together a long cut that ran from his top lip to the middle of a cheek. His right wrist and hand were splinted. The other hand rested on the sheet, age spots prominent against pale skin.
Clark lifted a hand and angled his head toward them.
Jack sat by the bed and touched Clark’s arm. “I’m so sorry. We’ll do everything we can to help you and your mom. Do you remember anything?”
Clark lisped through missing and broken teeth. “Someone knocked on the front door. Maybe it was Rod Stone. Don’t know.”
“Rest up, don’t worry. Fern’s in good shape and you both will heal up. Your friends are here for you.” Cait wished she felt as sanguine as her advice. She was sure Fern and Clark were victims of the evil, elusive man she had battled a year ago: Jerry Fleming, an ex-anthropology professor from the University of New Mexico. Using the alias of Rod Stone and running a new con game, he had drained Fern of her retirement funds. Once Stone realized Fern and Clark posed a problem, the scammer had tried to kill the two to keep them from trying to recapture Fern’s money.
Clark’s eyes flicked from Cait to Jack. He seemed to draw strength from their presence. Half-listening to Jack and Clark talk, Cait thought about what Detective Bison had said about the bank where Stone had deposited Fern’s check. The bank insisted that Fern Bush had willingly given the money to their customer, that she was not an abused or defrauded elder, and that she had merely had a change of heart about an investment. Bank lawyers pointed out that the fine print of Fleming’s investment contract stated that customer accounts were not liquid and that funds could be lost.
“But he’s wanted for murder and attempted murder. He’s running from the FBI as well as state and local authorities,” Cait had protested to Bison. “That bank knew he wasn’t registered with the Securities and Exchange Commission. He’s clearly a scam artist.”
“They don’t have a leg to stand on. They have to turn over all of his account information. Whatever’s in the account will be absconded by the feds. Fern Bush will have to join the IRS and everyone who might have a claim on that money.” Bison had thumped a fist on his desk for emphasis.
“That’s not fair. She’s the victim of a con man.”
“We’ll try to build a case that she was defrauded, because Rod Stone isn’t a legitimate financial planner. The lady should find herself a good attorney.” Bison had promised to keep her and Jack updated on anything involving Rod Stone.
Now Cait stifled a yawn as lack of sleep caught up with her. Clark’s nurse reentered the room and shooed them out. “The patient needs to rest.”
“We’ll check up on you later,” Jack told Clark. “Don’t worry, we’ve got your back.”
As they headed back down to the hospital lobby, Cait asked Jack about the situation with his parents. Last night when he had talked to Julius, he had been annoyed to hear that his brother had left their parents in the care of friends who were most likely members of the Lobos Negros gang.
“I’m not sure what to do,” he said. “If it wasn’t for the Bushes, I’d head back to Albuquerque and stay with them. It makes me queasy to think that Sonny Para might go after my parents in order to get back at me.”
“You go back. I’ll stay in Tucson and see what I can do for Fern and Clark.”
Jack compressed his lips. “I’ll do that. Julius means well, but I don’t trust his friends. But first I want to talk to him face to face before his casino show tonight.”