Pipeline (2 page)

Frank
saw me before I saw him and half stood to motion me toward his desk. He was on
the phone, scribbling notes, as I reached his desk. I sat down, resting my feet
on an open lower desk drawer. The ashtray on Frank's desk was overflowing. It
looked like a four-pack day already, and it was only lunchtime. He held out the
pack of cigarettes to me as he jammed another one between his lips and lit it
with the remains of his last cigarette. I shook my head, and he dropped the
pack back on his desk. He stopped writing and rubbed his eyes.

"That's
not very helpful, Tutti. What do you mean by 'some guys'? How many? Who are
they? Everybody's got a name, stupid."

He
listened for another second or two before interrupting whoever Tutti was.

"No!
Now you wait just one good goddamn minute, you fuckin' hairball. You know the
deal. No info, no dough. I don't give a shit what you think. I pay you for
facts, and I ain't hearin' any. So unless you're plannin' to kick whatever it
is you're usin' these days cold turkey, you better get your ass movin' and come
up with somethin' more than 'these guys said.' Call me when you can do that.
Otherwise don't waste my time."

Frank
slammed the receiver down and rubbed his face again.

"Fuckin'
junkies," he mumbled.

"I
see you still have a way with people, Frank."

"Get
your damn feet off my desk, Jo. Does this look like your living room?"

"Have
you found out anything for me yet?" I asked as I sat up in the chair and
got down to business.

"Yeah,
a little," he said, exhaling loudly. "That asshole on the phone was
an informant of mine. He knows some nasty folks and might find out something,
depending on whether or not he can get money for his next fix from anyone else
but me. The kid's in a private room over at Santa Rosa Medical Center. Got shot
twice, but nothing vital was hit. He'll still be able to walk, talk, eat, fuck
his girlfriend, but he'll be out of commission a week or two, dependin' on how
tough he is. The cops arrested some kid, ten or eleven years old, who was the
shooter, but undoubtedly, it wasn't his idea. They found a couple hundred bucks
on him, so somebody probably hired him to do it. Nobody ever suspects a kid
like that, and if his hands hadn't been shakin' so damn bad, your kid would be
lyin' on a slab in the morgue instead of a hospital bed."

"Anything
about a story he's supposed to be working on?"

"I
tried to get in to see him last night. You know,
mano a mano,
but no go.
I slipped a nurse a twenty to find out what she could, but it wasn't much.
According to the nurse, he was pretty dopey from painkillers and sedatives but did
say something about illegals."

"So
what, Frank? Stories about illegals are a dime a dozen around this state."

The
border between Texas and Mexico has never been your basic secure area. An
illegal with the IQ of an armadillo could get across the border.

Texas
lawmakers didn't have the guts to put a stop to the flow of illegals. Growers
in the Valley needed workers to care for and harvest their crops, and illegals
were a hell of a lot cheaper than legal workers. The state could impose hefty
monetary penalties on the growers for hiring illegals, but that meant a rise in
the prices of Valley produce, and consumers would be pissed if the price of
their morning grapefruit doubled or tripled. Consumers didn't give a damn if
the illegals earned twenty-five cents a day and lived in shitholes or if they
worked twenty hours a day. They just wanted cheap produce.

"Maybe
somewhere along the way he tripped onto something bigger." Frank shrugged.
"Hell, maybe whatever he's doin' ain't even related to illegals. Could be anything,
Jo."

I
looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath. "Anything else?"

Frank
flipped through his notepad and scanned each page.

"The
only other thing the nurse told me was that the kid has only had two visitors
since he's been in the hospital. One, I presume, is his mother, who the nurse
described as...let me see...yeah, here, 'classy and probably rich.' She had him
moved out of the ward and into a private room yesterday."

"Who's
the other visitor?"

"Uh...a
younger woman who she thinks is his girlfriend. Sarita Ramirez. The nurse tried
to talk to her, too, but didn't get much except 'I warned him this would
happen.' And that, my friend, is all I got."

"Sounds
like this Sarita might know something."

"Well,
you know how pillow talk is, Jo. After you're through rockin' the mattress, you
can either fall asleep, raid the refrigerator, smoke a cigarette, or
talk," Frank grinned.

"Or
sometimes a combination of those choices." I smiled. "Well, come on.
I'm buying." I stood up and rearranged my jeans.

He
grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. "I already called, and
there'll be enchiladas and Corona Lights with a twist of lime waitin' by the
time we get there."

Chapter
Three

SANTA
ROSA MEDICAL Center is a large teaching hospital located between the interstate
and downtown San Antonio, and it took me a while to find a parking place within
reasonable walking distance. From the look of the people wandering in and out
of the main entrance, the bulk of their customers appeared to be either
indigent or heavily dependent on the Medicaid/Medicare program.

According
to Frank, Kyle was in Room 515, a private suite. I hate hospitals, having spent
my fair share of time in a variety of foreign and military field hospitals
during my career, with the requisite scars to prove it. Whether it's a modern
facility like this one or some olive drab tent in the middle of the desert,
they all smell the same. The only difference is air conditioning or lack of it,
but nothing can overwhelm the antiseptic smell. I followed an arrow that
pointed toward Rooms 500-525 and, midway down the corridor, found a nurses'
station where a young Hispanic woman who looked like a volunteer manned the
desk. She smiled as I approached.

"Hello,"
I said. "Can you tell me how Kyle Hammond is?"

"Are
you a family member or friend of the family?" the young woman asked
pleasantly.

"A
friend," I lied.

"I
can't release information to anyone other than a family member, but I believe
his mother is here. Would you like to speak to her?"

"Yeah,
please."

"Who
should I say is here?"

"Just
tell her a friend from Kerrville." I smiled. "I'll be in the waiting
room."

She
disappeared from the desk, and I made my way to the waiting room. I was
watching a cup fill with questionable vending machine coffee when Cate came in,
fatigue marking her face. She was wearing tan slacks, a dark brown turtleneck.
As usual, she wore very little makeup or jewelry, just a gold necklace and
small teardrop earrings. As I watched her cross the room, she brushed her hair
back from her face with one hand in a mannerism I had always found suggestive
and alluring.

"Coffee?"
I asked.

"If
I drink another drop, I'll have to give up sleep for the rest of my life,"
Cate said, shaking her head.

"You
been here all night?"

She
nodded as she sat down heavily at an empty table near a window.

"How's
he doing?"

"He'll
survive. No permanent injuries, at least physically. He's asleep right now. Do
you want to see him?"

I
looked at her and shook my head as I sipped the coffee. A trace of
disappointment flickered across her eyes.

"Has
he said anything else to you about what happened?" I asked, changing the
subject.

"I've
asked, but he won't talk to me about it."

"Tell
me about Sarita Ramirez."

"Kyle
and Sarita live together, and I presume it's a longstanding relationship even
though I'd never met her until two days ago."

"The
next time you see her find out what she meant about knowing this would
happen."

"She's
supposed to be here soon. Why don't you talk to her?"

"I
think it would be better if I stayed in the background. If I question her,
she's bound to tell him. You make a living getting people to say things they
don't want to, counselor. Get her to talk to you. Where are you staying?"
I asked.

"There's
a Holiday Inn a few blocks from here on Durango."

"I
was kinda hoping you were staying at his place. Then maybe I could sneak a peek
at his notes and see what's there."

"Sorry.
Sarita didn't invite me, and I didn't ask." Cate leaned back in her chair
and crossed her arms.

I
stared at the coffee grounds in the bottom of my cup. "Have you told him
you came to see me?"

As
Cate turned her eyes toward me, there was something unreadable in them.
"Quite honestly, Jo, you haven't been a topic of conversation. You lived
your life, and we lived ours. Life went on. Is that what you want to
know?"

Well,
I asked for that one, I thought. Too bad she wasn't a fucking mute. We had
never had any problems unless we talked.

"You
recommend the Holiday Inn?" I asked after a few moments of awkward
silence.

"It's
comfortable enough, but I'm only going to be here a couple of days."

"Okay,
I've probably stayed in worse places," I said, finishing my coffee and
standing up. "See if you can lay your hands on a key to his place and have
a copy made for me. Then before you head back to the Capital City, arrange to
get this Sarita here with you sometime, so I can check out their apartment.
After that, you can go on home."

"How
long will you be here?"

"Hard
to tell right now."

"I
appreciate you coming, Jo. I wasn't sure you would," she said as she reached
out and touched my arm.

Her
touch surprised me. It was always hot and cold with her. Fifteen years earlier
that touch had meant everything to me, but now it brought me too close to the
past, and I stepped away. "Yeah, well, neither was I."

I
found the Holiday Inn near Market Square and checked in, staying only long
enough to drop my bags on the bed and buy a map of San Antonio. I spent the
next three or
four
hours passing myself off as a family friend. Kyle's
editor at the Light had no idea what story he was working on but let me look
through his desk. The bottom drawer held scraps of paper with notes on them as
well as a couple of filled notebooks. When no one was looking, I stuffed them
into my jacket pockets.

The
police were less cooperative. They weren't talking about the case period, other
than to refer me to the public defender's office. Because the suspect was a
juvenile, the little shit's name wasn't even available. And with the victim still
alive, I doubted the case would have a very high priority. The public
defender's office was closed by the time I got there, and I decided to give up
for the evening and start again in the morning. I was lying on the bed watching
the evening news when the phone next to me rang.

"Yeah,"
I answered.

"Jo?"
It was Cate.

"You
just get in?"

"Yes,
and I have the key you wanted."

"What
room are you in? I'll come and get it."

"Three-thirty-four."

"Be
there in a minute."

I
knocked on the door to Cate's room and stood where I could be seen through the
security peephole. Cate opened the door and handed me a key that still had the
tag from an instant key place on it.

"I'll
need the address, too."

Picking
up a complimentary ballpoint pen from the nightstand, Cate wrote the address on
motel stationary. "It's not too far from here. I've only been there once,
but I think I can remember how to get there if you want me to show you where it
is."

"When
will Sarita not be there?" I asked, ignoring her offer.

"The
only time I could arrange for her to be at the hospital with me is Saturday
morning. The doctor is planning to discharge Kyle from the hospital then, and
she'll be there to drive him home. I'm returning to Austin as soon as he's
released. How long will you need?"

"Forty
minutes. Maybe an hour."

"That
shouldn't be a problem. It takes forever to check out of a hospital, and I can
stall if I have to about the billing."

"Give
me a call here when she's at the hospital, and that will be that," I said
as I reached for the doorknob.

"Have
you had dinner yet?" Cate asked. "I was just going to go down to get
something."

"I
was considering room service when you called."

"I
wouldn't mind some company. I hate eating alone."

"Sure."
I shrugged.

I
opened the door, and we were halfway out when the phone rang.

"Hello.
Oh, hello. I was going to call you later," she said with a quick glance in
my direction. "He's better today and should be out Saturday."