The Pawnbroker (12 page)

“Don't trust these gentlemen?”

“Something like that. All they've done is make me even more interested in tracking down Eddie Henderson. I'm wondering just how much we screwed up letting him go. He's connected to Baza, who was probably supplying guns to at least one gang. That fits the ‘source drying up' comment. Hell, we might have the answer. Baza stiffed Eddie—so Eddie took him out.”

“Or these guys did it for him,” Gordon added.

 

Chapter Nine

They pulled over to the side of the street three blocks later, giving plenty of room for the two police cruisers to race by, emergency lights and sirens going full blast.

“Suppose the lady who called in got the plate on my truck?” Gordon said, easing back out onto the street, then driving away just over the speed limit.

“Probably too worried about the gangbangers to give us a second glance,” Charlie said. “One thing for sure, those hoods aren't going to rat us out.”

“Yeah, it would make them look bad. Now, can we get lunch?” Gordon said, grinning.

“Yeah, El Pinto. On the way I'm going to call Nancy. Her shift doesn't start for a few hours, but maybe I can get more info on Eddie Henderson. He clearly has some gang connections.”

“You going to tell her everything this time?”

“I might leave out the last ten minutes, but yeah, she needs to know what she's trying to dig into,” Charlie said. “I'm also going to give her Ruth Adams's name, so she can link it to the photo we found in Baza's apartment.”

*   *   *

They were almost to the restaurant, in the north valley neighborhood called Alameda, when Charlie finally ended the call. “That went well,” he said.

“Yeah? How many times did she call you a dumb shit? I lost track after four.”

“She knew she was on speaker, so one of those had to have been for you. Okay, so she thinks we should have handed Eddie over to APD first thing, I get that. But she saw the light when I said we'd hoped to get more from him by giving him a break.”

“Yeah, and once she hears about that backstreet action with the gangsters in Eddie's old neighborhood, she'll know you're holding back. If we want her trust, maybe we should play straight with her.”

“Yeah, but Nancy is a straight arrow—doesn't even go barhopping—and for a police sergeant, that's like … abnormal. If we report every one of our crimes she'll lose faith in our goodness.”

“I see your point. I also see why she thinks we're dumb shits,” Gordon said, making a right turn into the El Pinto parking lot.

“Enough deep philosophy for now. I hear a New Mexican combo plate calling,” Charlie said, placing his pistol and extra magazine into the glove compartment, then taking Gordon's weapon from him and storing it too. “Hope we weren't followed,” he added.

“I was watching. Unless the boys in the 'hood have a copter, they can't know where we are right now.”

“How about Eddie? No sign of a gold Mustang?”

“I would have noticed when we crossed the bridge. Now let's eat,” Gordon said, climbing out of the pickup. “At least Nancy can pass along the Ruth Adams ID to Detective DuPree. I'm guessing he hasn't picked up on that yet.”

“I told Jake to call me if he hears from DuPree, or if any cops stop by.”

As they walked up the flagstone path, Gordon pointed toward the outdoor patio to the east.

“Yeah. We can keep a better eye on the parking lot from there,” Charlie said, reading his mind.

*   *   *

Jake was a handshaker, a good practice for a businessman. When Charlie walked in after lunch, his newest—make that his only employee—was sealing a loan with a new customer. Gordon had come in through the back and was headed for the storeroom. His plan was to read tags on pawn items and make new customer lists.

In particular, they were looking for names that might connect with recent events, including those two young men from the van who'd elected to fight to the death over god knows what.

Charlie stood back, listening and learning as Jake completed his transaction. He and Gordon had been counseled on good pawnbroker practices, and the most important one was to keep all transactions private. Many of their clients, especially those forced to hock personal items, were depressed already. It was bad business to advertise their situation across the room.

The client, a well-dressed woman in her fifties wearing sunglasses and a big hat, avoided eye contact on her hurried exit. Hoping to see if his guess was correct and she was selling jewelry, perhaps a ring, he walked over to Jake, who was behind the counter.

“Every time I see you, it's with a client. You're worth every dollar, Jake,” he said.

“Of course I am, Mr. Henry. And you might want to remember that when it comes to Christmas-bonus time.” He grinned widely, then crossed his arms across his barrel chest.

“It's Charlie. Mr. Henry is my dad. Since when does this shop give bonuses?” Charlie replied, also grinning.

“Since now?”

“Well, first of all, we have to get into the black by Christmas,” Charlie replied. “By the way, was your last customer pawning some jewelry, a watch or ring? She was kinda antsy.”

“Yeah, it's a man's watch—she said it belonged to her late husband. I'm putting it on the list today in case it's on somebody's hot sheet. The merchandise retails at around fifteen hundred bucks. We settled on a hundred now and a thirty-day loan. I offered her $350 to take it off her hands, and she turned it down.”

“Doesn't that suggest it's not hot?”

“Yeah. A thief would have taken the $350 in a heartbeat. But I want it on record in case it's disputed estate property, maybe left to a surviving son, not the widow. She may not have wanted to barter.”

“Hadn't thought of that. Good call, Jake.”

“Okay, Charlie. What's really on your mind?” Jake asked. “Does it have anything to do with what's been going on? Gordon warned me about some gang problem. I know you were involved in that shooting where two punks were killed.”

“I wanted to ask you to dig deeper into your old boss's behavior, habits, anything you know. All of this seems to be connected to him, even yesterday's shooting, and until we put it together we'll never get to the bottom of this.”

“You and Gordon might be targets too, I'm thinking?”

“Just might be, and because you work here, some of that could rub off on you. Gordon already told you about the break-in by Eddie Henderson. There could be more problems, and you need to know.”

“I'm former Marine. We know how to deal with problems. Thanks for being square with me, but I'm okay with this.”

Charlie nodded.

“So what do you know about Baza? Was he dishonest with customers, vendors, people he did business with? Did you ever see him sell guns without the proper paperwork?”

“Not guns, not anything at all, for that matter—at least while I was working here. It was just like I told Gordon the other day. He did all the proper paperwork, paid Ruth and me on time, salary plus a commission on sales over two hundred, and he never shorted us on hours. He kept me on until the first notice came in about a missed lease payment. Then he said he no longer needed me, gave me two weeks pay, and said goodbye.”

“Ruth was gone by then?”

“Several months before. One day she just didn't show up, and he said she wasn't working here anymore. I asked what happened, and he said that was Ruth's business.”

“You have any idea what happened?”

“Up to that point, he'd been treating her quite well. He was happy, she seemed happy, and he flirted a lot.”

“He hit on her?”

“No, just smiles, compliments, lots of conversation, looks, stuff like that. Never put his hand on her. I think maybe he was falling for her.”

“She flirt back?”

Jake thought about it a moment. “She didn't encourage, or discourage, I guess. But she was reserved. Ruth was … mysterious, like she was keeping a big secret. She never talked about herself, her family, anything like that.”

“Did you ever learn anything about her family, an ex-husband, brother, sister?”

“She had a son, she had to come in late a couple of times, and left early once or twice because of some problem with her kid. No ring, no husband talk, nothing about family. We respected that, Mr. Baza and I. Well, at least I did, I didn't eavesdrop on their conversations. I mind my own business.”

“I respect that too, and I wouldn't be asking you this except that I think Ruth Adams may not have stepped out of Baza's life after she left his employment.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I saw his apartment after he died and her photo was the only one there.”

“Nice-looking lady,” Jake said. “Classy. We got along well.”

“You know where she lives?”

Jake shrugged. “I drove her home once when she had to take off early. Kid was throwing up, I recall.”

“So he wasn't in school?”

“Too young. I got the idea he was four or so, still too young for kindergarten.”

“You remember the address?” Charlie enlarged the photo to show more details of the building facade behind Ruth.

“Part of a small apartment building, maybe four to eight units. Think I could find it again. It's a couple of miles southeast of here.”

“Okay. How about you driving by there when you leave for the day? Gordon or I will follow and see if we can track her down.”

“I can do that.”

Jake stood there, clearly something on his mind.

“What is it? More about Baza?”

“Yeah, it just occurred to me that this Ruth thing, for him, was kind of out of character.”

“What do you mean?”

“He never hit on the customers, but before her, he was always out trolling for women. He preferred rich divorcées or widows. He even tried to hook me up on a double date or two. He'd meet them at one of the private golf courses, or a charity event, or wine tastings. Baza had a way with women, getting them to like him, and he used that to get them in the sack. The woman he was with before Ruth came along gave him a big white car, a Cadillac or a Lincoln Town Car.”

“White?”

“How'd you know?”

“Cops can't seem to find it at the moment.”

“So, Jake, what you're saying is that Baza was a gold digger?”

“Looking for cougars, my son-in-law would say. Use them and lose them. Baza joked about it until he saw it annoyed me.”

“But when Ruth came along?”

“A complete turnaround, at least that's the way it came across. If she'd had a lot of money, I'd have thought it was the mother of all scams. But if she had money, it sure didn't show. She walked to work—didn't have a car.”

A bell rang as the front door opened, and they both looked over as Nancy walked into the shop, wearing her dark blue APD uniform.

“All of a sudden I'm hoping to get arrested, but I guess this attractive officer must be here to see you,” Jake said, then winked. “I'll get busy with the paperwork.”

“Talk to you later,” Charlie said. He turned and walked over to meet Nancy, having noted her somber expression immediately. “Gina?”

Nancy nodded. “She had a setback this morning when a blood clot was discovered in her left lung. They had to insert a catheter into her vein but they got it out. She's back in the ICU for observation.”

“When can we see her?”

“Probably sometime tomorrow after eight
AM.
I left word to call me in case there's any more complications, and if you want, I'll let you know.”

“Please do.”

“I lit a candle in the chapel, Charlie.” She turned and looked him right in the eyes. “She's going to make it, I know it.”

“Of course she is,” Charlie said, trying to look positive. Nancy clearly needed the boost. In the service, he'd seen so many wounded or dying GIs, Marines, civilians, insurgents, that he'd developed a tendency to put the injured aside—at least emotionally—unless they were from his unit. His buddies, whether overseas or not, were family, however. Gina had been family long before that, and if she died, he didn't know how he'd handle it.

Nancy cleared her throat before speaking, and crossed her arms across her chest. “Officers got a call this morning about a short-lived melee that took place over in a Westside residential area. Neighbors say a big Indian and a little Anglo did a
Rush Hour
beat down on a local gang.”

“Hmmm. I'm a
Lethal Weapon
fan, myself, fighting for the common good. Did anyone happen to get a license number on those thugs?”

“Hmmm back at you. No, just a vague description of a big pickup. But guess what I managed to put together? This particular gang hangs out at Eddie Henderson's former address—the Premier Apartments. Coincidence, huh?”

“Of course. And on a related subject, has the department had any luck finding Eddie's new crib?”

“I wish. But I'm working on it, and now so is Detective DuPree. I told him about Eddie's visit here, though I sanitized his method of entry and the sequence of events. Skinny Eddie, as you described him, seems to have dropped out of sight. And we can't locate any Ruth Adams that fits the photo. Sorry for all the bad news.”

“Well, I've got some good news in the Ruth Adams department, maybe,” Charlie said. “I may have a lead, courtesy of our new employee, Jake Salazar, who worked here before, for several years. He may have an idea where Ruth lives, or at least used to live. When we close tonight, he's going to try to point out the place for me.”

“I'll be on shift by then. Give me a call on my cell if you actually find this woman,” Nancy replied.

“And here's another bit of news, for what it's worth. According to Jake, Baza was a womanizer, always looking for women with money who could show him a good time.”