Greasing the Piñata (27 page)
Cape sat on the couch and dried his hair while Enrique served drinks and Julio cleaned his fingernails with a hunting knife.
Enrique arranged a silver tray on one of the low tables. A bottle sat in the center, surrounded by a perfect circle of shot glasses. The bottle was beautiful—shaped like a conch shell, inlaid with silver and gold thread. Enrique did a quick count with the fingers of his right hand, tapping each with the pad of his thumb as he muttered a name under his breath.
Cape took a wild guess. “Tequila?”
“Very expensive.” Enrique adjusted one of the shot glasses. “This bottle cost over a million
pesos
.”
Cape did the math and figured he must have gotten the exchange rate backward. “That’s over a hundred thousand dollars.”
“
Sí.
” Enrique moved a glass a few centimeters to the right, then shifted it back to its original position. “Pure agave, fermented for six years.”
Cape was about to ask a question when Rebecca stepped into the room.
She came through the door behind the desk and saw him right away. Cape was on his feet and headed toward her when she ran over and gave him a hug. As she squeezed the life out of him, Rebecca pressed her lips to his ear and whispered fiercely.
“
They’re going to kill you.
”
“
I know.
” Cape held her close and inhaled deeply. Jasmine and coconuts. She didn’t smell anything like scorched pig. He held her at arm’s length and smiled. “You OK?”
“Better now.” Rebecca’s eyes were bright, almost panicked. “My f—”
“
Santiago!
”
Cordon was standing in the door, looking back into the hallway. Cape heard a muffled response, then the sound of footsteps. The steps were uneven, each footfall followed by the hard tap of a cane.
“
Vamanos, Santiago.
”
“Godammit, stop calling me that, Luis.”
Cape heard the voice and felt his stomach do a somersault. He had listened to audio clips on his computer for days, watched newsreels for hours.
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
Senator James Dobbins looked just like his picture. He stepped over the threshold with an expectant look on his face like a man who spent a lifetime making entrances at fundraisers and rallies. His white hair was shorter, his face more tan, but otherwise he might have just stepped out of one of his campaign posters. Cape thought he looked damn good for a dead man.
The Senator was graceful despite his obvious discomfort from the new prosthetic. It took most people several months to get used to an artificial leg, but vanity required hard work, even for a politician.
Dobbins scanned the room, eyes resting on his daughter for a long minute before turning their attention to Cape.
“Aren’t you the trouble-maker.”
“Pleasure to finally meet you Senator.”
“You’ve fucked everything up by coming here, detective.”
“How’s the leg?”
“What leg?” Dobbins hobbled over to the nearest chair and sat down, his right arm shaking from the strain of supporting his weight.
“The one they cut off and threw into the water hazard to throw off the investigation.”
“Hurts like hell.” Dobbins scowled. “Sometimes I’d swear it’s still there.”
“You’re a brave man.”
Dobbins ignored the sarcasm. “Not like I had a lot of choice in the matter. The people that I’m hiding from don’t stop looking unless they think you’re already dead.”
“The tattoo give you the idea?”
“Is that why you came to Mexico, to ask me about my leg?”
“I came to find your daughter.” Cape looked at Rebecca, who was watching her father with nervous eyes. “You were just a Lucky Strike extra.”
Cape felt lightheaded. He knew his chances of escaping the castle decreased exponentially with every new shred of information, but he was past caring. Dobbins was alive, and Cape wanted to know everything no matter what the cost.
“What business is it of yours where Rebecca goes?” Dobbins shifted in the chair and adjusted his grip on the cane. “She’s my daughter.”
“You lied to get her to come to Mexico. You used my name.”
“To protect her.”
“From Salinas?”
At the mention of the name, Cordon moved further into the room and stood behind his desk. He watched the exchange between his two guests with mounting interest.
“Of course from Salinas.” Dobbins rapped his cane on the floor. “That bastard murdered my son—who else would threaten my little girl?”
My little girl.
Cape saw an opening and decided to jump in with both feet.
“Is that why you sent your little girl to boarding school?”
“I wasn’t going to let those bastards touch my daughter. I knew eventually they’d forget she even existed—and they did.”
“That’s why you changed her name.”
“Of course.”
“Not exactly the witness protection program.”
Dobbins narrowed his eyes and his voice dropped several degrees. “Are you trying to goad me, detective?”
Cape shrugged. “You never told her why—ever think what that might do to your little girl?”
“
Don’t you dare
lecture me on parenting.” Dobbins’ face turned red. He surged forward but couldn’t get the momentum to stand up. “You know how hard it was to say goodbye to your only daughter—make that kind of sacrifice?”
“Must have felt like cutting off your own arm—or leg.”
“Fuck you.”
“But apparently not as hard as giving up your political career.”
Dobbins got enough steam to stand up. He staggered forward, dragging his cane in his rush to get his hands on Cape. It looked like he might make it until Cordon grabbed Dobbins by the shoulder and shoved him back into his chair.
Cape watched as the Senator’s face ran through a range of emotions, finally settling on something that resembled self-loathing before he regained his composure.
“Let’s have a drink.” Cordon waved at Enrique, who began pouring. He turned to Cape. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t at first.” Cape steered Rebecca over to the couch, where he sat down next to her. Enrique brought them both drinks. “And even after I figured it out, I didn’t really believe it until I saw Dobbins walk through that door.”
“
I told you Luis—
”
Cordon silenced Dobbins with a wave of his hand. “The photographs.”
“You saw them.” Cape glanced at Rebecca. “One showed Rebecca as a teenager, her arms wrapped around her father’s waist. Probably taken the summer before she went to boarding school.”
Rebecca nodded. “I remember that picture. They told me the week after that I was going away.” She looked across the room at her father but he didn’t meet her gaze.
“Rebecca looks much younger, but you can still recognize her. But it’s a clear shot of Dobbins.” Cape looked at Cordon. “The other photo showed Dobbins with Danny and Rebecca. Figured I should cover all the bases.”
“You showed them in town,
sí
?”
“I thought word would get back to you—I dropped your name, too. It made people nervous.”
“This is my town.” Cordon didn’t say it with any hint of bragging. It was a fact, a simple statement of ownership.
“And I thought Dobbins might get antsy cooped up in your house. So I asked around.”
“Did anyone recognize him?”
Cape nodded. “I got a few
maybe’s
, a lot of
no’s
from people who didn’t even look at the picture. A couple of people told me they thought his name was Santiago—I thought I was striking out until I remembered that Santiago is
James
in Spanish.”
“
Muy bien.
” Cordon clapped slowly, the sound echoing off the high ceiling. “But why so suspicious?”
“I was more confused than suspicious.” Cape leaned forward on the couch. “I only recently became paranoid.”
“Fish in the toilet will do that to a man.”
“I have you to thank for that practical joke?” Cape looked over his shoulder at the piranha. Their teeth reminded him of Dobbins’ smile and he wondered if piranha ate their young, too, or if only politicians did that.
Cordon glanced at his prized fish. “I was hoping you would go home.”
“On a stretcher?” Cape shifted on the couch as he unconsciously laid a protective hand over his crotch.
“The odds of the
candîru
fish actually swimming up your
aparato
are very small.”
“Have you seen my
aparato
or are you generalizing?”
Cordon smiled. “Had you been in the water, swimming, that would have been a different story. Besides, if I wanted you dead…” He gestured at the tank set into the wall. “There are so many possibilities.”
“Why did you want to scare me off? I’m not that hard to kill.”
“Now you are being modest, Señor Cape. I am beginning to think you have nine lives.”
“But I’m on number ten. You didn’t answer my question.”
Dobbins cut in. “
Nobody cares
about a detective who drops a case. The client goes home disappointed, people forget there was ever an investigation. If you had minded your own business—”
Cordon raised his hand, then let if fall to his lap. “But when a detective gets killed working a case…”
Cape nodded. “Maybe the case deserves a second look.”
“
Exacto.
”
“You had it all figured out.”
Cordon raised his glass. Cape lifted his own and out of the corner of his eyes saw Rebecca do the same. He heard her gasp as she took a sip. He drank and the liquid seemed to evaporate without ever touching his tongue. It didn’t burn like most tequila, even the expensive stuff he drank with Garcia. This infused his mouth with something primal. He looked at the glass in his hand, both terribly sad and relieved that he couldn’t afford to drink it even if he won the lottery.
Cordon raised his glass again. “I think
you
are the one to have it all figured out.”
“I’m still not clear about something.” Cape took another sip and had an out-of-body experience. He felt like he had nothing to lose.
Cordon held his glass to the light. “What isn’t clear?”
“Why did you kill Danny Dobbins?”
The man at the door pulled the hood tighter around his head and knocked loudly.
A small hatch opened at eye level.
“What do you want?” The guard behind the door sensed he should speak English to the dark figure, though he couldn’t say why.
“I want you to invite me in.”
The guard started to laugh. “And why would I do that, señor?”
The stranger pulled down the hood. His priest’s collar was clearly visible. Lightning flashed, illuminating his teeth as he smiled.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
Time stopped.
Rebecca’s heart froze.
Enrique looked like a bug staring at a fly swatter. Julio’s eyes swiveled like gun turrets, zeroing in on Cordon, awaiting orders.
Dobbins dropped his shot glass, which bounced off the rug and rolled under the desk.
Cordon finished his drink. As he lowered his glass, he revealed a pair of eyes that had lost all their warmth.
“What did he say?” Dobbins rocked forward in his chair.
Cape held Cordon’s gaze. Neither one of them answered the question.
“
What did he just say
, Luis?”
Cape kept his eyes on Cordon. The drug lord remained silent.
“Salinas killed my son.” Dobbins was clenching and opening his hands, over and over. He looked at Rebecca. “
Salinas
was threatening my daughter.”
Cape broke the silence. He turned so he was facing the former Senator.
“Dobbins, if you were going to kill someone, would you do it in your own backyard?”
Dobbins blinked and refocused. He looked at Cape with a confused expression.
Cape tried again. “If Salinas wanted to kill Danny, why dump the body in a water hazard on a golf course? Why not bury it in the jungle? Or feed it to the sharks? They might even drain water hazards once a year, looking for lost clubs or balls. I don’t know, it just seems like a piss poor place to hide a body.”
“He didn’t want to hide it.” Dobbins clenched his hands until the knuckles turned white. “He wanted to send a signal.”
“I think you’ve got your drug lords mixed up.” Cape stole a glance at Cordon, who was watching him the way he looked at his fish, a rare specimen in his collection that lived or died at his whim. “Salinas wasn’t the one sending a signal.”
“I don’t understand.” Dobbins looked like he might get sick.
“Why dump your leg in the same pond?” Cape looked at the empty glass in his hand. “Say that Salinas did kill Danny—once word gets out that you’re dead, too, Salinas is going to wonder what’s going on.
Because he didn’t kill you
, did he?”
Dobbins sat up straighter in his chair. “He would have—if Luis hadn’t given me sanctuary. Helped me disappear.”
“He brought you here to kill you.”
“Luis could’ve killed me anytime, at home in California.”
“And it would have been investigated as a murder of a U.S. politician on American soil. Very high profile—if papers in your office or financial records led back to a Mexican drug lord, what do you think happens? The FBI, DEA, and even the CIA can’t let that slide. They have to come down here and kick ass.” Cape took a deep breath. “But if some crackpot Senator has a mid-life crisis and disappears to Mexico, then winds up dead under mysterious circumstances—”
“—the press has had a field day. You’ve seen the papers.”
“Newspapers have a short attention span—I used to work for one. They lose interest as soon as the next teen celebrity shaves her head or dumps her boyfriend. But the police investigation, Dobbins, that’s the real issue. Cordon has friends in the Mexican government, probably with the
federales
. By the time they sorted out jurisdiction with the States, nobody would even remember your name.”
“Then why am I still alive? You didn’t find me on that golf course.”
“You were bait.” Cape laid his hand on top of Rebecca’s, which was ice cold. “You were bait for Rebecca and she was bait for me. No loose ends.”
“You were right, you are paranoid.”
“You left documents behind for Rebecca, and maybe something in a safe deposit box. Either way, Cordon doesn’t have to worry about it now. If no one’s left to pursue the investigation, go to the press, or testify in court, then all you’ve left behind is a stack of papers.”
“Nonsense.”
“We all came here to die.” Cape tried to put some sympathy into his voice but discovered that he’d run out. “How did Cordon know where to dump the leg? If he didn’t kill Danny, how did he know where the body was going to be found?”
Dobbins was shaking his head back and forth like a metronome. “One of Luis’ men was found in that pond, remember—Salinas killed him, too—how do you explain that?”
“You’re right.” Cape let his voice grow quiet. “A man like Luis Cordon would never kill one of his own men.”
Dobbins just shook his head and rocked in his chair, his artificial leg rapping the floor in a dull rhythm. Cape squeezed Rebecca’s hand.
“I think you liked the press too much for Cordon’s taste, Dobbins. You always liked the press, until about nine months ago. Maybe your old friend Luis talked to you about it—and you blew him off. He probably doesn’t like it when his minions talk back. Or didn’t you notice the giant without a tongue when you checked into
Castillo
Cordon?”
“I wasn’t his fucking minion.” Dobbins stopped rocking. “We’re business partners.”
“Maybe that’s not how Cordon sees it.”
“Those government deals?” Dobbins wheeled to face Cordon as he answered Cape. “Luis couldn’t cut those fat deals without me—where did
he
get off telling me what to do? I was a fucking
Senator
.”
“You weren’t the only politician on the payroll.” Cape waited until Dobbins looked in his direction. “But you’re right, you were important.
Really
important.”
The flattery seemed to calm Dobbins, almost a visceral reaction for someone used to sparring with the press. Maybe his old political instincts for grace under pressure were kicking in.
“So maybe while he lined up his next Senator, your friend Luis conjured up the boogey man to scare you back into line. A character like Salinas might do the trick. He certainly scared the hell out of me.”
Dobbins shifted his gaze from Cape to Cordon as if something he’d suspected all along had finally been proven in a laboratory. The earth was flat, after all.
Cape knew he’d struck a nerve. “Too bad you can’t ask Salinas yourself, Senator.”
“
Oh, but you can.
”
Cordon’s voice boomed off the rafters as he stood. He stepped to the center of the room and shook his lion’s mane of perfect hair back and forth, his handsome face etched with disappointment. “I was hoping for
un pequeño teatro
—some magic for my guests. But you have given away my best secrets, Cape.”
“I thought I’d save you the trouble of lying through those perfect teeth.”
“Now I have only one last trick before the show must come to an end.”
The speech sounded rehearsed. Cordon was a theatrical guy, but this bordered on the surreal. Cape looked around and realized Enrique and Julio were no longer in the room. He’d been so focused on breaking Dobbins that he didn’t notice them leaving.
He didn’t have to wait very long for their return.
Cordon clapped his hands and Julio backed into the room pulling something heavy on a wheeled cart. Enrique pushed from the other side and a third man was hidden behind whatever was resting on the platform. A burgundy cloth draped over a rectangular object taller than a man.
“We all know Houdini, the great
gringo
escape artist.” Cordon stepped over to the platform and clapped his hands together. “His most famous trick was the underwater escape. He would be submerged upside-down in a strait jacket and miraculously he would escape.
Increíble!
No other magician ever attempted such a dangerous feat of skill and daring—until now.”
Cordon made a gesture and the three men began turning the box in a slow clockwise rotation as he continued his narrative.
“Tonight’s trick will be more
peligriso
than anything Houdini attempted. Do you know why?”
Cordon looked at each of his guests in turn but didn’t wait for a response.
“Because…in my tank there is a monster.
Sí, senora y cabelleros—un monstruo.
One of the most venomous creatures in the sea, a box jellyfish.” Cordon looked over their heads with his golden eyes, as if they were sitting in the front row of a theater only he could see.
“Our magician must not only escape the tank, he must escape the jelly.” Cordon clapped in time to his own counting. It sent a chill down Cape’s spine.
“
Uno…dos…tres…
”
With an exaggerated flourish Cordon grabbed the red cloth and yanked it free of the tank. Rebecca started screaming. Cape felt bile surge in his throat.
The tank was an exact replica of the famous trick, a metal frame holding heavy glass in a rectangle big enough to suspend a man upside-down underwater, which is exactly what they saw. Antonio Salinas stared blindly at them through a death mask of agony, his inverted features distorted by the pulsing, waving mass of tentacles that had latched onto his face.
Cordon looked at the tank and feigned surprise. “I am terribly sorry,
señora y cabelleros
.” He shook his head sadly. “It would appear that our magician was not as talented as the late Houdini.”
Cape glanced toward the door in the vain hope that someone who wasn’t bat-shit crazy would suddenly appear. No one did. It wasn’t a good night for magic acts.
Cordon brought his hands together and smiled.
“But I think we have time for one more trick. May I have a volunteer, or should I pick someone from the audience?”
Cape took a deep breath and raised his hand.