Leaving the planning and execution of the job to Junior meant that I could keep my hands clean. But it also meant that there was a better chance Officer Prieto wouldn’t let anything go wrong.
Dealing with Fiona would be enough for me to handle.
“Michael,” Fiona said, “what are you thinking? You can’t give them Leticia’s son!”
“I’m not going to,” I said. “But we just got him on tape agreeing to buy a child. Well, actually, he’s trading a child. Either way, it’s a crime.”
“Oh,” Sam said, “you’re a fast one, Mr. Westen.”
“I’m trying my best,” I said. “You want to tell me where they traced my license plate to?”
“Well, if my memory serves me correctly here, he just traced your existence back to a wrecked Dodge Charger I saw out at the dump a few months back.”
“No idea who owned the car?”
“I ran the plates, and they came back as being owned by a gentleman named Cy Rosencrantz, who currently resides in the Shayna Grove Assisted Living Facility in Ventura, California. I think you’re safe.”
“That’s fine work there, Sam.”
“There’s only one of me,” he said.
Father Eduardo came back inside the loft then and handed Fiona back her phone.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“She’s got a homegirl lives near Coral Springs. So she’s there for right now.”
“She going to stay there?”
“You can’t tell with these girls,” he said. “All she knows is the streets. I’ve tried to help get them a new life, but when things get tough, they slip back into what they know. She’s scared, but she understands the situation now. And she’s been forgiven for what she’s done. That helps.”
“Look,” I said, “tonight it’s going to happen. Either we’ll have the Latin Emperors where we need them-and that means Junior, too-or people are going to start dying. Junior’s about three steps behind right now, but he’s gaining speed.”
I didn’t bother to tell him about his demands, which showed he was emboldened now, and which also showed he was beginning to get close to the truth of who we were and what our intentions were. It helped to have a cop on the payroll for these purposes.
“What do I do?”
“Today,” I said, “you go into your church and you do your job. We’ll tell you if and when you need to move.”
“What are you going to do?” he said.
“All due respect, Father, if I told you, it would put you into a bad position,” I said.
“With the law?”
“With the law, with God, probably with yourself. Just know no one’s getting killed on my watch, and all crimes committed are for a greater good.”
Father Eduardo seemed dubious about my claims, but wasn’t in much of a position to argue. “What about my brother?”
“That will be up to him,” I said. “If I can keep him out of the endgame, I will. But no promises. If he’s at the plant tonight when Sam and Barry start running the money with Junior’s men, we can see if we can pull him out. That’s the best I can offer, because I’m not going to look for him.”
“Fine,” Father Eduardo said. “It will have to be.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get to the church. We’re having a bake sale today.”
“Sam’s going to go with you to work today while I do all that greater-good stuff.”
“I’m handy at a bake sale,” Sam said. “And if you have any overflow of people needing holy advice, I’m happy to help in that capacity, too.”
Father Eduardo still looked distressed, but agreed because he had to. He and Sam started to make their way for the door. “Wait,” I said. “Sam, are you armed?”
“No, Mikey. I know the rules.”
“Sam,” I said, “are you armed?”
“I have a. 22 on me. It would hardly do any damage,” he said. He turned to Father Eduardo. “Little more than a pellet gun, really.”
“No guns,” Father Eduardo said.
I walked upstairs and came back down with two paintball markers and handed them both to Sam. “Both are filled with pepper spray,” I said. “Try not to shoot anyone at the bake sale.”
Through the window, I watched Sam and Father Eduardo drive away. In any other circumstance, they’d make for enemies, but here they were, in the same car, going to church. You never know when the occupied will rise up and become the enemy, and when the enemy will become the ally.
“Fi,” I said, “why don’t you make Barry’s life complete and wake him up from his golden slumber?”
“Does this involve me kicking him?”
“He’s got work to do today. Let’s try to keep his internal injuries to a minimum,” I said.
So Fiona tramped up the stairs to the top of the loft, where Barry was still snoring away, and shouted “Alarm!”
One thing about Fiona: She can be subtle when she wants to be. It’s just an issue of how often she wants to be anything but what she is.
While Fiona made Barry alert, I went about assembling what we’d need to either convict, imprison or kill Junior Gonzalez. There’s no joy in this sort of work, the gathering of evidence to ruin a person, but if you’re willing to do the crime, as the adage should say, you have to be willing to be outsmarted by a spy.
When working with someone for the first time, it’s wise to let them feel like they have the freedom to express themselves without fear of rebuke. So when Fiona and I arrived at the meet-up spot with Junior that evening-the parking lot of a Steak-N-Shake a few blocks from the industrial park that housed Harding Pharmaceutical-I decided not to get angry with the man if he reacted poorly to anything.
Like, say, the presence of Fiona.
“You didn’t tell me you were bringing your poodle with you,” Junior said. He sat at one of the outdoor tables with a half-eaten burger and a pile of fries in front of him. He took a sip from his milkshake and then set it down beside his plate of food. The shake probably made his throat feel better.
“I thought it would be good for you two to settle your differences. In the spirit of teamwork, of course.” I motioned to the other seats around his table. “Mind if we join you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I chose to sit outside to avoid the noise inside.”
We sat down, anyway.
Inside the restaurant, a little girl’s birthday was in full swing. There must have been twenty kids running rampant. Even outside, the high-pitched squeals were enough to make me want to swear off sex permanently.
“My friend has something to say to you,” I said.
“I am truly sorry for choking you with my whip,” Fiona said. “Though there are places in this world where the service you received would be the culmination of a lovely night out. It’s all about how you appreciate the finer things.”
Junior grunted. “Save it,” he said.
“So, we can’t be friends?” Fiona said.
“I don’t deal with you,” he said. “Just Mr. Rosencrantz.”
“I told you,” I said. “You have to dig if you want the truth, Junior. I didn’t buy my security at Staples, like you did. And maybe, if we become good friends after tonight, I’ll just show you my passport. And next thing you know, we’ll be having Thanksgiving dinner together. Your family of gangsters. My family at the Shayna Grove Assisted Living Facility. It will be lovely.”
Junior made that grunting noise again. “Why’d you pick this place to meet?” he asked.
“I like the fries,” I said.
“When I was in the joint,” he said, “I used to have dreams about this place.”
“Then you should be happy,” I said.
“Funny thing is,” he said, “all those years, and when I got out, I forgot to come to this place.”
