A Basket of Trouble (26 page)

story? Remember she’s dating Vince Donahue.”

“She’s not scheduled to work tomorrow,” Jessica said.

215

“By Thursday, the damage will be done. Tom will have wasted

a day sanitizing his stable and trying to figure out which horse or horses are sick.” Charley grinned. “He’ll be madder than a wet cat, but he won’t be able to do anything about it, because then he’d

have to admit Hank is his spy.”

Charley returned to his chair and reached out to drag a torti-

lla chip through the salsa. “Speaking of wasting, I’m wasting away here. When’s dinner?” He popped the chip into his mouth.

Claire looked at her watch and gasped. “Oh no, the chicken

casserole was supposed to be done twenty minutes ago. I hope it’s not burned now.” She rushed into the kitchen to check. She hoped

Charley wouldn’t be burned by his scheme either.

216

fifteen:

ribs and rumors

Just after noon on Wednesday, Claire drove into the parking

lot of the southern-style barbecue restaurant in Old Colorado

City where Leon invested his cocaine-selling profits. She spotted his long black limo with heavily-tinted windows in the back of the lot, but no one was around. Assuming that he, his bodyguard and

driver were all inside, she got out and lifted Condoleza’s large gift basket from the trunk. Holding the basket gingerly in front of her, she walked to the restaurant’s front door.

She was about to set the basket on the ground to open the door

when the door swung out for her. Leon’s bodyguard, a tall young

white man with huge tattooed biceps and an oiled shaved head,

stepped out and held the door open for her. He had never spoken

to her, and he didn’t this time either, so she just gave him a nod and said, “Thanks,” as she walked past him.

Once inside, the familiar aromas of wood-smoked pork and

fried chicken enveloped her, and she paused to take an apprecia-

217

tive sniff. Leon’s favorite table was in the back room, so she headed straight there, past other customers eating and talking in the large front room. As she passed the doorway to the kitchen, she saw a

burly cook taking a steaming pan of fresh-baked cornbread out of

the oven. Her knees almost gave out as her stomach growled and

her mouth started salivating.

Diet be damned.

She rounded the corner into the small room and spotted Leon

and his driver standing in the back. Leon’s driver was the same

size and height as his bodyguard, but dark-skinned and with

curly black hair. Both men were talking to the chubby, gray-haired woman who was the restaurant’s hostess. Leon threw his head

back to laugh at something she said, showing his gleaming white

teeth, and gave her a pat on the fanny. Taller than his two henchmen by a couple of inches, he still sported his hefty paunch, so he had been no more successful with his diet than Claire had.

He spotted Claire and approached her. “Well, looky here. Ain’t

this purty.” He lifted the gift basket out of Claire’s arms to study it.

Claire pointed out some of the items behind the cellophane.

When he had told her that Condoleza’s favorite foods were dried

apricots and pistachio nuts, she not only included them, but used their colors in the basket scheme and the huge bow on top. She

had also stashed some apricot-scented shampoo and apricot-col-

ored nail polish inside.

Leon nodded his head appreciatively. “You done good, woman.

Condoleza’s gonna go ape shit when she sees this.”

He handed the basket to his driver, who put it on one of the

two-top tables lining the walls of the room. He and the bodyguard sat at another two-top, while Leon led Claire to the round table in 218

the center of the room, covered with a familiar red-checked tablecloth.

As she settled herself in a chair, Leon said, “I already ordered

for us, since I know you like a good mess o’ ribs as much as I do.”

He patted his stomach and grinned.

Claire smiled. “I’ve been drooling since I walked through the

front door.”

Ensconced in his chair, Leon guffawed. He turned to the host-

ess, who had come in with a pitcher of sweet tea and two glasses.

“We’ve made us a convert, Maybelle.”

The hostess smiled at Claire. “Be sure to bring all your friends, then.” She poured their glasses and left the pitcher, then went over to chat with Leon’s two men.

Claire took a sip of tea. She set the glass down and leaned to-

ward Leon with her hands on the table. “Were you able to find out anything for me?”

He gave a somber nod and pulled a folded slip of paper out of

the pocket of a leather jacket draped over the back of his chair. He slid the note across to Claire. “This here’s Vargas’s address.”

Claire reached for the paper, but Leon put one of his massive

hands over hers, stopping her. “Now when you give this to Wil-

son, you need to tell him the rest of what I’m gonna tell you.” He peered at her.

A chill ran down Claire’s back. “I will.”

“You make sure you do, or someone’s gonna get their ass shot

off.” He lifted his hand, allowing her to take the note.

“Vargas has at least four men guarding the place all the time,”

Leon said, “even in the middle of the night. One at the front door, one at the back, and two walking the grounds. They bring in wet-219

backs in the middle of the night and stash them in the basement,

so they’re all used to being awake at night. Get my drift?”

“I think so. What you’re saying is that the police shouldn’t

think they can raid the house at night and find them all asleep.”

“Right. Best time is prob’ly morning. My contact tells me the

house is real quiet then. If Vargas or anyone else leaves the house, it’s usually in the afternoon or evening.”

“How’s your contact know so much?” Claire asked.

“That ain’t none of your concern. Or Wilson’s. ‘Cept I need to

know when this thing’s gonna come down, so the guy can get his

ass out of there.”

“Okay, I’ll ask Detective Wilson to tell you. He knows how to

reach you?”

“He’s got my cell number. I’ll tell you one thing, though, if the cops think that taking in Vargas is gonna shut down the inflow of illegals into Colorado Springs, they got another think coming.”

“Why? Is someone else ready to move in and take over when

Vargas’s locked up?” Claire snapped her fingers. “I bet that’s who your contact is.”

Leon tapped the side of her head. “You got some brains up

there, woman, don’t cha? No, this guy works for a fellow
businessman
who competes with Vargas.” He grinned. “The man’s taking a page out of my own book, feeding information to the cops to get

rid of his competition. Now, don’t you go telling Wilson that.”

“I won’t.” Claire put the paper in her purse.

“One other thing. My contact says those guards got semi-au-

tos, and Vargas has more inside.” Leon shook his head. “Taking

that house won’t be easy.”

220

“You’ve told me about the guards, but how many other people

are usually in the house?”

“Maybe five or six all the time, more on the weekends when

they might bring in a few girls, and more when they got Mexicans

stashed in the basement.”

“Do they bring in immigrants on a schedule, so Detective Wil-

son can figure out what days of the week to avoid?”

“Nope. There’re too many variables.”

Claire pursed her lips. “I’d hate for the police to raid the house when immigrants or girls are there. They might get caught in the

crossfire.”

Leon crossed his arms and thought for a moment. “Wilson bet-

ter pick a weeknight. And, he should bring some guys who speak

Spanish, so they can tell the wetbacks to drop to the floor, if any are there. My man says they usually find out a day or two before

when Mexicans are due in. He can probably tell me if any wet-

backs will be there when this thing goes down.”

“You know, wetback is a derogatory term,” Claire said. “I’d

think you, of all people, would avoid using it.”

“What? Like nigger?” Leon snorted. “Just like we can call our-

selves that, the Mexicans use wetback or mojo all the time.”

“Mojo. You mean, sexy, like in the Austin Powers movies?”

Leon guffawed. “No way, José. It’s short for
mojado
, which means wet. But maybe I’ll start using that more, tell ‘em it also means their
cojones
are big.”

Rolling her eyes, Claire said, “So you don’t have anything against Mexicans?”

“Not as long as they know their place,” Leon replied. “They

ain’t legal, like you and me, after all. They’re here to take the jobs 221

the rest of us don’t want, like picking crops or shoveling out stables—like your brother’s.”

Claire wasn’t sure she should say what she felt, but it came out

anyway. “You know, it wasn’t that long ago that white people were saying that about blacks.”

“Right!” Leon slapped the table. “But we clawed our way outta

that, earned the right to do more. Hell, we’ve been here a lot longer than them. It’s their turn now to do the shit work.”

Claire didn’t accept that point of view, but she knew she shouldn’t say anything that would anger Leon. Thankfully, her conundrum

was solved when the hostess appeared, followed by a waitress. They bore large platters of ribs, cornbread, and slaw. They served the four of them, and Leon’s bodyguard and driver immediately dug in at the other table.

Leon eyed his plate and rubbed his hands together. “Enough

jawing. It’s time to commence eating now.”

Claire couldn’t agree more. She tucked her napkin in her lap

and reached for a rib. She took a bite, and let out a small moan of pleasure. She would have to work on Leon’s attitude another time.

———

Claire decided to stop by Detective Wilson’s office to deliver Leon’s information rather than call him. She hoped Wilson would share

more with her in person than over the phone. And after needing

to ask for her help with Leon, maybe he would be more willing to

share. She waited in the lobby of the police station for him to return from “an interview,” as the desk sergeant put it, then she was led back to his desk in the detective’s bullpen.

222

While Wilson fetched her a cup of coffee, she scanned the la-

bels on a pile of bulging case files on the side of his desk. Two were for Kyle Mendoza and Gil Kaplan, and both were stuffed with papers. A third, though, was for Hector Garcia, the man Pedro had

said was killed by Oscar Vargas. She wondered if Wilson had con-

nected Hector’s death yet to the other two.

Wilson returned with two cups of coffee and handed the Sty-

rofoam one to her before sitting behind his desk. An oily sheen on the top of Claire’s coffee didn’t bode well for its taste. She took a cautious sip. The coffee had obviously been sitting on the burner awhile, but it wasn’t as bad as she expected.

“Thanks,” she said to Wilson. “I need caffeine after that huge

lunch I had with Leon Fox. I blew my diet, but it was definitely

worth it. Have you tried his rib place?”

Wilson shook his head while blowing on his coffee. “Sounds

like I should, though. A couple of the beat cops have eaten there and raved about it. And they were welcomed warmly. Apparently

Fox likes having cops hang around his restaurant. So, did he find out anything about Vargas’s location?”

“Yes, he did.” Claire handed him the paper Leon gave her with

Vargas’s address written on it.

Wilson read the note eagerly. “What did you have to pay him to

get this information? We can reimburse you, you know.”

Claire pshawed and waved her hand. “He asked me to make

a gift basket for Condoleza. You remember her? Enrique’s girl-

friend?” When Wilson nodded, she said, “I was happy to do it. God knows he’s done a lot for me in the past. So, no, the department

doesn’t owe me anything. Plus, I got a free lunch out of the deal.

223

Now, along with that address, Leon gave me some more informa-

tion.”

Wilson took detailed notes while she told him everything Leon

had said. After she finished, he leaned back and studied what he

had written. “This’ll be a joint raid by our SWAT team and ICE,

just in case there are illegal immigrants in the house. Plus, we’ll likely need the extra manpower.”

“You’ll tell Leon when it will be, so his friend can get his man

out of the house? And tell you if any illegals are there or expected?”

Wilson rubbed his chin and made a note. “We should move

fast, and I don’t want to give away the exact date and time. I’ll try to give Leon at least twenty-four hours notice.”

“Good. I saw Hector Garcia’s file on your desk. Are you the

lead detective on that case, too?”

“I am now.”

“I take it that means the bullet in Gil Kaplan’s head matched

the one found in Hector Garcia?”

“Yes, it does. So we’ll have no trouble getting a no-knock war-

rant. And, we’ve got a strong case for pinning Kaplan’s murder

on Oscar Vargas. I’m hoping we can make just as strong a one for

Mendoza’s.” Wilson rubbed his hands together. “I’d love to wrap

up all three of these cases this week.”

Claire smiled. She would, too. And so would Charley and Jes-

sica.

“If we round up some of Vargas’s gang with him when we do

the raid,” Wilson continued, “we can probably get one of them to

testify against him in exchange for a plea deal.”

“Have you ruled out the other suspects for Kyle’s murder?”

224

Wilson hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and leaned for-