The boys untangled themselves and stood. They looked to be six or seven years old, dressed in shorts and Chargers T-shirts. Both had the dark hair and dark skin of their mother. They looked at each other and giggled.
Lucia rattled off something in Spanish, and the giggling stopped. They looked at us.
“Sorry,” the slightly taller one said.
“Sorry,” the other one said.
Liz smiled. “It’s okay, guys.”
“We’ll be done soon,” Lucia told them. “Go back to your rooms.” They tore off toward the back of the house. I wondered if they knew what had happened to their father.
Lucia watched them go, then folded her hands in her lap. “They’re very handsome,” Liz said.
Lucia forced a tiny smile. “Thank you. They are good boys.”
Lucia turned to me. “The one that look like you. He was named Simmings. Something like that.”
“Simington,” I said, the name tasting sour as it came out of my mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “And the man that we paid was named King, maybe? I remember he always wore a very crazy shirt.” “Crazy how?” I asked. “Women dancing. Lots of colors.”
A crazy shirt. I remembered the guy from the casino who Carter and I had exchanged words with.
And King sounded too close to the name Simington had given me to be a coincidence.
“Keene?” I said. “Landon Keene?”
She looked at me, then nodded slowly. “Yes. That is it.”
THIRTY-TWO
“Do you know Keene?” I asked Asanti as we drove away from Lucia Vasquez’s home.
“I know the name,” Asanti said. “I’ve heard it mentioned in several different cases involving illegal transportation. Not in a good way. But I’ve never seen or spoken to him.”
“What’s your sense?” Liz asked.
“People are scared of him.” Asanti turned back under the interstate and pointed us toward the station. “Most of these guys just use straight intimidation. It’s the most effective tool to use against a person from another country. Immigrants fear the US authorities because they are worried about being sent back to Mexico, so they would rather deal with people like Keene or Simington.”
I shifted in the seat. Every time I heard Simington’s name it was like an unexpected pin prick that I couldn’t dodge. In my eye.
“I think I met Keene,” I said.
Liz turned around, and Asanti glanced in the rearview mirror. I told them about the confrontation Carter and I had had with him on the casino floor.
Asanti pulled the car back into the police lot. We all got out. “Not surprising,” Asanti said.
“What’s not?” I asked.
“Keene’s presence in a casino.”
“Why? Does he have a gambling problem?” I asked, thinking of Simington’s debts.
“That I don’t know,” Asanti said, leaning against the trunk of the car. “But casinos are prime hunting grounds for people in his business.”
“How do you mean?” Liz asked.
“Let’s say Keene runs a ring of coyotes,” Asanti explained. “He needs guys to run his cargo over the border. It’s not the safest job in the world and not a position you send a resume for.” A dour expression settled on his face. “Keene needs leverage to get people to work for him. He needs people who desperately need money.” “People with gambling problems,” I said.
Asanti pushed off the trunk of the car. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed it over the spot he’d been leaning against, wiping away whatever minute smudge his weight might have created.
“Exactly,” he said, putting the cloth back in his pocket. “They look for regulars, men who are sweating heavily as they lose. Guys who are there so often it’s clear they aren’t employed. They’re not hard to spot. Their losses are piling up, and a guy like Keene offers them a way out. Quick cash for a little amount of work. Do the job, get the paycheck, and get right back to gambling. It’s a dangerous, foolish way out, but a way nonetheless.”
I thought back to Keene messing with the guy in the casino. At the time, the argument hadn’t made sense, but after listening to Asanti, what had been going on seemed clear.
“Did you ever hear anything that put Simington and Keene together?” I asked.
“No,” Asanti said. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t happening. Some things I get wind of, some I don’t. Immigration isn’t too gung-ho on bringing the local cops into their cases unless they have to.”
“Do the casinos know what guys like Keene are doing?” Liz asked.
“They have to know,” I said. “They’ve got cameras covering every centimeter. Nothing happens without their awareness. They wouldn’t let some random guy hassle their customers.”
“That could mean the casinos are involved,” Liz said. “At least to some extent.”
