Duke City Split (8 page)

“We saw it,” Hector said. “Unfortunately, the manager had already unlocked the cart by the time robbers entered the bank.”

Abeyta smiled. “Made it easy for them, eh? They certainly seemed to have the timing right.”

The agents nodded.

“Any chance that someone inside the casino was working with them?” Pam asked. “Feeding them information?”

Abeyta shrugged his narrow shoulders. “We screen people carefully, but greed is a powerful force.”

They all chewed on that for a second, then Abeyta added, “Of course, the robbers could’ve just
followed
the truck, waiting to see where the money landed.”

“Don’t the guards watch for anyone following?” Pam asked.

“Sure, but maybe these robbers were careful not to be seen. Maybe they’ve been watching the truck for weeks.”

“Please tell me the truck doesn’t take the same route every day.”

“Oh, no. They mix it up, for this very reason. But they always end up at the same bank.”

“Why is that?” Hector asked. “Why that little bank?”

“It’s the closest branch to the casino. We figured it was safer not to drive the money around so much. Plus, as you said, it’s a ‘little bank.’ Who would think millions of dollars were going through there?”

He chuckled, as if amused by this foolishness. Pam felt herself scowling. In her view, there was nothing funny about a multi-million-dollar robbery.

“Somebody figured it out,” she said.

“Probably somebody local, somebody who could take their time, watching that truck every day.”

Pam and Hector had discussed that very notion on the drive to the casino, but she didn’t want to offer any theories now.

“We’ll check that out,” Hector said. “We might want to interview some of your people. See if anyone noticed anything suspicious.”

“You’re welcome to them,” Abeyta said. “Call me anytime, and I’ll set up whatever you need. In the meantime, I’ll do some asking around myself.”

The agents exchanged a look. They didn’t want this amateur messing in the investigation, but there was nothing they could do to stop him. They rose to leave, and Abeyta jumped up for another round of handshaking.

“You don’t seem too upset about this robbery,” Pam said.

“If someone had robbed the casino, I’d be upset.” The Indian laughed. “In fact, I’d be fired pretty damn quick. But it’s not my fault the bank proved to be the weak link.”

He walked them to the door, past a wall of windows looking out over the two-story hotel, a hollow square surrounding a glittering blue swimming pool. The buildings were brown stucco with carved wooden balcony rails and jutting vigas at the roofline. The concrete courtyard was full of lounge chairs, but empty of people; still too chilly this time of year for swimming. Pam could imagine herself down there, stretched out in the sun with an umbrella drink in her hand, and it was such a compelling image that she had to shake her head to clear it.

Hector was still talking to Abeyta. “Guess you’ll change your protocols now, with the armored cars?”

“You bet,” Abeyta said. “We’re already talking about making the deliveries to different branch banks. Make it a little harder for the criminal element.”

“Sounds like the least you could do.”

Abeyta showed his bright, expensive teeth. “We have to deliver it to some kind of a bank. Too much money to hide in our mattresses.”

Bud padded into the kitchen in his silk bathrobe, and found Linda dressed for work, her hair pulled back into a single fat braid. She greeted him with a steaming cup of coffee.

“The girls already off to school?”

“Carpool was right on time. They said to tell you good morning.”

“They must’ve thought I was sick or something. I never sleep this late.”

Linda stepped closer and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“First day of your retirement,” she said. “You’re supposed to sleep in.”

“Does retirement always begin with a hangover as well? We certainly tied one on last night. And in bed, whew.”

She smiled, a flush brightening her cheeks. “You’re always such a tiger after a job. Burning off the adrenaline.”

“What’ll we do now that I’m retired? I’ll have to find some other way to get excited.”

She slipped a hand inside his robe. It was warm against his chest.

“I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she said. “Something safer than running around with guns.”

“I’ve still got to get my share of that money and put it somewhere until we can filter it into our investment accounts.”

“I don’t worry about that,” Linda said. “You manage the money just fine.”

“Never had so much to manage before,” he said. “It’ll take some doing.”

She leaned close to his ear and whispered, “But no more banks. You’re done with them.”

“That’s right, baby. I’m done. The rest is just mopping up.”

“Still dangerous, though,” she said. “A little.”

Bud shrugged. “The money’s in a safe place. We only have to go back there once, to do the split.”

“When?”

“We’ll wait until things cool off. There’s really no hurry now that we’ve got it stashed.”

“What about that kid?” she said. “From what you said last night, he’s in a hurry to get his share.”

“Mick’s keeping an eye on him, making sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Good idea.”

“The kid’s okay,” Bud said. “After we split up the loot, I’ll never see him again.”

“That’ll be best.”

“There’s nothing to worry about. Really. We’re right at the finish line.”

Linda gathered up her purse and briefcase from the counter.

“I’ve got to get to work,” she said. “Not all of us are old retired guys, lounging around the house in our bathrobes.”

He laughed and followed her to the door. Gave her a kiss goodbye. Watched her get into her car, then waved as she drove away.

Bud stood in the doorway a while, looking around the quiet, shady neighborhood. No cars followed Linda away and nobody seemed to be watching the house.

So far, so good.

The FBI agents hadn’t been gone long when Milton Abeyta’s secretary buzzed again and said he had another visitor. Milton sighed. More cops, no doubt, wanting to talk about the bank robbery, as if the theft were the casino’s fault for putting so much attractive money in that branch.

“Who is it?” he said into the intercom, but Gail didn’t get a chance to answer. Milton’s door swung open and a thin razor blade of a man entered.

Milton stood up behind his desk, indignant, but caught himself before he complained. The man’s elegant gray suit, his cool sense of control, made Milton hold his tongue.

“You’re chief of security?” the swarthy visitor said.

“That’s right.” Milton tried smiling. “Can I help you with something?”

“We need to talk in private.” Without asking, the black-haired man closed the office door. He crossed to Milton’s desk and sat in the guest chair. He crossed his legs, the lights glinting on his polished black shoes.

Milton frowned.

“Maybe we could start with who you are. You just waltz in here—”

“Vincent Caro. I just flew in from Chicago.”

Caro raised a dark eyebrow, waiting for Milton to get it. When it sank through, Milton slumped into his leather chair.

The Tewa tribe had silent partners who’d fronted much of the money used to build the casino/hotel complex. A healthy slice of each month’s profits were shipped to Chicago in repayment. Milton was one of the few tribal members who knew the partners were members of the Vitelli crime family.

“We don’t get many visitors from Chicago. Such a long distance.”

“That’s the way we prefer it,” Caro said. “My employers have gone to a great deal of trouble to keep our involvement in your casino a private matter.”

“Yes, of course. That’s the way it’s got to be. The government regulators—”

Caro held up a hand to stop him.

“As long as my employers feel everything on this end is handled properly, you
don’t see us. But when there are problems, they send me.”

“Problems? I don’t know of any prob—”

“The robbery? It’s making headlines all across the country.”

“Oh,” Milton said, trying to smile. “I see. But there’s no reason to worry about that. The robbers hit the bank, not us. We’ll be totally reimbursed for any losses.”

A pained look crossed Caro’s narrow face. Milton stopped talking.

“Do you think these assholes just got lucky? That they stumbled onto the one bank in this cowtown that held millions in cash?”

Milton frowned, but said nothing.

“They hit that bank because they knew the casino deposited its money there. In that sense, it’s like they robbed the casino itself. Do you see?”

Milton nodded.

“We can’t have that,” Caro said. “We can’t have people considering, even for a moment, that it might be possible to steal from us.”

“I assure you, our security arrangements here at the casino are top-notch—”

Caro raised a hand to stop him.

“Casinos and their money are off-limits to crooks,” he said. “That’s the rule. Somebody breaks that rule, and we deal with them.”

Milton tugged at his turquoise bolo tie. Felt like he was choking on Caro’s cold menace.

“The FBI,” he wheezed, “is all over this thing. I’m sure they’ll catch these robbers and—”

Caro shook his head.

“I don’t want them arrested. I want to find them myself.”

“But—”

“I’ll find them, and I’ll eliminate them. And I’ll do it in such a way that the message will be unmistakable.”

Milton coughed a little, then said, “You mean they’ve sent you here to kill these guys?”

Caro pressed his lips together. His brow creased at Milton’s inelegant choice of words.

“Well now,” Milton said. “I guess you people know what you’re doing.”

Caro nodded.

“So, um, what do you want from me?”

Caro uncrossed his legs and sat up straighter. Milton felt pierced by his dark eyes.

“You’ve talked to the cops and the feds?”

Milton nodded.

“They think the robbers are local?”

“Yeah. They maybe watched the casino, following our deliveries.”

“Just as I assumed,” Caro said. “Stay in contact with the police. If it sounds like they’re onto some suspects, let me know immediately.”

“Sure, I can do that. Do you want me to assign some of our people to help you? Show you around town or whatever?”

“Thank you, but I always work alone. I would like a room here at the hotel.”

“Absolutely,” Milton said. “I’ll call downstairs and let ’em know. Everything on the house, of course.”

Caro fished a business card out of his pocket and dropped it onto Milton’s desktop. No name on the card, just a telephone number with a Chicago area code.

“You can leave a message anytime.”

“Okay.” Milton reached across for the card. “I can do that.”

Caro’s hand flashed out and grabbed his thin wrist. Milton flinched.

“You need to understand something,” Caro said. “If I find these guys before the cops do, I keep the cash that’s recovered. That’s my arrangement with the people in Chicago.”

He gave Milton’s wrist a painful squeeze, then let go. Caro smoothly got to his feet.

“You can see why it’s important that I find them first.”

“Of course, Mr. Caro.”

“Don’t make the mistake of letting me down.”

Milton nodded enthusiastically, but Caro had already turned away. He went out the door without another sound.

Acting on a tip, FBI agents Pam Willis and Hector Aragon watched a house in Albuquerque’s Southeast Heights, near the airport. The neighborhood had seen better days. The pueblo-style houses were run-down and the yards were bare dirt studded with dry weeds and sun-bleached cars. The agents were parked along the curb a few doors down from the suspects’ home, and Hector knew they were obvious in their suits and their government-issued Ford. Already, he’d seen neighbors peeking between curtains, watching the unfamiliar vehicle.

“Get the feeling that everyone on the block is on the phone, talking about us?” he asked Pam, who sat behind the wheel, chewing on her lower lip.

“No doubt,” she said. “Probably calling Mutt and Jeff, telling them to head out the back door.”

“Mutt and Jeff” was common cop-speak for a criminal duo, one short, one tall. Both agents felt that their mustachioed Mutt and Jeff were the pros in the First State Bank holdup, and the masked guy was some kind of new hire. Mutt and Jeff wore identical disguises and handled the guns. From what the witnesses had said about their efficient manner, they’d likely pulled robberies together before.

No way to know if the mooks in this house were the same ones. An Albuquerque undercover cop had picked up their names the night before at Silvio’s, a bar frequented by criminals. An informant there told him of two partners—one short and one tall—who’d pulled heists together in the past and who’d recently moved back to Albuquerque. One look at their long rap sheets told the agents they were worth checking out.

Hector finished off his bitter drive-through coffee and tucked the paper cup into a bag on the floorboard. He and Pam always kept their cars clean. Another thing they had in common. He often said a little prayer of thanks that he’d been teamed with Pam for the past two years. They’d both worked with other agents over the course of their careers, but never with this same chemistry. Finishing each other’s sentences, reading each other’s thoughts.

“Ready to go knock on the door?”

“We sit here much longer,” Pam said, “we might as well get on the bullhorn,
announce to the neighborhood that the FBI is here.”

She looked in the rearview, touched at her mascara with a fingernail. Pam didn’t care much for makeup, but she always wore mascara and eyeliner. She’d told Hector once that it called attention to her brown eyes, got the perps to look at her face instead of her boobs. He’d made a concerted effort ever since to never stare at her chest.

Pam checked the Glock in her hip holster. Neither she nor Hector had ever fired a shot while on duty, but they followed all gun protocols. Sometimes the whole guns-and-cuffs bit began to feel like theater, but that’s when duty was most hazardous. You couldn’t afford to relax around lowlifes.