“Did you confess your sins?”
“There wasn’t enough time,” Jack replied tapping him on the shoulder as Garcia’s car veered back out into the traffic. The following ten minutes was spent weaving around traffic and heading down streets until they arrived in an area called Cerrillos Road. There the detective pulled off into a residential area. Jack had Hector drive on past the low adobe home and park one street over. He told him to wait and that he might be a while.
“It’s all good, man. Just keep the green flowing and I’ll keep the engine running.”
When Jack made it to the home Garcia had entered, he walked up the driveway, and immediately went down the side of the house to the rear of the yard. It was a run-down home with dirty sheets hung up over the windows.
A white pit bull started barking against a chain-link fence in the neighbor’s yard. Jack ducked below a small window and was about to look in when he heard a voice. “Shut up!” the neighbor yelled. “Get in here.” The dog turned and ran back into the house.
He waited thirty seconds before checking it was all clear. Satisfied, he cupped a hand to the dusty window and peered through. It was dark inside, but he could just make out a light. He continued on around and let himself into the backyard. There he approached another window and looked in to find the detective removing his jacket and a young Spanish woman running her hands all over his chest. For a second he thought she was his girlfriend until he fished into his pocket and held up a fifty-dollar bill. The woman dropped down and began unbuckling his belt and Jack pulled away.
“So much for confession,” he mumbled before returning to the cab.
Jack had him pull around and park in a location that would allow him to keep an eye on the house. Jack’s phone started vibrating. He glanced at it. It was a text from Tyson. Where are you?
He tapped out a quick reply, just to alleviate his fears.
Tyson replied, I’m glad. You had me sweating there for a moment. I thought you were busted.
No. I’ll be back later, Jack replied. Stay off the streets for now.
Tyson fired back. Sure. Don’t forget the fight tonight. I’ll send you the address and time.
Jack didn’t want to go into what he was doing, the less he knew the better. While he waited he decided to have a cigarette. That’s when he realized he’d left them in the jacket he’d given away. Shit. “Hector, can I get a cigarette?”
“Will cost you.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve got to put food on the table.”
Jack fished out the smallest bill he had, a five, and Hector passed back a cigarette and lighter. He sparked up and brought the window down. “What are you, a private investigator?” Hector asked.
“Not exactly.”
If he didn’t find out soon what happened to Dana, he was liable to lose his mind. Fourteen months away from it all had changed him. Even though Dalton joked about it, he was right. The last time he had experienced a normal life was in Maine after the events that went down but even then he was always expecting the sky to fall.
And now it had.
And he only had himself to blame.
He blew out smoke and was lost in his thoughts when Hector piped up. “Your friend is on the move again.”
Chapter 18
Jack was like a dog on a bone. The only connection he had to Dana’s disappearance lay with this man and from what he’d seen so far, it was clear he wasn’t dealing with a saint but a bottom feeder. Still, that didn’t mean he had anything to do with Dana. There very well could have been a good explanation for his presence that day in the Plaza and Jack intended to find out.
After the short visit to whoreville, they shadowed him to a number of locations: a 7-Eleven where he bought gas and munchies, a coffee drive-thru, a mall and a local park where he seemed to park under a large oak and devour his food like a pig at a trough.
Following this he returned to the Santa Fe Police Department.
“This friend of yours. He’s not your friend, is he?”
“How very astute of you, Hector,” Jack replied before he diverted his eyes back to the sedan that had been parked there for the better part of an hour. Hector had positioned the cab across Cerrillos Road in the La Quinta Inn lot.
“You know, my cousin killed a cop. They pulled him over for a busted taillight and tried to plant narcotics on him. They said he matched the description of a gangbanger that was seen firing a gun in an apartment block on the east side.”
Jack didn’t respond.
“They had the wrong guy as my cousin wasn’t in a gang. He had a family, and managed a local hardware store but they didn’t see it that way. Anyway he called them out on their bullshit and told them that they planted the coke in his car. One thing led to another and he got into a scuffle. The cop pulled a gun on him and when it went off the cop was the one lying on the ground. He got the hell out of there and they chased him for ten miles before he blew a tire and wiped out.” He sighed. “Now his kids see him in an orange jumpsuit. There used to be a time when you could trust the cops but now you don’t know who’s pulling up on you. Anyway, my point is, I get it. I’m not sure what this man has done to you and I
