Max pulled a chair over from the empty table
next to his friend. The scraping of the metal legs on concrete opened Jimbo’s
eyes. “What’s up? I gotta get back on the street in a few minutes. You know...
had to have my Columbian mountain grown gold."
Max started, “Yeh, Juan Valdez not Pablo
Escobar. I called Adrienne’s house... she didn’t answer.”
“One of her latest left the house right before
I came here, she’s probably sleeping.”
“How do you know that?”
“How else, the poor guy called a cab. Blue
balls bitching and moaning and all... Is that why you called me?”
“Something happened,” Max insisted, “Nick
called me in a panic after he came storming through my place this morning.”
“Storming?”
“Yeh, sorry, I forgot to tell you. He crashed a
car in front of my place...”
“A car? Slow down, Max. Take a few deep
breaths.”
“Yeh, a Mercedes wasn’t far behind.” Max
fidgeted with his paper cozy on the cup, “I thought it was just some more of
Nick’s bullshit and decided I ought to mind my own business.”
“Always a good policy.”
“We need to get to her house. I put the cab in
the garage after my shift for its check-up. I need you to take me up there...
just to check.”
“This better be important, Max,” perturbed,
Jimbo knew that Max also knew the ebbs and flow of the business and certain
times of the day were more lucrative than others. “Why don’t you take your
bike?” He also knew that Max wouldn’t call him unless it was as important as it
better be.
“Maybe I need backup. C’mon Jimbo. I’d do the
same for you.”
“Ahhh, still hooked on Frenchie’s
foo-foo-nette?” Jimbo leered.
“Enough with the salaciousness, my friend,” Max
exhorted snidely.
“Ah, sir, yes sir!” Jimbo put on the military
mannerisms of submission to rank even though he'd been an Army Lieutenant and
Max had hardly any rank at all when each had served. However, Jimbo was curious
about Alesandro and knew only a little of what Adrienne had told Max. “But,
what about the Maquis?”
“Don’t know,” Max lifted his cap and scratched
his head, “I don’t know, damn it.”
17:30: Jimbo and Max approached the back of the
house. The whole property was surrounded by squad cars and crime tape. Max was
out of the car door before it stopped, “Fuck! Wait for me here, Jimbo. I’ve
gotta see what this is about.”
An officer at the rear gate held out an arm to
stop but Max brushed it aside, “Hey, this is a crime scene. Stop!” the cop
protested, hand on his belt unclipping his Glock. Ryan saw Max coming and
beckoned him through.
He followed Ryan inside where they stopped over
the black lab-mix, quite-dead dog, at the foot of the stairs. Blood from the
dog was puddled around it. A very young crime scene photographer was
snapping-clicking-whirring-strobing her camera at several bloody shoe prints
leading away towards the back door. Max knew better than to think that women
had no stomach for this job as was the common assumption in the force. He
wasn’t surprised to see Ryan at the scene either. He had expected Ryan to be
there and it was of some comfort for him to know that at least one professional
was on the job, “What happened? Where’s Adrienne... is she?”
Max had stepped into what seemed to be an
argument between Richards and Ryan that had a bitter tone to it.
“This isn’t a homicide, Ryan. Ain’t kidnapping
a job for the FBI?”
Ryan slammed a backhand retort at Richards,
“Dead dogs... looks like homicide to me.”
Max was relieved to hear it wasn’t a homicide,
but kidnapping didn’t sound so hot either.
“Now, allow me to talk with this witness,” Ryan
glowered at Richards, addressing Max, he asked, “You any idea what happened?”
Richards was still nearby trying his best to
not appear to be eaves dropping. Max was a civilian, but he seemed to have
Ryan’s ear. It was clear that Richards didn’t like Max or what Max might know
or suspect.
While giving Richards his best fuck you face,
Max answered, “It looks like Nick is in deep shit… waders wouldn’t be of much
use.”
“Look, Max, I know how close you are to Mrs. Baker.
If you know anything at all let me know. Otherwise, stay out of this and let us
handle it.”
“I believe it is Ms. Fournier now, but sure.
You know I’m just a …”
Ryan led Max by the arm back out into the
garden by the koi pond away from Richards and said, “We have some clues and a
theory, if that’s what you want to know. One of Nick’s drug deals, no doubt,
but it’s not my business to speculate. What do you know?”
“Not much more than you. I had no idea...
didn’t expect this at all. Is Alesandro around?”
“No... Gone with her, I’m afraid.”
Ryan fed the koi some of the fish food kept
next to the pond and went over the events of the day. One mottled koi, Max
called Maxine, came to him whenever he sat at the pond where it availed itself
to a pat on its snout. He listened without comment until Ryan finished.
Investigations are slow because it is a process of compiling evidence for the
DA. Max feared he didn’t have time for the kind of evidence gathering police
investigations needed to stand up in court. There were more direct methods in
which no one got off due to a technicality… a prosecutorial error… a piece of
evidence gone missing... a jury intimidated or tampered with.... no Miranda
rights read either. It wasn’t a matter of innocence or guilt. Still, Ryan was bound
by the rules of evidence and had to conduct an investigation through the
arduous accumulation of seemingly unrelated clues… a hair or rug sample… a
finger print or blood sample… all of it stuffed in a file or zip-lock for
further inspection in a lab that wouldn’t come back until long after the
suspects left town and were sipping Tecates in Tecate. Max moved on hunches…
hunches founded on the paradox of emotional/logical conclusions. The rules of
his game required he gets the right target every time with no… absolutely no…
collateral damage. But it wasn’t necessary for Max to prove guilt or innocence
to a judge or jury. He had Nick’s PPK at home tucked away for a rainy day.
Adrienne had found it in the garden shed a few months before and had given it to
him for fear of what Nick would do with it. Adrienne did not like guns and
especially didn’t want them on her premises. The PPK would be all he needed for
a judge and jury should it come to that.
Jimbo got a call on his cell phone from Teresa
while he waited. It was a brief and mysterious call and her tone explained the
urgency of the situation, “Could you help us with something? It’ll probably be
later tonight but you guys can be good to put eyes on a place on West Mountain
Drive.”
“Depends on what something, and us, is,”
impatiently Jimbo sniped. He was getting weary of all this intrigue.
West Mountain Drive... “I know that place. and
hoped it’d be busted sooner than later,” he ended the call as he saw Max
approaching, “I gotta go now.”
Jimbo
sensed it had bad mojo that he wanted nothing to do with. But, he liked Teresa.
She was one honest person in the AA meetings he paid attention to even though
she was a newcomer.
“She hesitated a minute before she added, “You
know the cop, Irene Casey. She’s here... asleep now.”
Jimbo was intrigued then. He’d heard of the cop
Irene Casey twice that day and loved the idea of those two together, “Shit.
Should I congratulate you?”
“Yeah, I been trying for her awhile.”
Jimbo was authentically pleased. Gays were an
important part of the late-night cab driving business and, what had originally
been what could have been called tolerance, transcended into genuine affection.
Though he was a married man, he still regretted that she was on the other team.
Regardless, he was happy for her because he knew love is so hard to find and,
when anyone finds love, it is cause to be glad.
Max entered the taxi just as Jimbo got off the
phone, “I’m losing money Max. You know how it is.” Jimbo sighed audibly and
asked, “Where to now, Boss.”
Max said cop-like, “Mountain Drive.”
Jimbo, stunned, “Wha...the fuck? West Mountain
again?”
“Again? Right. You know where it is,” Max,
softening his tone, realized he’d fallen into a cop’s terse cadence talking
with Ryan.
Jimbo and Max, like any good hack, could figure
out where the deals in town were going down.
At one time or another in the past six months, they’d both dropped off
Nick a quarter mile down the road from the suspiciously isolated house on West
Mountain Drive.
“Yeh, West Mountain. That fuckin’ place. I
thought it was a satanic cult hangout ‘til I took Nick up there more than
once.” Jimbo then decided to say something of a warning admonition. He’d been
fearful of what had been evolving before his eyes and wanted no part in it, “My
father was an Army officer and, my brother and I, spent most of our formative
years in Japan.”
“Yeh, I know Jimbo,” Max was accustomed to
Jimbo repeating things. Decades, of smoking pot had taken its toll on Jimbo’s
mind even though he’d been sober a while by then. “I’ve heard it several
times...”
Jimbo ignored him and continued, “In the dojo
there is the story the sensei told of the three samurai watching a cuckoo to
see it sing. The first samurai said, ‘If it doesn’t sing in few minutes, I will
kill it with my sword.’ The second samurai said, ‘If it doesn’t sing, I will
force it to.’ The third samurai said, ‘If it doesn’t sing, I will wait for it
to sing.’ That samurai was Tokugawa Ieyasu, the Shogun that united Japan and
founded the dynasty of the Shogunate.”
“Nice story, Jimbo, but how do we apply it
here?” Max wondered and then answered himself. “We ought to be careful and
patient. We’re dealing with cuckoos. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Yep.”
“But we’ve got to act,” Max said adding, “The
cuckoos are not passive, and, in the case of the cartel, their song is one of
slaughter.”
Jimbo’s retort was immediate, “We? Man, let the
police handle it.”
Max’s mind was nowhere near rational by then as
fear gripped and strangled all reasoning from his mind, “Dammit Jimbo, you can
fuckin’ drop me off and I’ll go it on my own. Adrienne’s body will be dumped in
the Manzanita off Camino Cielo by the time the cops and the FBI sift through
the evidence.”
“That’s the problem when you sponsor an old
friend... can’t tell him shit!”
“Is there one of the Twelve Steps for this
mess, Jimbo?”
Jimbo was already driving towards Coyote Road,
“Steps? You fuckin kill me, Max.”
“I hope not. I mean just drop me off and
I’ll...”
“How about the Third?” Jimbo grinned that grin
Max hadn’t seen since the old bar fights in their drinking days.
“Turn my will and my life over to the care of
God as we understand him?” Max chortled, “We’re gonna need all the help we can
get. But, Jimbo, I’m thinking we’ll observe first... like you said... let the
cuckoos sing.”
Jimbo’s cab had turned left from Coyote on
Mountain Drive and was cruising by the house by then. “That’s the house
alright. It’s locked down tight as a drum. Don’t look but did you see those two
by the gate?”
“Yeh, hopefully, we’re just another cab goin’
by. It’s not going to be easy. Just drop me off and take a few calls. I’ll call
your cell phone after I figure out what the fuck I’m gonna do.”
“What, you gonna sneak and creep in broad
daylight?” Jimbo asked, with a touch of sarcasm. Max knew what he was referring
to. Sneak and creep was an old Long-Range-Recon-Patrol term from Vietnam.
“Nothing we didn't do in Nicaragua. So, maybe
you’re right, my friend. I can take my bike up there after dark and check out
the scene. They want Nick more than anything. I’m hoping they’ll do nothing to
her ‘til they have him.”
“Nick. That fuckin’ prick. This is his problem,
why should we...” Jimbo gave out a snort, “Oh yeh, sure. Nick... He nearly beat
her to death once. Do you think he'd lift a finger to help her now? He’s
probably on a plane with a bag of cash with his hand on some other fucker’s
cock.”
Max
ceded, “Yeh, I get it. She was nothing more to him than an ATM.”
Jimbo nodded in agreement, “Get some rest. I’ll
cover a few calls. Wait ‘til after dark. I’ll pick you up towards mid-night
unless I get a call from you.”
Max relented, “Yeh, that’s the best time for a
sneak and creep.”
Jimbo
paused, “Maybe we’ll have a plan by then. Call me if you find anything
changes.” He realized he had no plan and knew that Max didn’t either, “But Max,
check with me before you try anything stupid.”
Max laughed, “Jimbo, this whole gig is stupid.
But I’ve gotta do something. Are you sure we won’t be too late by midnight?”
“I don’t know, hope not. But don’t get all John
Wayne on us, Max.” Jimbo punched Max in the shoulder, “I’ve got your back. I
know you’d have mine.”
“Brothers,” Max sighed. “You got it, Jimbo. I
need to sleep. I’ve been up for almost 24 hours. I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Neither am I. But I gotta tell you,” Jimbo
added as an aside, “Teresa called and that cop, Irene, is in on this too. We
have help.”
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