Redback (9 page)

‘We did it,’ he said.

‘Yeah, we did.’

She took another pull of the beer and felt her heart beating. She didn’t know which way it was going to go tonight, but she turned the TV off.

‘Weaver said something to me when we were in the air.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He wanted to know if he was going to be protected.’

‘We can get him a prison out of state, if that’s what he wants.’

‘It’s not the Salazars he’s afraid of. He said he was working on his plane when this all got started and he got an unexpected and what he described as a spooky visit. I showed him a sketch I carry.’

Marquez took a long pull of beer and debated coming clean with her about what he’d done in Tijuana to Miguel Salazar. But that would make a problem for her. It wasn’t fair, though it was strange to carry around something you knew was going to end your career. He put the beer down, got up and fished out a folded piece of paper from his jacket, then sat down next to Sheryl.

‘What’s that?’ she asked.

‘A sketch.’ He unfolded it and showed her Stoval’s face. ‘That’s who Weaver ID’ed.’

‘Where did you get that?’

‘Kerry Anderson.’

‘And you’re carrying it around. What’s happening to you?’

‘Something inside snapped,’ he said and smiled and she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

They talked about the bust now, ran the highlights over a second beer and turned the TV back on. A late night newscast covered the bust and showed the almond orchards, the Sherpa, delivery trucks, the storage buildings and house as the announcer quoted Holsten calling it a major blow to the Salazar Cartel.

‘I’ll be there when Rayman gets sentenced,’ Sheryl said. She began to wind down. She turned the TV off and looked at Marquez. She could read his face. She could read the quiet. She knew he was thinking about Osiers but she wanted him to put his arms around her in this motel in the middle of nowhere.

They finished the beer. They needed to be out of here before dawn. They needed to be at E.J. Jones & Sons before the owner got there and unlocked the doors tomorrow morning, and she saw John was fading. The moment was fading. She knew he’d spent a lot of adrenaline today. Only John could have come up with the plane idea. She saw he needed to sleep but said, ‘I’m going down to my room to grab the warrant. I want to check it again. I’ll be right back.’

‘Take my room key. It’s on top of the TV.’

She scooped it up. She went down to her room and stared at herself in the mirror, looked for the answer there before retrieving the warrant. She didn’t really need to look at it. It was all there. They were set for tomorrow. When she went back to John’s room and let herself in, he was lying on his back on the bed with his eyes closed.

‘Hey, you didn’t go to sleep on me, did you?’

‘No, I’m here.’

But he was groggy. He’d be asleep in minutes. She shut the door softly and leaned over him, search warrant still in her hand, her heart fluttering. She watched his chest rise and fall, watched him fall asleep and knew she should leave and go to her room. She knew that absolutely. She knew that was the right thing to do, but threw the second lock on the door instead, took her jeans off, got on the bed, and sat cross-legged, looking at his face, her thighs cool in the night air, John’s face still and statue like. He made her think of her mother telling her in her cryptic way that if she made a career in law enforcement there wouldn’t be opportunity for her. She might never have a family was what her mother was saying, and Sheryl had shaken that off. She lived in a different world than her mother. She’d been sure of that, and now she was thirty-four and single and her mother was dead.

She could wake him. She could touch him, arouse him, and get on top of him. Instead, she watched him sleep. She knew what the rules for agents were. She didn’t even have her pager with her. Her gun was back in the room. She knew all the rules for agents and yet she wrapped the bedspread over them and laid down alongside him and smiled as he stirred, rolled on his side and wrapped an arm around her. She undid his shirt, her fingers working quietly, slowly. She put her face against his warm skin and smelled him and closed her eyes.

She didn’t want to be anywhere else. A couple of tears leaked out from under her eyelids and she moved her hand up very slowly and touched the skin wet with tears. She didn’t want them to wake him. She pressed her hand on his chest. She felt his heart beating. She felt more tears wet the back of her hand and was afraid it was all coming apart now and what should happen with her and John never would. There had been a moment and the moment was sliding by. John was going somewhere else. He blamed himself for Billy Takado getting killed. It was the sketch of Stoval he was carrying. John was on a different road now. She could feel it and pressed her face softly against his chest. She closed her eyes again and tried to make it different, feeling the warmth of his skin and listening to his heart.

SEVENTEEN

T
he next morning at the warehouse of the distributor, E.J. Jones & Sons, they found employees milling around out front waiting for the owner to arrive and unlock as he did every day. His name was Jim Jones, like the Kool-Aid preacher, and he pulled up in a black Porsche Roadster and sat a long time in the car looking at their DEA jackets. Marquez left him alone and let him adjust to their presence in his own way. Jones was white-haired, well-groomed and acted stunned that the DEA was here. As his employees watched, he made a good run at being indignant.

‘Big mistake,’ he told Marquez and pointed a finger. ‘My father started this business thirty-five years ago and everyone here knows that what we do is distribute for Mexican manufacturers. They bring it to the border and we contract with US trucking firms to get their products where they need to go. You’re wasting more taxpayer money this morning. It’s no surprise we’re losing the war on drugs.’

‘We’re going to search your building, sir.’

Jones unlocked and said, ‘I’ll be in my office.’

‘I’d rather you wait here for the moment.’

‘I’ve got calls to make, but I guess you wouldn’t know anything about running a business.’

‘No, but I’ve wrecked a few. Just stick out here with us for an hour or so.’

Marquez left him with Sheryl and walked row after row of the shelving with shrink-wrapped product on pallets. The air was cool and smelled of concrete and the diesel the forklifts used. Above them, the metal roof creaked and groaned as the day heated. They searched and found nothing. At mid morning, after they knew it wasn’t going to come easy, if at all, Hidalgo drove into Calexico and picked up coffee and a box of donuts. Then they all met in the middle of the building.

‘Maybe I got it all wrong,’ Marquez said, ‘but I really don’t feel like apologizing to this guy yet.’ He picked up one of the extra coffees and looked around at the squad. ‘Let’s go take another look at that room in back where they box product.’

The room held packing machinery and they’d looked it all over earlier, but not opened anything. Marquez put his coffee down and used a knife to cut into a pallet of folded cardboard boxes. He folded back the heavy protective paper, cut the bands, and pried one loose so he could read the label.

‘Here we go,’ he said, and worked one of the folded boxes fully loose. He held it up and showed the KZ Nuts emblem. ‘They package and load here.’

No one responded because the owner had already told them KZ grew and shipped more than almonds. Some of the nuts were grown in Mexico, so no big deal. They were bound to have boxes. Still, the squad came over for a look and Green knocked over Marquez’s coffee.

‘Sorry.’

Marquez watched the coffee drain slowly under the pallet, thinking he really wanted that coffee. Then he heard dripping. The coffee had spilled on a concrete slab, so what was dripping? He got down and looked under the pallet. Couldn’t see that well, got up, walked over to a forklift, drove it back and lifted the pallet away, exposing a hinged steel lid, roughly three feet by three feet. He parked the forklift, walked back and then heard a sound below, a man coughing and voices. Marquez motioned everyone back, grabbed the handle and lifted the trap door.

A man wearing a backpack stood on a metal rung blinking at the light and smiling. Beneath him was another man and Marquez said, ‘
Hola
,’ and waved them up. One after another, ten came out with their loads of cocaine. They separated them, busted them, got statements and arrested the owner pending charges.

Marquez made a run at getting him to talk, but he lawyered up and when they finished with evidence collection they returned to LA. He got called into Holsten’s office the next day. On Holsten’s desk was a
San Diego Union-Tribune
article about the bust and the drug distribution system that made use of a restored Coast Guard plane. The Sherpa got a photo and caption,
Military workhorse goes bad
.

Holsten said, ‘You’re quoted in there. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were running Group Five.’

‘Well, we both know better.’

‘Congratulations on the bust.’ Holsten smiled in a cold hard way. ‘I have several things to talk to you about today. First, we have a strange request from the Mex Feds. A Captain Viguerra is planning a large raid and he specifically wants you and two agents you choose as observers. Do you know him?’

‘I’ve met him a few times. He’s former military but working for the judicial police now. He’s a charismatic guy. His men are very loyal to him. Where is this bust going down and why does he want us around?’

‘I don’t know why he wants you. All of this is coming through the El Paso Field Office and they don’t know either. We’re all hoping you can tell us.’

Sarcasm, the cold smile again, and Marquez knew today was the today. He stared back at Holsten and said, ‘They must have a theory in El Paso.’

‘They think he’s afraid of getting betrayed by someone on his side and that three DEA agents as ridealongs are a form of insurance. It’s not a request I would ever normally consider, but he’s managed through his contacts to get headquarters engaged. There are people in Washington that want us to show we can work with the Mex Feds. So if you want to go I’m going to let you go conditionally.’

Holsten let him digest that. The DEA didn’t send ride-alongs into a bust and he was being very careful to make sure Marquez understood if he went it would be voluntary.

‘In El Paso they’re not sure Viguerra is legit,’ Holsten said. ‘How did you and Viguerra become such good friends?’

‘What is it you want me to do?’

Marquez could have added
sir
to the end of the question, but there didn’t seem to be any point anymore.

‘I want you to answer my question. How did you become such good friends that he asked for you?’

‘I don’t know him very well, but I heard he wasn’t corruptible and went to meet him when we were trying to get a handle on the Salazars. We heard the Salazars put a contract out on him and I wanted to offer an alliance.’

‘Is this in your reports?’ Marquez nodded and Holsten was quiet and then asked, ‘What do you think of his request?’

‘I’ll do it, but I’m not sure I’d ask anyone else to.’

‘Hidalgo and Green have already volunteered to go.’

‘When does this bust of Viguerra’s go down?’

‘You’d have to leave today, but that depends on what happens with a conversation I want to have with you away from here. Let’s go get coffee.’

So it was going to be the famous ride in Holsten’s car to Starbucks. Marquez waited on the curb for Holsten to pull out of the parking garage. When he got in the car Holsten didn’t waste any time.

‘In my opinion your DEA career is over. Even if you survive the disciplinary hearings, you’ll never go up.’

Holsten drew a horizontal line in the air and Marquez could almost see the line as he lowered his hand. He felt a tightening in his chest and realized he wasn’t as ready as he thought.

‘You’ll go sideways. You’ll end up transferred to a backwater office and it’ll break your spirit. You’re young so you’ll go sideways for a long time. After that, you’ll quit or sink away.’ Holsten shook his head. ‘What in the hell was going through your head?’

‘A copy of the autopsy report on Jim Osiers got left wrapped in my morning newspaper. When I read it, I had to do something. I drove to Tijuana to a restaurant Billy told me Miguel frequents. I got into it with a couple of wannabes inside, and outside when I was leaving Miguel showed and drew a gun when I started toward him.’ Marquez shook his head. ‘Everybody in the Judicial Police knows Miguel Salazar murdered Jim, and I was there when he shot Billy Takado. He’s walking away from both killings, and I couldn’t handle that. No one cares about a dead informant and Jim Osiers is being painted as dirty. Once he’s dirty the investigation into his murder will end. I couldn’t handle that.’

‘I take that last comment very personally.’

‘You should.’

Holsten’s face reddened.

‘But I’m sorry I let the department down. I let myself down.’

‘I could fire you without any disciplinary hearings, without Internal Affairs or Office of Professional Responsibility investigations.’