'Lockhart,' he said. 'Now it's safe to go ahead with our thing.'
Chapter 21
Kelly used the binoculars to get a better view of the activity at the Sandstone Motel. 'Feebs,' he said. He put the binoculars in Carr's hands. 'That's my guess.
Carr used the binoculars for a moment. 'You pegged that one,' he said. 'Tom Luegner just walked out of one of the rooms.
'I wonder what that asshole is doing down here?' Kelly said.
Plainclothesmen climbed in and out of Teddy's camper. They took out the seats and put them back. Someone lifted the hood of the vehicle and fiddled around in the engine compartment. The hubcaps were removed and replaced. Luegner pointed his finger at Teddy's face. The gaunt man kept throwing his hands up and gesturing at his van. Other agents milled about. Some made notes on clipboards. The camper was searched again. Finally, after an hour or so, Teddy was allowed to leave. He got in his truck and drove out of the lot, steering south when he reached the freeway.
The FBI men took their time piling into vehicles and departing. Only Luegner was left. After a while, the crowd of motel guests that had gathered to watch the gangbusters returned to their rooms.
A black man came out of a ground-floor room. He approached Luegner sheepishly, shaking his head. As he spoke, he kept throwing up his hands.
'He must be the snitch,' Kelly said.
Carr nodded. 'Could be,' he said.
Luegner patted the man on the shoulder. The black man shook his head some more and returned to his room. Luegner climbed into his sedan and departed. Minutes later the black man exited his room and climbed into a gold Cadillac. Carr noted the personalized license plate: MR. COOL.
'Let's follow him,' Carr said.
'What for?' his partner said.
'It might be interesting.'
Carr started the engine. He drove down the hill and waited near the freeway. The Cadillac headed south. The agents followed, keeping far behind. When it became clear that they were about to cross the border again, Kelly made a gruff remark about having nothing better to do on a weekend than drive in and out of Mexico.
They followed the Cadillac through Tijuana and along the coast past Rosarita Beach. By the time they reached Ensenada it was almost midnight. The black man pulled into a motel at the edge of town and parked. He climbed out of the Cadillac and strolled to a room near the swimming pool. Removing a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door and went in.
Carr and Kelly approached the motel room carefully. The light was still on. Carr put his ear to the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kelly slip his revolver out of its holster and hold it in the pocket of his windbreaker. They positioned themselves on either side of the door. There was the sound of a radio playing rock music.
Carr knocked. The sound of a drawer being opened and closed. 'Who's there?' said the black man.
'Agent Carr. My partner and I work with Tom Luegner.' He kept his voice low. Footsteps came to the door. Carr thought he could hear the man breathing.
'What do you want?'
'Tom asked us to run something by ya,' Carr said.
Nothing was said for a few moments, and then, 'Slide your I.D. card under the door.'
'Sure.' Carr removed his Treasury credential from his wallet and shoved it under the door.
'This ain't no Bureau I.D.,' said the voice inside.
'Look man, Tom Luegner and I work together on a federal agency task force,' Carr said. 'You can call him if you want,' he said, showing a set of crossed fingers to Kelly.
Footsteps. A drawer was pulled open and something heavy was tossed inside. The drawer slammed closed. Moments later, the chain latch was removed and the black man pulled open the door. Without a greeting, he shuffled to a chair and plopped down.
'What is all this bullshit, man? I need to get me some muthafuckin' sleep.'
'Sorry to wake you up,' Carr said, 'but Tom said you wouldn't mind talking with us for a few minutes. It's about LaMonica.'
The black man rubbed his eyes. 'I don't know nothin' about the muthafucka 'cept he's a paper man and he escaped from the federal joint. He's got a crib down here, but nobody knows exactly where it is. Say, how come Tom isn't asking me these muthafuckin' questions his own self? He knows I don't like to be meetin' a lot of muthafuckin' people.'
'What kind of paper is LaMonica into right now?' Carr said. He sat down on the edge of the bed.
'Fuck if I know. I didn't even know what kind of muthafuckin' paper was supposed to be delivered at the Sandstone tonight. I just knew the thing was supposed to go down there. I worked my way in through this bitch ya see. She's LaMonica's ex-girl friend. She's using me as insurance cuz she don't trust the muthafucka.' The black man's eyes were on Kelly. The Irishman stood at the dresser staring at a flipped-open wallet. 'Luegner told me he wasn't going to give my identity to anyone else. He told me I didn't have to meet no other cops.' The man's eyes darted back and forth between the T-men. 'I don't think I'd better say anything else until I talk with him.'
Carr smiled. 'Tom Luegner is my brother-in-law. I helped him get hired at the Bureau. We do favors for one another. Is that too hard to understand?'
'How do I know that?'
'We were at the Sandstone tonight.' Carr smiled amusedly.
'Then why didn't Tom introduce me to you?'
'We were on a surveillance post up on a hill,' Kelly said.
The black man shook his head. 'Somehow that muthafuckin' LaMonica smelled a muthafuckin' rat,' he said. 'The package was close by. The whole million in checks had to be close by. I told Tom that. I would have bet my muthafuckin' ass on it.'
'What kind of checks?' Carr said.
The black man's expression changed to one of fear. His eyes were suddenly on a dresser drawer. 'Didn't Tom tell you I didn't know what kind of checks?'
Carr shook his head.
'I don't think I'd better say anything else until I talk with Tom.' The black man said this in the hesitant tone of someone who had dialed the wrong number.
Kelly stood at the door. He reached behind him and opened it with his left hand. The agents walked out to the sedan. Kelly was mumbling under his breath. Inside the car he took out a pen and notebook and scribbled. 'I got a name and number off a driver's license,' he said.
'Ten to one he's wanted,' Carr said.
Kelly laughed. 'I'd say he didn't exactly look like your average Baja tourist.'
The Ensenada police station was a diminutive green building that reminded Carr of the tiny one- and two- bedroom stucco homes that dotted the narrow streets in East Los Angeles where he'd grown up.
Kelly followed him in the front door. The place contained an office with three desks and a steel door that probably led to the prisoner lockup. The walls looked like the walls of any police station: lots of photographs and sketches of ugly people, lists of names, duty rosters. In the corner was a gun rack that contained a shiny Thompson submachine gun.
A stocky Mexican man wearing a rumpled black suit with a Mexican flag lapel pin and a snap-brim bat was parked behind a desk. He held a peeled orange like a hand grenade. Deftly, he slid his roller chair to a wastebasket and leaned over. Without so much as acknowledging the Americans' presence, the barrel-chested cop bit viciously into the orange. The juice from the fruit dripped into the basket. With two or three chomps, wet and loud, the fruit disappeared. Using two fingers, the Mexican pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his mouth thoroughly, taking special care to dab his Pancho Villa mustache. He wiped his hands on the rag and put it away.
