Beyond Blue (21 page)

“Then things could be worse than I thought,” Ruby said. “Those guys in your guest rooms are more dangerous than any dope smugglers you'll ever meet. They are Sendero Luminoso.”

In the darkness Ruby could suddenly see the whites of Rafe's eyes. “The Shining Path?”

“Yep. I recognized their tattoo on de La Fuente's forearm.”

“I don't know much about this gang,” Rafe said in hushed tones, “except that they're supposed to be dangerous.”

“You got that right,” Ruby said, leaning closer to Rafe's face. “Shining Path. Extremist faction of the Peruvian Communist Party. Been fighting the Peruvian government for twenty years. Maybe the most radical Marxist guerrillas left, at least in the West. Stone cold terrorists, hon.”

“How come I don't remember hearing about them blowing up stuff?”

Ruby shook her head. “Americans don't care much
about what goes on south of us. Last year they conducted almost two hundred raids on Peru's army. They'll do more this year. That's not counting the car bombs.”

Rafe reached out to capture both Ruby's shoulders in his hands. “Mi amore, why do you know so much about these things?”

“Baby, I'm off the force, but I don't spend all my time handling other people's suitcases.”

The moonlight shifted and suddenly Rafe's face was illuminated. Ruby glanced down and saw that her breasts were illuminated as well. Rafe also noticed and his expression made her smile. Even in the most extreme situations, men were so predictable.

“Rafe, up here honey.” When Ruby had established eye contact again, she said, “Listen baby, these people you're hanging with are terrorists, not dealers.”

“We're in danger?”

“Could be,” Ruby said. “But I'm a lot more concerned with the danger they pose to the rest of the country. I don't know what their plan is, but you can bet it's nothing good for the USA. I have to ask you to help me get to the bottom of this.”

“Of course,” Rafe said without a second's hesitation. “It might not be obvious, but I love my adopted country. Very much.”

“No, it ain't obvious, being you thought you were bringing drugs up in here.”

Rafe pulled Ruby to his chest. “You don't understand, chica. True, I've helped others smuggle things in. Unregistered cash, rare coins and the like. But I have never imported drugs. And yes, I suspected Hector was involved with drugs, but did not investigate my suspicions. He is my brother, chica. Besides, what if he was?”

“You don't see a problem with that?”

“It is capitalism that makes this nation great. If he is bringing in drugs, then he is simply a businessman, working the system of supply and demand, just as I do.”

“Whatever,” Ruby said, rubbing his back and warming to his embrace. “As long as I can count on you when the shit comes down.”

Rafe's left hand slid down Ruby's back to cup her ample bottom. “Well, I might need just a little bit of convincing.”

“Sugar, I can do that.”

Ruby awoke with her head resting on the warmth of Rafe's shoulder and an arm thrown across his chest. She had set her internal alarm clock for eight o'clock, and the clock radio on Rafe's headboard told her that at least that system was working. She was feeling some doubt about her other instincts. She smiled, feeling her right arm and breast rise and fall with every breath Rafe took. She did not think of him the way she knew she should think of a professional criminal, or at best a man in league with one. Worse, she was poised to trust him to support her against a group of terrorists who held life as cheap and, she suspected, already saw her as the enemy.

“Oh well,” she murmured to herself, “faint heart never won shit.” She nudged Rafe awake. Eyes still closed, he turned his head and kissed her forehead and hugged her to himself. Then his eyes opened and his brow knit, as if he had first remembered their warm loving from the night before, and only afterward remembered the conversation that led up to it.

“Is it time?”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “Let's go find out what your friends have sent you.”

After a final hug, they slipped out from between the covers. They both dressed, Ruby wishing she had shorts or jeans instead of the dress she wore the day before. Of course there were things she wanted a lot more.

“Rafe, baby, do you have a piece around here?” Ruby asked as they tiptoed out of the room. Rafe shook his head
and seemed to silently laugh at himself. No, Ruby thought, he really wasn't a criminal. In fact, that was probably the kind of thing he came to the USA to get away from. He had traded the AK spray down for the smooth, uptown kind of operation that would distance him from crime. If he broke the law, it was the kind of crime that was only a small step down from the white-collar variety. He had turned out to be exactly what the Shining Path needed, a smuggler who never wanted to touch the merchandise.

At the top of the stairs Ruby motioned to Rafe to stop. Frozen in place, she sent her senses out into the silence, searching for any hint of a movement, a sound, or even an errant scent. Convinced that the house was still asleep, she motioned him forward again

Ruby stopped again at the basement door to listen for movement. Again confident that only she and Rafe were awake, she headed down the stairs. With the door closed behind him, Rafe turned on the light. Then he watched with something close to disbelief when Ruby opened the furnace room door.

“How did you know it was in here?”

“Because, sugar, I looked everywhere else first.” With that, she pulled the duct loose again and reached inside. She carried the small plastic bag into the larger room and laid it on the pool table.

“Sure looks like cocaine,” Rafe said after a moment. “What makes you think it's not?”

“How would you check it?” Ruby countered.

“The usual way.” Rafe poked a hole in the back with his index finger and brought out what would cling to his finger and nail. “Well, it's not a crystal, and not white enough to be cocaine. Could still be heroin, but if it is, it's the finest powder I've ever seen smack come in.” Then he rubbed his finger on his gums under his upper lip, and wiped the back of his fingernail on his tongue. He paused as if waiting for something, finally just shrugging his shoulders.

“No freeze?” Ruby asked.

“Nothing, Chica. I don't know what this powder is, but it didn't come from any coca plant. And if it was an amphetamine I'd feel something by now.”

Ruby grinned. “Well, your pupils ain't dilated or anything, so I'm thinking it's no kind of hallucinogen either. So the question is, what the hell is it, and why do these guys want you to sneak it into country?”

A voice from behind and above Rafe said, “There was no reason for him to know, or his halfwit brother for that matter, as long as he was well paid.”

Ruby looked up to see de La Fuente stepping down the stairs. His gold tooth glinted in the midst of an evil smile.

“Well ain't this a bitch?” Ruby said. She didn't have a gun. Rafe didn't have a gun. But this clown, less than twenty-four hours in the country, he had a fistful of Glock to point at them.

“Where'd you get that?” she asked loudly in her high-pitched squeal.

“Hector is a better host than Rafael here,” de La Fuente said. “We can discuss it further after we get you and your friend upstairs,”

Rafe stepped in front of Ruby. “I'm not sure I'm in such a hurry to go up there until I know what's going on.”

“Well you should be in a hurry,” de La Fuente said from the base of the stairs. “Especially since you've just committed suicide unless we see to you immediately.”

Sunlight flooded Irv Jerome's Park Avenue office as it did most days, and he adjusted his chair to keep it out of his eyes. He was scrawling on a legal pad. As usual, his designer coffee sat at his right hand, his bagel at his left. His custom made shirtsleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm, his suit coat hanging behind his office door. He was so focused that he hardly noticed the sound of the main door to his office suite open.

“Good morning, Minerva,” Jerome called. “You're
awfully early today.”

“Actually, I think we're right on time.”

Jerome looked up to find the big black man who had driven Linda away after that unfortunate business in Greenwich Village. He strode across the floor in front of Jerome's desk, not bothering to remove his coat or gloves. His partner, the big cowboy, remained at the door. He was grinning, with a toothpick in his mouth, which might be why he didn't seem as scary as the black guy. But Jerome had made a career of never showing his fear. Instead, he looked from Stone's shiny black shoes up to his short crinkly hair and poked his lips out as he appraised his visitor. He gave a slow nod.

“On balance, I'd say you must be the one they call Stone. What can I do for you?”

“We figured we'd stop by to explain to you what your options are right now,” Stone said in his sepulchral voice. “You see, we know your entire operation now. We can see to it that you do some serious jail time, counselor, if you don't cooperate with us.”

Jacob smiled, despite the fact that the roof of his mouth had suddenly turned to sandpaper. He stared into Stone's hard eyes and said, “What, am I supposed to be scared of you? You're not the police.”

Instead of answering, Stone stepped closer to Jerome's desk. He reached forward, sliding the fingers of his right hand down the front of Jerome's shirt collar. He made a fist and twisted his hand, tightening the collar so that Jerome could not breathe. Even with both hands locked around Stone's fist, he was not able to ease the pressure one bit.

“We are not the police,” Stone said slowly. “That is exactly why you should fear us. We go beyond the boys in blue.”

Jerome struggled for breath, knowing on some level that the greater danger was the pressure on his jugular and carotid, the major vein and artery that, at that moment were not carrying blood to or away from his brain. He could
feel the veil of gray lowering over his consciousness. Just before his eyes rolled up into his head, he heard the cowboy at the door say, “You scared yet?”

Jerome nodded, and suddenly the pressure was gone. He gasped a couple of times, opening his top button and pulling his tie down a couple of inches.

“So, now we understand each other,” Stone continued as if nothing had happened.

“I…I think we can work something out,” Jerome said. The sandpaper lining had moved down his throat.

“Good,” Stone said. He walked to the side window, leaning against it, making Jerome squint into the sun to see him. “Consider first, option one. We take what we have to the police. They arrest you for racketeering, falsifying evidence, conspiracy to commit perjury, and any number of other little things that an officer of the court just ought not do. To avoid major punishment, you admit your ties to a number of criminals. We have the records and have decoded them, but your confession would drive the final nail into their defense.”

Jerome sipped his coffee, burning his mouth and not caring. “Assuming you're not Robin Hood and he's not The Saint, we can agree that that's an ugly set of circumstances to consider.”

“Enter option two,” Steele said, stepping into the room. When he put his hands in his hip pockets it pulled his jacket back, flashing the handle of his Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum. “In this scenario, you tell us the name of the contact person at each of the businesses you're so cozy with. We explain the new vision of the world to them, and they share their ill-gotten gains with us. They get protection from the information you so carelessly let us have, and you continue your business setup. Everybody's happy.”

“Look, buddy, I don't even know the names in most of those cases.” This Steele was easier to talk to, so Jerome focused on him.

“Come on,” Steele smiled. “Take D'Elia's Cartage. You give me the man you work with over there, and your contact at Hercules Trash removal, and the people at the Fidelity Pawn Shop chain. We'll take it from there. And you stay out of jail.”

“You don't know these people,” Jerome said. “They're where they are because they're cold-blooded killers. As scary as you guys are, I'm more afraid of that crew. And if you want to give my ledgers to the police, you go ahead.”

“You'd go to jail,” Mason said.

“I'll take my chances in a court of law. Besides, you know what I've got on the police in this town. If I go down, I'll take a lot of them with me.

Stone looked at Steele and gave a shallow nod. Steele smiled and to Jerome's surprise, drew his gun from its holster. Jerome pressed himself backward into his chair. Steele took one long step forward and pressed the muzzle of his gun against Jerome's chest. Jerome's eyes went from the big gun, up Steele's arm to his big white teeth. The teeth were on display, but it was no more a smile than a German Shepherd gives when he shows his teeth.

“Look here, dickhead. My partner, he's all about the money. Me, I'm all about the cops. We won't kill you for the money, but you get one more cop jacked up with faked evidence or a bullshit charge and I will put a hole in your chest where your heart ought to be. The police won't mean shit to me, the mobsters won't mean shit to me. I'll just hunt you down and take you out. Do you believe that?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Yes!” Jerome said, louder. His breath was shallow, and the pressure against his chest seemed to be squeezing perspiration out of his forehead. Steele paused a moment for emphasis, then eased the long barrel back and slid it into the holster under his arm.

“By the way, how are the three stooges?”

It took Jerome a second to make the transition. “Oh,
you mean the boys. Just bruises and bumps, and one broken arm between them.”