Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (14 page)

Munch heard the gate latch jingle and opened the
door. Mace had parked on the street and was walking up her front
steps.

"I'm all set," she said.

"
Good, good." He glanced down the street.
"Can I use your phone real quick?"

"
Of course," she said. "Come in. You
want some coffee or anything?" She shooed Derek and Asia back
from the doorway.

"
No, just need to make a call." He nodded
hello to Derek and gave Asia a smile. She did her newfound shy
number, tucking her chin down to her chest and batting her eyes. Mace
crossed the room to the phone. "Is this the only extension?

"
You need privacy?" Munch asked.

"
Uh, no, this'll be fine."

Munch took Asia's hand and led her outside, giving
Derek the high sign to follow. Asia's eyes remained focused on Mace
St. John, even though it meant walking with her head swiveled
backward. On the front porch, Munch reached into her wallet and
pulled out a twenty. She handed the bill to Derek. "I'll call
you guys in a couple of hours and let you know what's going on."

"Okay," Asia said absently, poking her head
around Derek's legs as she tried to get a last look at the detective
in her living room.

"
Eat something healthy," Munch admonished,
wondering which of the two she had a better chance of reaching. It
was close.

She came back in the house in time to hear Mace say,
"Hi, it's me." There was a pause while he inclined his head
and put a finger over his free ear. "Something's come up. I have
to go down to Mexico."

He closed his eyes as he listened.

"
The Band-Aid thing. Can you feed the dogs?
Maybe throw the ball for Nicky?"

He seemed to be holding his breath, then his
shoulders slumped. "I know you know."

He nodded. "I'm at her house now. She's got a
nice place, almost in the Marina."

Munch had been heading for her bedroom, but slowed
her steps as soon as she knew she was out of his line of vision.

"
No, she looks good. She's got a kid."

She breathed slowly and stood very still.

"
A girl." He dropped his voice. Munch
leaned closer from her position around the corner.

"Almost seven," he said. Now his voice was
barely audible. "I thought so, too. I'll try to find out."
She heard him inhale, saw the reflection of his body straightening in
the window. "Thanks for taking care of the dogs."

His next response came quickly.

"I know I don't. That's not the point. I want to
let you know I appreciate you. I'll call you later?"

A second, maybe two passed, then he said, "Bye.
Take care," and hung up.

Munch walked back to the bedroom door and closed it.

"
All set?" he called to her.

"
I hope so," she
said. Before walking out the door, she grabbed the spare set of keys
for the limo and her leather coat.

* * *

The Sunday traffic was heavy in West Los Angeles. St.
John spent much of the time on the radio, speaking in cryptic,
clipped sentences full of numbers and letters. She heard none of the
emotion that had weighted his voice earlier.

"
So how did Asia's father die?" Mace asked.
"Natural causes?"

"
You could say that," Munch said. "He
got on the wrong end of a methamphetamine deal with the Gypsy
Jokers."

"Loser," Mace said.

"
More than you know," she said.

They drove against traffic inland to catch the San
Diego freeway southbound. It, too, was crowded. They made some small
talk about people spending hours in smoggy traffic on their day off
for the privilege of paying five dollars to sit on hot, tarry sand
and then fight the traffic again to get back home.

An hour and a half later, the freeways merged north
of San Clemente. The wind, took on a sudden freshness, and then they
were on the Coast Highway. The ocean to their right was blue, dotted
with sailboats. Flocks of seagulls, their wings white chevrons
against the cloudless sky, circled above. Sitting inside the hot car
with the scent of the crisp salt air in her nose, it was hard to
argue with the wisdom of the throng of beachgoers parked along the
shoulder.

Munch knew a woman who considered the ocean her
Higher Power, claiming that the shifting enormity of the Pacific
Ocean was a lot easier to believe in than some bearded entity on
high.

"You ever pray?" she asked Mace.

"Isn't the first question, 'Do you believe in
G0d?' "

"
Do you?"

"Only when I'm really desperate," he said.
"How about you?"

"
When I first got sober," she said, "it
was like every time I turned a corner some kind of miracle was
happening. Big things, coming just in time to save my butt. Back then
everything was a miracle: correct change at the market, finding a
short in a wiring harness, parking places opening up when I needed
them. Everything was like, 'Wow, you mean getting loaded had to do
with this, too?'"

"
And now?" he asked.

"
Things have been going along pretty evenly.
Work, meetings, shuttling Asia to all her different activities. God
doesn't come into the picture too much until the shit hits the fan."

"
He must be used to that."

She smiled at the ocean, liking the idea of God
understanding human nature and not holding a grudge. Then she turned
back toward Mace so she could watch his face for the first sign of a
lie. "How's Caroline?" she asked.

"
She's, uh," he said as he rubbed his hand
over the stubble on his chin, "probably happier."

"Probably?"

"We separated. We've agreed to disagree,"
he said, his I voice dripping with sarcasm.

"
I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well . . ." He sped up to pass the
Buick in front of him, cutting back into the lane just inches in
front of the other car. She gripped the armrest.

"What happened?"

He looked out the window. She saw the muscles in his
jaw flex. "You hungry?" he asked.

"Not really."

"We'll stop in San Diego. I need to check in
with a buddy of mine at the San Diego PD."

"
Yeah, okay" They crossed over a bridge. A
train trestle ran parallel to them. She thought about his train car,
the one he was always fixing up. The 1927 office car was parked on a
siding of track on Olympic Boulevard. She passed it Wednesday nights
when she went to an A.A. meeting held at a women's recovery house. It
was a beautiful piece of engineering and craftsmanship inside and
out. He'd taken her on a tour once, shown her the lush interior
created for railroad executives and lovingly restored by him. The
exterior was painted Pullman green and still had the original
leaded-glass windows, though Mace had covered them with grating. Like
a ship, she had a name: Bella Donna. It was stenciled along her side
in gold-leaf script. Mace told her once that one day he and his dad
were going to hire an Amtrak engine to tow them up the coast. She had
thought that sounded so cool, especially when he told her there were
tracks that ran through parts of the country unspoiled by any other
symptoms of civilization. Crystal blue lakes stocked with
noncancerous fish, virgin forest. just you and your portable
self-contained armored car.

"
How's your dad?" she asked.

"He . . ." Mace St. John blew out his
breath, looked to his left, then straight ahead. "We lost him."

"
Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know. Was it a stroke?"

"
Nothing that clean. Six months ago he just
started to slip away. He wouldn't eat unless you ground the food up
in the blender, and then only a couple of bites."

"That must have been rough."

"I fucked that one up, too," Mace said.

"
How did you fuck up?" she asked, realizing
now that for all the anger he exhibited, the majority he reserved for
himself. "He was old, right?"

"
Yeah, right."

She knew she had gone too far. The temperature inside
the car seemed to drop thirty degrees. His whole body was rigid, from
the hands gripping the steering wheel to the taut muscles in his
forearms. Even his head angled forward awkwardly as he watched the
traffic.

"
Look at this asshole," he said, climbing
up behind the black Chrysler in the lane ahead of him. The Chrysler
peeled off into a slower lane. Mace muttered, "Fucking jerk,"
and glared at the driver as they passed.

They drove several miles in silence. She wondered if
cops ever listened to music when they were on the job. The silence in
the car was setting her teeth on edge.

"
What about the dogs?" she asked. "Didn't
you have a couple of dogs?"

His face relaxed then. His lips puckered in a kissing
motion. "My babies, " he said.

"
I'm glad you still have the dogs," she
said, knowing for a fact how kids and dogs had a way of keeping your
heart alive. He looked at his watch, and said, "We'll reach San
Diego around noon."

She rubbed her eyes and yawned. "You mind if I
take a little nap? I didn't get much sleep last night. "

"
Yeah, you do that," he said.

She closed her eyes, but only pretended to sleep.
 

CHAPTER 12

Munch and Mace arrived at the San Diego police
station ten minutes after twelve. Mace flashed his badge to the
uniformed cop guarding the entrance to the parking lot and was
directed to take any available space.

After they parked, Mace reached into the backseat and
retrieved a large manila envelope. They entered the building. Mace
again showed his police identification at the front desk. He was
given a plastic badge to clip onto the collar of his shirt. Munch was
issued a sticker badge that read, VISITOR. The day's date was stamped
across the bottom. SAN DIEGO POLICE DEPARTMENT was printed in blue
across the top.

Mace asked the cop on duty how to get to Enrique
Chacón's office.

"
Narcotics," the cop said. "Third
floor, left as you exit the elevator."

Mace thanked the guy and told Munch to follow him. As
they waited for the elevator, police of all sizes, sexes, and colors
walked past them. Munch realized that she would have had trouble
making over half of them as cops. Maybe it was how they smiled when
she made eye contact. She looked down at the pass pasted to her shirt
and decided it was much better to be a visitor than a guest.

They took the elevator to the third floor and turned
left. The hallway was full of cardboard file boxes. A sign with an
arrow directed them to the Narcotics Division. Mace led the way, the
manila envelope full of morbid pictures tucked under his arm.

They entered the open door of a room with NARCOTICS
stenciled on the opaque glass inset of the door. Smooth roughwire
mesh, she thought to herself as she ran her hand over the
multifaceted surface. Six months with a glazier filled your head with
all sorts of useful information like that. Desks lined the walls of
the narrow office. In the corner, a gang member in starched khaki
pants traded jokes with a seated detective. When the boy turned, she
saw the police badge hanging from a chain around his neck.

Damn, she thought, has he even has tattoos.

Another Hispanic cop was on the phone with his back
to them. He swiveled in his chair, and his face opened in a broad
smile when he saw Mace. He held up a finger to say just a minute.

Mace waved for him to take his time.

The seated cop finished his call, stood, and extended
his hand to Mace. "Mace St. John," he said. "How are
you?"

"
Chacón, this is my friend Munch Mancini?

"Call me Rico."

Munch shook hands with Mace's friend. The narcotics
cop's hand was warm and his manner friendly. She wondered if he saw
her old needle marks. Would that chill him out?

"So what brings you to town?" Chacón
asked.

"Munch has a limousine that crossed the border
yesterday. We were hoping to track it down," Mace said.

"Officially?" Chacón asked.

"We really don't have that kind of time,"
Mace said. He had explained to Munch on the ride over that relations
between the two countries' law-enforcement factions were not good. In
fact, he'd said, the Mexican
federales
were downright hostile to American lawmen. Asking for permission
would only invite trouble. The two of them would get much more
cooperation just going in as civilians.

All that she understood. But why wasn't Mace telling
his friend about the murder investigation?

The other two cops left the room.

"
I need a silver bullet," Mace said.

"
I figured there was more," Chacón said,
looking in the direction of the departing officers.

Mace opened his manila envelope and pulled out some
photographs. Munch recognized them as the same pictures he'd shown
her earlier. "I think this guy is operating in TJ." Mace
said. "I got a tip that another victim showed up this morning.
She might have been driving the missing limousine."