The Pawnbroker (18 page)

Charlie took the card and Rick took his leave. They'd already closed for the night, and Jake said goodbye at the same time.

Walking out into the display area, Charlie looked around, thinking about Rick's suggestion. With all that was going on now, and with the recent break-in, it was probably a good idea. He'd discuss it with Gordon later. Right now, he was going to set the alarm, lock up, and go join Gordon over at Nancy and Gina's. He might just be able to connect a few more dots if Ruth was willing to cooperate a little more. He now had something to use against Ruth, who had years of unreported income—not that he'd be bastard enough to actually report her to the IRS.

*   *   *

Charlie woke up about three in the morning, grabbed the grip of the handgun beneath his pillow, then remembered he was back in the States and in his own rental home.

He was sleeping on his back, too, something he'd never been able to do while deployed because he snored. Not a good habit for a Navajo warrior, or his buddies, who'd just get pissed and throw things. Snoring was annoying to everyone in the barracks during basic, and in every quarters he'd shared along the way. The only solution was sleeping on his side. He'd tried a special mouthpiece, but it came out sometimes, and sleeping on his stomach made him too vulnerable, especially while dozing in hostile territory.

Gordon had given him a T-shirt with a dummy M67 grenade sown into the pocket and told him to wear it backwards. Roll onto your back, and ouch.

Tonight it hadn't been his own snoring that woke him up. It was that damn recurring dream, in one variation or the other. He'd be on patrol, heading along a narrow street, just out of view of his section. He'd hear a noise, and turn to look. An insurgent would step out from a door and shoot him in the thigh. He'd pass out, then wake up with his head underwater, drowning, unable to breathe. Gasping, he'd come up, choking, with angry faces staring him down. Then he'd go under water again.

Sometimes, instead of the torture, he'd awake and find himself tied to a chair—hands, legs, and torso. A curved sword would be pressed to his throat, then brought back, ready to swing. Metal would flash—then he'd wake up in a sweat.

He'd wake up angry, shaking, or so sad he'd cry for a while before he could catch himself. The day following those dreams would be spent on edge, looking over his shoulder and not knowing why. The shrinks that came around to their unit before his enlistment ended said it was all normal for most of those who'd seen combat—nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone had a little PTSD, they said. If you needed help, someone to talk to, they were there.

Most of the men around him never talked about it, though, or made jokes. Showing that kind of fear was unmanly, they all knew that.

Gordon wasn't like the others, though. He seemed immune—joking that combat had been safer than the streets where he'd grown up, and that the team was the only family he cared about. The army provided him with plenty of weapons—body armor, and his unit buddies for backup. Back in the Denver barrio, all he had was a pocketknife until he taken up the martial arts class at one of the alternative schools—Freedom High.

A year later, he was 140 pounds of muscle, teaching the course. Or maybe that was just Gordon's cover story. Maybe he was lying, just like the rest of them who pretended they could handle it. If he sweated, though, his pal never let it show.

One thing Charlie knew about Gordon Sweeney, however, was that Gordon would never commit suicide. He was a carrier, not a victim. The thought made Charlie smile.

He lay there for a while and listened, hearing nothing but the quiet hum of the refrigerator motor going through it's motions, and a car pulling into a driveway or up against the curb. In the distance, he heard a car door close and a dog bark for a few seconds.

Gordon had somehow heard about Navajo Sings meant for returning warriors, and advised Charlie to seek one out—excise the demons or whatever, he'd suggested.

Charlie had never been big on Navajo traditions, and had left home at eighteen, choosing college just to get away from the Rez. His father was a tribal judge, retired now after surviving a heart attack. Dad now worked in the garage all hours of the night, restoring old cars.

His mother, who'd taught sixth grade, had been diagnosed with cancer five years ago. She's gone downhill for months, given up on medical treatment, then got better. Now Mom was doing volunteer work at the schools, according to Alfred, his older brother and a tribal cop.

Charlie sometimes worried that after all this, his parents would die in a car wreck like his uncle Carl. Carl was a Vietnam vet who'd been awarded two Silver Stars and died with a bottle of Thunderbird wine in his hand.

Yet, Mom and Dad were still very much alive. Last year, when he'd left the service and returned home to pick up his car and empty out his storage unit, they'd rallied the community to give him a parade. He was labeled a war hero, and people he'd never met had shown very un-Navajo pride in him. He'd been embarrassed when they had him ride through Shiprock in a convertible, flanked by a band and an honor guard. He'd smiled, shaken a lot of hands, and been a guest speaker at his old high school. In his mind, killing all those people, enemy or not, was no reason to be called a hero. Now he knew why his uncle had taken up drinking.

Maybe someday he'd go back to Shiprock and spend a little time with the family—after the dreams stopped.

He climbed out of bed, walked to the refrigerator, and brought out a bottle of water. Strange, since the army, he never drank from the tap anymore. Bottled water was expensive, and now he was paying for it. Perhaps he needed a water filter for the tap.

*   *   *

When Charlie arrived at Three Balls the next morning, Jake was sitting on the loading dock, a cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee in hand. At his side was one of those lunch coolers favored by construction workers. Cheap and practical, Charlie remembered. He had a cousin who carried his lunch in one for years.

“Am I late?” Charlie asked, looking down at his watch as he climbed out of the accursed rental car.

“Not at all, boss. I'm just an early riser. Wife's gone, kids are grown up, and I need something to keep busy.”

Not knowing if Jake's wife was gone dead, gone on a trip or gone divorced, Charlie chose not to ask. “How about making yourself a backdoor key so you can let yourself in? And remind me to give you the alarm code,” Charlie suggested.

“Glad to know you trust me,” Jake answered as Charlie opened the door and waved him in.

Charlie walked over to the panel and turned off the alarm. “Good help is hard to find. Gordon picked well,” he added.

“I do everything well,” Gordon said, coming up the loading-dock steps.

“Where you parked?” Charlie asked. “Out front?”

“Yeah. We're going to go out looking for Eddie Henderson once we open up and can get hold of Rick's friend. We're going to install the security cameras, right?”

“It'll make it easier for whoever's behind the counter,” Jake said. “And the mounts are still up, so that should save some money. If you want, give me the number and I'll make the calls and try to get the guy in here.”

“Do that ASAP. Now who's making coffee?” Gordon asked.

“I'll do it,” Charlie said. “Jake, before you make any calls, you wanna show Gordon what Rick got up and running yesterday afternoon?”

“Sure. Then maybe you guys in management can tell me where to store all those old paper transactions we won't have to sort through anymore.”

*   *   *

Gordon drove past the Premier Apartments where Eddie Henderson had once lived. Charlie kept watch for the gang they'd encountered there.

“No gang, no gold Mustang, looks normal to me. Not even any vehicles that look gangish,” Charlie said.

“Gangish?”

“You know, stereotypical vehicle associated with gangbangers around here. Big boats with small tires for the old bangers, low-rider cars, flashy rims, tiny steering wheels. Or the Acura and sporty Subaru that carried the six-pack plus one of hoods the other day. You did notice the oversized rims and the skinny-ass tires?”

Gordon shrugged. “I think that's only for locals. Back in my 'hood, gangs stole cars, then trashed them. They never actually bought their rides. Besides, I see old grandpas driving around in pimped-out cars nowadays.”

“Maybe 'cause they're pimps. But either way, I haven't seen any sign of those guys. APD hasn't been any help in finding Eddie, and if no gang types are around to squeeze for info, maybe we should see if the assistant manager remembers anything else about burglar slash gun-dealer Henderson. Maybe with you there, she'll be a little less hostile. I got the impression last time that she doesn't like me. And, FYI, I passed myself off as a guy hoping to do some work on Eddie's Mustang—the seat covers and stuff.”

“You, an interior decorator?”

“Never mind. Just get what you can about Eddie.”

Like before, Ruby was cold as ice with Charlie from the moment they walked into the office. She opened up immediately to Gordon, however, and took a long look at the photo of Eddie provided via Nancy and the MVD.

“For sure that's Eddie. We didn't talk that much, you know, only when he picked up a package left by FedEx and stuff. I remember when he moved out. Most of the tenants load everything into a rental truck or a U-Haul, you know, but he had a service, Keri-It, do all the work. You've seen their ads on TV.”

Charlie nodded, not knowing who the hell she was talking about, but it didn't matter. It was like he wasn't in the room anyway.

She continued, smiling at Gordon, who was eyeing her substantial cleavage. “He said something about a fifth-floor apartment—five was his lucky number, you know—and there aren't that many around that I know of, at least on the west side. The only tall apartment buildings I know about in Albuquerque are in the downtown area and uptown, over by the Coronado Mall. If I hear anything, should I give you a call?” She winked at Gordon, who produced a business card out of thin air faster than David Blaine.

For a second, Charlie thought she was going to hide the card in her bosom, but instead, she looked at it very carefully. “Thought you guys worked on cars. Guess there's a little moonlighting on the side. Three Balls, huh? That's something I haven't seen—yet. Maybe I'll drop by.”

“You do that, Ruby,” Gordon said. “You won't be disappointed.”

Charlie avoided gagging, but not by much. “Let's check out these places, partner,” he said, nodding toward the door.

“Bye now,” Ruby said as they left.

“Where to first—downtown, or the Heights?” Gordon said as they climbed into the pickup.

“I was thinking for a moment you'd prefer staying here with Ruby,” Charlie said, fastening his seatbelt.

“Hey, it's been a while since I shared coffee with a woman, much less the top of a desk. Give me a break. At least this bundle of potential delight isn't married. I saw how you were looking at Ruth Adams yesterday. Though I can't really fault you on that,” Gordon said.

“But maybe she's still bad news. Ruth's holding back on something,” Charlie said. “Let's check the east side apartment buildings. There can't be more than a half dozen that are five stories or higher. Downtown this time of the morning is going to be a traffic nightmare.”

*   *   *

Just as Gordon got onto I-25, heading south for the Big I and the I-40 exit, his cell phone rang. It was Jake, and Gordon put it on speaker. “Hey, Gordon, I just got a call from some lady with a seductive voice named Ruby. She has some information on this Eddie Henderson guy you're looking for. She left me her number.”

Gordon couldn't help but smile as he handed his phone to Charlie. “Take this, will you, and dial for me. No sense in getting pulled over by a state cop.”

Charlie took the phone and dialed the number of the Premier Apartments.

She answered right away. “Gordon, hi, this is Ruby. Glad you called back.” Charlie put the phone on speaker and placed it on the center console.

“Hi, Ruby with the sexy voice,” Gordo said, a big grin on his face. “What's up?”

“You, I hope.”

“You'll have to see for yourself. For the moment, though, I guess I'll have to settle for some news on Eddie. Our senior office manager said you had something for me.”

“That's not all I have for you, cutie. Until then, though, you might be interested in something I just remembered.”

“Go on.”

“When Eddie turned in his key, the day he moved out, you know, he said something about being able to see the hippos at the zoo from his balcony,” Ruby said. “Does that help?”

“Sure does, Ruby. I'm really grateful you're helping out.”

“How grateful are you, Gordon? I get off work at five.”

Charlie started to laugh.

“Quiet, bro, I'm on the phone,” Gordon ordered.

“You put me on speaker?” Ruby asked. “Not cool.”

“Umm, sorry, doll. I'm driving—on the freeway, trying to keep from rear-ending someone,” Gordon said, shrugging.

“Well, that's not going to happen now, for sure,” Ruby said loudly.

“Ruby?”

“She hung up,” Charlie announced.

“Yeah. Thanks a lot, bro,” Gordon said.

“Hey, if I have to be celibate, why not you too?”

“Yeah, well. I don't have the time anyway. I hate having to admit this, but I have more important things to do.”

“That's the spirit, Gordo.”

“Go to hell.”

“Maybe later. For now, let's try and find that apartment. If he lives near the zoo, that places him south of Central Avenue, and a few blocks west of downtown,” Charlie said.

“Yeah.” Gordon checked the rearview mirror, then moved into a right-hand lane. “I seem to recall there's a pretty tall apartment building in that area. Last time I went out on a date, it was there just beyond the zoo. Girl and I had fun, lunch at the snack bar, and that was it.”