Greasing the Piñata (10 page)
Salinas lit another cigar and spoke into the shadows. He didn’t seem the least bit surprised when the shadows replied.
“I am not sure I like paying this detective so much money,” he said into the darkness.
“He’ll never collect.”
Salinas shrugged. He had dismissed the men on either side of his desk and felt uneasy. He knew they waited outside the door and would enter, guns drawn, at the slightest signal, but he didn’t like talking to phantoms. Without asking permission, he thumbed a switch under his desk that activated lights set into the molding overhead.
Salinas blinked as the figure to his left materialized, but even with the lights up the man looked as if he’d been conjured from the cigar smoke that choked the room.
Priest came around the front of the desk and took a chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles. “Why so nervous, Antonio?”
“I think this
gringo
detective is smart, but not as smart as he thinks he is.”
Priest raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything.
“That type of man is always trouble.”
“How would you have handled it?” asked Priest, relishing the knowledge that Salinas didn’t have any choice in the matter.
“I think maybe we should have killed him after all.”
“He is more useful to us alive,” said Priest. “And less dangerous.”
“Explain again why a man like that is dangerous to men like us?”
“Because a man like that will have
friends
.” Priest handled the word as if it were a scorpion. “People who will look for him if something happens.”
“
Ocho ochenta.
” Salinas looked at the crucifix around Priest’s neck and suppressed a chill. “I don’t like it.”
“I don’t care.”
Salinas studied his unwelcome ally. “Have you ever heard of the
Civatateo
?”
Priest raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”
“Mexican vampires, a legend dating back to the Aztecs.” Salinas chewed on his cigar. “But these vampires were servants of God. They would lurk in temples and churches, do horrible things to the unfaithful.”
“What are you getting at, Antonio?”
“That is what you remind me of,
amigo
—you are a fucking vampire.” Salinas blew a noxious cloud of smoke across the desk. “I am trying to run a business, but you, I think you like the blood. That is why you delay everything, to build
anticipación
. It is almost sexual for you.”
“I didn’t realize you were the court-appointed psychiatrist.” Priest linked his long fingers and cracked his knuckles. “And I’m surprised a pissant private detective could make you so jumpy.”
“I do not like things I cannot control.”
“We will use him…for now.”
“Until our business is concluded.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine.” Salinas shrugged, feigning indifference. “And then?”
“We’ll kill him.”
“What about his friends?”
“We’ll kill them, too,” said Priest. “Every godforsaken one of them.”
Cape got mugged before he was halfway down the hill.
He heard a rustling in the bushes on the side of the road and turned just as a hand wrapped around his mouth from behind, pulling his head backward.
“Did you miss me?” Sally whispered into his ear.
Cape spun around, scowling at his diminutive protector. She was almost invisible, dressed completely in black with a hood pulled tightly around her face.
“Where have you been?”
“Following you for the past half-hour,” Sally replied. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t followed.”
“They know where I’m staying.”
“They might have changed their minds and sent a car after you. Give you a ride back to the hotel. You know, a sudden attack of guilt for making you walk.”
“Not likely,” said Cape. “I think the walk is some sort of lesson. You know—
you might be on the payroll, but you’re not one of us
.”
“You’re on the payroll?”
Cape held the briefcase high in his right hand.
“You took his money?”
Cape shrugged. “It seemed rude not to.”
“You feel conflicted?”
“Why?” said Cape. “Because it’s dirty money?”
“There is no dirty money,” said Sally. “Only dirty wallets.”
“Exactly,” said Cape. “Besides, I might have lost my only paying client.”
“So where do we stand?”
“Not sure.” Cape told her about the conversation with Salinas.
Sally nodded. “I saw the whole thing but could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation. Salinas had his back to the window so I couldn’t read his lips.”
“You were on the balcony?” Cape should have been surprised but he’d known her too long. “I was worried when the car headed up the hill, you wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“That was easy. I grabbed a taxi in front of the hotel and told him I was going to a surprise party for the people in the car ahead of us, then told him I wasn’t sure of the address. I had him drop me off a hundred yards past the gate. All I had to do was flash some bills and act helpless.”
“You’re so convincing at that.”
Sally curtsied without breaking stride. They walked in silence for a while.
The road twisted and the lights of the resort became visible, reflecting off the water in undulating streaks of yellow. Cape thought they looked like claw marks.
After another minute he asked, “So how much do you know?”
“Less than you for a change,” said Sally. “I did make it to the balcony but it was slower going than I’d expected.”
“I heard the dogs.”
“Dobermans are a royal pain,” said Sally. “Thank goodness for tall trees and dumb dogs.”
“Hey, I like dogs.
Dog
is
God
spelled backward.”
“God never tried to bite me in the ass.”
“You obviously weren’t raised Catholic.”
Another turn in the road and the lights disappeared, replaced by trees that swallowed the moon.
“So now what?” asked Sally.
“I try to connect the dots.”
“How many dots do you have?”
“Dead Senator, dead Senator’s dead kid. Client who might be an ex-client, daughter of dead Senator. Mexican drug lord. Out-of-town muscle for said drug lord. Local police inspector. You. Me.”
Sally wiggled her outstretched fingers and frowned. “That’s eight dots.”
“More than enough to make a straight line,” said Cape. “But right now it leads to nowhere.”
“So where to next?”
Cape patted the side of the briefcase. “Now that we’ve taken his money, I think Salinas is going to want us close at hand.”
“So?”
“So I say we skip town without telling him.”
“I just unpacked.”
“We’re not checking out of our rooms,” said Cape. “We’re just leaving suddenly.”
“Take the money and run?”
“Exactly.”
“You think he’ll send someone after us?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Cape.
An hour into the flight Cape was locked in the lavatory. He sensed other passengers waiting but stood transfixed by the small sign posted above the toilet bowl.
Caution!
Disposal of any articles other than toilet tissue can cause external leaks which could be hazardous.
“External leaks?” Cape muttered, wondering what sort of article besides toilet paper might send the plane into a flat spin. On the back of the toilet lid was a graphic of a circle with a red slash across it, the circle filled with line drawings of paper clips, dental floss, coins, and what appeared to be a toothbrush, which only served to reinforce Cape’s growing suspicion that dentists were to blame for all the troubles in the world.
Cape glanced around the cramped space, searching for bits of plastic, cracks in the mirror, anything with potential for tearing through the fuselage. After a long minute, he took a deep breath and opened the door. A small queue had formed. Cape made eye contact with the first person in line, a heavyset woman wearing a Hawaiian print blouse. He gestured at the sign as she brushed past and shut the door in his face.
He took his seat next to Sally and asked, “Ever notice how turbulence always occurs shortly after they serve you the meal?”
“Never.” Sally put down the book she’d been reading, the vertical rows of Chinese characters like tiger stripes across the pages.
“I mean, do you think it’s intentional, an effort to shake up your stomach just enough to facilitate digestion of the rubber chicken they serve? Or maybe the pilots eat at the same time and take their hands off the controls, flying the jet like a truck driver eating fries with a Coke stuck between his legs.”
“I never eat when I fly.”
“You’re missing the point.”
Sally smiled. “And you’re pretty neurotic for a guy who carries a gun.”
Cape didn’t respond but exhaled loudly, stretching his arms above his head, feeling his fingers bend against the closeness of the overhead compartment.
“You want to fly the plane?”
Cape looked at Sally across the empty seat between them. “What do you think?”
“I think that you can’t control everything.”
“You seem to manage.”
“I only control myself,” said Sally. “Everything else…” She let her voice trail off.
Cape looked past Sally and out the window. An ocean of pillows extended all the way to the horizon, an unwelcome reminder of how exhausted he felt.
“Sorry you had to leave your bag of tricks behind.” Cape knew the trouble Sally had gone to smuggling their weapons into Mexico.
“We thought things were going to be more exciting.”
“I wouldn’t call getting hired by a drug lord boring.”
“So who are we working for?” Sally raised an eyebrow. “You never told me about your call with our client.”
Cape shrugged. “Not much to tell.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Shitty.”
“How did she take the news about her brother and father?”
“Badly.”
“Are we fired?”
“Not yet.”
Sally watched while Cape worked the muscles in his jaw. “You want to talk about this later?” she asked. “When we’re on solid ground.”
“No,” said Cape, “I’m just…”
“Pissed?”
“Exactly,” said Cape. “Royally pissed.”
“You want me to quote a Zen scripture about the healing power of mistakes?”
“God, no.”
“Good, at least you’re not getting soft.”
Cape took a deep breath. “She sounded devastated. She loved her brother, and even if you’re estranged from your father, hearing that he floated to the surface of a water hazard probably isn’t the epitaph you had in mind.”
“And yet we’re not fired.”
“She doesn’t blame me.”
“Does she know you blame yourself?”
Cape didn’t take the bait. “She wants to find out what happened.”
“She wants revenge,” said Sally bluntly. Cape didn’t challenge the comment. Lots of people talked about revenge, but Sally had spent half a lifetime in pursuit of it.
“I told her I’d find out what happened—didn’t make any promises beyond that.”
“She might not like what she finds.”
Cape said nothing.
“What next?”
“I called Linda and asked for a deep dive into the Senator—I’ll meet her when we get back. Then I’m going to Burning Man.”
“Burning Man.” Sally arched an eyebrow. “Is that a person, place or thing?”
“All of the above. It’s a festival in the desert. You really haven’t heard of it?”
Sally shook her head. “Why should I?”
“It’s been around for almost a decade, attracts thousands of people every year. There was a big feature about it in the
Chronicle
last month.”
“I don’t read the local papers.”
“It’s supposed to be a break from civilization. People drive into the Nevada desert, have a big party, and disconnect from the rat race.”
“I’m not a rat,” said Sally. “I don’t race.”
“That’s why you haven’t heard of it.”
“Are drugs involved?”
“Of course,” said Cape. “It was started by Californians.”
“Nudity?”
“It’s hot in the desert. Don’t need a lot of clothes there.”
“Have you been?”
“Never,” said Cape. “But I’ve seen pictures. Imagine a peace rally from the sixties, only with ecstasy instead of acid—better tents, and the Nevada desert instead of Woodstock.”
“Somehow I don’t imagine you in that picture.”
“Me neither, but that’s where our client is going.”
“Why?”
“She goes every year—says it’s like therapy.”
“She should study martial arts.”
“Besides,” added Cape. “I need to see her in order to get some answers.”
“But have you thought of any questions?”
“Sure. Why does a Mexican drug lord care about a U.S. Senator?”
“Or his son.”
“Exactly.”
Sally frowned. “Didn’t you ask about her father and brother when she hired you?”
“Maybe this isn’t solely about them—maybe it’s about her, too.”
“What makes you think that?”
“I’m desperate,” said Cape.
“And suspicious.”
Cape met her gaze, a half-smile on his lips. “How do you know?”
“I know you.”
“OK.”
“You have a reason for being so paranoid?”
“Sure,” said Cape. “She’s the only one in that family left alive.”
Juan Molina used to enjoy being head of hotel security. Compared to being a cop in Mexico City it was like he’d died and gone to heaven. Blue skies instead of pollution, rich women in bikinis instead of back alley whores, and no bureaucracy except for a monthly staff meeting in the general manager’s office which got cancelled half the time. For a man whose early retirement plan had been to get shot in the line of duty, this was more like a vacation than a job.
He knew he could never repay the debt of gratitude to the man who got him the job, and every night before he went to bed, he prayed that he would never have to try.
But this past week the job had almost made him miss being a cop. The sore feet, aching shoulders, and the constant river of sweat between his shoulder blades all seemed pleasant by comparison to the inexorable pressure on his balls since those two corpses appeared on the golf course.
Every day he received the same note in his mailbox, written in a simple, nondescript hand.
¿Qué le tienen visto hoy?
What have you seen today? An innocent enough question, taken out of context. But even though the notes were never signed, Juan knew who sent them.
Just as he knew the risk of ignoring the sender.
Juan ran his hands through his hair, feeling the gel stick to his fingers but not caring. He sighed and stared at the telephone a good five minutes before picking up the receiver and dialing. He heard ringing on the other end, and then the sound of someone lifting the receiver. But no voice. No matter how hard he listened, he never heard a voice.
Juan took a deep breath. “The detective left about an hour ago.” He waited for a response but none came, which implied a question. “For the airport.”
Silence.
“The cab driver dropped him at departures, in the international terminal.”
Silence. Only the
click
of the call ending would signal satisfaction.
“I searched his room, and his bags are still here.”
Silence.
“That means he didn’t check out. I think—I think he’s coming back.”
Juan couldn’t be sure, but he imagined that he heard the whisper of a laugh on the other end of the phone, just before the line went dead.