Adios Angel (19 page)

“
Pull
in that alley over there,” ordered Jimmie Joe.

Ángel took a
right, then a left and pulled the pickup truck into the alleyway that ran
behind the Morenci Credit Union.  Both men, on high alert, kept an eye out for
anything unusual.  For the most part the small road was full of cars and
trucks.  Anyone looking for a parking spot at this hour would be looking
elsewhere.  These prime spots would have been taken hours ago.  Ángel glanced
at his watch. It was twenty two minutes past midnight.  So far everything was
right on schedule. 

“Luck is
with us, amigo,” said Jimmie Joe.  “Look.”

Using his
ugly, deformed hand Jimmie Joe pointed out a small drive to a loading dock.  It
was posted with a no parking sign.  It couldn’t have been more perfect for
their needs.  It was an easy in and out. There was no way someone could
accidentally block them in.  Even more than that they could back in and use the
back of the pickup to grab onto the fire escape ladder.  From there they could
easily reach the rooftop of the buildings. Ángel maneuvered the truck into the
small driveway, put it into park and shut it off.  He double checked to see if
the second set of keys he had made were under the mat. It was a precaution his
grandfather had taught him in case he lost his keys.  Without a word Jimmie Joe
hopped out of the truck and did a quick reconnaissance of the alley. He briefly
checked each car and truck to make sure someone wasn’t passed out drunk in it
or sitting and waiting for someone.  It took less than five minutes to check
everything out. In the meantime Ángel double checked the gear. Jimmie Joe’s
flak jacket, double holsters and handguns were where he had stashed them.  The
crow bar was under the seat, easy to grab.  Ángel checked the access.  Under
his feet were two canvas bags to carry the loot.  Last, he reached into the
pouch in his pants where his trusty .22 was ready for action.  Oddly, the
little peashooter as Jimmie Joe called it, gave him the most comfort.

“We’re all
set to go. You ready?”

All Ángel
could think about was the money, Juanita and the beach in Mexico.  Jimmie Joe
shook him by the shoulder.

“Pay
attention, amigo.  This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.  Don’t you dare
fucking blow this for me.”

Ángel
snapped to attention. He grabbed the canvas bags and the crow bar. “Don’t worry
about me, Jimmie Joe.  I am ready to be a rich man.”

The ugly
hand pointed to the fire escape ladder.  “Señorita first.”  Ángel shot Jimmie
Joe an angry look.  “It’s only a joke,” said Jimmie Joe.  “Don’t get your
panties in a bunch now.  We’ve got serious business to attend to.”

Ángel
scooted up the fire escape ladder with Jimmie Joe close on his heels.  Little
did Ángel know that Jimmie Joe wanted him to go first in case there was a guard
on the roof.  If that were the cas,e Ángel would take the bullet.  The music
from the street dance was suddenly louder on the angled roof top.  Ángel
glanced across the tops of the buildings to make sure no one had decided to
watch the street party or listen to the music from up there.  It was clear.

“Move it.  Rápido.”

Ángel
scooted low on the roof top.  Jimmie Joe also kept low.  Ángel knew precisely
when they were on top of the credit union.  It looked exactly as Jimmie Joe had
drawn it out in his notebook.   At the center of the building was the air
conditioning unit.  Next to it was the grate-covered air exchange vent that led
directly to the vault.  Next to that was the trap door, their first choice of
entry.  Jimmie Joe jammed the crow bar hard into the edge of the trap door.  It
banged hard against cement.  Someone had sealed it off from the inside.  A
couple of hard whacks and a few curse words later it became obvious that
entering by the trap door was not going to happen.  Ángel remembered all the
times Jimmie Joe spent lifting weights in the prison yard.  He would need
dynamite instead of brute strength to get through the trap door.

“Plan B. 
You go in through the vent,” said Jimmie Joe reaching inside his vest and
grabbing a can of WD-40.  “Strip to your undies and close your eyes.”

“No,” said Ángel. 
“I can make it through there without that stuff on me.”

Jimmie Joe
hesitated, stunned momentarily by Ángel’s defiance.  He looked at the opening,
at Ángel.  He smiled.

“You are a
fucking crazy fuck.  I like that.  Okay, go on, but you had better squeeze your
skinny ass through there without any trouble.”

In the
street below, Geronimo’s Cadillac was playing a tribute to Paul Revere and the
Raiders.  The song
Kicks
came through the air.  The words kicks just
keep getting harder to find caused Jimmie Joe to chuckle and comment, “Ain’t
that the truth?”  Ángel didn’t know what the crazy devil was even talking
about.

This time
Jimmie Joe yanked so hard against the grate that he stumbled backward as it
came off easily.  He slid it aside and ordered Ángel into the opening.  Ángel
slipped through the opening and quickly found himself in the crawl space.  He
lifted a single vent and stepped down onto the top of the old safe.  It creaked
under his weight.  Jumping to the floor he eyed the vault. Would it open as
easily as Jimmie Joe had promised?  Ángel tugged hard.  Nothing.  He tugged
again.  The door seemed to come a bit loose.   One last time he pulled at the
handle with all he had.  This time it was his turn to be surprised as the door
flew open and Ángel stumbled backward.  He regained his footing and stared into
the open safe.  It held his dreams of freedom and the rich man’s life.

“What’s
going on down there?” Jimmie Joe’s voice echoing through the ventilation system
seemed to be coming from a million miles away.

Ángel walked
over to the vent and in a whispering shout said, “I’m in.”

“Hurry the
fuck up.”

Ángel jammed
the stacks of money into the two bags.  Each bag was about the same size when
the stacks of bills were in them.  Ángel was surprised that they were as small
as they were.  Maybe there was less money than Jimmie Joe had promised.  He
jumped back onto the top of the safe after yanking the bags tightly shut.  He
tossed them into the ventilator shaft and crawled up after them.  He made his
way to the shaft.

“Jimmie
Joe.”

“Toss up the
money bags.”

For a brief
second Ángel considered that Jimmie Joe might take the money and run.  He
tossed up one bag and quickly hooked the drawstring on the second bag tightly
around his ankle.

“Where is
the other bag?”

“I had to
tie it to my ankle.  Now hand me the crow bar.”

Jimmie Joe
stuck it down the shaft and pulled Ángel to safety.

“Let’s get
the hell out of here,” said Ángel.

Keeping low,
the pair scooted across the building tops and down the fire escape to their
truck.  Three minutes later they were past the outskirts of Morenci and on the
road to freedom.

The rodeo
had turned out far better than Kate expected.  The rodeo clowns were even
funnier than Eskadi had described.  There was hardly a single event that didn’t
have the crowd on its feet cheering, whistling, making noise and just generally
having a great time.  At the end of the night things took an exhilarating turn
as Eskadi whispered in her ear. 

“Why don’t
you spend the night with me?”

Kate’s words
came without hesitation.  “I was waiting for your invitation.”

Eskadi’s
gentle touch had returned.  His edgy jealousy seemed a distant memory.

Kate was
deep asleep in Eskadi’s arms when her slumber was broken by the ringing of her
cell phone.  It was Sheriff Hanks.

“Did I wake
you?” he asked gruffly.

Kate reached
over and ran her hand over Eskadi’s broad back and shoulders.

“Yes.”

Kate looked
at the clock.  It was nearly nine.  She had not slept this late in years.

“What’s
going on?”

“Did you go
to the rodeo up in Morenci last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see
anything funny?  Was anyone acting suspiciously?”

“The clowns
were funny.  I didn’t see anything suspicious.  What’s this about?”

“I just got
a call from the Morenci PD.  There was one hell of a robbery up there last
night.  Maybe a million or more bucks was taken,” said the sheriff.

“A million
dollars?  What’s that kind of cash doing in Morenci?  A rodeo doesn’t bring in
that kind of money.”

Sheriff
Hanks explained the profit sharing money and rodeo prize money totaled over four
million dollars.  The local police had asked for their assistance.  He wanted
her to meet him in Morenci right away.   She said she would be there ASAP.

“Somebody
stole a million dollars from the credit union in Morenci?” asked Eskadi wiping the
sleep from his eyes.  “That greedy corporation has too much money.  Maybe they
should learn to share their wealth.”

“They were. 
It was profit sharing money for the workers.  I’ve got to run. I don’t know
when I’ll be back.  I’m meeting Sheriff Hanks in Morenci.”

Kate got
dressed, pulled her long hair into a ponytail, kissed Eskadi goodbye and headed
out the door.  Zeb was standing inside the credit union’s walk-in vault when
she arrived.  He introduced her to Morenci’s finest.

“They’re a
hundred percent certain it was an inside job,” said Sheriff Hanks.  “The
robbers came in through the roof, then through a grate-covered air vent that
runs through a crawl space just above the safe.  The safe itself is over a
hundred years old.  It has a heavy door but the lock mechanism is faulty.  One
good hard tug opened it.”

“Why did
they have a safe with a faulty locking mechanism?” asked Deputy Steele.

“No one
wants to answer that question.  Everyone possibly in charge of fixing keeps
pointing the finger at the next guy.”

One of the
Morenci policemen took Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele to the roof and ran them
through the presumed order of events.  As far as the local police knew no one
had seen or heard anything.  They believed the robbers came after midnight but
before five in the morning.  The street music was so loud that the two guards
posted inside the building didn’t hear anything.  The music continued on until
almost three a.m.  The money was mostly in unmarked twenties, fifties and
hundreds.  The vault also contained safe deposit boxes, none of which were
touched.  Most of the stolen cash was the bonus money promised to the copper
miners.  The rodeo prize money had also been stolen.  By the time the FBI
agents arrived from Tucson it appeared like the perfect crime had been
committed. 

Hours later
Sheriff Hanks and Deputy Steele returned to their Safford office in time to see
Father Ortiz exiting their jail.

“Father
Ortiz,” said the sheriff.  “Bringing the word of the Lord to our prisoner?”

“Yes,
Sheriff Hanks.  I was offering him a temporary cleansing of his troubled soul,”
replied the priest.

“I know you
can’t discuss anything he told you in confidence,” said Sheriff Hanks.  “But is
there anything we should talk to him about?  Anything we can do to make the load
he is carrying a little lighter?”

“He seems to
trust you.  He has wanted for some time now to tell you what he knows.   He
hasn’t because he has been afraid.  I think his mind is clearer now.”  Sheriff
Hanks thanked the priest.  “My vows of silence won’t allow me to tell you
anything he told me, but I would highly suggest you get in there and talk to
him on the double.”

The men
shook hands. Zeb once again thanked the priest who parted with an ominous
warning.

“Please
hurry.  But not only for the sake of the old man.”

Zeb hustled
past Helen who seemed to know already what was going on.  “I think Mr. Madrigal
confessed to Father Ortiz.   If I know how Catholics think, now that Mr.
Madrigal has made his peace, he is ready to talk to you.”

Zeb’s mind
was spinning. He glanced through the glass partition in the door leading to the
cells. Where should he begin?  He knew the old man loved the rodeo.  Talking
about all the action at the rodeo might ease Felipe’s mind and get him
talking.  The look on the old man’s face, as he knelt beside his bed praying
the rosary, told the sheriff something very heavy was weighing on his mind. 
Felipe Madrigal carried a look of life and death in his eyes.  Sheriff Hanks
wondered whose life it was that Felipe was worried about.  

Zeb removed
his weapon from his holster, took off his hat, tugged at his pants and took a
deep breath as he walked into the jail cell.  Sheriff Hanks momentarily kept a
respectful distance as Felipe continued to pray.  When he finished, he made the
sign of the cross, turned and began to speak.

“Señor
Sheriff, I have done some bad things.  Because of these bad things my grandson
may die.  I was only trying to protect him.  But I have done something very
terrible.”

“Felipe,
please slow down.  Tell me how you got into this mess to begin with?” asked
Sheriff Hanks.

 “This
diablo gringo, he comes to my house.  I don’t know him.  I never even see him
before.  But he says he is a friend of my grandson, Ángel.  So I invite him
into my house.  I give him a cup of coffee, and he tells me he knows my
grandson from in the Florence Junction prison.”

“Why was
your grandson in prison?”

“My
grandson, Ángel, he ges the diablo inside when he drinks,” said Felipe.  “He
ges drunk and steals cars.  I’m ashamed because I teach him to drive…and I give
him his first drink.  I thought one little beer wouldn’t hurt him. But he no
can handle liquor.  He’s no bad boy.  See, this is his picture.”

Felipe
handed the picture of the girlish looking young man to Sheriff Hanks.

“So I look
at this diablo blanco grande who knows my grandson in the Florence Junction
prison, and I know there is trouble.  I don’t know what happens in prison.  But
I hear bad stories.  I think Ángel is in big trouble because this man look very
mean.  He look crazy in the eyes.”

“Why did he
come to your house?  Did he have a message from your grandson?”

“Sí, sí! 
That is what he said.  The big man said…”

“Did this
friend of your grandson have a name, Felipe?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

“His name
was James.  Señor James Walker.”

“What
message did he bring?”

“He told me
Ángel wants to come and visit me.  But first Ángel has job to do.  Señor Walker
says when you get out of prison they make you have a job to go to.  He said
when Ángel ges a day off from his job he will come and visit me right away. 
But when I ask where he is working, the big man does not know.  So I ask him if
he knows my Ángel like such good friends, how come he don’t know where he
works.” 

“Did he give
you an answer?

“No, no, he
just ges very mad at me.  He don’t explain nothing.  He ges real mad and says I
don’t do what he wants I would never see Ángel again.  He said he would kill
him, shoot him in the head with big gun.  Then he pulled out big gun and point
it at me.  Then he ask me for piece of paper.  I give it to him.  He write down
that note about bombing.  He make me read it to him to make sure I get it
right.”

“Señor James
Walker wrote the note?” asked Delbert.

“Sí, it is
true.  He tells me to call sheriff’s office at 8:30 exactly and tell them I
plant a bomb at high school and it will explode at 9:00 a.m..  Then at 12:30, I
call sheriff again and tell him bomb will explode at grade school.  He said do
it or Ángel is dead meat.”

“Why didn’t
you call the police and tell them the truth?” asked Sheriff Hanks.  “We believe
people like you.”

“The bad man
said if I breathe one word to anyone he  kill Ángel and rip his heart out of
his chest.  Then he would come back here to cut my throat and burn my house
down.  I believe him,” said the old man.

“Was Señor
James Walker missing fingers on his left hand?”

“Sí, sí, sí. 
That is right.  Do you know him?”

Sheriff
Hanks took a second look at the picture of Felipe’s grandson.  He could be the
young Mexican kid in the yellow Vega that people had been describing. 

“Then bad
man said he wanted one more thing from me and he would leave me alone.”

“What was
that?” asked Sheriff Hanks.

The old man
began to tremble.  He kissed the rosary he held tightly in his hand and made
the sign of the cross.

“I think I
do something very terrible.  I have made much trouble for many people, even my
Ángel.  I pray with good priest to Blessed Virgin for answer.  Mother María
tells me good sheriff can fix it.”

“I’m not
Catholic,” replied Sheriff Hanks.

“The Blessed
Virgin, she no care about that,” said Felipe.

“Did she
tell you what I should do?”

“I don’t
know.  I just pray.  The answer come to me…tell Señor Sheriff,” said Felipe.

Everything
Felipe Madrigal had told him was important. 

“Tell me
what?  When you prayed, what did the Blessed Virgin Mary tell you to tell me.”

“She tell me
to tell you bad man hold a gun to my head and make me draw up everything I know
about credit union building in Morenci where I worked as security guard.   I
tell him way to get in through roof.  I tell him safe door is broken.”

Felipe held
his weary head in his hands.

“I tell
everything I know about the credit union.  I want only to save my grandson. I
am so scared.  I don’t know what to do when devil is at my house.

Sheriff
Hanks was stunned at the seeming connection between everything that had been going
on.  “You did what?”

“I was
afraid.  I knew he would kill Ángel.  Then I have no family.  I was so afraid. 
I don’t know what to do.”

Zeb’s gut
rumbled.  His heart raced with anticipation.  Ángel’s life was certainly in
danger now that Jimmie Joe Walker had the money. 

“Can you
save Ángel?  Is he still alive?”

“I hope so,
Felipe.  Say a little prayer.”

Zeb bolted
from the jail holding block, through the heavy door and into his office.

“Deputy
Steele.  The robbery in Morenci.  It was Felipe.”

“What are
you talking about, Sheriff?  Felipe was here in jail last night.  He didn’t
have anything to do with it.” said Deputy Steele. 

“No, no! 
Listen to me...”

Deputy
Steele listened as Sheriff Hanks relayed the story he has just heard from the
old man--the bomb threats--the big man who held the gun and threatened to kill
Ángel--the drawings of the floor plans at the credit union in Morenci--and
finally the knowledge that Felipe’s grandson, Ángel, was a partner in the
crime.

“...and I
think I know where they might be,” said Sheriff Hanks. 

“Where?”

“Felipe
showed me a picture of his grandson, Ángel.  If my hunch is right, I believe I
know where Ángel is.   Yesterday a man told me that halfway between Morenci and
County Road 6 he thought he saw a yellow car at an abandoned trailer house.  He
told me right where it was.”

“Deputy
Steele, grab a rifle.” said Sheriff Hanks.  “It’s forty minutes, forty-five
tops, to get to that trailer. You follow me.  I’ll lead the way.  We’ll stop a
quarter mile or so short of the trailer.  If they are still there, don’t let
them get the drop on you.  I am one hundred percent certain they are heavily
armed and very dangerous.”

Deputy
Steele grabbed a rifle from the gun cabinet.  The race was on and her heart was
pounding.