The Other Side of Bad (The Tucker Novels) (29 page)

Chapter 40

After Carr and LeCompte entered the kitchen carrying another opened bottle of wine, the meal was served buffet style, that is, help yourself at the stove.

Rachael had pulled a large salad bowl, chock full, from the Sub-Zero and set it on the counter next to the stove, along with a four stack of fine white china plates.

As the guest, I was gestured to serve myself first. When Rachael observed my small self portioning, she gave me an almost hurt expression.

“I still have that business to attend to tonight. If I eat too much in the evening, I get kind of groggy, especially on carbs,” I said, sincerely enough to get a reluctant nod of understanding.

It wasn’t the time to think about what I was going to do about Eddie Tuma.

We were seated for dinner in a hidden nook off the kitchen that was surrounded on three sides by windows overlooking well-kept gardens. The nook was hidden by some more of those ‘can’t see’ doors, I had seen in George’s office.

From the outside, it must have looked like a small plant-less greenhouse sticking out into the garden.

The table was shaped like a roughed out picnic table, but was made from a solid piece of walnut that appeared to have been hand-rubbed with tung oil. Instead of benches, there were eight individual cushioned stools that swiveled on their affixed pedestals like bar stools, allowing easy access. It all had a George Carr office appearance to it. There was no ‘head of the table’ position.

George noticed I was drinking coffee, so didn’t offer me any of the second bottle of wine. They seemed to be waiting for something. I hoped they weren’t going to ask me to say grace, one of my secret waking nightmares.

“Go on, taste it,” LeCompte said. “Tell me what
you
think.”

Of course. The guest gets first bite. Whew, that was close.

I took a bite, chewed slowly, then after swallowing, said to LeCompte, “Don’t wear it as a hat.”

He laughed aloud and said, “I told you she could cook it.”

Before Carr could ask the query in his eyes, I said, “And, the rice is beyond perfect.”

Someone
kicked my leg under the table. Wearing the boots was a good idea.

This familiarity between Rachael and me was perplexing, to say the least.

After the meal was consumed and the dishes stacked into the dishwasher the four of us were back in Carr’s office. This time, more to the front of the room, closer to the door. We were seated around a coffee table sized slab of stone, on legs of twisted iron. Rachael and I sat on a couch that looked and felt like worn saddle leather. Carr and LeCompte were seated across from us and the table, in individual chairs that matched the couch.

On the table was a large, thick manila envelop.

Carr started this little meeting with, “Tucker, before we talk any more business, there is something I would like to ask you about.”

“What’s that?” I asked, thinking that whatever was coming would probably be a curve or a knuckle ball.

“In the interview with Robbie Gray, he mentioned something that was curious to me. He said to ask you how you got the cop to pay the money he owed you. Listening to the tape, it sounded as if he didn’t know, and wanted to. Now, I want to know.”

My stomach did a full barrel roll, endangering my Etouffe’e. This was a baggage car I had sealed and welded shut.

Shreveport, La., 1973

In the process of getting rid of the extra pounds of pot I’d persuaded the Miranda brothers to give us as compensation for their miscalculation of our ability to protect ourselves, I developed my own network of dealers. They wanted quantity and quality.

Around three months after the first run, I made one more for Darvoyce. It was the same crew, Robby Gray, Phil, Allen, and myself, making the same trip with different vehicles, but of the same type.

It was a breeze. We stayed at the same Holiday Inn. This time arriving in the early afternoon. From the time we pulled into the parking lot, until the load was in the trailer, was less than two hours.

We had just finished loading the
tomatoes
into the U-haul, when a shiny black Cadillac sedan pulled up next to us. The electric window on the passenger side disappeared into the door, and I was looking into the white smile of Armando Miranda.

“ Buenas tardes, Señor Tucker, I hope everything is satisfactory.”

I was hoping to see him.

“Everything is fine, Armando,” I said, lowering my head to see who was driving.

“Hello, Tom’as.”

“Hola, Tucker,” he replied, with his agreeable smile.

Teemo and Robby had just gone into the room before the Mirandas pulled up, and were now walking across the parking lot towards the car. Teemo was carrying the gym bag containing the money. I noticed a small movement by Tom’as, and the trunk popped open. I didn’t know enough about Cadillacs to discern if that was an option on that model, or something the Mirandas had customized.

Teemo walked past the driver’s side and around to the rear, threw the bag in and slammed the trunk closed. Robby was standing next to Tom’as, looking over the roof at me.

On the trip down, I told Robby I would not be making another trip with the crew and I was going to talk to the Mirandas about going on my own, but on a much smaller scale. He wasn’t at first agreeable, but after explaining my home situation with Margie (she didn’t like me going off on these runs) and school, he came around. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood. Besides, what could he do about it, really?

Before they pulled away, I said, “Armando, there is something I would like to discuss with you, if you have the time?”

Politeness goes a long way with Mexicans. I had injected just enough respect into my question to get his attention and to imply it was business.

“Of course,” he said, like he expected it.

He looked over at his brother, and said, “Tom’as, please.”

The back door next to me opened by itself. I knew that wasn’t stock. I looked over the roof at Robby, and said, “I won’t be too long, I know we’ve got to roll. Explain to Phil and Allen. Okay?”

I said this more for the Miranda’s than Robby, I didn’t have time for them to take me to dinner and ply me with Mexican hospitality.

I got into the back, and just before closing the door, saw Phil and Allen looking a skosh alarmed over by the trailer. After closing the door, it occurred to me, not only could the door be automatically opened from the front seat, but it might also be locked from there as well.

As we pulled away and the windows were going up, Armando shifted in the front seat so he could see me and said, “It is a shame you must be in such a hurry. There is a wonderful Cantina on the other side of the border I would love for you to experience.”

It swiftly came to me, this was the first time I had been with the twins without a gun in my hand. It was nestled behind my back, bringing me no more comfort than it would if I were riding along with any of my friends.

“I would enjoy that, Armando. I would like to know you and Tom’as better. I hope to have that opportunity in the future.”

I’ve been told that I have the knack of picking up on the way people talk. If I’m around Cajuns, I’ll start talking with a small Cajun accent. If I’m around hard-talking farmers, I swiftly turned into one. Now, I was around two educated Mexicans that spoke proper English. I wondered if I could take this back with me and hold on to it. Maybe, probably not…no way.

My reference to the future held an implicit connotation. Tom’as was driving with no apparent destination and Armando was looking expressionlessly at me . They were both silent, waiting, reminding me, they were big-time drug dealers and, without a doubt, very dangerous men.

I said, “This will be my last trip to Laredo with Robby.”

“And, you would like to do business with us by yourself,” Armando said, smiling and nodding with understanding.

No wonder he’s the jefe. He was very quick to grasp my intention.

“Si,” I said.

Without commenting on my bilingual agility, he tapped Tom’as on the shoulder, and pointed out the windshield to something. Tom’as turned left into the parking lot of a dry cleaners, put the car in park, and turned to where he, too, could see me.

“What is it you have in mind, Senor Tucker?” Armando Miranda asked.

They were both watching me with interest. I was rapidly losing my confidence that they would go for my proposal. Why would they? They just sold a ton of marijuana to us. Why would they sell less to me, much less?

“Armando, Tom’as, I am married to a beautiful woman who I love very much. I have a beautiful daughter who I also love very much. I am not really a, how you say, a bandito. The things Teemo told you about me were made up, to make me one. I have never been arrested for anything. I am using the money I make with your marijuana to pay for my wife’s and my education. My wife does not like me going on these trips, with these men. She is afraid that I will, one day, not return.”

“There is always that risk in this business.” Tom’as said seriously.

“I understand that risk and accept it,” I said. “But, is it fair for me to ask my loved ones to sit and wait for me to maybe not return?”

Tom’as started to say something but Armando slowly raised his hand to thwart any response from his twin.

“What is it you want?” he asked.

I made a quick decision to just throw it up and see where it landed.

“I would like to be able to contact you directly. Come down with my wife, like a little vacation trip, pick up anywhere between 25 to 50 pounds and drive back. Enjoy the trip and sightsee along the way.”

The shock was plain to see, but I misread it.

“Your wife would come with you, she has agreed to this?” Armando asked, his eyes widening.

“It was her idea,” I said. “She wants to come. She wants to be with me. She doesn’t like being left out of any part of my life.”

They both started laughing, and starting speaking Spanish faster than I could grasp, even if I was capable of grasping. After a minute of their laughing, talking and observing my silence, Armando asked, “Do you have a picture of your wife?”

Now, that was a fast-breaking curve ball. I reached in my back pocket and pulled out my wallet. In it was a picture of Margie, sitting on a table at the fishing camp on Spring Bayou. She had her hands flat on the table next to her legs and was leaning forward, laughing at something I’d said just before taking the picture. She was wearing hip hugger pants and a halter top, her full-bodied auburn hair spilling around her face onto her bare shoulders. It was one of my favorite pictures of her. It showed her fine athletic figure, her beautiful hair, her sexy smile, and the sun had somehow managed to light up her blue eyes. I pulled out the picture and handed it to Armando.

He stared at it for a full ten seconds, then handed it to Tom’as. Tom’as looked at it for a few seconds, then whistled softly through his teeth.

“She is very beautiful, Tucker,” Tom’as said.

“She must also be very strong, in here,” Armando said, tapping his chest over his heart. “She must be, to want to come and help you with this business.”

“She is very strong,” I said, “and, very tough. She has helped me before. I trust her to do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done. She is my best friend.”

Armando took the picture from Tom’as’s hand and eyes, then said, “I would like to meet this woman of yours. What is her name?”

“Her name is Margie.”

Armando looked at Tom’as. Tom’as nodded, then they looked at me. Armando reached in his inside coat pocket, pulled out a business card, and handed it to me. The card was a plain cream-colored card that read, Miranda Enterprises, with a phone number on the bottom edge.

“That is our home number. We live together. We have not, as yet, met the kind of woman your Margie seems to be. You say you are not a bandito, Tucker. You may not be, but you are in a business that is full of banditos. I have seen you in that business, and how you deal with banditos, and I would have to say you are very… professional. If you say your wife is strong, I believe you. Call us when you are ready for your little vacation.”

To this day, I don’t know if the banditos they were speaking of were themselves, or… if they would have done business with me if I hadn’t had that picture of Margie.

A couple of months later, Margie and I did drive down to Laredo. The Mirandas invited us to their home. A beautiful ranch about two hours’ drive from Laredo, into Mexico. They were perfect gentlemen and Margie liked them both. Over the months, we met with them and were introduced to many different gorgeous women who were trying to snare the Miranda twins. Apparently, no one knew what kind of business they were in, no one but Margie and me.

About a year after Margie and I first went down to Mexico, Tom’as married a lady from Austin, Texas. Her name was Lori, and she looked a lot like Margie. Our trips became a little shorter, as Tom’as could provide what little I needed right there in Austin.