Santa Fe Edge (16 page)

The station wagon appeared, driving slowly up the road, then it slowed to a crawl in front of Eagle’s house, as if the driver wanted to get a good look at it, then continued up the road and out of sight.

“Whoever that was took a good look at the house,” Vittorio said into the radio. “I couldn’t see who was driving; the car’s roof was in the way.”

“That’s not the sort of car a hit man would drive,” Cupie said. “He’d be in a rental if he was from out of town.”

“Agreed,” Vittorio said. He sat for a few minutes, thinking that it was good to have Cupie around. He spent too many of his days alone, and it was nice to have somebody to bitch at.

He jerked back to reality as the station wagon reappeared, headed down the hill. Vittorio still couldn’t see the driver. He picked up the radio. “The Mercedes is headed back down the hill. See if you can get a look at the driver.”

“Here it comes,” Cupie said. “Naw, the setting sun is reflecting in the windshield; can’t see past that. He’s gone. Did he check out the house again?”

“He didn’t seem to slow down, but he was driving slowly,” Vittorio replied.

“Hey, here comes Eagle,” Cupie said.

“I’ve got him,” Vittorio replied as Eagle’s car appeared down the road. The black Mercedes pulled into the driveway, and Eagle got out, looked around, then went into the house. He didn’t seem to use the garage much. “Okay,” Vittorio said into the radio, “he’s in the house. I’ll pick you up shortly.”

He got the car and drove down to where Cupie waited.

“Let’s stop at the Tesuque Market and get a drink and some dinner,” Cupie said.

“Good idea,” Vittorio replied. The Tesuque Market was a grocery, restaurant and bar that did a good business from the local residents and some tourists, too. “Look,” Vittorio said, pointing at the cars parked outside. The Mercedes station wagon was among them.

Vittorio found a parking place, and they found a table on the front porch and ordered a drink. As they were looking at the menu a man walked past their table, a newspaper under his arm and a bag of food in his other hand. He got into the station wagon, backed out and drove away.

“You know who that is?” Vittorio asked.

“Never saw him before,” Cupie replied, sipping his drink.

“That’s the guy who’s staying in Barbara’s house.”

“You think he’s driving her car?”

“That’s my guess,” Vittorio replied. “If she went to San Francisco or L.A. she wouldn’t drive, would she? She’d fly.”

“Yep,” Cupie replied. “We need that guy’s name.”

“The car won’t be registered to him. How will we get that?”

Cupie thought about it. “We could hit him over the head and take a look at his wallet.”

“There’s gotta be a lazier way,” Vittorio said. He got up, walked into the market and over to the checkout counter, where a young girl was sitting at the register, looking bored. “Excuse me,” Vittorio said to her. “That guy who just walked out: Do you know his name? He looked familiar.”

“The tall guy?” she asked.

“Yeah, with the western shirt.”

She looked down at an electronic credit card reader and pushed a couple of buttons. “Barton Cross, it says here,” she said.

“Nah, he’s not who I thought he was. Thanks.” Vittorio returned to the table. “His name is Barton Cross,” he said to Cupie.

“Mean anything to you?”

“He said he worked at a movie studio and he was doing some work here. That would probably be on James Long’s movie, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, probably. I think that’s the only production in town at the moment.”

“What’s that studio in L.A. that Long works out of?”

“Centurion,” Cupie replied.

Vittorio got out his cell phone and dialed information, and they connected him.

“Centurion Studios,” an operator said.

“Mr. Barton Cross, please.”

“Just a moment.” There was a click followed by ringing.

“Long Productions,” a man’s voice said.

“May I speak with Barton Cross,” Vittorio asked.

“Bart is on vacation,” the man replied. “Can I take a message?”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“End of the month, I think.”

“I’ll call back then.” Vittorio hung up. “Bart Cross is on vacation for a couple of weeks.”

“Not working in Santa Fe?”

“Nope. On vacation.”

“I like him for a hit man,” Cupie said.

“So do I,” Vittorio replied.

31

B
arbara dialed the throwaway cell phone she had given Bart Cross and got no answer. “Damn him!” she said aloud. “I told him to keep that phone handy!”

Her own throwaway suddenly rang. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” he said. “I was in the shower and didn’t get there in time.”

“All right,” she said. “Are you making progress?”

“I had a good look at the property today,” he replied. “I know you want me to use a knife, but I think the better plan is to use a rifle from up the road. There’s a good view of the front of the house, and I can get a clean shot when he leaves for work.”

“I want you to use the knife,” she said. “I want him to have time to think about why he’s dying before he does. That won’t work with a rifle; you’ll just put his lights out. I want her to find him bleeding, too, before you do her. You can shoot her if you want to, after she’s seen him.”

“You’re one angry lady,” Bart said.

“Yes, and you don’t want me angry at you. Are you doing the things I told you?”

“Yeah, I’m using only this phone, not my own.”

“What about credit cards?”

There was a brief silence. “Well …”

“You used your own credit card?”

“Just once, at the Tesuque Market.”

“Don’t you know that can let the police place you in Santa Fe?”

“It won’t happen again, and there’ll be no reason for them to look at me.”

“I want you to take the station wagon back to Albuquerque tomorrow, put it in the same spot in the parking lot, then steal a car.”

“That’s a bad idea,” Bart said. “I’d have to use a credit card. They won’t let you pay cash up front.”

“Don’t you have any false ID?”

“I have one, but it’s not a driver’s license.”

“Then after you leave the wagon in the parking lot, buy a used car and abandon it in the parking lot when you’re done. It’ll be there for weeks, maybe months, before anyone notices it.”

“You paying for a new car?”

“No, that’s part of your expenses. You wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t so stupidly used your credit card. I’m just trying to keep you from getting arrested.”

“All right, I’ll do it your way,” he said.

“Take the car back to Albuquerque first thing in the morning.”

“All right.”

“Call me tomorrow and tell me what you’ve done.”

“I was going to kill him tomorrow morning.”

“You’re not ready until you fix the car problem,” she said, then hung up.

BART WOKE UP LATER than he had planned: It was after nine. He got himself together, got out the car and headed for Albuquerque.

As he got onto I-25 he remembered that he hadn’t closed the garage door. He thought about going back and doing it, but he would be gone for only a few hours, so what the hell?

He drove to Albuquerque International and returned the station wagon to the parking lot, left the ticket under the sun visor and got a cab into town. “Is there a street with a lot of car dealerships?” he asked the driver.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Take me there.”

The driver dropped him off in front of a Toyota dealer, and Bart strolled around the used lot. He was looking for something old, anonymous, but with fairly low mileage. Instead, he stopped in front of a shiny pickup truck.

A salesman approached. “Nice one, isn’t it?”

“Not bad,” Bart said, checking the mileage.

“Driven by a woman who had a landscaping business, so it never carried anything heavier than a bag of fertilizer and a few plants. It’s not like it was used for construction.”

The key was in the ignition, and Bart started the truck. “Let’s go for a ride.” He returned after driving it three or four miles. It was perfect. “Can you ship it to L.A.?” he asked.

“Sure. Probably cost you five hundred.”

“What are you asking?”

“Ten thousand; that’s a wholesale price.”

“I’ll give you seventy-five hundred, cash.”

The man got out his cell phone. “Let me call my boss.” He got out of the truck and made the call while Bart walked around the vehicle, looking for flaws. There weren’t any, and it had new tires on it.

The salesman closed his phone. “Eight thousand is as low as he’ll go,” he said to Bart.

Bart thought about it; he had about fourteen thousand on him. “Deal,” he said.

“Let’s go into the office.”

“I’ll bring it back end of the month, and you can ship it,” he said.

“No problem. I’ll make the arrangements today, and if you pay now, all you’ll need to do is phone me and I’ll pick up the truck at the airport. You’ll be flying out, I guess.”

“That’s right,” Bart said. “You can keep a key.”

VITTORIO SLOWED AS HE neared Barbara’s little guesthouse. “The garage door is open,” he said, “and there’s no car inside.”

“Why don’t we see if we can get into the house through there?” Cupie offered.

They pulled into the driveway and got out. Vittorio led the way into the garage. “Inside door,” he said, pointing. He tried it, but it was locked.

“I can handle that,” Cupie said, taking out his wallet and removing a set of lock picks he’d made from a filed-down hacksaw blade. He had the door open in less than a minute.

Both men wiped their feet carefully, then stepped inside. It was a mess.

“The guy’s a pig,” Cupie said. “He’s only been here a couple of days, and look at it.”

They poked around the living room, where dirty plates and chicken bones had been abandoned, then went into the bedroom.

Vittorio opened a bureau drawer. “Looka here,” he said, pulling a sock onto his hand and holding up a Beretta nine-millimeter pistol. “And a silencer, too,” he said, holding up the tube. “Nice work,” he said, inspecting it. He replaced the two items and looked further. “And this,” he said, holding up a large bowie knife and removing it from its holster.

“It’s practically a sword,” Cupie said. “What is it, a foot long?”

“About a ten-inch blade,” Vittorio said. “And you could shave with it. Why would a guy travel with an ax like that?”

“Maybe he plans to use it,” Cupie said.

They made sure the place was as they’d found it, then got out.

“Where do you suppose Cross is?” Cupie asked.

“He won’t find Eagle coming or going,” Vittorio said. “He’s safe in his office at this hour.”

BART PULLED INTO his garage early in the afternoon, went inside and called Barbara.

“Yes?”

“I’m all set,” he said. “I bought a vehicle.”

“What kind?”

“An old pickup truck. I’ll ditch it when I leave.”

“When, then?”

“Tomorrow morning,” Bart replied.

“Call me when you’re done.”

32

T
odd Bacon left La Fonda and stepped into the Plaza, the main square of Santa Fe. Two sides of the area contained shops and art galleries, while a third side was taken up by the old Palace of the Governors, the seventeenth-century seat of power in the city’s early days. The fourth side was of less interest to him, since it was mostly taken up by restaurants and a bank.

He began working his way through the shops on the opposite side from the Palace of the Governors. They specialized mostly in women’s clothing and art. He wandered through each shop, looking cursorily at its wares and paying particular attention to the female shoppers. They came in all shapes and sizes except one—fairly tall, slender, with noticeable breasts: Those seemed to be in short supply.

He tried the west side of the Plaza, which had more art and less clothing, but came up dry. Finally he turned his attention to the Palace of the Governors.

An Indian street market featuring silver jewelry and some pottery took up most of the broad sidewalk under a portico, and the crowd was thick around the sellers, who had spread their wares on blankets. Todd drifted through the crowd, glancing at the displays but paying more attention to the shoppers.

They seemed to be mostly tourists, sloppily dressed and carrying shopping bags. Then one woman stopped him in his tracks: She fit the physical description of Lauren Cade—five-seven, made taller by western boots that looked new; chestnut-colored hair; and a tight sweater, secured at the waist with a broad belt and a silver buckle that accentuated her breasts, which were more than ample.

She would have attracted his attention at any time, but since she was the first woman he had seen who matched what he was looking for, he had trouble keeping his eyes off her.

She locked eyes with him for a moment, then went back to looking at jewelry. He noticed that she was wearing a gold wedding band. That would have been disappointing on a personal level, but it fit a woman who was traveling with a man.

Todd had a creepy feeling that he was being watched from behind, and it occurred to him that if he was right about the woman, her companion might be nearby, and if it was Teddy Fay, he was dangerous, even in a public place.

He turned around and scanned the faces of the men present: Two of them could be Teddy, he thought, but they were both with women, so he turned back to watch the putative Lauren. She was nowhere to be seen.

Todd began searching the crowd for her, trying not to show the panic he felt at losing her. Then his eyes swept the Plaza and he saw her, already on the other side of the square, disappearing down a side street. He broke out of the crowd and began to run.

LAUREN MADE IT AROUND the corner, but as she hazarded a glance back, she saw the man break from the crowd and start across the Plaza.
Damn
, she thought, another two seconds and he wouldn’t have seen her.