“Like he had some sort of deformity on his arm.”
“Exactly. It’s also reasonable to assume he didn’t think it would take much for law enforcement to put two and two together to realize what had taken place; especially considering he left the murder weapon at the scene.”
“Probably just hoped it would get scooped up by someone willing to approach the case as more of the ‘open and shut’ variety than the ‘more to it than it seems’ thing we got going on.”
The last still offered the one good look at the killer. They could even construe it as his one mistake in an otherwise flawless murder. Vivian had already run the picture through their database, and that of every available law enforcement agency, and come up empty. Although it was difficult to discern who he was, exactly, with sunglasses covering his eyes at night, his facial features were significant enough that there should have been a match somewhere if he’d ever entered the system. Which it appeared he hadn’t.
“How does someone who has never been on the wrong side of the law pull off a premeditated murder like this, leaving no usable trace of evidence?”
“He must have had had some training,” Vivian offered. “Military, perhaps.”
“Something should have pulled up on the search if that were the case.”
“Unless he’s not American. Or involved in something with a classified level above our pay grade.”
“Ugh,” Osteen rested his forehead on the palm of his left hand. He was getting too old for this. The last thing he needed was to have the Feds take over his investigation. It’s not that he was prideful. Far from it. He just had a complete lack of desire to answer to anyone other than his direct superiors. Although, maybe it was for the best. He didn’t need to waste his remaining years as a detective trying to crack a case with no end in sight. His thoughts vanished as the sound of footsteps crept closer behind them.
“The results are back, detectives,” the tech said as he handed a few sheets of paper to Osteen, who leafed through them at lightning speed.
“Nothing? You guys couldn’t find a damn thing on the bag?” Osteen was beside himself. “How the hell is that even possible?”
“We’ve reached the conclusion that he was wearing gloves of some sort.”
“What makes you think that?”
“The lack of fingerprints of any kind on the bag, exterior and interior. Nothing on the bottle. Even the knife is absent any foreign residue,” the tech replied. “That or he doesn’t have any fingerprints.”
“Hope everyone has their big boy pants on,” Osteen said with a little gusto. “This ride’s about to get a little bumpy.”
Chapter 13
Not much had changed about the backroom of La Cantina Sucia since the last time Micah had been there. Other than the absence of half-naked women draped on Castillo, of course. The mood in the room was somber. Simply discussing the murder of another person can be rather unnerving to most people, for obvious reasons. While some can say it in jest, with no intention to follow through with the act, others cringe at the thought and see those who laugh in the face of life’s end as no better than Neanderthals. Other still tolerate the conversation but attempt to divert it in other directions as quickly as possible.
“This job is a little different from what you’ve pulled for me so far. It’s a little more… how do I put this? High profile. It’s going to be out there for a lot more people to chew on.”
Micah eyed him cautiously, attempting to extract meaning from the seemingly innocuous proposal. He took a sip of the brown ale, sweating at his fingertips, as Castillo took a drag of his cigar.
“You ever hear of Dirk Cagney?”
“That douchebag on Channel 8 News with the stupid haircut?”
“That’s the one,” Castillo said, a smile on his face as he pulled a small piece of paper from his pocket. On it he had scribbled a specific combination of letters and numbers, pertinent to the task that lay ahead for his protégé. He passed it across the table. “That motherfucker tried to double-cross us recently. I want you to take care of the problem.”
“So, you want me to k…”
“Shh!” Castillo touched his index finger to his mouth. “I want you to take care of him, understand?”
Micah nodded, absentmindedly glancing down at the scrap of paper. He knew how to play the game. What he hadn’t realized until the moment he played dumb was that the Cantina was likely bugged. If not on the inside, Castillo clearly had cause for concern that someone nearby may be listening. Otherwise, his use of the word kill would have been immaterial.
“Go here and ask for Nicky. Tell him I sent you. He’ll set you up nicely,” Castillo said, breaking the silence. “I want the job done in two days, while Cagney is at his condo. He usually gets home from doing the news around midnight. I’ll let you decide how you want to do this. You got a car?”
“Working for free doesn’t exactly provide much play money,” Micah said. As he delved deeper into this world, he thought it a great idea to create distance between anything tied to himself and those that employed his services. Besides, he figured his current ride wasn’t the greatest at keeping him inconspicuous, and he was curious to see what his new employer might offer.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Castillo replied as he tried to keep a straight face. He grabbed a set of keys from his pocket and slid them across the table. “These are for a car I’ve got locked up in a garage down the street from Nicky’s. Take good care of her. I’ll give you a call if you can pull it off without fucking things up.”
“Let’s just hope it’s not past your bedtime when this makes the news.
-#-
Nicky Diaz owned a body shop a few blocks from La Cantina
