Blindman's Bluff (25 page)

“He’s a tough white dude. Could he be El Patrón?”

Brand was dismissive. “I don’ know what El Patrón’s name is, but I don’ thin’ it’s somethin’ stupid like Rondo Martin.”

S
OME WHITE DUDE
who flashes a lot of cash?” Marge said. “Boy, he really went out on a limb.”

“Like they say in the electronic world: GIGO.” Oliver smiled.

“How very techie of you.”

“I also know LOL and IMHO.”

“You don’t have a ‘humble opinion,’ Scott.”

Oliver said, “No, it means ‘in my highest opinion.’”

“Or ‘in my honest opinion.’” Decker exhaled aloud. “Wow, this is a lot more fun than talking to bullshit cons who feed me crap.”

The three of them were sitting in Decker’s office, kicking around ideas. Oliver had on a black suit, Marge had on a gray suit, and Decker was wearing a brown suit. They were appropriately dressed for a funeral, an event that would have dovetailed nicely with their sagging spirits.

Gil was missing, Resseur was missing, Grant was nursing wounds at the Kaffey compound in Newport, and Mace was somewhere…not exactly missing, but he wasn’t answering Decker’s phone calls.
Neptune Brady and his crew had been unceremoniously axed. The leads were thinning, and the case was growing frosty.

Decker smoothed his mustache. “I am concerned about Brett Harriman. You should have seen the look in Alejandro Brand’s eyes when he talked about him.”

“He’s behind bars,” Oliver said. “He’s got other things to worry about.”

“He’s a Bodega Twelver,” Marge said. “He knows people on the outside.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “I’ve talked to a few of the jailers in County. They’ll keep their ears open. But someone needs to talk to Harriman, tell him to be careful.”

“He can’t exactly look over his shoulder,” Oliver said. “Well, he could, but it wouldn’t do him any good.”

“Maybe he has his own way of discerning if someone is around him. In the meantime, he shouldn’t be out and alone until we get a better handle on Brand.”

“I’ve got some news about the Saturn, but don’t get excited.” Marge flipped a couple of pages of her notepad. “The lead was a bust. The Saturn was used and sold to a rental car service called Cheap Deals. It was rented to Alyssa Mendel and on the day that Harriman showed up at your house, Mendel was visiting her eighty-five-year-old aunt Gwen. She lives across the street and a few doors down from you.”

“Well, that’s good for me, but bad for the case.” Decker paused. “Rina’s going to have a field day when she finds out that the Saturn was nothing. I bought all this security equipment because I was so nervous.” A beat. “I might as well install it. I’m still a cop, Brand is still a Bodega Twelver, and I still got two nasty homicides.”

“I have three locks on my condo,” Marge said. “If I ever have a heart attack, no way the paramedics will be able to get in.”

“What are you doing to the house?” Oliver asked Decker.

“Updating the alarm, adding a couple extra horns, video cameras, motion sensors, rekeying the locks, checking the window locks…basic stuff that couldn’t stop a professional, but it might
give pause to an amateur.” Decker flipped through his notes. “Oh yeah…this may be important. When I mentioned the name Rondo Martin, Brand appeared as if he didn’t have a clue who he was.”

“He could have been lying,” Oliver said.

“In my opin—” Decker smiled. “IMHO, Brand wasn’t faking.”

Marge said, “That doesn’t say anything about Martin’s involvement. Maybe Martin’s involvement wasn’t common knowledge—in contrast to Joe Pine or José Pinon.”

“Exactly. Brand admitted knowing Pinon and said Pinon was a former Bodega 12th member who apparently went through rehabilitation at a place called Go-carts. I had Wang look up community centers for gangbangers and there’s a government and privately funded community service group called GOCOTS.”

“Get Our Children Off the Streets,” Marge said. “When I was looking for Jervis Wenderhole on the Bennett Little case, I came across the name.”

“Guy Kaffey was on the board of directors. I had Wang go down the list of personal bodyguards as well as company security guards. Guy hired quite a few ex-Bodega 12th members.”

Oliver said, “He might as well have given Pinon a gun. Oh, wait. He did give Pinon a gun.”

Decker said, “Brand told me that Pinon was not only involved but that El Patrón was pissed because Pinon had fucked up by not finishing off Gil Kaffey.”

“So what do we think about Gil Kaffey?” Oliver asked. “Suspect or victim?”

“My first thought was victim. But then he went missing and I was shot at. That could have been a setup on Grant’s part. Or on Gil’s part. Or on Resseur’s part. Or none of the above.” Decker blew out air. “When we find Gil and Resseur, hopefully we get some answers.”

“I just thought of something,” Marge said. “Brand told you that El Patrón deals drugs.”

“Gotta deal drugs if you’re El Patrón,” Oliver said.

“Yeah, it does sound like a lie, but hear me out. Rondo Martin
policed an agricultural community. I bet there are some sneaky-ass farmers who might plant some…marginal crops.”

Decker thought about it. “Martin developed contacts with marijuana growers and took the business to L.A.?”

“Just a thought.”

“Did you get any indication that illegal stuff was being grown in Ponceville?” Decker asked.

“No, but we’re not going to get that kind of information from talking to the sheriff. Maybe Willy Brubeck’s father would know about things like that.”

“More likely someone in the ciudads knows about those kinds of things,” Oliver said.

“We’re off to Ponceville tomorrow at ten,” Decker told them. “I’ll not only inquire about Rondo Martin the shooter, I’ll also ask questions about Rondo Martin the dealer.”

“Be careful, Pete,” Marge told him. “A dealer who’s good with a gun is a formidable enemy.”

RINA REGARDED THE
video camera set under the roof of the porch and aimed at the door. “It’s beginning to look like a fortress.”

Decker was up on a ladder, adding a few finishing screws. “You can’t even see it from the street.”

“So how does it act as a deterrent if you can’t see it?”

“The point of the camera is to give you a bird’s-eye view of what’s going on out there.”

“So I can see my neighbor’s niece drive away?”

“The Saturn turned out to be harmless, but it was a wake-up call to update our security. Why are you giving me a hard time when all I want to do is protect my family?”

“You’re right.”

Decker stopped hammering. “What did you say?”

Rina smiled. “You heard me.” She regarded the sunset—a stunning display of golds and violets. The day had been hot, but the evening was balmy. She had changed into a short-sleeved white blouse and a denim skirt. Her black hair was covered by a colorful
silk scarf that hung down her back. “Can I help out to speed things along?”

He readjusted the arm on the camera. “No, thanks. I’m good…almost done.”

Hannah walked out. She had put on her pajamas and wore fuzzy slippers. “When are we eating?”

“As soon as your father’s done.”

“In about fifteen minutes,” Decker said.

She huffed and stormed back into the house.

“We’re hungry,” Rina said.

“I want to do this right. Why don’t you set up the table and by that time, I’ll be done.”

“I’ve already set up the table.”

“Then drink a glass of wine or something.”

“The wine will mellow me out, but it will do nothing for our progeny.”

“Give her a snack.”

“She doesn’t like to eat snacks right before dinner.”

Decker looked down at his wife. “Just start without me. I’m a fast eater anyway. Besides, the less time I spend with her, the better she likes me.”

“She loves you.”

“So you keep saying. Cindy was always nice to me.”

“Cindy didn’t live with you.”

Silence. Decker hammered away for a few more minutes, then climbed down the ladder. “Done.” As the two of them walked into the house, he said, “I’m going to shower first. Start eating and I’ll be there in a little bit.”

It seemed like a good idea. Hannah was already at the table, eyeing the chicken in predator/prey fashion. Rina poured herself a half glass of Herzog petite sirah. “You can start.”

“Finally.” She grabbed the two drumsticks, then heaped her plate with a mound of broccoli and a half-baked potato. “Why is he so paranoid all of a sudden? It’s not like he suddenly joined the police squad.”

“The case involves members of the Bodega 12th Street gang. One
of them is in jail and I identified him. Your father’s a little nervous.”

“But you didn’t put that guy in jail.”

“I don’t even think he knows I exist, but your father is just being cautious.”

“It’s really inconvenient staying at Oma and Opa’s. I have to wake up a half hour earlier.”

“It’s only for a few days.”

“Yeah, but it has to be the day before I take my SATs. And no, I don’t want to sleep over at a friend’s house.”

Rina reached over and squeezed her daughter’s arm. “You’re very smart. You’ll do fine.”

Hannah speared a piece of broccoli and chewed vigorously. There were tears in her eyes. Decker showed up a minute later, his wet hair slicked back.

“You look like Dracula,” Hannah told him.

Decker started to laugh. “I suppose that’s a compliment. He was a count.”

Hannah giggled. “I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”

“SATs,” Rina said.

“When are you taking them?” Decker asked.

“Tomorrow, as I have previously told you.”

“I’m old. I forget things. I’m sure you’ll do fine.” He paused. “You’ll certainly do better than I did. If they hadn’t given me points for filling in my name, my score would have been negative. Not that it mattered. I never intended to go to college.”

Hannah stopped eating and studied her father. “Why’s that? You’re so smart.”

“Thank you,” Decker said with sincerity. “Education didn’t matter much to my parents. I’m sure that sounds pretty good to you now.” That got a smile out of Hannah. “Grandpa worked with his hands. I figured I’d do the same.”

“Yet you chose something that requires a lot of brain work.”

“It was all serendipitous. After I came out of the army, the police academy was looking for people. Gainesville was…is a college town and I detested all the protesters because they were my age and
having too much fun. The police hated the students as much as I did. My enemy’s enemy is my friend.”

Hannah appeared thoughtful. “You could have quit.”

“It turned out to be a good fit.” He chewed thoughtfully. “I can’t believe I’ve been doing this for almost thirty-five years.”

“I hope I find something I’m passionate about. The only thing I love besides you guys and boys is listening to music.”

“So be a music critic,” Decker said.

“Yeah, you’d love that.”

“Why would I care? As long as you live it honestly, do what you want.”

“Abba, you can’t make a living out of that.”

“Pumpkin, if you work hard enough and do what you love, you’ll make a living. You may not make a lot of money. You may have to do without certain things. But there’s nothing better than doing work that you like. I don’t like my job every day, but I wouldn’t consider anything else.” Decker poured himself a glass of wine and toasted with Rina. “You can’t put a price tag on everything.”

“You really wouldn’t care if I became a music critic?”

“No. Why should I? It’s your life.”

“So I should forget about college and pursue my dreams?”

“Excuse me?” Rina said.

Decker laughed. “I’d like you to finish college to keep your options open. Other than that, I have no expectations.”

Hannah pushed her plate away. “I’ve got to go pack for Oma’s.”

“Hannah?” Rina said. “If it’s important to you, we can sleep here. The Saturn turned out to be nothing.”

“Now
you’re telling me?”

“I didn’t want to cancel on my parents. They seemed excited to have us over. But that’s thinking about them and not you. I’ll call them up.”

“No, no,” Hannah said. “I have my own room over there and my computer’s transportable. It’s fine, Eema. Honestly, I won’t sleep much anyway.” She got up from the table and hugged her father. “Thank you for talking to me. It really helped.”

She skipped off to her room.

“Good job, Abba,” Rina said. “Pat yourself on the back.”

Decker had a smile on his face. “Once in a while, I get it right.”

“C’mon, Decker, give yourself some credit. That was incredibly sensitive.”

“Wasn’t trying to be. I meant every word. I’m no shining star. I’m just a government employee.”

“You’re my shining star,” Rina told him. “You’ve always been a hero to me.”

Decker looked down at his chicken. “Thank you. You’re my hero, too.” He kissed her hand and held it for a moment before letting go to pick up his wineglass. After all this time, he still had trouble expressing himself: how nice his daughter’s words had made him feel and how lovely Rina’s comment was. Instead he toasted with Rina again while basking in the moment.

It was great to feel adored.

T
HE LANDSCAPE OF
channels and furrows brought back memories of childhood, when Decker was a kid and the family used to drive to visit his grandparents in Iowa. They did it twice a year—Easter and Christmas—traveling from Florida through miles of flat, endless terrain. Christmastime presented an ocean of brown or white, but Easter was a time of renewal: verdant fields glistening with morning dew and the perfume of blossoming trees. The trips were indelibly etched because of the promise at the end of the rainbow. Family reunions and gargantuan feasts, lights, decorations and pageantry, cousins to play with, and of course, presents. No matter how big or small, it was a thrill to open a wrapped package. Traveling through the fields, Decker knew it was a very different time for a very different reason, but the scenery evoked a primal excitement.

Perhaps they’d catch a break.

Brubeck drove like a native, whipping through the agrarian countryside. The dirt roads were uneven, and the lumpy topography gave the rental’s axle a run for its money. One rut sent them flying off the ground, coming down with a spine-breaking thud.

“Sorry about that, boss.” Brubeck reduced his speed. “Damn roads. You’d think after all this time, the town would do something about the potholes.”

“We can’t change the roads, but we can slow down. A couple of minutes saved isn’t worth paralysis.”

“Damn roads,” Brubeck muttered again. He wore a short-sleeved navy shirt and a black pair of jeans, his gut peeking over his belt. Decker had opted for a brown polo shirt and denims. Sneakers rounded out the look.

Decker pulled out the partial list of northern ciudad families, given to him by Brubeck courtesy of his father-in-law, Marcus Merry. There were over a dozen surnames. “Did you contact your father-in-law?”

“Daisy would kill me if I didn’t drop in for a visit. I told him we’d meet him for lunch around two…which is more like dinner for him. The man is in bed by eight.” Brubeck paused. “Dad isn’t comfortable with us doing police work and T not knowing about it. He has to work here, and Lord knows he’s already at a disadvantage.”

“I thought about that,” Decker said. “Despite what Oliver said, I called T up and left him a message that we were coming.”

Brubeck turned his head in Decker’s direction while he was driving. “You did?”

“Eyes on the road, Brubeck.”

“I can see. Why’d you call him up?”

“So your father-in-law wouldn’t take any heat if T got mad. Also, if we got into a fix, we’ll need his help.”

The car skipped over a dip, landed like a clumsy dancer. Brubeck said, “You think T’s trustworthy?”

“I don’t know, but it makes sense to have the local law on your side.”

“If he’s on our side.”

“That’s why I told him that we’d be here in the afternoon and we’d meet up in town at around four. That way we can go about our business without him.”

“What if we run into him at the ciudads?”

“I’ll tell him that we managed to get an earlier flight, tried to call him, but he wasn’t in.”

“Makes sense. And if he does show up at the ciudads, that’ll tell us something.”

“Exactly. Have you ever been out there before?”

“Just in passing. Never been any reason for me to stop.”

“How’s your Spanish?”

“Not great, but I can follow a simple conversation,” Brubeck said. “I’ll do the driving, if you do the talking.”

“Sounds good. Just get us there in one piece.”

MIGRANT FARM WORKERS
were a fact of life in California. They came over on work permits and were allowed to live and toil doing very specific labor for a very specific amount of time. The temporariness—along with the smothering poverty—was reflected in the living conditions. It wasn’t shantytown because there were some wooden houses with stucco walls, but there was no permanence to the areas. The houses were meant to be erected in a day’s time and razed with the single push of a Bobcat.

“Every so often that happens,” Brubeck told Decker. “Some social activist raises a hue and a cry about workers’ rights and then the area’s leveled. Next week, it starts all over again. It’s not like the old days when the hands would live on the ranches. Not enough money to feed a staff and pay them wages. Something had to go.”

Decker noticed electric lines jerry-rigged to the houses so at least some of the places could sustain a modern convenience or two. Most of the structures shared walls, making them look like tenements. A cheerless and depressing chunk of nothing; the only exuberance was the paint color on the exteriors—bright yellows, electrifying oranges, deep purples, kelly greens, and rose reds. Instead of address numerals, the units were identified by letters, and in the northern district the rooms were A through P. The Mendez families lived in H, I, and J. As Brubeck approached the huts,
Decker noticed a recently washed twenty-year-old Suburban parked outside.

“Stop the car, Willy.” As Brubeck braked, tires churned up the loose gravel. Decker said, “Any idea who drives the Suburban?”

“No, but it’s a visitor. The car’s old, but it’s too clean to belong to one of the tenants.”

Decker opened the rental’s door. “Let’s take a peek.”

Quietly, they slipped out and tiptoed up to the Suburban. Inside was a leather jacket, a paper cup of coffee, a cop’s radio and mike, and an empty shotgun rack. The two of them exchanged glances and tread softly back to the car.

“It’s outfitted with a police scanner,” Brubeck said.

“Yeah, I noticed. Also the gun rack is empty.”

“I noticed that, too. Let me call up Dad and find out what T drives.” He got off the phone a minute later. “It’s T’s official vehicle.”

Neither spoke for a moment.

“I don’t think sneaking up on the sheriff would be a good thing,” Decker said.

“I agree with that.”

They sat a few more moments.

“Maybe I should tell T that we’ve just arrived here and we’re headed for town.”

“What good would that do?” Brubeck asked.

“We could wait for him to drive away and then go inside.” A pause. “Unless someone inside has guns.”

“Out here everyone has guns. And once he figures out we duped him, he’s gonna be pissed.”

A good point. “Then how about if we watch him as he comes out the door…see if he’s traveling with his shotgun.”

“Then what?” Brubeck laughed. “You’re not saying we should jump him, right?”

Decker shrugged. “Back up and hide the car so it’s not so visible. I’m going to give him a call.”

Brubeck put the rental in reverse and slowly backed up, hiding the vehicle behind a pink and green shed that housed a red Toyota
Corolla—the paint job new and not professionally done. The two men regarded the car until Decker scratched the surface with his nail. There was navy paint underneath.

“Martin drove an ’02 blue Toyota Corolla.”

“Now what?” Brubeck asked.

“I’m not quite sure. Let me call up the local law, and at least no one can say we didn’t try.”

Edna, the secretary, told him that T wasn’t in. “He wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”

“We got an earlier flight.”

“Oh…but the call just came in a half hour ago.”

“Must have been the delay of my cell going through.” It made no sense whatsoever, but Edna didn’t challenge it. “Any idea where T is?”

“No, sir. Just that he’s out on official business.”

“Does he have a cell phone?”

“He sure does, but I’m under strict orders not to give out the number. I’ll call him for you, if you want.”

“That would be great.”

“Where are you now?”

“We’re just picking up our rental at the airport.”

“It’ll take about a half hour to get over here. You need directions?”

“No, I’m with Willy Brubeck. He knows the area.”

“Willy Brubeck? Marcus Merry’s son-in-law?”

“Yes, ma’am, he works for me.”

“Call me Edna.”

“I’ll see you in a half hour, Edna.” Decker cut the line. They were about a hundred feet from unit J, but there was no clear view of the front doors from where they had parked. “You stay near the car, Willy. I’m going to move a little closer.”

“Are you crazy? We’re naked in the wind.”

“I didn’t say I was going to confront him. I just said I was going to move a little closer. Just stay with the car. And if I get plugged, don’t tell my wife how it happened.”

Before Brubeck could protest, Decker was out of the automobile.

Sneaking up, he got within striking distance from unit J’s front door.

Five minutes later, T came out, garbed in a plaid shirt, jeans, and scuffed leather boots, toting a twelve-gauge shotgun. It looked like a Remington 1100—an old sucker, not at all state of the art. T was a small guy, but sometimes that made an armed man especially dangerous.

The sheriff glanced around, then opened the Suburban’s door and got inside. There was no visibility through the windshield of the vehicle because of the glare from the sun, but T had made the tactical error of not closing the driver’s door. Decker crept around until the sheriff’s arm came into view. He waited until T had secured the gun into the rack, and then caught him by surprise.

“Good morning, Sheriff, I’m Lieutenant Decker from the LAPD.”

T’s head spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the gun rack. Decker, anticipating the move, caught T by the wrist, causing the car keys to drop to the floor. He said, “Don’t do that.”

T’s arm was in an awkward position. To break free, he would have had to wrench a socket. “Are you fucking insane?”

“No, I just don’t want to get shot.”

“Then don’t sneak up on a man, for Chrissakes! Let go of my arm or I’ll throw your fucking ass in jail.”

“Get out of the vehicle and we can talk about it.”

“I can’t do nothin’ because you’re holding on to my arm.”

Decker eased him out of the car and let go of T’s arm. Being almost a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, it was clear who had the advantage. As the saying went, size mattered. A moment later, Brubeck was at his side. “You okay, sir?”

“Is
he
okay?” T was shaking his arm up and down. “Jackass nearly broke my wrist. What the fuck is your problem?”

“I’m not armed,” Decker said. “I like a level playing field.”

“Why the fuck would I shoot you?” T’s eyes were daggers. He
was still shaking out his wrist. “I should throw your ass in jail.” He suddenly noticed Brubeck. “Willy, how could you let him do that to me?”

“Sorry, T, but he’s my boss.”

“He’s crazy!”

“I don’t deny that, T, but I got to work with him.”

Decker took out his ID, but T swatted it to the ground. “Why the fuck did you sneak up on me…nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“I identified myself.”

“And that was supposed to impress me?”

“I’m sorry, Sheriff,” Decker said.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

Decker suppressed a smile but T caught it. “Your supervisor will hear from me.”

“Why are you here?” Decker asked him.

“I live here, idiot!”

“I don’t mean here in general, I mean at the Mendez house. You knew I was going to interview the families. Is it just coincidence that you paid them a visit a half hour after I called you?”

For the first time, T didn’t curse him out. His eyes darted back toward the house, then at Decker’s face. “Just get the fuck out of my jurisdiction before I bring you up on assault charges.”

“Are you going to do that before or after I bring you up on tampering-with-justice charges? Or maybe the charges should actually be harboring a fugitive?”

“Fuck off.” Again, his eyes involuntarily went to the door. “You’re insane. I’m not harboring anyone.”

“There’s an ’02 Toyota Corolla that looks suspiciously like Rondo Martin’s car. How long is it going to take me to check the VIN number?” When T didn’t answer, Decker said, “If you’ve been giving Rondo Martin a place to crash because you feel some kind of loyalty, hey, I’ll turn a blind eye. All I want is Rondo Martin, and you’ve got to help me bring him to justice.”

“Don’t mess yourself up for him, T,” Brubeck said. “Let’s do it the easy way.”

The sheriff shook his head. “It isn’t what you think. I ain’t hiding no killer.” He flapped his wrist up and down. “Shit, that smarts!”

“I’m really sorry about your arm. I’ll pay for any of your doctor bills—”

“I don’t need no doctor. I’m no fucking wussy.”

“We need to go inside, Sheriff.”

“You don’t understand a rat’s ass.”

“So explain it to me.”

T said, “I dropped my keys in my car. On the ring is the lock to the gun rack. Take down the shotgun if you want. I trust you won’t use it on me.”

“I apologize for sneaking up on you.” Decker held out his hand.

After a few seconds, T shook it. “Give me a minute, then I’ll come back outside.” He nodded to Brubeck. “It still don’t make him any less of a jackass.” He stomped back.

Decker blew out air. “I didn’t handle that optimally.”

“No, you didn’t,” Brubeck said. “I didn’t want to say nothing, but what the fuck did you do that for? Why didn’t we just let him drive away and then go inside?”

“And let Rondo Martin mow us down? Maybe we were walking into a trap.”

“Then we still could be walking into a trap.”

Decker said, “Wait in T’s Suburban, Willy. I’ll call for you when it’s safe.”

“I’m not letting you go in alone,” Brubeck said.

“I’m giving you an order.”

“You’re crazy.”

“We’ve already established that. If you hear shots firing, get the hell out of here. That’s an order, too.”

Willy shook his head. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”