Late that night, Jack lay awake in his parents’ guest room. His casted arm itched and he couldn’t get comfortable. He missed Cait, wished he could hold her and reassure her. Talk about what was tying him up in knots. Since the bomb in his apartment, he’d never felt so washed up and ineffective. Now he faced each day with apprehension instead of optimism. He kept rehashing the past and felt defeated in the present. Cait’s custom turquoise wedding ring, which he’d kept in a drawer in his condo, had been vaporized in the blast.
But it wasn’t a simple matter of lost possessions that could be replaced. His confidence in himself and his belief that things always worked out for the better had been blown to smithereens.
His inner critic kept telling him that if he’d been a smarter cop, he might have anticipated Sonny Para taking revenge. His partner Russell Connor might still be alive.
He threw back the down quilt, padded barefoot across a cold floor and tilted the blinds. His breath fogged the window glass. Outside a hard freeze muted night sounds. No dogs barked. The street out front was quiet.
Jack stared into the backyard darkness. The new fence might keep intruders off the property, but it wouldn’t repel bullets. Or stop Sonny Para and his goons from skulking around the neighborhood.
He felt cut off from APD investigations into Para and his operations. Each time he called his supervisor, Captain Mac Spitzer, he had been told to take it easy and not worry about things. “You’ve been through a lot. Heal up so you can come back a hundred percent,” Mac would say, or something to that effect.
Jack had wanted to reach through the phone line, grab the captain and shake him. “I’m fine, just tell me what the holy hell is going on. Why are you keeping me in the dark?”
The reality was that if Spitzer was closing in on Para, he would of necessity keep Jack out of the loop. He was still on leave because of his injury and because Para had sworn to get Jack Gallegos. He was a liability instead of an asset now in the effort to incarcerate the man who called himself El Tigre.
As he turned from the window, his cell vibrated and rotated in a circle on the nightstand.
He hesitated to answer, not recognizing the number with a 505 area code from New Mexico. “Yeah?”
“Detective Gallegos?”
He almost dropped the phone. “Jason! Are you ok?”
“So far.”
Jack waited, biting back questions.
“How did Para find me in Tucson?” Jason’s tone was accusatory. “Did you set them on me?”
“No way. I’m not exactly an amigo of Para’s. He tried to kill me.” Jack didn’t mention the tracking device under Cait’s Jeep. What if Jason was being forced to try and get information out of Jack?
“I heard about the bomb in your apartment.”
“Someone came after us with automatic weapons in Tucson. This happened after you were shot at by that hotel.” Jack decided to tell Jason. “We found a bug under our vehicle a few days ago. They followed us from Albuquerque and must have seen you. I’m sorry.”
“Huh. So you’re still in Tucson?”
“Not anymore. You’re back in New Mexico?” Jack hesitated to reveal where he was. Again, maybe Jason had been coerced to call.
“I can’t say. I’d like to trust you, but how do I know they’re not bugging your phone?”
“Tell you what, I’ll get a disposable phone and call you. How’s that?”
“I’d feel better. So you’ll call me soon?” Jason couldn’t hide his anxiety.
“In the morning.”
“Talk to you later.”
Back in bed, he sifted through what little he knew about Sonny Para. The man ran an airtight operation, off the radar from the usual snitches and informants relied on by Albuquerque police. Information was scarce because of Para’s reputation for swift retribution. He was known for acting first and asking questions later when it came to those he suspected of turning on him.
Jack could only hope that Jason Gonzalez was not playing him for a fool. Before his parents had been murdered, Jason had said he knew someone who worked for Para and might be willing to talk to the police.
Sleep descended for a few hours until he was roused by the noise of semi drivers using jake brakes a few blocks away on Second Street. He dressed and joined his parents in the kitchen.
“You sleep ok?” Lorena handed him a steaming mug fresh from the fancy machine Jack had bought to replace his parents’ ancient Mr. Coffee percolator.
“Fine. How about you?”
“Like a log. That fence gives me confidence.” She smiled at him. “Thank you, mihiyo.”
Jack dipped his head and stirred his coffee. No way could he admit his fear they were still sitting ducks in Sonny Para’s shooting gallery.
His father skimmed the morning paper and grumbled. “They predict more drought this year. I wish we could still use the old acequia that runs behind our place. Divert a little water from the Rio Grande like everyone used to do. Water’s getting expensive.” His father tended peach and pecan trees and a vegetable garden in the large backyard. The Gallegos parcel butted up against an old dirt channel that ran to the river but was now blocked off. The channel was city right-of-way and served as a storm drainage ditch, but neighbors still cleared it of weeds and trash each spring.
Jack hurried out of the house after breakfast and bought a cheap cell phone at a chain drug store. He activated the phone, sat in his SUV and called Jason Gonzalez.
Jason picked up after a few rings. “So where are you?”
“I’m back in Albuquerque.” Jack knew he had to be honest in order for Jason to trust him. “What about you?”
Jason was quiet for a moment. “Me too.”
“We both want the same thing,” Jack said. “To take down Sonny Para. Right?”
“I know a guy who’s real scared. He worked for Para at a warehouse, but someone shot up his home. He wants to talk to you, but he’s afraid that if cops show up at the warehouse, Para will suspect him.”
“Can I meet with him?” Jack hunched forward, neck and shoulder muscles tensing.
“I’ll ask. Like I said, he’s scared. I don’t want him or his wife to get hurt, so you have to promise me you’ll help them.” Jason’s voice turned hard-edged. “I know police sometimes hang snitches out to dry.”
“That’s not how I work. I don’t burn people.” Jack raised his free hand, fingers spread.
“This guy worked for Para, so you could bust him, charge him with being part of a drug operation.”
“If he’s honest with me, I’ll put in a good word for him. I can’t promise he won’t face any charges. But I’m not going after small timers. I want to put killers behind bars, like Para and his executioners.”
“What do we do?” Jason’s voice softened.
“Let’s meet somewhere. Thai Buffet on Montgomery, say around one today? And bring your friend?” Jack realized how tense he was, forced a deep breath.
“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.” With that, the call was over.
Jack breathed out sharply. Getting involved in the Para case while he was on leave was against the rules. APD’s internal affairs office could recommend he be suspended or fired for willfully ignoring department procedure. He might be running into a trap or sabotaging undercover operations. But Jason Gonzalez had been his source. Jack felt responsible for what had happened to Jason’s parents. Back then, he had told only a few people in the APD and the DA’s office about Jason. And as much as he hated to rely on hunches or guesses, he suspected his comments to the wrong person had resulted in the deaths of Barco and Letitia Gonzalez.
***
Jack arrived ten minutes early at the Thai Buffet. In a booth with a view of the street and parking lot, he sipped green tea and tried to relax. There was nothing he could do if Jason and his friend failed to show.
After half an hour, he figured they weren’t coming. As he rose to leave, he caught the eye of two men who entered the restaurant. One was Jason Gonzalez. He hadn’t seen them come through the parking lot.
Jack sat back down and Jason headed toward him. The other man faltered and looked as if he might turn and run.
The two slid into the booth across from Jack. He put his hands on the table and looked from one to the other.
“This is Jack.” Jason looked at his companion, who sat stiff and unsmiling.
Jack tried not to stare. It was apparent the older man didn’t want to be introduced.
“I thank you for coming here. I know this is difficult for you, but I promise to do everything I can to keep you and your family safe,” Jack said.
“You’re a cop?” The man still looked ready to bolt. He hadn’t shaved in days. His face was sallow and his eyes were ringed with dark circles.
“A detective with Albuquerque police. I think Jason told you my goal is to put Sonny Para and his top people behind bars. I bet you’d like that too. Any guidance you can provide to that end, I’d appreciate.”
The older man regarded Jack for a minute, then held out his hand. “How do you do?”
Jack shook his hand. “Thank you. If you help me, I’ll help you.”
The man assessed Jack with hooded eyes. “I work for Sonny. At least until a few days ago. They haven’t called me back. My wife and I don’t feel safe in our home, but where else can we go?” His voice sank to a whisper as he revealed what he did at the warehouse, the precautions he used so he wouldn’t accidentally touch fentanyl-laced candies or breathe in residue when repacking them. He described the men he had seen on his last day on the job, including the license plate number of the SUV behind the building.
Jack was stunned by what he was hearing. He committed everything to memory, afraid note-taking might cause the visitor to clam up. The nameless man was an unbelievable score: a behind-the-scenes witness to Para’s Albuquerque drug pipeline.
“How did you happen onto this job?” He couldn’t picture this soft-spoken elder rubbing elbows with killers.
“It’s a long story. I know the family of Joe Tafoya, the guy who runs Para’s warehouse. He heard I was looking for work and called me. Turns out once you’re in that job, it’s a one-way trip. You know too much to quit.”
“What days are shipments dropped off and picked up?” Jack tried hard to conceal his excitement.
“Deliveries come maybe once a week, sometimes more. Trucks arrive with different plates, some from Texas, others from New Mexico or Arizona. I’ve seen plates from Sonora. Tafoya calls me and I come in. Then I work until everything’s bagged and re-boxed, sometimes real late. Then a different truck and driver picks it all up. I never talk to drivers, so I don’t know where they take it. Unless I happen to overhear something.”
“Sonora, Mexico?” Jack assumed the drugs crossed the border at main crossings, well hidden inside cargo like produce or car parts.
The man bobbed his head. “Some even come from California.”
“Do the California trucks come from big ports like Long Beach or LA?”
“Don’t know. I don’t ask questions, just keep busy.” The man added that Sonny Para showed up every week and closeted himself in an office with Tafoya.
“How long have you worked there?”
“About five months. Pretty soon they’ll get rid of me because of what I’ve seen.” The man shifted in his seat. “Senor, now I have some questions for you. Am I going to be arrested? Is Para going to know I’m a snitch?” The man’s eyes were large and dark, his face pinched and haggard.
“He won’t know how we came across the warehouse or learned about his drug business. Although he could suspect you. He’s a suspicious type. Can you and your family go out of town or stay somewhere else for a while?” Jack was afraid this brave man, whoever he was, was in peril; if the warehouse was raided, Sonny Para would go after anyone and everyone who could have burned him. There was no way Jack could protect this informant. He couldn’t offer the safety of a witness protection program and whisk the man and his family into a safe house. Only the feds could do that. And federal protection sometimes failed.
“It’s just my wife and me. I don’t know what we’ll do. We don’t have money to travel.” The older man’s bleak words lingered like smoke.
His eyes locked onto Jack’s. “Sometimes a well-dressed man shows up and goes into the office with Tafoya. Older white guy, short hair. Looked like policia to me. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. How do you know which cops to trust?”
Good question, Jack thought. One he didn’t have a ready answer for.