The Pawnbroker (3 page)

The reporter, meanwhile, shook his head in disgust.

Five minutes later, DuPree had regained control, at least in his own mind, and completed his list of questions. As he left with the patrol officer, the press followed close behind.

Charlie, Nancy, and Gordon formed a tight huddle in the corner. “All we have is the description of a white or Hispanic guy wearing sunglasses, a red T-shirt, and a black ball cap. Not even a hair color or length or a gun description, except that it had an obvious barrel, probably a revolver,” Charlie said.

“DuPree seems clueless. If he stays on the case, we're screwed,” Gordon said.

“Agreed,” Charlie added. “What have
you
heard about DuPree?” he asked Nancy. She'd calmed down and had now set her jaw, clearly determined to take action.

“He's the master of the obvious, with a series of easy robbery cases under his belt. As far as I know, this is his first homicide taking lead. He made detective with good test scores, but word is he loses it easily and has a hard time handling his authority.”

“A pompous know-it-all who orders his subordinates around?” Charlie said.

“Pretty much. Unfortunately he has connections—his uncle is high up in the sheriff's department and his dad was a decorated APD officer for thirty years. DuPree got this case because his name was next on the rotation. I'm a little worried this investigation is already on the wrong track. He's got people checking into Gina's client list, thinking it's somebody she or her law firm stiffed. She recently defended some people working for one of the cartels who were laundering money through a horse-racing operation. My guess is that's where DuPree is looking.”

“He does know why Gina was there, meeting with Baza, doesn't he?” Charlie asked, looking at Gordon.

“I told him the same thing I told the officer at the scene. Gina was there to pay Baza three hundred dollars in exchange for business information concerning his old pawnshop, the business we just bought from the bank. DuPree didn't even ask what the information was about. I think it went in one ear and out the other, bro,” Gordon said. “I'd even memorized the safe combination, in case I had to hand over the paper and the key. But he didn't follow up on that.”

“The main thing here is catching the shooter,” Nancy said.

“For Gina,” Charlie added.

“You know we're going to be looking for the shooter on our own,” Gordon said to Nancy. “You going to help us out?”

“Officially, no. Unofficially, you bet your ass I am,” Nancy said. “What did you observe about the shooter?”

“Zip, except he kept his cool, played it smart, and had a script. My guess he was using a revolver—no brass at either scene, so he'd thought this out ahead of time. He's either a pro or a smart amateur.”

“You've got a plan?”

Charlie nodded. “Baza is the key, so anything we can get on him helps. This drive-by was carefully arranged, including the backup car by the warehouse loading dock. My guess is that any prints found won't belong to the shooter. Hear anything on that?”

“Crime-scene team is working the blue Taurus. Nothing yet except for the bullet lodged in the dash,” Nancy said. “Yours?”

“Yeah. I missed the bastard.”

“Too bad,” Nancy said. “But if anything else turns up, I'll pass it along.”

“Good. We need to find out, ASAP, who wanted Baza dead and why. We know Gina had nothing to do with this, which puts us a step ahead of DuPree already,” Charlie said. “But sooner or later we're bound to cross paths with him.”

“Let me get in the way when that happens. I go on shift in an hour,” Nancy said, “but before I do, I'll see what I can get on Baza—where he lived, where he was working—basically anything Detective Rager may know. He'd have passed what he had on to DuPree, but frankly I'm not counting on the big guy clearing this case on his own.”

“Maybe he'll give you some tidbits. There's that professional courtesy among cops, isn't there?” Charlie asked Nancy.

“Sure, but Gina's my roommate so he'll see my connection as a conflict of interest. Still, I can feed him some of what you get, helping him out. He'll want to close the case. What we need to do is make sure he catches the real perp.”

“No problem. DuPree can get Cop of the Year for all I care as long as we get the bastard who shot Gina,” Charlie said.

“God's ears,” Gordon said, echoing Charlie's thoughts.

“So what's this pawnshop business all about?” Nancy asked.

“After spending several months trying to get our shit together after our enlistments ended, we decided to team up again, so we bought the business. We're used to structure, so it sounded doable to us,” Gordon explained.

“The previous owner was Diego Baza, right? Gina mentioned his name and that he'd defaulted on his mortgage and lost the business,” Nancy replied.

“Exactly. And Baza had a host of other bills, including gas, electric, and insurance. He let his last employee go just before the bank stepped in. After that, he dropped out of sight, ducking the lawyers,” Gordon said.

“It's possible we now own part of the motive for Baza's murder,” Charlie added. “We still have no idea why Baza suddenly let the pawnshop go to crap. The place was making money, according to the books. At least the books we can find.”

“We got the place for way below market,” Gordon said. “The bank was eager, but Baza's records are a major fuckup we're still trying to straighten out. He was forcing us to pay for access to an old safe where he claimed he kept backups on the business.”

“What's the name of the pawnshop anyway?” Nancy asked.

“Baza named it the Three Balls Pawnshop. You know—the historic pawnshop symbol,” Charlie added with a shrug.

“Disgusting name,” Nancy said. “Gina told me you two bought a business. Considering you're just out of the army, I was thinking it was probably a bar or a gun shop.”

“Hey, that's a thought. A gun shop/tavern. On tap or double tap,” Gordon suggested.

Nancy and Charlie groaned and shook their heads almost in unison.

“Bad day for gallows humor,” Charlie said. “The day's fading, how about we get to it?” He reached out to shake Nancy's hand. She gave him a hug instead, something he'd missed out on since leaving the service. He'd had a lot of friends among the women soldiers in his battalion, and women tended to hug a lot.

“Call me when you get anything new on Gina's condition,” Charlie said, stepping back. “And Baza's address. Got my number?”

Nancy nodded. “Yours and Gordon's. How about the pawnshop's?”

Gordon rattled it off, and Nancy tapped it into her cell phone. They left by different doors. Nancy had parked in a police slot, and Charlie had left his Charger in another lot on the opposite side of the building.

“So what's the story on Nancy?” Gordon asked as they cruised down Second Street a few minutes later. “She's got the build and looks to be a model. What's she doing wearing a cop uniform?”

“All I know is what Gina's told me. Nancy's father and mother were both career air force, and Nancy grew up moving around her whole life. Military brat.”

“You'd think she'd want to fly, then. Go to the academy.”

“Naw, her folks were APs, air police. Nancy got a degree in law enforcement, and ended up in the Albuquerque Police Department. She and Gina met at the courthouse, actually, and have been together for about three years, I think.”

“Not just roommates?”

“Nothing gets past you, Gordo.”

“Well, too bad for me. She comes across as a good cop, so I'll look forward to working with her. Now let's find something to eat.”

*   *   *

Twenty-five minutes later, Charlie parked the Dodge in a space along the curb in front of the Three Balls Pawnshop. It was a solid, fifties-era flat-roofed brick structure with a not-so-subtle black-on-white sign centered above the entrance. The traditional symbol for a pawnbroker's shop, three golden spheres suspended from a metal bar, hung above the door.

The windows had been bricked over years ago, and the door was made of reinforced steel with updated locks set in a steel frame.

Charlie reached under the seat and retrieved his backup Beretta, still in the shoulder holster, as Gordon climbed out the passenger side holding the bags with their stuffed sopapillas.

“Think we should change the name of the place?” Gordon asked, looking up. “When Baza bought the shop it was Valley Pawn, remember?”

“Yeah, I'm guessing he thought it sounded too generic. A lot of the businesses in this neighborhood had ‘valley' in their name.” Charlie looked up and down the sidewalk. Nobody was within sight, and no cars were approaching, so he removed the semiauto and stuck it in his belt, safety on, and held the shoulder setup in his left hand. This wasn't a war zone, but he still felt naked without it, especially after this morning.

Climbing out, Charlie locked the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. “How much would a name change cost anyway, not including the sign? Would we have to update the business licence and crap like that?”

Gordon had his key in the first of two door locks. “Yeah, maybe we should put that money into conducting business right now. Being closed cost us a day's income.”

“Copy that. Once we nail Gina's shooter, we've got to turn a profit if we're going to make this place work for us.”

Gordon opened the second lock, pocketed the key, and turned the knob. “Maybe an electronic lock here?” he suggested, opening the door.

“Something to consider down the line. Go ahead,” Charlie said, holding the door. Gordon slipped in, set the food down on top of a used microwave oven on the counter, then reached up to the wall panel and entered the alarm code.

Charlie used his own key to lock the door on the inside, looked to make made sure the closed sign was still in place, then punched in a higher setting on the central air, which activated the furnace.

“Cold and as dry as Kabul in September,” Gordon said, picking up the food and heading down the aisle toward the back office.

A shadow to the right, at the end of one of the display rows, moved slightly.

“Right on, Ike,” Charlie said, trying to avoid any change in tone as he slipped the Beretta out of his waistband, looking toward the shadow.

They'd learned, years ago, to read each other's minds. Gordon set down the bag, reaching for his own weapon after recognizing their old code words. Ike meant insurgent to them, and right indicated the direction.

“How many sopapillas you want?” Gordon replied, watching in the direction Charlie was indicating, unholstering his own Beretta.

“One, I think.”

Gordon covered Charlie as he inched forward, weapon down by his side, safety off. A quick glance had told him nothing seemed disturbed, so if the intruder was a burglar, he'd either taken something small, had just showed up, or was there for another reason.

Charlie reached the end of the aisle. The guy was somewhere close. Then he remembered the mirrors and looked up on the wall. He saw the guy just as he lunged. The blow knocked him to the floor, flat on his back as the guy moved a big screwdriver toward his throat with a gloved hand.

 

Chapter Three

Charlie clocked the guy on the side of his head with the Beretta, using his other hand to grab the arm that held the tool.

The attacker grunted, struggling for Charlie's gun hand while trying to break the grip on his wrist. Charlie slammed him in the head again with the pistol, using the momentum to roll up and over, pinning the guy to the floor. Astride him now, he stuck the barrel of his Beretta into the man's ear.

A shoe came down, Gordon's, pinning the attacker's makeshift weapon to the floor. His fingers pinched, and maybe broken now despite the gloves, the slender attacker yelled, “I give! Don't shoot!”

Charlie kept the barrel pressed into his ear, looking him over carefully. The guy was wearing tight-fitting black leather gloves and had on expensive athletic shoes, jeans, and a dark green knit shirt. He was maybe thirty and had no obvious regional accent, as far as they could tell so far. He had pale blue eyes and styled yellow hair just a little too long to be current military, with a broad, Slavic-looking face and good teeth. If Charlie had ever seen the guy before, he didn't remember.

“You've got five seconds to tell me your name and what the hell you're doing in here,” Charlie said, cocking the hammer for effect, but taking his finger off the trigger. The towheaded guy was bleeding above the ear and would be showing a bruise, but nobody else had to die today. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah, okay. I'm Eddie, Eddie Henderson. I think my fingers are broken. Could you move your foot?” he added, looking up at Gordon. His voice was surprisingly calm, despite his predicament.

Gordon kicked away the screwdriver, picked it up, then put his foot back down on the man's forearm. The guy groaned, but remained still.

“That better?” Gordon said.

“I won't shoot you; it'll make too much noise,” Charlie said, “but unless you want to be carved up with box cutters and carried out of here in an old trunk, I need to know everything, Eddie.”

“Okay,” Eddie said hurriedly, clearly a little more anxious than before. “I've been watching the shop … for a few days now. When you both left this morning and didn't come back, I decided to wait until dark and then come inside. The guy who used to own this place, Baza, loaned me some cash for a couple of things I pawned. The stuff belonged to my grandfather and I planned to retrieve them within a few months. But then the place shut down and the bank put it up for sale. Who knew what was going to happen to my grandfather's stuff? Since I don't have enough money at the moment and I can't find the pawn tickets, I decided to … steal them back,” he added, his voice fading away.