Duke City Split (23 page)

“All right,” Fisher grumped. “But if I find the people who wrecked that apartment, I might just shoot ’em myself.”

“Give us a call,” Pam said. “We can shoot ’em for you.”

That made the old man grin. Pam and Hector shook his hand and hurried away.

“Think Wyman’s one of our robbers?” Hector asked as they got into their Ford.

“Somebody sure thinks he is,” she said. “Same with Johnny Muller. Somebody’s very busy trashing apartments, looking for that money.”

“Be nice if we could find it first.”

Bud pulled into the storage lot on West Central Avenue and let the Equinox creep forward while Mick took a careful look around. The place seemed deserted, but Bud felt sure someone watched from behind the office’s tinted windows.

At the rear of the U-shaped complex, he backed up to the door of Mick’s rental, parking as close as he could. As they got out of the car, Bud noticed Mick had his hand under his shirt, resting on the butt of the pistol jammed into his waistband.

“You nervous?”

“Can’t be too careful.”

Once Mick was satisfied that no one was watching, he opened the two locks and rolled up the rattling door. Daylight spilled into the dim interior, showing the blue duffels against the back wall.

Bud opened the back of the SUV while Mick dragged two of the bags across the concrete floor. Once all four bags were loaded, Bud slammed the car’s door.

“Hold on,” Mick said. “I want to get a couple of other things.”

Bud followed him into the storage unit and watched him kneel over a wooden footlocker. Mick opened it with a key and lifted the lid, revealing a jumble of pistols and tools.

“Jesus,” Bud said. “Do we need all that artillery?”

“Not all of it.”

Bud took a pistol that Mick handed up to him. It was a semiauto Raven, .25-caliber, flat and compact. Bud checked the load before shoving the pistol into his pocket.

Mick stood, holding two more of the big Colts he favored. He stuck them in the back of his waistband.

“
Three
guns in your belt? Aren’t you afraid your pants will fall down?”

“There’s a lot of stuff I’m afraid of right now, but dropping my pants is last on the list.”

“What’s first?”

Mick smiled. “I’ve lost track. It’s a long list.”

Fifteen minutes later they were back at Mick’s motel. Soon as they lugged the
duffels into his room, he turned on the TV news. A commercial blared about a hybrid Toyota, and Bud said, “Maybe you ought to buy one of those.”

“That’s what I want when the cops are on my tail,” Mick said. “Something that gets good gas mileage at thirty miles an hour.”

After checking to make sure the curtains were closed all the way, he unzipped a duffel and dumped banded stacks of cash onto the queen-sized bed. Bud opened another bag and did the same. Within seconds the bed was covered in a mountain of money.

“Damn,” Bud said. “Looks bigger outside of the bags, doesn’t it?”

“Get to counting,” Mick said. “This could take all evening.”

They sat on the floor on opposite sides of the bed, facing the TV. They began lifting decks of money off the bed and stacking them on the floor. They didn’t get far, though. The lead story distracted them.

“Another homicide to report tonight in Albuquerque,” the anchorwoman said. She was a slender brunette apparently fond of bloodshed. It seemed all she could do to keep from smiling while reporting on murder.

“Police in Albuquerque say a man has been found slain in his apartment near the Tewa Casino.”

“Uh-oh,” Bud said.

“Police identified the man as twenty-three-year-old Johnny Muller, who worked at a car stereo shop here in Albuquerque. Police have released no details of how he was killed, but they did say they’re searching for two people who may be connected to the death.”

Bud and Mick exchanged a look across the pile of money. Bud steeled himself as he looked back at the screen, fully expecting to see their own pictures there. Instead, there were photos of the bank guard and his girlfriend.

“These people,” the anchorwoman said, “are Diego Ramirez and Dolores Delgado. Police say Ramirez is a guard at the First State Bank branch that was robbed on Monday. Delgado is his girlfriend. Neither have been seen for the past twenty-four hours. A car belonging to Ramirez has been recovered, but police will not say whether it yielded any clues into their disappearance.”

The TV flashed a number for viewers to call with information about the missing people, which made Mick grin.

“It’ll be a while before anybody turns up those two.”

“Let’s hope so,” Bud said. “There’s enough heat as it is.”

The anchorwoman started talking about a gang shooting that had happened the night before near Central Avenue.

“Finally,” Bud said. “Some crime that doesn’t involve us.”

They went back to their counting, ears cocked to the TV. After a commercial break, the anchorwoman returned, smiling and saying she had one more crime story for the viewers.

“Shots were fired today near this apartment complex on Truman Street in midtown Albuquerque.”

The screen filled with a shot of Mick’s building.

“Aw, shit,” he said.

The anchorwoman continued: “Police are releasing few details at this time, but they did identify a person of interest in the case. This man—”

A mug shot of Mick filled the screen.

“—is being sought for questioning. Police say his name is Mick Wyman, and he’s grown a mustache since this photo was taken.”

“Goddamn, that’s an old picture,” Mick said. “That’s from when I got busted twenty years ago.”

“Look at that haircut!” Bud said. “It’s got ‘jailhouse barber’ written all over it.”

The anchorwoman went into her give-and-take with the weatherman, and Mick reached for the remote and muted them.

“You need to get out of town,” Bud said.

“Nobody’s gonna recognize me from that picture, and I’m checked in here as ‘Charles Franklin.’ But you’re right, the sooner I leave Albuquerque, the better. Let’s finish splitting up this money, then I’ll think about getting a new car.”

“I can help,” Bud said. “Cars are my specialty.”

“You need to take your share and go home. Linda’s already pissed off.”

“She’ll be all right.”

“So far, none of this is sticking to you. We need to keep it that way.”

It was nearly nine o’clock that night before Bud finally got up the nerve to call Linda at her mother’s house. She answered on the first ring and told him to hold on while she got some privacy.

“All right,” she said. “I shut myself in the bathroom like a teenager. Now we can talk.”

“How are the girls?”

“They’re in bed already,” she said. “Worn-out. I told them they could stay home from school tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

“Don’t know that it’ll be enough. They’re shook up.”

“I’m sure. It was a harrowing experience.”

“I told them you and Mick were dealing with the police, who would lock up the kidnappers forever.”

“How did that go over?”

“Angela believed it, but you know how Amy doubts everything. My mom’s having trouble with it, too.”

“I’m sorry to put you on the spot,” he said. “We still aren’t sure how those guys got on to me. But they won’t be bothering us again.”

A long silence. Finally, Linda said, “But you can’t be sure someone else won’t show up.”

“They didn’t tell anyone about us. They were too intent on getting the money for themselves.”

“Always the damned money,” she said. “People will do anything for it.”

“What Mick did, it wasn’t about saving the money. It was about saving the girls and me. He didn’t have a choice.”

“Right there in our home.”

“I’ve been cleaning it up,” Bud said. “I got down on my hands and knees, scrubbing between the tiles with a brush. I’ll have to patch the drywall in a couple of places, but it’ll be good as new before you know it.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“I know, I know. The girls. I said I’m sorry.”

Another silence.

“We can’t go on like this, Bud. You’ve got to find a new line of work.”

“I’m finished. I promise. I’m delivering a car to Mick in the morning, then I’m done.”

“A car?”

“Yeah, his car is, um, gone, and his face is all over TV. He’s staying in his motel room, getting some sleep, until I bring him a car. Then he’s clearing out.”

“Where will he go?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know. A different state, where he can buy a different car under a different name. As long as there’s no paper trail, the feds shouldn’t be able to track him down.”

“He can leave, just like that? Leave everything behind?”

“He won’t exactly be empty-handed. We split that, um, windfall earlier. I brought our share home and put most of it in the safe in my office.”

“Most of it?”

“It wouldn’t all fit. The rest is in a big box in the attic.”

Bud let that sink in.

“My God, Bud, how much?”

“One-point-four.”

Pause.

“Million?”

“All in cash.”

“Good Lord.”

“I know. It’s a helluva thing. We’re set for life, Linda.”

“I don’t know that it’s worth it. Not after what happened to the girls. They’re traumatized.”

“They’ll be okay,” he said. “We can pay for a lot of counseling, if they need it.”

She sighed. “I guess we’ll stay here tomorrow. Make sure everything is all right before we come home.”

“I’ll pick up some spackle and paint in the morning,” he said. “The place will be good as new. I promise.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll start over, Linda. A new life with no worries about money.”

She made him wait through a long silence before she said, “Good night, Bud.”

“Good night, hon. See you tomorrow.”

Click
.

Friday morning, agents Pam Willis and Hector Aragon were still on their first cup of office coffee when they got a phone call from a Bernalillo County Sheriff’s deputy.

“You the agents looking for that Charger?”

Pam grabbed a pen. “That’s right. Did you find it?”

“Think so. Out on the West Mesa. Burned up.”

“Aw, hell.” She tossed the pen back onto her desk.

“Wait, there’s more,” the deputy said. “Inside the car were a couple of crispy critters. Adult males, but that’s about all we can tell at this point. They were really incinerated.”

“Are they still out there?”

“Oh, yeah. Coroner’s taking her time on this one. You want directions?”

She snatched up the pen again and scribbled down the route to the burned car. She thanked the deputy and hung up.

“They found our Charger,” she said to Aragon. “Torched. With two bodies inside.”

“The guard and his girlfriend?”

“Deputy said two men, but it might be hard to tell at this point. Coroner’s still there. We’d better go take a look.”

Hector made a face. “Good thing I didn’t eat breakfast yet.”

“Come on,” she said. “We don’t have time for joking around.”

“Who’s joking?”

Even with Pam’s lead-footed driving, it took them half an hour to reach the crime scene, and they didn’t say much on the way there. Hector kept sighing.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I hate that smell,” he said. “When someone’s been burned up. It’s the worst.”

“We won’t stick around long,” she promised. “But we’ve got to see what happened. Seems like these assholes are doing a lot of settling up.”

Pam located the gravel road the deputy had indicated. They bounced along its rugged surface for a couple of miles before they spotted patrol cars up ahead.

“You gonna be okay with this?” she asked her partner.

“I can take it if you can.”

The smell hit them as soon as they got out of the car. Scorched paint and melted plastic and the unmistakable tang of burned flesh.

“Ah, jeez.” Hector cupped a hand over his nose as they approached the half-dozen crime scene investigators poking around the blackened Charger.

After the agents identified themselves, a young blond woman came around the car and peeled off a rubber glove to shake hands. Like the others, she wore clear plastic overalls over her regular clothes. Pam noted her red University of New Mexico sweatshirt.

“Sally Robbins. With the coroner’s office. These remains of interest to the federal government?”

“Maybe,” Pam said. “The car is, for sure. We’re looking for a Charger in connection with that First State Bank robbery.”

“TV said the robbers used a white van.”

“This may be one of their personal vehicles.”

“Ah. Well, whoever torched it did a thorough job. We’ll have a helluva time identifying the victims.”

“Mind if we take a look?”

“Sure your partner’s up to it? He looks a little green around the gills.”

Pam glanced at Hector, who still had a hand cupped over his nose. He waved her on with the other hand but didn’t open his mouth to speak.

They stepped over to the charred remains of the Charger.

“As you can see,” the coroner said, “one guy was stuffed in the trunk. We think they poured gasoline on him and set the fire back here.”

Blackened bones filled the trunk, but they weren’t even assembled into a skeletal shape anymore.

“Wow,” Pam said. “A hot fire.”

“You said it. The body in the backseat is in no better shape, plus it was wrapped in some kind of plastic, which melted over the bones.”

Pam bent to look through the opening where the windows once had been. More black bones. An eyeless skull. When she straightened up, she saw that Hector had walked away. He stood facing the city, gulping deep breaths through his mouth.

If the crime scene techs found Hector’s reaction amusing, they didn’t let on. They
kept taking photos and measurements and scraping at places on the car.

“Okay, thanks,” Pam said. “Give us a call if you get an ID.”

“We’ll do what we can, but it’ll be tough,” the coroner said. She grinned. “Don’t hold your breath.”

Milton Abeyta cradled the phone and looked up at Vincent Caro, who sat in the guest chair on the far side of Milton’s desk.