'What if Grant or Kerrigan or someone else is convicted for killing Travis?'
Amanda remembered how she felt when Castillo kidnapped her and the terror that had almost paralyzed her in Frank's basement. Castillo had been acting on Grant and Kerrigan's orders. They wanted to break her, to kill her. And it wasn't just her. How many other people had they murdered? If they went to death row for a crime they didn't commit, so be it. Justice would be served when The Vaughn Street Glee Club failed to exist.
Chapter Fifty-Nine.
Pedro Aragon was sunning himself on the patio of his hacienda when one of his men brought him the phone. A nubile, brown-skinned woman in a thong was lying beside Pedro. The woman looked a lot like the fantasy woman in the dream that he'd awakened to on the day he met Harvey Grant, Wendell Hayes, and William Kerrigan so many years ago.
'It's Senor Kerrigan.'
Pedro had been expecting the call but he had hoped it would never come. He was sad that Bill had made it.
'There's a lot going on, Pedro.'
'I know. I get the papers here. Poor Harvey and Stan. It doesn't look so good for them. How are you doing?'
'I'm sweating bullets. So far, they haven't given me up. Neither has Maria. You did a good job raising her. She's a great kid.'
'Thank you, Bill.'
Pedro waited. He knew that his old friend would get to the point soon. He could hear the strain in his voice.
'We should get together, fast,' Kerrigan said.
'Sure. When can you come down?'
'I was thinking that you'd come up here.'
Pedro wondered who was forcing Bill to make the call. Was it the FBI, or the DEA, or the Portland police?
'It's all rain and gloom in Oregon, but the sun is shining down here. Visit me, amigo .'
'That will be difficult.'
'I have a lovely young woman with me, Bill. She makes the best margaritas. I'll get one for you, too. You want a redhead, a blonde? Whatever you want.'
'It wouldn't be smart to meet down there. After what happened with Manuel, there's got to be a million eyes on you. Come up here, but we have to move. I'm not under suspicion for the moment, but that could change fast.'
The woman lying beside Pedro shifted from her belly to her back, giving Pedro a lovely view of her breasts. He especially liked her nipples, which stood up nice and straight.
'What's that you said?' asked Pedro, who had been distracted by the nipples and had missed Kerrigan's last sentence.
'I said you could fly up in your private plane. Use the landing strip in Sisters. We'll talk in my fishing cabin in Camp Sherman. No one will be watching it.'
'Good thinking. Let me check and get back to you.'
'When do you think you'll know?'
'We got to move fast, right?'
'Very.'
'Then I'll be back to you soon. Take care.'
Pedro hung up. He smiled sadly. Fucking Bill Kerrigan. There was no honor among thieves. Blood, that was a different story. Maria was holding up. Pedro stopped smiling. He worried about her. The lawyers said her case was tough, but they weren't giving up. Maybe they'd cut a deal.
Pedro sighed. He stood up and walked to the edge of the patio. There was a swath of lawn, a large pool, more lawn, and then the jungle. Armed guards walked the perimeter.
Pedro watched the guards for a moment before losing interest. He turned away. There were those breasts again. He felt himself getting hard. Better do something about that, he thought. He patted the woman on the rump and whispered in her ear. She giggled and got off her lounge chair. As Pedro followed her inside, he felt a moment of melancholy. The Vaughn Street Glee Club was no more.
Then he cheered up. It had lasted longer than he ever thought it would--much longer. He felt sorry for Harvey and Wendell and Bill, but Pedro was a big fan of Darwin. Survival was for the fittest, no? He was the sole survivor and he was going to get laid as befitted the leader of the pack. He felt like he would live forever.
Miss Sunny Day was peeling off her G-string on the main stage of the Jungle Club while its owner, Martin Breach, sat in his office at the back of the strip joint, waxing philosophical. The recipient of his musings was his only friend and chief enforcer, Art Prochaska, a giant with a bald, bullet-shaped head and no conscience.
'I was at that Chinese restaurant on eighty-second yesterday, Arty. You know the one.'
