Death Runs in the Family (20 page)

“A mistake which almost cost you your life. Liana, if I weren’t so tired, I’d haul you over my knee for a good spanking.”

“Frank, if I weren’t so wiped, I’d let you. Tugger saved me,” I whispered. “My little guy saved me.”

As if on cue, Tugger opened his eyes, stood, stretched, and hopped off my lap with a chirping sound. We watched him saunter over to his favorite scratching post, the one with the furry mouse on top, and bat at the toy in an amiable, friendly way.

“He doesn’t look any the worse for wear,” said Frank, observing the cat. “The wounds he inflicted on Spaulding’s arm were mostly superficial, but I’m sure they hurt like hell. What did him in was the slam to his face from the lamp. His jaw will have to be wired together. Some news is good.”

“He was going to kill me, Frank.”

“I know.”

“He acted so weird. Like he’d shot up with something before he walked in.” I shook my head, baffled. I was suddenly exhausted. “Why would he take such a chance? Why would he come after Flint and then me, himself? He’s got a dozen men on his payroll for his dirty work. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I understand he’d been taken down, replaced by his second in command. Like a certain someone, he’d made some big mistakes lately. His started with the blonde bimbo, what’s her name. She got close enough to him to take off with some pretty incriminating evidence worth a lot of dough, now in the hands of the FBI.”

“Kelli,” I offered.

“Kelli, she’s the one. Although, she couldn’t have been much of a bimbo to pull off what she did.”

“Nick’s wife. Well, not his wife. Although, he thought she was his wife. And now she’s gone. Nobody even talks about her anymore and—”

“Liana, you’re starting to ramble, and you look beat.” He glanced at his watch. “I know it’s only six-thirty, but why don’t you get some sleep? I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

Frank leaned over and kissed me on the forehead before saying, “Walk me to the door and then go to bed. And double bolt it behind me, you hear?” He turned to leave.

“I hear.” I rose, weary and used up, and followed him to the door.

He opened it and turned back to me. “And don’t be too hard on yourself for leaving the door ajar. It could happen to anyone.” His tone was so gentle and forgiving, I was taken aback. Not the usual Frank I’ve come to know and love.

“But don’t do it again,” he growled, and I laughed. He laughed, too, and gave me a quick hug. He looked at me with hesitation.

“One more thing, and I’m not sure I should be telling you this tonight…”

“Oh, go ahead. I can take it.” I studied his face covered with determination and guilt. Leaning against the doorframe, I felt curiosity coursing through me, but mainly like I’d been run over by a Mack truck.

“I’m going to do the 12K tomorrow, along with Gurn. Not that I can keep up with him, but it’ll put me right on the spot, you know?”

Hearing about the Palace to Palace 12K woke me up faster than a double espresso with an extra shot of caffeine. I stopped leaning and came to attention.

“Frank, I don’t like this. There’s a lot we haven’t figured out yet. How are they murdering all these runners? And even if Spaulding is no longer the head honcho, it might mean it’s going to be business as usual for them. It’s not over. You
and
Gurn!”

“It gets better. So is Richard.”

“Richard! All three of you are running the race? This is just great!” I threw up my arms in exasperation. “Why not Tío, too? Take all the men in my life and put them in the stupid race. I’m taking this personally, Frank. I don’t need the pressure.”

I moved away from the door and began to pace the room in agitation. Tugger stopped playing with the mouse atop his scratching post, sat down on his haunches and watched me. Apparently, I had become more interesting than his toy.

“Relax, Lee.”

“Relax? How can you say to relax?”

“Because Richard and I are likely to come in at around two-thousand and fifty, right behind a little old lady with a walker.” He turned and went back to the sofa, leaned over and straightened picture frames on the coffee table, picking and choosing his words with care.

“Gurn, he’s a different matter. He’s a good runner. I’ve talked to him, and he’s running, no matter what we say. I

looked up his record before his knee surgery, and he had some pretty impressive wins in small-time races. Charlie Wright—he’s the new sergeant come up from Milpitas—is going to be running the race, too. He’s not as good as Gurn, but he’ll stay close by. We’ll keep him covered, Lee.”

I shook my head. “Frank, it comes back to, how are they doing it? How are they striking people down without leaving a mark on them and in front of hundreds of people? I know it’s there on the videos. It has to be. But I can’t see it.” I kicked the ottoman in frustration and felt the reward of a sharp pain in my big toe.

“You will, Lee.” He put both hands on my shoulders. “Get some sleep. Tackle it first thing in the morning. The part of the race we need to focus on is the end. Maybe you’ll see something by then.”

“And maybe not. Then there’s Flint. I’ve never felt so useless, so helpless.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I should be in Vegas right now, with him. He took a bullet because of me—”

I threw myself in my favorite leather chair. Tugger leapt into my lap, turned around three times, and settled down. “If it wasn’t for me…” I broke off, hanging my head.

“Now stop it,” Frank said, clicking his tongue. He knelt beside me. “I spoke with the hospital not twenty minutes ago, and Flint’s going to be all right. He’s alert and talking.”

“Is he?
Gracias, El Señor.
” I felt as if the cushions in the wingback chair were wrapping me in an endless embrace, I was so relieved. I shook my head, not able to say anything more, and ran limp fingers across damp eyes, still keeping my head down.

Frank went on. “The doctors say initially it looked worse than it was. Regardless, Flint knew the risk when he went in. We all do. Every day you get up, you know the risk.

It’s the business we’re in. That’s why I never wanted you in it in the first place. But you are and at least…” He paused, and I looked up. He winked at me, throwing out one of his dazzling smiles. “At least, you have an attack cat to help you out now and then.”

I smiled back then let out a faint chuckle. “He’s better than a German shepherd and doesn’t eat as much.”

“That’s my girl.” Frank tousled my already unkempt hair with a careless hand and got up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then my father’s heart-brother walked out and shut the door behind him, shouting, “And come lock this door! I want to hear them chains going on before I leave this porch.”

Chapter Sixteen

A Matter of the Upsets

Somewhere I heard a ringing sound, faint at first but becoming louder. I tried to move, but it was like I was under water, motion was slow and laborious. And there was the weight on my back, which moved and sprung off me with my exertions. Tugger.

I’d flung myself diagonally across the bed hours before and went into one of those heavy, deep sleeps. The ones from which you awaken feeling sluggish and over-medicated, even if you didn’t take anything at all, not even an Aspirin.

My bedside clock said 8:45, as I reached for the ringing phone, but was it a.m. or p.m.? I groggily looked out the window. Dark—8:45 p.m. —good. I’m glad we settled that. What a detective.

I wiped the drool from my face. “Hello?”

“
Mi sobrina!
¿
Estás bien o no?”
Tío continued to rattle off more words in Spanish—too numerous to mention—a sure indication he was upset.

“I was sleeping, but I’m fine, Tío,” I said, interrupting his diatribe. Still in a fog, I asked, “Where are you?”

“Where am I? I am in
la cocina
. I now come back from the clinic to a message from your mama. She tells me to make sure you are all right. You were attacked?”

“Wow, Tío. You finally learned how to use the answering machine. I’m proud of you.”

He let out an exasperated and noisy breath of air. “I do not like the flip at these times.
Basta.”

“Basta,
Tío. I’m sorry if I was being flippant.
”

“Do not make the apology.
¿
Que pasó? Dime.”

And so I told him what happened. All in all, Tío took it well. He listened. His only comment at the end was the same as Frank’s—how could I leave the door open, given what was going on? Boy, make one little mistake, and people sure beat it into the ground.

“Let’s move on, Tío. I’ve learned my lesson. No more hip action at the door.”

“The
burrito
, you eat it? I left also the
flan.
I make it with the orange flavor, mandarin. They are good this time of year.”

“Not yet, but I’m starving. I’ll heat it up right now.” I stood and walked toward the kitchen, the cordless receiver plastered against my ear, followed closely by Tugger.

“How did it go with delivering the puppies?”

“Two, they were the normal births. One, a Great Dane, gives birth in the breech. We lose one of the babies.”

I stopped in my tracks, tears springing to my eyes. For whatever reason, this news made me feel surrounded by mayhem, tragedy, and death. Even a newborn puppy was not exempt.

“Oh, Tío. I am so sorry.” My voice quivered, but I couldn’t help it.

“We save the other five. It was not easy, but the mother and pups, they are well and resting.”

“You sound tired, Tío.”

“
Si.
But I have a good tired. You do not sound like a good tired.”

“No. Gurn, Richard, and Frank are all running in the Palace to Palace tomorrow.” I brought him up to date, adding, “I’m scared for them, Tío. I’m afraid something is going to happen to one of them.” Again, it was hard to keep my voice from quivering. My uncle managed to bring whatever I was feeling right out of me. A super confessional, that man.

Tío was silent for a moment. I almost called his name out when he finally said, “Do not let fear take from you the common sense. Like Tugger, you have the
corazón
of a lion. Now you need to make the brain to match.”

“It’s a tall order, Tío.”

“Si,”
he agreed, “but you are a tall girl. You see? I, too, can make the flip.”

He laughed, and I tried to laugh, sounding more like a bat having a sneezing fit than anything else, but regardless, laughter it was. We hung up, me certainly lighter of spirit.

I heated and ate the delicious beef burrito dripping with cheese, wondering about this thing called common sense. It didn’t seem to me there was anything common about it. Tugger continued to hover nearby, either to be near me or the beef I was dropping to the floor. I suspected a little of both.

Afterward, I gave a quick call to Las Vegas General for an update on Flint. He’d been taken off the critical list and downgraded to stable. I almost did cartwheels. The nurse asked if I’d like to speak to him, always a good sign. Even though he was awake, I said ‘no’ but asked for her to tell him love from Papoose and hung up. I ordered flowers sent to his room, a dozen Calla lilies, a flower of which he is quite fond. Then for Tugger’s amusement—or maybe mine—I tried to do an impersonation of Katharine Hepburn from the 1937
Stage Door
, done by a lot of stand-up comics. Only better.

“‘The Calla lilies are in bloom again, really they are, really.’ Hmmm. Not quite right. Higher and a little more nasal, I think.”

I looked at Tugger for approval. He left the room after my third attempt. It was like he was almost saying, “Don’t quit your daytime job, honey. I’ve got a catnip habit to support.”

* * * *

Six hours later, I nearly threw my laptop across the room in frustration. I got up and banged around my office a little, straightening this and that in a gruffer than usual way. I had watched all eight videos hour after hour, again and again, until I thought my eyeballs would fall out of my head. First, I’d concentrated on the runners then the crowd. I even scanned nearby trees and bushes to see if anyone or anything lurked in them.
Nada.

I sat back down and studied the screen again, for all the good it did me. However the cartel was killing off these runners, I hadn’t a clue.

Tugger, always drawn to the happening place, hopped onto the desk, and walked across the keyboard, demanding some attention. His feet hit a series of keys, causing one of the images to freeze and enlarge. The pristine white bib of a fallen runner, with number 71 emblazoned in red upon it, filled the screen. It meant nothing to me.

My pet’s earnest, golden eyes and sharp meow took my focus away. Bleary-eyed, anyway, I was glad to oblige. I stood, stretched, and picked him up, rubbing my face against his satiny, sweet-smelling fur.

With a practiced hand, I slung him onto one shoulder, him facing behind me. He settled in, purring. Tugger’s the sort of guy that often likes to see where he’s been rather than where he’s going, another cat lesson in life. We left the office and headed back to the bedroom.

It was two-thirty a.m.; I needed to get some sleep, if I was going to be any good in the morning. Although, what I was going to be good for was questionable.

Still wearing Tugger like a stole, I set the alarm for five-thirty. I tried not to fret or think about Gurn, Richard, or Frank. Plenty of time for fretting in the morning. I lay down and was out like a light.

Five-thirty a.m. came in what felt like ten seconds. I awoke, I won’t say refreshed, but feeling a lot better than my

two short naps should have allowed. After coffee and the remnants of Tío’s burrito, I took a quick shower, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and threw on an embroidered jean jacket I picked up at a thrift store. I live for consignment shops and thrift stores.

Tugger lay sleeping at the foot of the bed. When I roused him to say goodbye at six a.m., his half-lidded eyes gave me a cross-eyed, what-the-hey look. Then he crashed again.

Grabbing my new leather handbag-satchel–two-weeks salary but so worth it—cellphone, traveling coffee mug, and keys, I opened the door and stepped outside, remembering my laptop only when I’d locked the door behind me. Whatever information was eluding me could still be on the bloody computer.

The day was not starting out well, I thought, as I raced back inside to the office. The laptop’s screen still held the frozen, close-up image of the bib. I unplugged it, banged the lid down, and crammed it into my bag. The whole operation took less than fifteen seconds but how could I forget something so crucial?

As I pressed the accelerator of the car to the floor, the angst and fear surged back. I would be in San Francisco and at the starting line of the 12K Palace to Palace in less than an hour. Three men I loved were depending on me to keep them alive before, after, and during the race. I needed to be focused and sharp. No more thoughtless or stupid oversights, like forgetting an important piece of equipment.