The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) (36 page)

“Lose the gun,” he said.

I set my Wilson down on the kitchen table, next to Beefy’s .22.

Bronco pushed a kitchen chair against the wall.

“Now sit.”

I sat.

“You move, you die,” he said.

Bronco looked over the two guns. He passed over my .38, opting instead to snag the popgun. He crossed the kitchen and stood over Señor Beefy.

“What we tell you?” he snapped. “Didn’t we tell you to watch the cook? Chaco give you the job because you too fucking stupid to do anything else around here. And this is how you do it? You watch so good you end up getting stabbed by the fucking cook and shot by the fucking Chink?”

Tibetan,
I thought, but for once didn’t say.

Señor Beefy whined through gritted teeth, “Can’t you just get the fucking doctor in here?”

“Don’t need no fucking doctor,” Bronco said. “You already dead.”

He raised the .22.
Pop!
A small hole appeared in the middle of Señor Beefy’s forehead—a bloody bindi marking a cruel end to a sorry life. His body twitched twice and came to rest. Bronco smiled, setting the small gun back on the table. Otilia crossed herself.

Now.

I lunged across the room, but Bronco was waiting, as if he’d planned it that way. He dealt a blow to the side of my head with the butt of his gun. I fell to my knees, trying to shake the pain off.

Bronco raised his Sig Sauer at Otilia. Her body contracted into a tiny ball.

“Don’t shoot her,” I said. “Shoot me.”

“Fuck you,
pendejo
. I don’t need nobody telling me who to shoot.” Then Bronco shrugged. “Relax. I ain’t gonna kill her, man. She make the best
mole
I ever put in my mouth!” He aimed the gun my way, aiming for my chest. He was enjoying playing cat-and-mouse. “You, though. Yeah. Maybe I shoot you.”

I met his gaze, my own steady.
May I be safe and protected. May I be . . .

He jabbed his gun toward the door. “Move,” he said. “Chaco wants to meet you.”

He pocketed the popgun and grabbed my Wilson, holding it in his left hand as he used the Sig Sauer to prod me toward the door leading outside. Turning back, he aimed it carefully. The explosion blew a splintered hole in the kitchen floor. Otilia backed further into the corner, tight with terror.

“Don’t move,” Bronco said. From the icy clutch of her body, I assumed she’d obey. But just in case, I shot her a look, jigging my eyes between her frozen face and the shotgun Bronco had inexplicably overlooked.

Bronco marched me out the back door and up the graveled path toward Julius’s cottage. Halfway there we met up with Manuel and Chaco, on their way to find us. Chaco stepped close, his dark eyes appraising. He was maybe two inches shorter than me, but a considerable amount wider, a solid block of muscle, smoldering with energy.

“So,
monje,
” Chaco said. “We meet.
Soy feliz.
I am glad.”

He gestured toward the cottage. “Come.” I paused at the doorway to take off my shoes. Bronco gave a quick jerk of his head. “No need.”

Inside, Dr. Alvarado was leaning against one wall, leafing through a magazine. She barely glanced at me.

Julius saw me. He struggled to sit upright.

Chaco nudged me closer. “You two
putas
ready to kiss and make up?”

“Hello, Julius,” I said.

“What are you doing here?” Julius whispered. “Tenzing, I . . . “A cloud of pain floated across his features. He gestured around the room. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring you into all this,” he whispered.

“I found Sadie,” I said.

His face crumpled.

“Hey, don’t blame the old man. The missing sister was my idea,” Chaco interrupted. “When you started nosing around here, I told him, you want to keep a snapping
perro
off your heels? Throw it fresh meat.” He shrugged. “You did pretty good, too. Better than most of us thought you would. Except the old man. He knew.” Chaco’s sudden smile was scarier than his scowl. “Who knows,
monje
? Maybe I can find something for you to do. I’m always looking for smart workers.” I listened hard for irony, but he was all business. I was being offered a job.

“Think about it,” Chaco said.

“I will,” I said. “I’m always looking for smart bosses, too.” I listened to Chaco’s breath as I watched his chest. The one quickened, and the other puffed slightly.
He’s flattered. Good.
I sensed a small opening, and pushed through. “So what are you up to, Chaco? What kind of game is this?”

“Big game,” Chaco said. Again, everybody but Julius laughed. Chaco pointed to him. “That old man’s a fucking genius. You wouldn’t believe what he came up with.”

My head started to throb.
What does the hum of betrayal sound like, Julius?
Julius winced, as if he could hear my thoughts.

“Tell him,
Viejo
. Tell him what we been planning.”

Julius said, “It was the only thing that helped with Dorothy’s pain, Ten. The only thing that sustained her.”

“What was? What are you talking about?”

“Manuel’s marijuana.”

Chaco’s chest swelled again. “My papa grew the best
mota
in the village, before he moved up here.”

Manuel rattled off a long sentence in Spanish. He clapped Chaco on the back.

“Sorry. Didn’t catch that,” I said.

“He says he is proud of me,” Chaco boasted. “He started with one small plant and now I control Sinaloa.”

“Manuel grew it for her specially,” Julius said, his voice weak. “Only thing that helped.” Sweat beaded on his upper lip. “I don’t feel very well. I think I need my medicine. Dr. Alvarado? Can you give me my medicine?”

She looked over at Chaco. He shook his head slightly.

“Soon,” she said.

Time to step things up.

“That’s it? That’s your big idea? Selling Manuel’s marijuana to treat cancer?” I shrugged. “Sorry, already taken. In case you hadn’t noticed, Chaco, there’s a whole industry out here built around that notion.”

Bam!
Chaco’s fist split my lip, and I tasted metallic blood. “You think I’m stupid?” He said. “You think he is? No! That old man, he decide to buy up
all
the places that sell dope as medicine. Get a monopoly. Squeeze everybody else out of business.”

That
was
a big idea. There were hundreds of medical marijuana dispensaries throughout the state. Somebody with a monopoly could make a bundle, assuming the crusading politicians didn’t declare a new prohibition first. And where better but California, where the current laws were as lax and confused as any state in the country?

“I see,” I said. “And let me guess, to do that, he’d need a single supplier . . . “

Chaco patted his chest. “One-stop shopping. Best shit around, too. I give him a great price, he buys only from me. Everybody wins.”

Truth be told, it was kind of ingenious, setting aside the crawling into bed with cartel killers part. But clearly something must have gone wrong. What had happened? Again, Julius seemed to catch my thoughts midair. He roused himself. The effort to speak made him gasp a little.

“Greedy,” Julius said. “These men are too greedy. They want to start sucking money out before we’ve set up a proper infrastructure. I keep telling them, the trick is patience. But no, they can’t wait. They can’t keep their word.”

“Shut up, old man,” Chaco snapped. “Now you said enough.” He took a step toward Julius.

Julius groaned.

“So where is it, Chaco?” I said, hurriedly.

“Where’s what?”

“The patch,” I said. “I’m guessing the small of his back? Or did you stick it on his arm, like the one that killed Marv?”

Dr. Alvarado’s intake of breath was more like a hiss. Bronco whistled. “Shit, man, the Chink’s smarter than he looks.”

Chaco backhanded Bronco across the face, whip-fast. “Smarter than you, fuckhead. If you hadn’t been so
stupido
none of this would be happening!”

Bronco rubbed his cheek, but he didn’t say another word.

“I still don’t understand,” I said to Chaco. “Who came first? Julius or Marv?”

“Chaco,” he boasted. “Chaco always comes first.”

“You know what I mean. Why did Marv have to die? Did he find out about your scam?”

“Nah. Nothing like that. Look,” Chaco said. “I got a big family to support. I’m always looking for opportunities, you know? And this city’s lousy with them.” He pointed to Julius. “Take him. Rosen. The man’s got nothing but money to piss away. When my father starts working for him, I keep an eye open and an ear close to the ground. Rosen’s wife getting sick, some might call that a tragedy,
verdad?
Me? I call it
una opportunidad
. So Papa and me, we make sure Señora Rosen gets the best pain medicine there is, legal or not. Right, Papa?”

Manuel bobbed his head from the corner of the room

“And Marv?” I said. “That was ingenious, by the way, how you put Bronco and him together.”

Chaco’s eyes widened. “You’re good. What a waste.” He returned to his favorite subject: Chaco Morales. “Like I said, family is everything. So when my brother tells me his
muy guapo
son Bronco doesn’t want to deal no more, wants to be in the movies, I think, who do I know that knows somebody in the movies? Rosen, that’s who. And the man already feels like he owes us. So my papa talks to Señor Julius. Didn’t you, Papa?”

Manuel smiled and nodded.

“And Julius helped you?”

“Si. Rosen puts in a word with this big producer, Marv Rudolph. Bronco gets an audition. And Bronco almost gets the part. But after all that, my brother Pepé’s boy can’t be in the movie, on account of Pepé’s boy’s got a record.”

Pepé Morales. Chaco’s Sinaloan killing partner.

And now I knew absolutely. Chaco was bragging to me, because Chaco was planning on killing me. And if Julius didn’t change his mind, Chaco would kill him, too.

I might still have a chance.
Keep him talking.

“But you still owe Pepé,” I said.

“But I still owe Pepé. So I wait. And I watch. And I find out Julius Rosen and Marv Rudolph are getting into business together. On another movie.”

“
Loving Hagar.
”

“Si. And then? Just like that!” Chaco snaps his fingers. “Julius stiffs Marv. So Marv’s hungry. I like hungry, hungry means desperate. Hungry means he’ll do whatever it takes. And if all it takes is money? Even better. Land of opportunities,
monje
. One thing leading to another.”

One death leading to another, you mean.

He sighed. “Until it all went to shit. Fucking Marv.”

I heard the tiniest crunch of stone outside.

“Why kill him?” I said. “Why risk drawing attention to yourself like that?”

“What attention? No one was supposed to know. But he had to die. That asshole made me invest a couple million dollars in his movie before he’d go near Bronco.”

“So what, then?” I said. “Marv ripped you off?”

“He blew a lot of money, sure. But if he’d just come to me, I wouldn’t have been so pissed.” Chaco leaned forward. “The fat fuck put my movie in turnaround. Nobody puts Chaco Morales in turnaround.”

“¡Puta!”
Bronco screamed, raising his Sig Sauer.

Blam!
The window shattered, spraying the room with fragmented glass. Bronco let out a hoarse cry. I dove behind the black chair as Bronco grabbed at the ragged hole in his chest. Otilia had hit him with the shotgun blast, dead center. The blood between his fingers spread until his shirtfront was drenched. His knees buckled. He fell face forward, staining the white carpet crimson.

She stood outside, ramrod straight, shaking with rage. Señor Beefy’s shotgun was pressed to one shoulder. She took a small step forward and rested the heavy barrel on the windowsill. She swung it slowly from side to side, like the muzzle of a tank. She had everyone in her sights. Nobody moved.

“You,” Otilia said to Dr. Alvarado. “
Venga
.” Dr. Alvarado edged toward her.
“¡Mas rapido!
” She reached the window. Otilia leaned inside, the shotgun inches from the doctor’s belly. “This is for putting drugs in Señor Julius.”

Dr. Alvarado squeezed her eyes shut.

“¡Abierta sus ojos!
” Otilia shrieked. Alvarado’s eyes popped open. Otilia drew back and spat into the other woman’s face. Dr. Alvarado crumpled to her knees. As Otilia went to spit again, her gun muzzle canted to one side, Chaco lunged for the barrel and I lunged for Chaco. He twisted the gun away as I tackled him from the side. It was like hitting a brick wall, but at least I knocked him off his feet. He rolled sideways, barrel in his hands, butt pointing toward the ceiling. I grabbed the butt, and we started a deadly tugging match. I had the advantage. Unlike Chaco, I wasn’t looking into the wrong end of the shotgun.

White-hot pain ripped through my shoulder.
What the . . . ?
Chaco reached back again and drove his palm hard on the muzzle, stiff-arming the butt into my shoulder, loosening my grip. Chaco wrested the shotgun from my hands.
Gutsy move. If I get out of here alive, I’ll remember that one.
Now I was looking down twin tunnels of death. I kicked the barrel sideways as he pulled the trigger.
Blam!

“
¡Hijo de puta!
” Manuel fell, howling. He was hit. His screams merged with the wail of sirens, growing close.

Chaco and I gauged the distance between our bodies, the rifle, and the door. We came to different conclusions. I lunged for the shotgun. Chaco leapt for the door, flinging it open and disappearing into darkness. By the time I made it outside, he was already nearing the edge of the property. I’m pretty fast, but somehow that fireplug was faster. I was losing ground—the shotgun didn’t help—as Chaco streaked through the shadows.
El Gato.
He veered toward the grove of trees. I could only hope he was better at up than down, like another cat I knew.

The sirens were deafening now. Then I heard loud shouts, doors slamming. I glanced back. A half dozen cops spilled down the path toward the cottage, illuminated by pulsing squad-lights. They’d be picking through that mess all night, what with the two corpses, and the bullet casings from . . .

Idiot! I was carrying a double-barreled shotgun that had fired twice. I dropped it, and pumped into top speed. Up ahead, Chaco scrambled up the wall, using the hydrangea vines for purchase. Watery moonlight briefly illuminated his squat body, balanced on top of the wall. He jumped. I heard a sharp grunt. I shimmied up the carob tree, the bark sandpapering my skin raw, and pulled into a straddle atop the wall. Unlike Chaco, I used the overhanging branch to swing lower before letting go. I landed in a soft roll, and was up in time to see Chaco limping along the far end of the wall toward Summitridge Drive.