Ground Truth (15 page)

He poured a little tequila into a lot of grapefruit juice and handed it to her. She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “Do you know why he showed up at the restaurant?”

“No, but he knew we were there and called you by name.”

“He was letting you know that he’s well-connected, doing a little chest thumping. The question is, why would he bother? Maybe he thinks you stumbled onto something and was warning you not to mess with him. If that’s it, his surprise visit tells us he has something important to hide. That’s why I decided to dig deeper.”

“You went to God knows where just to play detective?”

“Relax,
amigo
. You ought to be thanking me. If you’ll stop puffing up, I’ll tell you what I found out.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, tell me.”

“He’s intelligent, articulate, a great dancer—”

“Don’t give me his resume,” he snapped. “I’m not going to hire the bastard. I want to know what he’s up to.”

Instead of taking offense, she grinned. “It’s hard to do much research when a band’s blaring away and the guy’s got faster hands than a sushi chef. So I laid some hot dance moves on him as an investment in the future. During the taxi ride here, he was trying to play the big sophisticate, so right away I needled him about winding up in Juarez working with garbage. He didn’t like that one bit and said he’d be out of that, his words, ‘shit-hole pretty damn soon.’”

“He’s about to quit Palmer Industries?”

“Don’t know, but he bragged that the company is going to exceed a certain profit figure, and that will earn him a huge bonus. Millions. So I asked, what will happen if the Palmers won’t pay? He glared at me and said, ‘They don’t have the balls.’ If the Palmers cross him, they’d better check under the hood before they start their cars. That guy wasn’t kidding.”

“Why would he tell you all that?”

“Let’s just say he wasn’t thinking of me as his lawyer. But he must have had second thoughts because he shut up about the Palmers. That’s when I looked at him with Bambi eyes and said, ‘Tell me more about yourself.’ After that, he couldn’t stop talking. Underneath his smooth facade, that man has been a basket case since he was a kid. Do you know where he’s from?”

“He’s Hispanic, but his accent isn’t Mexican. I can’t place it.”

“Cuba. He talked about how humiliated Cubans felt when Khrushchev caved in to Kennedy and removed the Russian nukes. His father was killed during the invasion at the Bay of Pigs. He blames the U.S. embargo for everything that’s wrong in Cuba today. He hates the countries around the Caribbean who didn’t help Cuba, especially Mexico.” She took another sip of her drink. “He was so bitter, so intense, he was scary.” She rubbed her eyes, yawned and stretched.

“Last question. Did he ask if I’d discussed the plant with you?”

“Nope. I don’t think you were in the front of his mind.” She smiled and promptly fell sound asleep on the couch.

Jack had to admit that he hadn’t been outsmarted by Montana. He’d been outsmarted by Debra. But Montana would be out there on the streets, on his own turf. And right about now, he’d be mad as hell at Jack Strider.

Chapter 28

July 5

8:30 a.m.

SITTING IN HIS posh La Condesa condo, Jack signed a suicide note that would be read only after he’d done the deed, when it was too late to stop him. He was about to disobey direct orders from his senior partner and betray his client. He was willing to commit professional suicide if that’s what it took to nail Palmer Industries.

The letter said that if it looked like justice was not going to be served at the Hearing, he intended to put Alvarez on the trail to Palmer’s real books, a string of bribes, and the mystery trucks. Since Sinclair would know what Jack had done even before the letter reached San Francisco, the real purpose for the letter was to make clear that Debra had not known what he intended to do. He folded the letter and inserted it into the envelope.

“Hard at work already?” She came out of the guest bedroom wrapped in a bulky white robe with the Mexican eagle embroidered on the left breast pocket, her hair an ebony waterfall over her shoulders.

He slipped the envelope under the edge of a newspaper. “I heard the shower stop and called room service for their best breakfast.”

The doorbell chimed. Debra hurried into the bathroom as a young man in a dark green uniform entered and spread a feast across the table. With a small flourish, he placed a vase of fresh red roses in the center of the table, checked his creation and left.

Debra returned and settled into the chair across the table from him, looking fresh and bright-eyed. After bolting down several bites of eggs scrambled with
queso fresco,
peppers and salsa, she took a sip from a tall glass of orange juice and said, “You’re still planning to go to the Hearing, right?”

“I am. Did you doubt it?”

“Nope. Sinclair was worried that you’d boycott to force a default judgment against Palmer, but I figured out he was wrong. You never intended to skip the Hearing. Your plan is to tell the judge everything you suspect, in public, forcing him to stop the music long enough for Alvarez to follow your leads to the hard evidence.” She glared at him. “You’re planning to do what your father and the dean of the law school couldn’t quite do—cut your throat. You’ll be disbarred. You can’t throw away your future like that.”

He smiled, admiring her mind. At any other time, he’d tell her so. Instead, he said, “I’d be nuts to do that. How are those eggs?”

She scowled at him. “Don’t be so damn evasive. Just tell me I’m right.”

“If I did, you’d be an accomplice and get tossed by the Bar. That won’t happen so long as you can swear you had no part in it. You can even say you tried to stop me when I sprang it on you at the Hearing.”

“I’ll make my own decisions, thanks.” She left her breakfast and strode back into the bedroom.

He dressed quickly in his standard black suit, white shirt and maroon tie, and put the letter in the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. The sexy woman who’d captivated the dance floor last night now wore a dark gray pinstripe suit and white shirt. Her hair was primly coiled.

“You’re dressed the way I remember,” she said. “Stuffy.” She glanced at her watch. “Let’s go. We wouldn’t want to miss the kick off.”

“Look, you can still skip this Hearing. Catch a cab to the airport and get the hell out of Mexico.”

“If I left now, Sinclair would have my head on a pike. You may be ready to dump your career, but I’m not. Lead the way.”

In the lobby, he stepped away from her long enough to drop the envelope through a slot for the desk clerk to mail. There was no turning back.

The car waiting for them at the curb was a stretched Cadillac with a sequined crucifix swinging in the center of the windshield and Day-Glo fringe across the tops of the side windows. Mercifully, the driver was getting his hip-hop injection via headphones instead of from six speakers.

As the Cadillac pulled to the curb at the courthouse, Debra took his hand. “I have one thing to say, counselor. Get out of line in there and you’ll have me to deal with. I’m not letting you commit hara-kiri because of that sleaze ball, Arthur Palmer. Don’t do anything crazy. If the judge doesn’t put Palmer down, we’ll find another way later.”

They hurried up the broad stone steps to the second floor of the courthouse and followed signs to the Hearing room. As they approached the door, a guard with a rifle in the crook of one arm scanned Jack with a scowl, then smiled broadly at Debra and nodded that they could enter.

Inside, dust and cobwebs were illuminated by light streaming in through high windows. The floor between rows of seats was covered with the litter shed by bored spectators. The site where justice was dispensed was filthy.

At the front table to the right of the aisle, instead of Alvarez and Santiago, sat two thickset men in their fifties wearing suits that looked like they were made from tweedy carpet remnants. One with heavy jowls and a bushy mustache glanced back at him, then whispered to the other.

What was going on?
Jack kept his expression impassive as he walked to where they sat. Both looked up with blank expressions. Neither offered a greeting.

“Good morning gentlemen,” Jack said. “Where are
Señor
Alvarez and
Señorita
Santiago?
Donde estan los dos abogados de Departemiento de
PROFEPA
?
” One raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

They weren’t going to talk with him, so he crossed the aisle and sat next to Debra. “Tweedledum and Tweedledee won’t tell me what happened to Alvarez. I don’t like this. I smell a
rat
ó
n.”

“Jack, I just met our interpreter.” She nodded back over her shoulder. A woman in her early thirties rose from the front row of chairs and walked to their table.

“Good morning,” she said, “would you like me to sit with you?”

He pulled out a chair for her. “Yes, but first ask those two—”

Before he could finish, the bailiff jumped to attention and opened a door to the right of the bench. There was a rustle of movement as everyone stood. The judge emerged and laboriously lowered his immense body into his chair behind the bench. With no preamble other than the halfhearted smack of his gavel, he called one of the government lawyers by name. The man rose, spoke rapidly, and used his left hand in chopping motions to punctuate the points he was making. Then, with a bow to the judge, he sat down.

“Quick,” Jack prompted the interpreter, “what did he say?”

The interpreter smiled. “Congratulations. He said the government has dropped its complaint. They have no case, and no injunction is needed.”

That was nuts!
Had she misunderstood? He leaned closer to her and asked her to repeat what she’d heard. Puzzled, she repeated it word for word.
Time to put Plan B into action fast
. He stood and turned to the interpreter. “Please translate this. Pardon me, your Honor, let the record show that I am speaking over the objection of my co-counsel because I have certain important facts to place in the public record.” The interpreter rushed to keep up. “To begin with—”

“Stop!” the judge bellowed at the interpreter. The bailiff straightened from where he’d been leaning against the wall and took several steps toward Jack. The judge angrily waved the second PROFEPA lawyer to his feet. That one spoke earnestly to the judge, gesturing several times in Jack’s direction. Then he turned to Jack, smiled, and clasped his hands together at shoulder level and shook them like a victorious boxer at the end of a fight.

The judge spoke one sentence then stamped a document in front of him in three places and signed it at the bottom. He repeated the process with a second document.

Jack turned to the interpreter. “What’s going on?”

“The other lawyer apologized for the government torturing your client.”

“Torturing?”

“Sorry, I think his word meant ‘tormenting’ your client. Then he made a motion to the judge that the complaint be dismissed with prejudice. That’s what the judge just did.”

“No plaintiff would ask that their own complaint be dismissed with prejudice,” Debra said. “That means they can never raise the complaint again.”

Seeing his adversaries packing papers into their briefcases, Jack approached the bench. “Your Honor.” The judge ignored him. “Your Honor. I have a right to be heard.”

Before the interpreter had time to speak, the judge banged his gavel hard, as if force added finality. Ignoring Jack, he heaved himself up and lurched side-to-side through the door, which the bailiff closed behind him.

“Come back here, goddamn you!” Jack shouted. The door remained closed.

He turned to look for the other lawyers. They were gone, but Tomás Montana stood at the back of the Hearing room with a mocking sneer. Instead of rushing up to congratulate his lawyer after a big win, Montana turned on his heel and left.

There was no doubt about who had choreographed the outcome.

Chapter 29

July 5

9:45 a.m.

JACK POUNDED his left fist into the palm of his right hand and swung to face Debra, still in her chair at the counsel table. “I should pay tuition for the lesson I just got. Let’s get out of here.”

When he got to the street, Debra right behind him, he looked around for the Cadillac. It had left without them.

“Yeah,” he grunted, “that driver smelled a loser.”

He took aim on a wire mesh litter basket at the curb and punted it into the street in the path of a pickup truck overflowing with cabbages. An arm stuck out the passenger window waving a middle finger. Then the truck stopped. Two men in farmer’s coveralls got out. One checked the truck for damage. The other taunted Jack to come over.

Debra put her hand on his arm. “You need to cool down. Let’s go over there before you get arrested.” She pointed at the baroque Metropolitan Cathedral across the street, then glanced at the two farmers. “Right now.”

They crossed the street as a bride and groom came through the carved doors. Well-wishers filled the air with a rainbow of confetti and flower petals. The bride gathered her long train and slid into a limousine while the groom waved to their friends. As soon as the groom was in, the car pulled into the sluggish traffic.

Jack chose a pew in the last row and Debra slid in next to him, brushing petals out of her hair. “At least there’s a consolation prize.” She said. “Sinclair will give you a corner office. He really wanted this one.”

It was hard to do, but he held his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye he saw three little girls running up the aisle, snatching the bouquets of flowers the wedding party had left in the pews. The girls were scooping up everything in their path like tiny whirlwinds.

As if responding to an alarm, a paunchy priest shouted at the girls and rushed through the gate in the altar rail. They back-pedaled, still gathering flowers. The red-faced priest snatched a hymnal from a pew rack and hurled it at the nearest girl. It struck her hard in the back. She stumbled but stayed on her feet. Even though all three fled down the aisle, the priest wasn’t satisfied. He called out to a younger priest near the arched entrance who blocked their way, grabbing the smallest child by her thin upper arm. Her pitiful bundle of flowers spread across the marble floor.

Jack stood. “Let the girl go,” he called. The priest released the girl’s arm, but slapped her on the back of her head. Nose in the air, hands clasped at chest-level, he walked past the holy water font without a backward glance.

Jack sat back in the pew and shook his head. “Unbelievable. He thinks that white cassock gives him immunity. Too damn many people in this world think they have immunity. Millions of Mexicans live in shacks while priests in places like this wear red velvet and guzzle vintage port. It’s disgusting.”

“I agree, but can we talk about what happened in that Hearing room?”

He turned in the pew to face her. “At the first sign the judge had been bribed to throw the Hearing in favor of Palmer Industries, I was ready to bombard him with evidence against Palmer to get it on the public record. That would make it impossible to stop Alvarez’s prosecution. That’s where I screwed up. Since Alvarez’s superiors had never interfered in this case, it didn’t occur to me that the prosecution would be in on the fix. Someone high up, maybe even cabinet level, yanked Alvarez off the case, and that wasn’t cheap.”

He paused and let his anger strengthen his resolve as he thought about all that had taken place since he’d arrived in Mexico—including Juanita’s death and the poverty caused as much by greed as by circumstance. He looked at Debra and said, “By the way, I won’t be getting that corner office you mentioned, or any office at all. The second the judge swung that gavel and let Palmer off the hook, I quit working for Sinclair & Simms. Someone has to do something about Palmer. I’m that someone.”

She frowned. “There’s more you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”

“Well, I did leave out a few things.” He told her about his nocturnal visit to Guzman’s office and the mystery trucks. And about the carcinogenic incinerator exhaust and how Montana bribed the PROFEPA inspectors.

“Oh my God. No wonder you—”

But he kept talking, needing to get it all out. He finally finished with, “And not long after Guzman threatened his assistant, she was found strangled on the river bank.” He gave her the details.

He saw the shock in her eyes, felt it in her silence. In her world, things like that couldn’t happen. “The poor girl,” she whispered.

“Now you understand why I’m going back to Juarez. As soon as I get more proof, I’ll kick some ass. And it won’t be just Montana and Guzman. Arthur Palmer has to be totally involved, so I’ll go after him too.”

She rolled her eyes up at the celestial murals overhead. “Let’s see if I understand this. Classroom professor who just got his own ass kicked thinks he can morph into James Bond or Rambo.” She returned her gaze to him. “Are you crazy?”

“Not crazy. Motivated.”

Easy to say, he realized, but the truth was that he had no training for going up against killers. The reasonable thing to do was walk away. No one would blame him. No one except himself. Sinclair had told him to get the job done, and that’s what he’d do. Just a different job.

“Then I’m in too,” she said. “I hate what these people are doing, and I know more about Arthur Palmer than you do. I can help.”

He laid his hand on her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Help both of us by going back to San Francisco.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do that. You remember that Sinclair told me to go to Palmer Industries to write some contracts. If I don’t, Montana will know something’s really wrong. That would definitely get his guard up.”

He knew she was right. “Tell Montana you’re staying in close touch with Sinclair. Draft the contracts and get out. Don’t do anything to make Montana suspicious, and keep his damned hands off you.”

She gave him a knowing smile. “I’ll congratulate him on how clever he was in outmaneuvering the PROFEPA lawyers. I can play that bozo Montana like a kazoo.”

“Yeah, well, just remember that the bozo is also a killer.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “He’ll ask about my reaction to what happened.”

“I’ll say you were very angry and quit. I wasn’t really paying attention, but I think you mentioned sailing to Buenos Aires.”

They watched a procession of boys and girls pass on their way to the stairs that led to the choir loft.

“Don’t go anywhere near the Shipping & Receiving building,” he warned. “If Guzman comes to the Admin building, keep away from him. And never leave the plant with Montana. No impulsive stuff like last night.”

“Look, I’m worried about
you,”
she said. “I’ll keep my head down, but if I have a chance to help I’m going to take it. And if Montana’s pecker makes him careless, I’ll make him pay big time.”

There were no good options, but her attitude reassured him. “Montana will probably have a room reserved for you at the Rialto Hotel. I’ll call you there.”

God, don’t let them put her in the El Presidente Suite
. He hadn’t had the time, and certainly not the clarity, to sort out his feelings about both Ana-Maria and Debra, but he couldn’t stand the thought that Debra might sleep in the same bed he’d shared with Ana-Maria. He also knew instinctively that Debra wouldn’t be able to stand it either.

BACK AT THE condo, they packed quickly and caught a cab for the airport. Now the real battle was about to start. By tomorrow afternoon, he’d be up on the ridge overlooking the Palmer plant.

Even an expert might not have spotted the man who tailed them to the airport—and Jack didn’t.