BULLETS (19 page)

“A good fire can be cleansing, especially when one is burning trash.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, sport. You’re leaving town.”

“I am?”

“Yeah, you are. And if you don’t, I’ll have you picked up and detained for an undetermined amount of time. I’m not one of these local shitheads who can get scared off by an expensive lawyer. I’m federal, I can and will put you in a cell in Gitmo and you’ll stay there until I say you can go and you’ll be kissing my shoes when I finally do. And I hope you ARE recording this threat, because it won’t make one damn bit of difference.”

“And that’s strictly by the book?”

“The book was rewritten in the fall of 2001, no one’s changed it since and I’m not complaining. I checked up on you. You have a few friends who get federal attention. Hinky friends, if you prefer. One of them is your little boxing buddy, he hangs out in the kind of Chicago circles that get RICO attention. That’s ONE step to you and a RICO charge. I don’t need six degrees of separation of Kevin Bacon to bust your ass for anything, I got one degree and that’s more than enough if I decide that’s what I need to do. And I will absolutely do that, if you stick around.”

Javier leaned close, intense. “Maybe you think I’m being an unreasonable asshole. I don’t care. I care about three things and three things only—my country, my job and Camilla Leon. It’s a short list and you’re not on it. I don’t care about you. I care about her. You brought her into harm’s way last night and I have no patience at all for that. None. Zero. Ted and his friends, if they DID have something to do with last night, are about to find out exactly how big an asshole I can be. And so are you, if you don’t take my advice and leave. Because, trust me, if you decide to stick around anyway and then something unfortunate DOES happen to Camilla because of shit you stirred up, I will be a nightmare in your world that you will never, ever wake up from. Is that absolutely fucking clear?”

Slick held his gaze, waiting a few moments before speaking.

“Seems pretty clear, Agent Rivera. It’s your chicken farm, not mine.”

Javier gave Slick his badass federal stare for a bit longer then relaxed.

“I know you like her. I don’t blame you,” the agent said. “There’s a lot to like. But playing the hero isn’t going to get you into bed with her any faster.”

“I only met her the day before yesterday, Agent Rivera, and the only reason we’ve spent any time together since is because she has the same interest that I do, which is finding out who really killed Roger Carlson and clearing Pedro’s name. That’s it,” Slick said, though he knew deep inside that it wasn’t entirely true and he didn’t know if he quite pulled that lie off. They spent time together because they liked each other. Javier had to have noticed how she looked at Slick, and he at her.

“Uh-huh. Sure. Look, she’ll either let you into her life or she won’t. Trust me, I know. Give it some time and distance and be cool. I can be an asshole, sure, but I’m not being an asshole about her personal life, I’m really not. She’s a big girl. If she likes you, she likes you, I got no problem with that. She and I, that’s ancient history. I just want her out of harm’s way. She ends up hurt in any fashion, I’m going find the people responsible and hurt them big time. If you do like her at all, you’ll understand that.”

“I surely can.”

Father Jose and Camilla exited their respective rest rooms and joined them. Javier switched off the tough guy act like a light switch, fussing over Camilla as they all walked together. It’d been a pretty professional piece of ass-chewing by the fed, Slick thought, no doubt Javier was a bull that no one in their right mind tangled with unless absolutely necessary. Something else was niggling at him, though, and Slick mentally shelved the angry fed problem for the time being, his mind on that other problem.

“Camilla, are you going home or to the office?” Javier asked.

“After I drop Jon off to his car, home first, for a shower, then to the office.”

“I’ll take care of these two, you go on home,” Javier said. “Sleep in, take a day.”

“No, I’ll take Jon to his car, I have to pick up my phone at the restaurant where I left it and he’s parked there, so it’s on the way. Only makes sense.”

Javier chewed his lip, clearly not liking that one bit. She gave him an affectionate push on the shoulder. “Javier, it’ll be fine. It’s broad daylight, no one is going to mess with an ADA in the light of day. I’ll drop him off and go home.”

“Okay, okay, text me later. Promise?”

“Yes, and thank you so much for dropping everything and coming out here in the middle of the night, for … being here. For being you.”

She held out her arms for a hug.

“For you, babe, anything.” Javier enfolded her and squeezed hard, clearly not wanting to release her any time this century. They chattered at each other in Spanish.

Ancient history, Slick thought. Yeah, RIGHT. Not as far as you’re concerned, sport. Father Jose held his hand out to Slick, who shook it.

“I want to thank you for what you’ve done and continue to do, Mr. Elder.”

“My pleasure. Call me Slick. I do have a question, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly.”

“Other than work and the church, did Pedro have any outside activities or interests? What else did he do, besides send his money to Mexico? He did something besides go to church and work at least ONCE in a while, right?”

Father Jose stared at him, thinking hard. Suddenly he broke into a rare smile.

“He mentioned something once, after service,” Father Jose said. “I just remembered. He couldn’t stay after to help on that day, as he usually did, because he’d volunteered to help with the Rosewood Park clean up. This was three months ago.”

The priest stared at Slick, intent. Slick got that.

“Thanks Father. I’ll pass that on.” Slick nodded.

Javier released Camilla from his bear hug finally, tapped the hood of his car. “Father, you ready?”

Camilla gave the priest a hug before walking to the driver’s side of her car. Javier eyeballed Slick. “You got my card, sport. Let me know when you get back home and send me that video ASAP.”

“Sure thing … sport.”

Camilla glanced back and forth between them as Slick and she climbed into her car. Javier honked his horn as they pulled out of the lot and drove their separate ways.

S
lick kept thinking
about what the priest had said as Camilla drove back toward the restaurant.

“Admit it, it makes sense.” Camilla broke the silence.

“What does?”

“What Javier said.”

“That this is all about me and my tiny home movie and has nothing to do with Roger Carlson?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“It’s neat and tidy, sure. Too neat, for me. Real life is pretty sloppy most of the time. Did you ever hear from Doris Carlson? Or your buddy Del the real estate guy?”

“Not yet, but it’s not even seven in the morning. I haven’t even called Del yet, his number’s in my personal phone. I’m sure I’ll hear from Doris today,” she glanced over at him. “What are you thinking about?”

“I’m wondering why it would be difficult for Father Jose to talk to Pedro’s girl. Difficult but not … impossible. Difficult. Why?”

“He speaks to her, he risks breaking his vow.”

“No, then he would have said it was impossible. He didn’t say that. He doesn’t break his vow. He just needs to say to her, ‘I’m Pedro’s friend, Father Jose,’ and she’ll know, right away. If the church was his life, Pedro was sure to have spoken of him. If she loves Pedro, she’ll immediately fall into Father Jose’s arms upon introduction, sobbing, right? So why is it difficult? Why does the priest wonder how to convince her to come forward?” Slick turned to her in the seat. “If she was Mexican, he wouldn’t describe the process as ‘difficult’.”

“He would if she was undocumented, she wouldn’t want to come forward. Expose her status and be arrested.”

“That wasn’t what he was referencing. It’s been poking at me ever since he said it. Think about how he phrased it. ‘Speak to her? I can try. That might be difficult. Very difficult.’ That’s what he said. He wasn’t referring to getting her to come forward, but simply just the act of speaking to her. Right?”

Camilla thought about that. “Which means she’s not a member of Pedro’s church. If she were a member, he’d see her often. Speaking to her would not be a problem.”

“And probably not Mexican. None of Pedro’s work friends or crowd knew about her, he shared it with his priest and named her ONLY in confession. He told only ONE friend, Sergio, about her and even he didn’t know who she was. If she were Mexican, Sergio would know who she is. If Pedro were in love, he’d want to shout it out at the top of his lungs from the rooftops. That’s how love works. He didn’t. For a reason. Why hide it, otherwise?”

“She wasn’t Mexican. She was white.”

“Exactly. Our Romeo fell in love with a Juliet from the other side of the tracks. That’s why Pedro didn’t tell anybody. Because he knew he’d catch a bunch of shit for dating outside his gene pool, and so would she—which means she’s not just white, she’s the rich kind of white. That’s why Father Jose believed it’d be difficult to speak to her.”

“Why hasn’t she come forward then? Is she married or something?”

Camilla pulled into the Indian restaurant and looked around.

“That doesn’t seem in keeping with Pedro’s style,” Slick said. “Nor did I get that impression from Father Jose. It doesn’t read that way to me. And—”

“Where’s your car? It was parked right there last night,” she said. “What—”

“Hah. Ted had it towed, most likely.”

“Damn him, I’m going to—”

“It’s just a rental, don’t worry about it. I’ll cab it from here to my motel.”

“No, I can take you, let me just—”

“Listen, I don’t know why the woman involved with Pedro hasn’t come forward. But the priest DID tell me something important that he’d just remembered, right before we got into the car. He said, with significance, that Pedro had told him once he couldn’t stay after Sunday services because he had volunteered to help clean up Rosewood Park.”

“What? He said that?”

“Yeah, and he said it like it was important. You know what that means?”

“That’s where he met her.”

“Yeah,” Slick said.

“That was a few months ago. I was there that day.”

“You were?”

“Yes, our entire office was, it was mandatory for the whole staff. It’d been part of a community outreach program. The park is placed right between … for lack of a better word, the good part of town and the poor part of town, which are known as the flats. The park was dark and dirty, the kind of place one didn’t wander into after the sun went down. Hookers and junkies and other bad company hung out there and did business in the trees and bushes. Funds had been raised to clean it up by the community and we spent the whole weekend picking up garbage, cleaning and cutting grass and making it hospitable. Later new lights and playground equipment were installed, but that weekend was all about cleaning and, well, bringing everyone together.”

“He was there and so were you. Did you see him?”

“If I did, I don’t remember it at all. There were hundreds of people there. We had free food, a barbecue, for the volunteers, t-shirts, hats, there was a raffle and a band.”

“That’s sounds like a ripe environment where a rich white girl could meet and fall in love with a Mexican day laborer who she might never run into otherwise.”

Camilla stared at Slick, her mind elsewhere for a brief moment. She put her car into gear and spun out of the parking spot, driving fast.

“Where are we going?” Slick asked.

“My place. I’ve got an idea.”

“I like the sound of that.”

She glanced at him, suddenly conscious of the possible double meaning in both of their comments, but she didn’t say anything to correct it, she just smiled. That smile sent a small thrilling jolt of adrenaline through Slick’s body.

S
lick quite liked
Camilla’s apartment, a newish condo on the third floor in a good neighborhood, seeing her personality reflected within it. She clearly got a condo because she was far too busy to be bothered with a house and the responsibilities that came with it, such as mowing a lawn, trimming hedges and whatnot.

She’d decorated it with taste and a touch of southwestern flair, a tacit acknowledgement of her heritage. A couch with a big screen television that was dusty, meaning it was rarely used. Sliding glass doors that led to a balcony where she likely ate an early breakfast, whenever she had a chance to eat at home in the morning, which, Slick thought, probably wasn’t all that often.

After unlocking the front door and leading him inside, Camilla bustled into the kitchen and put water in a kettle and heated it up. She pulled out a box of tea bags, herbal, he noticed, and two cups. She didn’t ask him if he wanted some, just presumed that he did. He liked that, too.

“Okay, I just need a quick minute to freshen up and then I’ll explain,” she said.

He nodded and she hurried into the bathroom, shut the door and turned on the shower. It then hit Slick like a ton of bricks. She was, at that moment, naked on the other side of the bathroom door. Once he started thinking about that, it crowded everything else out for a moment. He shook that off and examined her condo.

A small dining table, which meant she didn’t often have guests or dinner here and if she entertained, she did it at restaurants. The kitchen had the essentials but not much else. It didn’t feel like many other people spent much time in here at all. Nearly all the items were female and very specific to her. A mantel with many pictures, mostly of her with obvious family members, a few with what appeared to be local television personalities, some baseball players, none of whom he recognized.

The kettle whistled and he turned the heat off, poured hot water into the two cups, popped a bag in each and let them steep. He kept prowling around her apartment.

Two bedrooms, one converted into a home office with lots of books, files and clutter. The other, the bedroom, had wood carved dressers and a king sized bed with a canopy. The bed was made, the room pristine with no dirty laundry on the floor, nothing. Slick thought about that canopy, which brought him back to thinking about Camilla in the shower. He thought about both a lot, more than he wanted to, since he wanted to focus on the problem at hand. He was drawn toward the closed bathroom door.