The Pawnbroker (13 page)

“Let me guess. Cougars who could buy him fancy clothes, take him to Vegas, shower him with gifts? The more I hear about the guy, the more enemies he might have made, me included.” Nancy shook her head in disgust.

“Suppose one of these women he dumped along the way was pissed enough to have him put down?”

Nancy shrugged. “Could be. Unless he was involved with a gang and they decided to take him out for whatever reason, it looks more like a hate or revenge killing. He was shot down on the street by someone who was waiting for the opportunity.”

“I agree. But how did the shooter know he was going to be there? The only people who know about that meeting were Gordon and me, Gina, and Baza.”

“Gina mentioned it to me too, but that's as far as it went on our side. Baza was hiding out, of course, but maybe he told someone, a person he trusted.…” Nancy's voice trailed off.

“Like Ruth Adams? We've really got to track her down,” Charlie said. “Another thing. A few months ago Eddie tried to contact a Ruth he thought was working at the GA warehouse. It was the wrong Ruth, apparently, but he left his mark after they ran him off, according to the people I spoke to over the phone.”

“That's the same place Henderson said he worked?” Nancy asked.

“Yeah. The guy is good at blending truth with his lies. Adds details that make it seem legit,” Charlie said.

“Sounds like someone I know,” Nancy said, frowning.

Charlie shrugged.

“Well, see what you can do about following up on her residence, then give me a call. Whatever you do, don't let her give you the slip,” Nancy said. “Stay in touch. And if you find her, remember that Detective DuPree also has to know.”

“If I do, I'll let you tell DuPree. I don't think he likes me.”

Nancy walked to the door, and Charlie noticed that Jake was admiring her backside too. Suddenly she stopped and turned.

“Sorry, I'm preoccupied,” she said, unaware she was being checked out. “I just remembered something I thought you needed to know. It has to do with yesterday's incident,” she said, glancing over at Jake, who was suddenly busy with paperwork again.

Charlie walked toward her, glancing around to make sure no customers had come into the shop while they were talking.

“Okay.”

“The shotgun used by the passenger isn't in any records—it's a common model and thirty-plus years old. However, the handgun is last year's model, and was registered and sold to a local citizen at a local gunshop.”

“But the citizen wasn't the gangbanger shot yesterday,” Charlie guessed.

“No, but the original owner, who has no criminal record or gang affiliation, claims to have sold the handgun to a pawnshop to raise cash toward a fishing boat.”

“Interesting. Let me make a wild guess—this pawnshop.”

“Yeah, the guy still has the receipt. He sold it to Diego Baza months ago. That sale was never reported to APD, and the weapon was not registered to Baza or this shop. Those are disclosure violations that could have resulted in a fine or the pulling of the business licence and shutting the shop down.”

“So, did Baza deal the pistol under the radar to that gang member?” Charlie wondered. “According to what we heard today, Eddie was the go-between on at least some gun deals.”

Nancy shrugged. “That's a question I think DuPree will be asking you before long. Better get your shit together, just in case.”

“Jake's trying to straighten out the paperwork that Baza left behind. Baza deleted everything from his computers, at least for the last few months he was here, but if we get the software and files back, hopefully we can print out everything, and maybe even restore the original network.”

“Yeah, Gina told me what you guys were going through here, one of the reasons she took on…”

“… the job that got her shot, I know. But now we have one more nasty thing Baza was probably up to from behind these doors—selling weapons. Instead of answers, all we're getting is more questions.”

“Well, I gotta go for sure this time,” Nancy said, checking her watch. “Find Ruth Adams. Maybe she has some answers.”

*   *   *

“What did they say about the Charger?” Gordon asked, taking his eye off Jake's big SUV, which was ahead of them in traffic, as Charlie put down his phone.

“It's going to be another week before they can replace the damaged components and finish up the bodywork. At least that's the story I'm getting.” Charlie looked ahead, making sure he could still see Jake as he drove east.

“Maybe I should put the fear of Gordon … Hey, we've got company.”

“Besides Jake in front?” Charlie glanced in the side mirror of Gordon's pickup. “The minivan two cars back?”

“No, the silver Mazda behind it. I remember seeing it parked down the street when we left the shop.”

Charlie thought a second, looking ahead again at Jake's blue Excursion. “I don't want to lead anyone to this Ruth woman. Let me call Jake before he points out the apartment or something.”

Fortunately, they had to stop at a red light, and Charlie got the man on his cell phone immediately. “Jake, this is Charlie. Somebody is following us, and I don't want to pass by Ruth's place. Turn away and go home, and we'll try to find out who our tail is. I'll tell you how this works out in the morning.”

“Suppose it's a police detective?” Jake asked.

“Guess we'll find out. You watch your back.”

“Count on it. Be careful, boss,” Jake said, then the light changed and he ended the call.

“Get that?” Charlie said, watching as Jake took a right turn.

“Yeah. I'll go straight, then take the next left. Hope it doesn't go by her place.”

“Think you can get on his tail?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?”

“Not a polar bear in winter. But, okay. Just don't get us pulled over. Traffic is heavy this time of day, so Smokey will be on the prowl.”

“Smokey the Bear? We back in the forest?”

“Smart-ass. ‘Smokey' is seventies slang for a cop—John Law, The Man, pigs, 5-O, like that. Don't you know any American television history?”

“Hey, I went to public school, watched
Beavis and Butthead,
and played video games. I'm lucky I can think at all.”

“Says the man with a degree in sociology from CSU. Why couldn't you have gutted it out and earned an MBA before you enlisted?”

“If I'd become a suit, I would have never enlisted, and never met you, and never been shot at by more than one guy at a time, and … hey, you went to public school too,” Gordon said, taking a quick left at the next light, barely missing an oncoming UPS truck. “Hang on!”

Gordon cut into the alley, circled quickly, then came up several cars behind the silver Mazda, which was still waiting at the light, turn signal on.

“How long you think he'll keep looking for us?” Gordon said.

“If he really wants to find us again, he'll circle, hoping we haven't gone far.”

“If he's not working alone? Then we're still being followed, right?” Gordon said.

“Yeah, and if it's Gina's shooter, watch out for a drive-by.”

“I know drive-bys. I grew up in Denver, bro, remember?”

“Yeah, and I grew up where beer was illegal. Didn't stop me. Just keep sharp.”

“Okay, but what if all this is a coincidence and this guy wasn't following us?” Gordo asked.

After the light the street became four lanes, and Gordon kept to the outside, trying to stay in the guy's blind side as they checked the car out. The Mazda was low to the ground, and up in the pickup they couldn't see the driver's face, just a shiny blue jacket and orange ball cap. But they could read the license plate number.

“I'm calling Nancy on this plate,” Charlie said. He left a quick voice mail, then hung up. Two minutes later his phone rang.

“The plate is registered to a Javier Espinosa, and the vehicle is supposed to be a 1998 green Nova,” Nancy said.

“Okay, it's on a silver Mazda right now. We'll hang back and keep it in sight as long as we can. We're heading north on Fourth Street, passing El Pueblo.”

“Copy. Let me know what you learn, but no shooting, please,” Nancy said.

“I hear you,” Charlie said, then ended the call and looked over at Gordo.

“If he takes the next left, he's heading across the river. Maybe going home. On the west side,” Gordon said.

“What the hell is going on? Gangs, guns, Baza, and Eddie Henderson,” Charlie said, trying to make sense of it. In the army, they were always told what to do. Here, there were too many questions and too many choices to make. Or maybe he'd gotten lazy not really having to think for himself. That had to stop.

“But where does Ruth Adams fit into this? Is this one of Eddie's people looking for her? And why?” Gordon asked, watching the Mazda moving through traffic.

For this, Charlie at least had some possibilities. “Maybe she knows where Baza hid the money, guns, diamond ring, Rolex, drugs, counterfeit twenties, cookies, or the Maltese Falcon.”

“You watched too much TV growing up, bro. And that's the Millennium Falcon. Whoa, here we go!”

 

Chapter Ten

The Mazda suddenly cut right across two lanes, barely missing a FedEx step van. It raced onto the grounds of a big Westside mall.

Gordon hit the brakes, made the corner with squealing tires, then raced up to a service road that circled the mall parking lots.

“Right,” Charlie said, and Gordon took the turn.

“Where?”

“Ahead—north. I'll watch my side, you watch yours. All I know is that the left side was clear.”

“Got him! He's in the Macy's parking lot,” Gordon said. He had to stop, letting an oncoming car pass, then went left, driving down a parking lot lane toward the Mazda, which had pulled into a slot about fifty feet from the entrance of the big department store.

“Block him off,” Charlie said, checking his handgun with a touch.

Charlie jumped out and raced over to the passenger side, looking in, his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Empty. Look around, he can't be far.”

“There, blue jacket and orange cap, going inside,” Gordon said, pointing toward the glass foyer at the store entrance seventy-five feet away. “He's about my size.”

“Disable the Mazda, then park where you can keep watch,” Charlie said.

Charlie jogged toward the entrance, reaching the heavy plate-glass doors just as two slender teenage girls came out. They were both on their cell phones and oblivious to the world.

They stood there a second, looked up and finally saw him, then giggled and scooted out of the way. “Sorry,” one of them mumbled, then they both started laughing.

Charlie hurried through the foyer and opened the inside door. He looked around and saw the Mazda driver at the top of the escalator, stepping off and disappearing. Charlie was too late to get a look at the face, but the guy was wearing black slacks, not jeans, and black athletic shoes with orange laces.

He took the escalator like a stairway, two steps at a time, then stopped at the top. Scanning from right to left, he looked into a women's clothing department, then straight ahead. An orange Broncos cap was visible for just a second, then dropped out of sight.

Charlie hurried across the floor, dodging candy displays and a low counter with sweaters and tops. He was on the second level of the store and the mall, and the person he was following had taken the stairs down to the first floor. Below, he knew, shops lined both sides of an open walkway that was interrupted by kiosks and displays.

He reached the stairs and went down slowly, in scout mode, waiting for the opponent to expose himself.

Five minutes went by, and Charlie, now at the bottom, still hadn't seen any man with the right combination of size, shoes, cap, and jacket. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of orange. Stepping back, he watched as a guy wearing the right clothing, minus the cap, stepped out of a poster shop carrying a cardboard tube and something orange in his other hand.

The dark-skinned guy, either Indian or Hispanic from this distance, walked casually west, then subtly dropped the cap in a trash bin.

Charlie stepped out, his back to the guy, and watched the man's reflection in Macy's glass storefront. The guy took several more steps, turned and looked back, then continued west.

Charlie kept the subject in sight until the guy stepped into a cell-phone dealer's shop. Then he moved toward the phone shop, positioning himself so he could watch the entrance reflected in the sports-shoe store window.

Mazda guy came to the entrance to the phone shop and stood there, watching. Then he walked past Charlie, sticking to one side of the mall and looking into the windows. He also had a cell phone to his ear.

Charlie brought out his own cell phone, pretended to be texting, and took a photo of the guy as he crossed in front of him and went into Sears. If he waited in the mall walkway, he'd lose sight of the guy who could just exit to the outside unnoticed.

Just as Charlie decided to go in, his phone vibrated. He looked down at the text message. “Cmng frm wst on fut.”

“Damn,” Charlie said aloud, and stepped back behind a pillar. If Gordon was still in the truck he could have gone around to the outside Sears entrance and they could have squeezed the guy.

Charlie took another look toward Sears, trying to decide, when he caught a break. The guy stepped back out into the mall. Charlie stood there, pretending to text, hoping the guy wouldn't come by and spot him. Listening, he heard footsteps heading west again, in a hurry.

Peeking up, he could see the guy almost running toward the mall's big north side entrance. He'd been made.

*   *   *

“Call Gordon,” Charlie said into his phone, picking up his pace, trying to screen himself with people, pillars, and kiosks as he moved.