Russell Reeves had never felt more desperate in his life.
TWENTY-ONE
Harmon Payne's cell phone rang. It was the boss.
'Harmon, fifteen-fourteen-and-a-half South Congress, the lawyer's office-it's owned by Ramon Cabrera. He knows Andy Prescott. And Prescott was admitted to the ER at an Austin hospital a couple years back, some kind of biking accident. Records show he's five-ten, not six-four.'
'You got a photo?'
'Not yet.'
'Get one.'
Harmon hung up and sighed. He and Cecil were eating breakfast in the hotel restaurant.
'The Mexican-the tattoo guy-he lied to me.'
Cecil swallowed and said, 'Whoops.'
At that moment, Andy was riding the Stumpjumper south on Congress Avenue across Lady Bird Lake. His mother had dropped him off at the Fifth Street loft on her way in to UT. He had showered and changed clothes. He considered having breakfast at Whole Foods, but he didn't really want to see Suzie or Bobbi. Only Frankie and Jessie mattered now. He pulled over at Jo's and went up to the window.
'Still waiting for you to ride up on an IronHorse, Andy.'
Guillermo grabbed a banana nut muffin from the display and poured a large coffee. He nodded at the Stumpjumper.
'Can't believe you haven't crashed it yet.'
'Haven't had time to take it out.'
'Man, you must be suffering adrenaline withdrawal.'
'I do miss the rush.'
Guillermo stuck his fist out; Andy gave him a fist-punch.
'Keep the faith, bro.'
He sat down at a table and ate the muffin. The Jo's regulars were all present and accounted for, but Andy felt like a stranger in SoCo. His life had irrevocably changed the moment Russell Reeves walked into his office ten weeks before. He had been Andy Prescott, traffic ticket lawyer; now he was Andy Prescott, Russell Reeves' lawyer. He had been happy; now he had money. He had had a simple life; now he had a complicated life. None of this made sense. The DNA was Frankie's, not Jessie's. So why did Russell think she was his daughter? Andy felt a sense of impending doom, the same sensation he experienced when he was about to crash on the trails. Nothing psychic, just a feeling. A bad feeling.
He glanced around.
Ray, Darla, Oscar, George, Dwight… no one he didn't recognize. No one without a tattoo; only members of the tribe. He grabbed the coffee and saddled up on the Stumpjumper. He rode down the avenue to his office. It was only nine, but Ramon was already at work. Andy went inside the tattoo parlor.
'What are you doing here so early?' he said.
Ramon gestured at his table where the coed with the 'Yellow Rose of Texas' on her left buttock was lying face down, iPod buds in her ears, eyes closed, and bare butt exposed.
'Appointment. She's got an afternoon class. Wants a matching rose on her right butt.'
'Try not to enjoy yourself too much.'
'I think she's sleeping. Oh, he was here looking for you.'
'Reeves?'
'That ape that drives him.'
'Darrell? He was here without Russell?'
Ramon nodded. 'Said, 'I'll be back,' like that Terminator dude.'
Russell Reeves had left three messages for Andy that morning on his cell phone. Andy needed to call his client, but he wasn't a very good liar.
'Tickets on the counter,' Ramon said.
Four tickets with four $100 bills sat on the counter. Which reminded Andy: his mother had tickets for him, too.
'And two other guys were looking for you yesterday,' Ramon said. 'Not locals.'
'How do you know?'
'Shiny suits and accents. I lied, said I didn't know you.'
'Thanks.'
'You want me to tell the ape I seen you?'
'No. Or those other guys.'
Harmon and Cecil pulled into a parking spot in front of the tattoo parlor just as a kid wearing jeans, sneakers, and T-shirt came out the door, jumped on a bike, and rode off.
'He's about five-ten,' Cecil said.
'Cecil, you ever know a lawyer who rode a bike?'
'Good point.'
They got out and walked into the parlor. The Mexican named Ramon was hunched over a girl's bare butt with a tattoo needle in his right hand. Without looking up, he said, 'Help you?'
'Ramon,' Harmon said, 'you lied to me.'
The Mexican looked up at Harmon and Cecil standing in his doorway; his expression changed.
'You know Prescott. You're his landlord. And he's not six-four, he's five-ten.'
Harmon stepped closer.
The Mexican said, 'Hey, I'm working here! Stay out of my sterile field!'
'Where's Prescott?'
'Man, I look like a secretary?'
'You're gonna look like a dead Mexican, you don't tell me where he's at.'
The Mexican stood up and stared directly down the barrel of Harmon's brand new Glock.
'Hey, dude-'
' Dude? I look like a dude, Cecil?'
Lorenzo Escobar was cruising south on Congress, the windows down, sipping his Jo's coffee and enjoying the fine November morning, when he came to the tattoo parlor. He slowed. He saw a black Crown Vic parked outside Ramon's shop-the same Crown Vic he had seen there two days before-and two white dudes inside the shop. They didn't look like locals. Lorenzo got a bad feeling so he pulled the Escalade into a slot out front of Allen's Boots a couple of doors down.
Lorenzo cut the engine and got out. The street was quiet that early. He walked along the side of the building until he arrived at Ramon's door. He heard Ramon's nervous voice: 'Hey, dude, put the gun down.'
Lorenzo peeked inside and saw a tall white male pointing a gun at Ramon; the other man was standing to the side. Lorenzo pulled out his Beretta and chambered a round. He stepped inside with his gun extended.
' Hombre… put the gun down.'
The man holding the gun froze. He turned slowly toward Lorenzo and saw the gun pointed at his chest.
'Easy, bro,' Lorenzo said. 'On the counter.'
The white man set his gun on the counter. Lorenzo motioned both men against the wall. Without taking his eyes off them, he said, 'What's going on, Ramon?'
'They're looking for Andy.'
'That so? What do you want with Andy?'
The tall white man said, 'It's a personal matter.'
'Is it worth dying for?'
'Perhaps not.'
'Good.' Lorenzo stood away from the door. 'You may leave now. And don't come back.'
