BULLETS (17 page)

“You are, in fact, female. I told you, it’s normal. And men will do that, too, under the same circumstances.”

“You didn’t.”

“I have in the past. No one is a saint.”

She didn’t say anything more, not wanting to get in her car and leave him, just stood there, rubbing her arms as if she were cold. Slick wanted to hold her but knew instinctively that would be a big mistake on his part. He waited for her to get her polarity back. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and nodded.

“You got somewhere you can stay?” he asked.

“Stay? You mean other than my own home?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“But why would … you can’t be serious.”

“We’re fine now, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Whoever is behind this is serious.”

“I … I need to call my boss, George.”

“You really think that’s a good idea?”

“Yes. I’ve worked with him for ten years. I know him. He’s part of the old boy political network, yes, but he’ll help me.” She dug into her purse for her phone. She felt his weighted stare just as she got her hand on it.

“What?” she asked.

“There was no one on my tail, I wasn’t followed here and we weren’t followed after we left here together. Yet they were there. I think they’re tracking you somehow.”

“Tracking me? How?”

“There are lots of ways. Your phone for one.”

“I didn’t bring my work phone. This is my personal—”

“It can be tracked. Takes less than a minute to do that to your phone. That’s how they knew where we were.”

“This is ridiculous. My phone? I don’t believe it. Whoever this is, they can’t be that sophisticated. This is all just—”

“Which means whoever it is could show up here at any moment. Give it to me.”

“No, I’m not giving you my phone!”

“You’ll get it back, fork it over.”

She did so, reluctantly. He checked out the apps. It was a smart phone, so he couldn’t just flip it open. He powered it off.

“Until I can get this checked, consider it bugged. Depending on what they used, even powered off they can track it. I’ll reach out to a friend tomorrow, and—”

Slick stopped when he realized what he just said.

“What is it?”

“Friend. Remember what Angel said? When they need to confess, the pious go to their priests, everyone else goes to their bartender.”

“And?”

“And Sergio wasn’t Pedro’s ONLY confidant.”

She blinked as it hit her. “Father Jose, we’d better—”

“We’ll take your car. Let me drive. And leave your phone at the restaurant.”

S
lick drove fast
and furiously for the church, which was on the other side of town. Camilla didn’t say anything, just held on, feeling vulnerable without her phone.

“He knows, he definitely knows who she is. That’s why he directed us to Sergio. Because he knew Sergio would tell us that Pedro was involved with a girl.”

“If it came out in confession, he’s bound against sharing any of that—”

“Right, but he can point us in the right direction without violating his vow. He was hinting at that, remember? He definitely knows who she is, which makes both Father Jose and she a threat to Ted and his buddies. She goes on record, testifies that she was with Pedro the night of Roger’s murder and…”

“Ted is guilty of manslaughter.”

“Boom! More, if he set it up that way.”

“I still don’t buy that … but … we still don’t know WHY, why Roger was murdered, why HIM, why Pedro was set up for it, why… I need my phone! Do you have a phone?”

Slick pulled a smart phone out of his pocket, tossed it to her. “It’s prepaid.”

She turned it on. “She’s probably undocumented like Pedro, which means it’ll be difficult to get her to testify—”

“And even more difficult to get a jury of citizens to take her word over Ted’s. But one step at a time. We have to find her first, and I bet she’s still around, the way the priest was acting.”

Camilla tapped away at the phone. “It still doesn’t make sense, to me. Roger, Pedro … Ted. Someone set Pedro up, we know that, but that’s definitely not Ted’s style, too much thought involved. I can see him framing the wrong guy out of pure bigoted laziness, and when it looked bad for him, covering it up, but paying Sergio beforehand for the shovel in order to… Why do that? It’s crazy.”

“Who are you texting?”

“My friend Javier. And sooner or later, I have to talk to George. If there IS some sort of a murderous conspiracy that involves Ted’s deputies, which I’m still not certain of, we’ll need George and Javier both. I can’t handle it on my own.”

“Wait until we talk to Father Jose before you call your boss.”

“I’m telling you, George was also friends with Roger.”

Slick pulled up to the church and parked quickly. “Wait here.”

“No. Don’t even think of leaving me behind, we are in this together.”

She hopped out after him and he decided not to argue.

“His living quarters are behind the church,” she said.

They cut around behind the church toward the lit front door of the living quarters. Slick pounded on the door. No answer at first and he pounded again. A light came on inside and steps approached.

“Father, it’s me, Camilla Leon, please let us in!”

Father Jose cracked the door open, eyes wide. “What is the meaning of this?”

Slick pushed past him and on inside as Camilla explained how their night had gone thus far. The priest’s eyes only got wider upon hearing about Angel and the SUV attack. Slick shut the door and turned off the outside lights. Father Jose lived in a small, humble attached house with well-used furniture.

Slick took a spot by a window, staring outside into the night. When she finished, Father Jose lowered his head, crossed himself and muttered a prayer.

“Pedro met with someone the night before he was arrested. He was in love. You knew this. You know who she is,” Slick asked.

“Yes.”

“Who is she?”

“I am sorry, but I cannot say—”

“Bullshit.”

“I cannot break the sanctity of the confessional, it’s a mortal sin. That’s why I sent you to Sergio, so he could tell you—”

“Sergio’s dead, Father.”

“What? How did … what—”

“Turn the lights out, now,” Slick said, holding a finger up. Father Jose did as he was told and turned everything off. They stood there in the shadows, silent.

“What is it?” Camilla whispered.

“Vehicle just pulled up front. SUV. Tinted windows.”

“Let me go out and see who it is,” Father Jose said.

“The only other person who knew what you know about Pedro is dead, Father. So, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Slick parted a curtain and checked the yard. He saw men dressed in black approach the living quarters. It was too dark to see who they were, but they walked without fear or hesitation.

“Do you have a back door?”

“No, we have to go through the church—”

“Then let’s do it. And leave the lights off.”

Father Jose led them through a far door that took them into the back passages of the humble church, shuffling quietly in the darkness. Someone hammered on the door of Father Jose’s attached house. They heard the front door being kicked open.

Inside the church, Slick took point position and quietly guided them toward the front. Just as they reached the doors of the church, however, the handles turned, slowly.

Slick waved everyone back toward the sides, where the curtains hung. He quickly realized that they needed a better place to hide and motioned everyone to follow him. The three of them hit the floor on all fours and crawled under the pews, one person per pew. They stayed there, holding their breath.

Someone stepped through the front door of the church. They heard his boots as they clicked on the floor of the center aisle. Slick watched the boots as they moved carefully and methodically. Camilla’s car was parked outside, so whoever it was knew they were there. Slick heard dishes breaking and other crashing noises coming from the attached home. Someone was trashing Father Jose’s place while this man searched in here. This was going to get ugly quick, Slick thought, but he didn’t have any ideas about how to improve their situation. He was unarmed.

The black boots stopped in the center of the aisle. Turned and walked down a row of pews, taking his time. Got to the end, turned, and walked down the next row of pews. Followed that slowly until he came to the end then turned.

The next row of pews was where Camilla was hiding, under the bench. She watched, her eyes wide, as the boots clicked closer and closer. They stopped right next to her and waited. Camilla put her hands to her mouth, not daring to breathe.

Radio static blared fast and furious, shattering the silence like cheap glass. The man in the boots turned it off quickly, but it seemed to decide something for him. He turned and walked fast up the row, made a turn and headed out the front door of the church. Slick, Father Jose and Camilla watched the boots go.

Slick caught her eye and she nodded.

Those were standard deputy boots the man had been wearing. In New York City, where Slick lived, cops wore thick black shoes but here in the southwest, they all wore boots. Those were cop boots. And the static noise they’d heard had come from a police radio, calling the man and his friends away somewhere else.

“Y
ou’re sure you’re
okay?” Javier asked Camilla after he hugged her again.

He’d asked that same question at least five times upon entering, not even paying attention to anyone else in the diner. Not that Slick could blame him for that. Camilla drew most men’s attention without effort, even after a night without sleep. “I want to hear everything, but I gotta know that you’re all right,” Javier said.

“I’m fine, honest. It was scary but I’m okay.”

He finally turned his attention to everyone else.

“Joe Stormcloud, good to see you again,” he said to the big trooper.

“And you, too, Javier. Phoenix keeping you busy?”

“Oh yeah. You have no idea. You must be Father Jose,” Javier said and switched to Spanish, chatting with the priest too fast for Slick’s sleep-deprived brain to translate.

The fibbie was about an inch or so under six foot, but a weightlifter so he came off a lot bigger, arms and shoulders stretched tight against his suit jacket, which looked like it was sprayed on. He probably accidentally ripped the pits out on his jackets at least once every other month, even if he got them specially fitted. He was intense, too, looked everyone in the eye a bit longer than was the norm, but it was in keeping with the other feds Slick had met and known over the years. They stared everyone in the eye as if they were interrogating them. Javier finished chatting with the priest and turned to him.

“Special Agent Javier Rivera, pleased to meet you.”

“Jon Elder.”

Slick shook hands with him and immediately regretted it. Javier was one of those who liked to try to break you with his handshake, something Slick was never fond of but unavoidable among ambitious types, especially in law enforcement. Card players didn’t often shake hands, just tapped the table felt as a sign of mutual respect. In Asia everyone bowed. Slick preferred both to offering his fingers up for sacrifice.

“You’re the poker pro, right?” Javier said when he finally took pity on Slick’s hand and released it.

“Yep. Do you know Special Agent Matthew Louden? He’s a friend of mine.”

“Never heard of him. Where was he based?”

“Jersey, he retired ten years ago. Former interrogator.”

“Before my time and the wrong coast.”

Javier clocked him up and down, not missing much at all. Slick could tell that this fed was smart, stubborn as a bull and driven with a big capital ‘D’.

The night before, after the intruders had left, they’d waited under the pews for a long time until finally Slick crawled out and assessed the situation. Either the men searching for them had come to the conclusion that Slick and company had left on foot beforehand, or they’d been called away to another scene, most likely the latter, given the radio call. Regardless, Slick had an opening and took advantage, slipping his charges out of the church and into Camilla’s car.

He then called Navajo Joe, who met them at an all night diner around two in the morning and sat with them until Camilla’s FBI friend Javier showed up four hours later. He’d driven half the night but looked none the worse for it, eyes wide open and nostrils flaring for a fight. And it was clear from his posture and how he looked at her that he still had a thing for Camilla. This was something that Slick could readily empathize with. It had to be hard to remain emotionally removed from her once one got involved.

“Now that Javier’s here, if you folks don’t mind, I’d best be on my way,” Navajo Joe said. “I’m on duty in less than an hour.”

“Appreciate you rolling out of bed in the middle of the night to lend a hand, Joe,” Slick said. “I owe you.”

“Hell, it weren’t like I was doing anything important in there all by my lonesome. Can I expect that you’re leaving town now?”

Slick just shrugged and Navajo Joe nodded. “Thought as much. Call if you need me, and watch your back. Thumper’ll be pissed at me if misfortune finds you.”

“Will do.”

“Joe.” Camilla gave him a hug. “Thank you.”

“Easy now, my people aren’t comfortable with physical expressions of affection, as you know. We don’t even like shaking hands.”

Navajo Joe tipped his hat to everyone and strolled out. Javier slid into the diner booth, which was a corner table with enough distance from the other customers to give them a modicum of privacy. The agent ordered scrambled eggs, grits, pancakes and a pot of coffee from the waitress. After she left, he fixed his eye on everyone else at the table.

“All right, I know the ESPN highlights but I want you to tell me the whole story, everything, from beginning to end, leave nothing out. Camilla, you first.”

Camilla ran the whole thing down in order, Roger’s murder, Pedro’s arrest, Slick’s involvement, Father Jose and the meeting with Angel, pausing only when the waitress brought food. Javier followed closely as he dug into his food, interrupting only to ask short clarifying questions. Slick had to look away when Javier ate the sausage, the smell alone was hard enough on him, let alone watching it go down.