Desert Exposure (17 page)

“That’s it folks,” Michael said, and propped the guitar against the stool. “Have another beer, and I’ll be back in five.”

He slipped out the back door, walked down the alley, and sniffed at the stale air. The place smelled worse than inside the bar, if possible. Several rusted out vehicles had been abandoned near a Dumpster. He walked over to the filthy pick-up, where they’d met before, and leaned against the passenger side door.

He turned his face to the sky. Pitch black, but he didn’t need to see. He stood perfectly still, and listened. Soon he heard the softest fall of footsteps.

“Word on the street says there’s a Hispanic living in the old bait shop,” Mantis said softly, from somewhere behind him.

The guy gave Michael the creeps. But he’d learned to trust guys like him. He pulled one leg up to rest his heel on the running board, and removed a C-note from his boot. He turned slowly, and slid it across the hood of the truck.

“You got a decent description?”

The young Latino shook his head, and pocketed the cash.

“Want to get one?” Michael asked, keeping his voice low.

“We’ll see.”

Michael waited.

“So, you sing here every night?” Mantis asked loudly, and pranced around the truck like he walked on tiptoes.

“Nope. Only on occasion,” Michael said.

Mantis joined him. “You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

Both guys leaned against the truck door. Michael took a cigarette from the pack the guy held toward him, even though he rarely smoked. He worried about Rachel. He’d told her to stay inside, and told Fred to keep an eye on her. Would anyone be obnoxious, or try to hit on her? He drew on the cigarette, and let the smoke out slowly. He wanted to make a deal for information. And he wanted to do it fast.

“When did you last see the Hispanic?”

“An hour ago…he went out for a leak.”

Good.
“Can you get ID?”

Mantis hesitated. “It’ll cost ya’.”

“I’m good for it.”

“No, I mean big bucks,” Mantis said, and took a few quick hop-steps around the area, talking loudly about rock bands. Minutes later, seeming satisfied that they were alone, Mantis came back. “Rumor has it he’s got guns and ammo. Someone got too close. Got shot at a few nights ago.”

“Anyone report it?”

“Nope. You know how they are down here…live, and let live.” He shrugged his skinny shoulders. “Besides, nobody got hurt. It was a warning.”

Michael ground out the remainder of the cigarette with his boot. There were so many drifters in and around the sea he doubted anyone had a clean record, or if they did, it was only through pure luck. “You’re sure he’s Hispanic?”

“That’s the story. Not positive on that.”

“He’s holed up in there. But someone saw him run across the beachfront, and they heard gunfire.”

“When?”

“Early yesterday.”

Michael nodded. It seemed like he and Rachel had known each other for weeks, and yet it hadn’t even been two full days since she’d been fired at. “Do you think he’s a drug dealer?”

“Nope. I don’t think so. Word has it he’s been there for about five days. No trucks or vans in and out.”

“Okay. Get me some photos. There’s a thousand bucks in it for you.”

“Really?” Mantis straightened, seeming to uncurl his lanky body into an exclamation point. A momentary flash of white teeth glimmered, he moved away a couple of feet and stubbed out his cigarette on the side of the pick-up. “You sure you’re not a cop or something?”

Michael laughed. “Do I look like a cop?”

“No, but—”

“Look,” Michael said, keeping his voice low. He could trust Mantis, probably. But he should spin yet another yarn to maintain his undercover identity. “I told you before it was personal, and it is. But here’s the truth, someone cleaned out my old man, and they beat him up pretty bad. There were two of them. Dad lives in Indio. I’m a doctor, and I’m using the guitar playing as a cover.”

“Good. I don’t work with cops. Those bastards will turn on you soon as look at you. What made you think of this place?”

“Something the cops said in their report got me curious. Besides, I don’t think they’re working hard enough on this case. I think this man might be one of the guys, but I need proof. From Dad’s description, there were two Latinos, one with light brown hair and youngish, maybe thirty, the other darker hair, receding hairline, and about forty. Both had light eyes.”

“Dark skin?” Mantis asked.

“Nope. He said they had light olive complexions.”

“They don’t sound Mexican, maybe South American. Light-skinned and light-eyed, immigrants from Spain.”

“Whatever.” Michael shrugged, and played it cool. Could he risk giving Mantis a photo of the two Latino men? “Listen, I’d get the photos myself, but it’s risky because I think they might recognize me. Besides, I don’t even own a gun. I want to find the guys and tip off the cops.”

“I’ll take care of it for you.”

“Don’t get them riled up. Don’t kill anyone,” Michael said, not quite liking the tone in Mantis’ voice. If Henry Copeland was being held there, he couldn’t risk any kind of a struggle. He shrugged his shoulders, and hoped he looked pathetic enough. He wanted Mantis to think of him as a pampered rich kid, a young doctor who valued life, a man incapable of firing a gun.

“I want them caught. Want justice,” Michael said. “But they might know me. My dad had photographs all around the house.”

“Yeah, the famous doctor pictures,” Mantis said, and gave a derisive laugh. “Not to mention the diplomas.”

Michael grinned.

“All right then, Doc. I’ll do the job for you. One thousand big ones…deal?”

“Deal. Listen, this might help you,” Michael said, and pulled a photo from his pocket. Mantis took the photo, and pocketed it without looking at it.

“I snapped it a couple of days ago. It’s grainy because it’s been blown up quite a bit. At least I think it’s them, but they both have knit caps on. I need more proof, before I can go to the cops again. I’ll be back tomorrow night, around the same time.”

“I’ll be here. Say, what kind of a doctor are you anyway?”

What the hell
? “I’m a gynecologist.”

Mantis laughed. “Sweet.”

Michael almost joined in. He’d gone with the first medical specialty to leap into his tired brain. He hoped there were no more questions, because he didn’t know much about what happened in a gynecologist’s office. But he did know women, so he supposed he could fake enough to make his job description sound real.

“What’s your real name, Dingo?” Mantis asked softly, and he held Michael’s gaze.

“Michael. You can call me Michael.”

“Fair enough. I’m Fernando.” He tipped the side of his head in farewell.

They hadn’t even shaken hands on the deal. Michael stood for a minute and watched Mantis merge into the shadows of the hulks of rusted cars, until he resembled a stick figure. Fernando, how about that? The man was growing on him.

Back inside the bar, he picked up the guitar and winked at Rachel. “This is the last song, folks. I have to get the little lady home before her daddy comes a-hunting.”

The crowd hooted and hollered. They let fly with all kinds of lewd comments that he chose to ignore. Most were about stopping off for hanky-panky along the roadside, and he shot Rachel a quick look. She watched him, her mouth set in a soft, amused smile.

“I’ll close with a Clapton favorite of mine,” he said, and swiped at his damp forehead before strumming the opening bars. “It seems appropriate, because it’s called,
After Midnight
.”

And the crowd roared even louder as they streamed onto the overcrowded dance floor and gyrated to the music. Above them the blue stars shone from the strobe light. And like the crazy blue stars, something told Michael he stood on the brink of something big. He knew this feeling. He’d experienced it many times in his career. With Fernando’s help, he’d map out his plan of action and get all of his ducks in a row.

Calm, and order, were the requirements of the day. Whatever would go down next could blow this whole damn case apart. And he could hardly wait.

Chapter Nine

Rachel opened the front door to her house, and switched on the porch light. Behind her Michael spoke to Ralph. They’d decided against going back to the cabin, and on the drive home all she could think about were the dancers at the bar, and their suggestive comments. Neither she nor Michael had re-opened that subject.

Michael had said it might not be safe to return to the cabin. He’d go alone, tomorrow, to do some surveillance. Annoyed about that, she wondered if she’d been excluded because of her earlier behavior. Or, it could be the crowds jesting that made him want to back away from her. Either way she figured Michael was uncomfortable in her presence, like she was expecting him to jump her bones or get into a fist fight to protect her.

So, he’s neither lover, nor fighter.
She grimaced as she turned on the hall light, and stood still for a few seconds, trying to take in the scene but not truly comprehending.

“Michael,” she said finally, hearing the tiny squeak of fear in her voice. “Michael…I…come here.”

Michael bounded up the steps, and came inside the house to stand beside her.

She glanced back at him. He held Ralph in his arms as he surveyed the room, his eyes narrowing and then widening. She stood to one side, a hand clamped to her mouth, no words able to be formed.

“Don’t touch a thing,” he said, handing off Ralph. “Don’t even go inside. I’m calling this in.”

Rachel saw the disarray from her tiny hallway. Favorite photographs of hers, that Grandpa Henry had taken, were ripped from walls in the hall and living room. The glass in the frames was shattered, and probably the photos damaged. She couldn’t look at them. Not yet. Couch cushions were upended and slit, their white insides spewing out like entrails. Drawers hung open.

Her skin prickled and her heart pounded. What had they been looking for?

Michael took out his cell phone, and then grabbed her elbow. “Outside,” he said, with a jerk of his head toward the car.

Rachel went with him, kissing Ralph’s little head every so often for reassurance. They sat back inside her car. Shell-shocked and numb, she nestled Ralph in her lap, gripped her arms tight with both hands and massaged her upper arms in an attempt to force feeling back into her limbs.

She had to stay positive in her thinking. Things could have been worse. She might have been at home. Yet, here she was, still alive. She could think, and feel. She would be okay. So why did she feel so violated? Why did it feel so creepy to think of someone going through her personal effects and trashing them?

Anger displaced numbness. She looked around the street, wanting to lash out, to fight someone. Anyone. She pulled in a couple of deep breaths and reminded herself this was not the time or the place for heroics. She listened to Michael explain everything to the Almagro PD.

Oh, hell
. The Hummer was locked in her garage.
Had the burglar seen it? Did they know Michael’s identity?
Her heart started to thrum, and then it took off at an accelerated rate, and she felt her panic rising. Were they both now targets of some crazy killer? She looked over at him and he winked. He was as cool and collected as if he were buying new shoes.

He closed the cell phone and put it in his pocket. “Stanton will be right over.”

“The Hummer,” she said, and then pointed to the garage.

“Yeah, I know. But in case they trashed the garage too, I think we’ll wait.”

“Would they have gotten your registration, or something?”

“No problem. It’s not registered to me.”

“Oh.” Rachel frowned. “Undercover stuff, I suppose.” She still felt like she was operating from outside of her body. Even her voice sounded odd. She shivered, and then nodded
. Face the fear.
“Um, Michael…I’m scared.”

“It’s going to be fine. I’m not letting you stay here tonight. After Stanton’s done with the report we’ll return to the cabin, nobody would expect that.” He looked over at her. Then he slid an arm along the back of the seat and rubbed her shoulder. “Ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?”

She shook her head.

“It’ll be easy to hide. We can put it inside the front verandah at the cabin, and then cover it with a tarp.”

She felt so safe with him. He was a calming influence. And as much as she knew she’d pissed him off earlier, he wasn’t about to abandon her. If it hadn’t been for the headlights of Stanton’s black and white she’d have leaned in and kissed him, and told him how much she needed and valued his protection.

Michael opened the car door, and headed for Stanton.

Rachel got out, and followed, carrying Ralph close to her chest yet keeping a close eye on the shrubs around her house. She wondered how much information close-lipped Michael would give to Stanton. For sure he would wonder why his ex-girlfriend was out so late with Indio’s newest detective.

****

Michael expected the worst when they approached the garage. Stanton led the way, and partially blocked his view. Rachel hit her remote and the door began to roll upward. Maybe his favorite toy had been destroyed. He felt Rachel close beside him, looked down, smiled, and tried to be brave about the Hummer. At least Rachel hadn’t been harmed, and for that matter neither had he. A car could be replaced. He took her hand in his.