Short Straw Page 6

  "You're kidding me."

  "No, apparently kidnapping is all the rage in Mexico."

  "What now?"

  The phone rang before Eagle could reply, and he picked it up. "Hello?"

  "It's Cupie; we got a problem."

  Sixteen

  CUPIE CLOSED HIS CELL PHONE AND WALKED BACK toward the cab. He'd had to move down the block to get a good signal, and he hadn't been watching the car while he talked to Eagle. As he approached, he could see the driver, but he couldn't see anybody in the backseat. He stuck his head in the front passenger window. "Where'd the man and the woman go?" He asked the driver.

  "I dunno, senor. The woman got out of the car and ran, and the man ran after her. Senor, could you pay me, please? I got to make a living."

  Cupie shoved some money at him, got his, Vittorio's and Barbara's bags out of the car and found some shade. He couldn't see either one of them anywhere, and he wasn't going to try and find them, what with a bum shoulder and three suitcases to take care of. He sat down on one of the bags and waited.

  Vittorio came around a corner, his hat off, wiping his brow.

  "What happened?"

  "She ran on me," Vittorio said. "She went into the police station, where I didn't want to follow her, and when I finally did, she was gone; she'd run out a side door into an alley, and I wasn't able to find her."

  "Right," Cupie said, trying not to sound nasty. He opened his cell phone and called Eagle. "We've got a problem," he said into the phone, and then he explained what happened.

  Eagle was annoyed but calm. "Now what?"

  "Now we track her down," Cupie said. "We've got her luggage, so all she's got are the clothes on her back and her handbag. One thing we could do, is I could file a complaint with the police for her shooting me, and we might get some help."

  "What the hell, do it," Eagle said, "and keep in touch."

  Cupie closed the phone. "I'm going to file a complaint," he said, picking up Barbara's bag and handing it to Vittorio. "Hold this; I want to see what's inside."

  Vittorio cradled the case in his arms while Cupie went through it. Underwear, clothes, shoes, no documents. "Nothing of any use," he said. "I was hoping, maybe, for a bank book."

  "Let's see if she's at the bank," Vittorio said.

  "Good idea. You know which bank?"

  Vittorio shook his head.

  "Tell you what, you work both sides of the street, here, check all the banks, and I'll go talk to the boys at the el copo shopo."

  Vittorio nodded.

  "And take your bag and hers, will you? I can't handle more than mine."

  Vittorio slung his own bag over his shoulder by its strap and pulled out the handle on Barbara's suitcase, so it would roll. "I'll meet you back here in a few minutes," he said.

  Cupie nodded and went into the police station. Using his serviceable Spanish, he asked for the captain and was immediately shown to an office behind the front desk.

  "Buenos dias," the captain said. He was a plump man with the inevitable Pancho Villa moustache. "How may I help you, senor?" he said in good English.

  Cupie handed the man his LAPD I.D. and his card. "I am a retired Los Angeles detective sergeant, now working as a private investigator," he said. "My client's wife stole money from him and left for Mexico City. When I found her there, she shot me with a small handgun." He reached into his pocket and produced the.25 automatic he had taken from Barbara, along with its magazine. "It's unloaded."

  The captain racked the little slide and set the gun down, satisfied. "You wish her to be arrested?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "Where is she?"

  "Somewhere in Puerto Vallarta. She ran from my partner."

  The captain nodded, reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a two-sided form. He asked Cupie an interminable list of questions, laboriously entering the information in the spaces provided, then asked Cupie to sign it.

  Cupie signed. "If you find her, I'll take her off your hands," he said. "And my client would be very grateful to you, personally."

  "How grateful, senor?"

  "I might be able to persuade him to be grateful this much," Cupie said, holding up five fingers. "Big ones."

  The captain nodded. "Where may I reach you?" Cupie gave the man his cell phone number, shook his hand and left.

  Outside, Vittorio was waiting in a dusty taxi. Cupie tossed his bag into the trunk and got in.

  "You think the policia will be of any use?"

  "I promised him five grand," Cupie said. "He knows the town better than I do. How about you?"

  "Better than me, too."

  "I take it you had no luck at the banks."

  "Oh, I did, in the third bank I visited. She closed her account and took twenty-five grand in dollars and the rest in thousand-dollar cashier's checks."

  "So much for Eagle's getting his hands on the three hundred grand. He told me to tell her he'd do that, if she didn't sign. I take it she didn't sign?"

  Vittorio tipped his hat down over his eyes and ignored the question. "She rented a Jeep Grand Cherokee and asked for a map and directions to Acapulco."

  "You think she actually went there?"

  "She left a ten-thousand-dollar deposit and was told she could get a refund of her change at the firm's Acapulco office. I don't think the lady is the type to go somewhere else in those circumstances, do you?"

  "I guess not," Cupie said. "Driver, the airport."

  "That's what I figured."

  "We'll beat her there," Cupie said, resting his head against the seat back and sighing deeply. He got out his cell phone and reported to Ed Eagle.

  Seventeen

  EAGLE HUNG UP THE PHONE AND TURNED TO WOLF Willett. "She got away from them in Puerto Vallarta, and she's apparently headed for Acapulco."

  "Hitting all the high spots, huh?"

  "It's like her."

  "Well, at least she didn't kill you."

  "Oh, she's already planned that."

  "How do you mean?"

  "She's paid some guy twenty-five thousand dollars of my money to take me out. Fortunately, he's in jail for another couple of weeks, but he's hired another guy, a sort of sub-hitman, who gets out tomorrow. Client of mine overheard them talking about it in the can."

  Wolf sighed. "I'm so glad my life isn't as interesting as yours."

  The phone rang, and Eagle picked it up. "Yes?"

  "Russell Norris on the phone."

  Eagle pressed the button. "Russell?"

  "Hi. I just left the bank, and we got really lucky. The balance in the Mexico City account is being wired back to the Santa Fe account from which it was sent, less a few hundred dollars for the investigator and administrative fees."

  "Russell, you're a jewel. Take a couple of days in Mexico on me, then send me your bill."

  "Thanks, but I've gotta get back to my office; I'll fax you a bill tomorrow."

  "You have my gratitude; if you ever need a reference, use my name." Eagle hung up. "Now there's some good news: I'm getting seven hundred and something thousand back from the Mexican bank."

  "That's terrific. Now all you have to do is not get killed tomorrow, divorce your wife and you're in great shape."

  Eagle looked at his watch. "I've got a hearing in half an hour."

  Both men stood up and shook hands. "Call me for some golf, if you're still alive," Wolf said.

  "I'll do that."

  EAGLE ARRIVED in the courtroom, and the bailiff told him his client was waiting in a holding cell.

  "The judge is going to take a thirty-minute recess in a few minutes, and then he'll hear your motion," the bailiff said.

  Eagle nodded and took a seat in the front row. Bob Martinez was questioning a witness and, apparently, getting nowhere.

  A man came over and sat down next to Eagle. "Mr. Eagle, I'm Tom Cartwright, your witness."

  Eagle shook his hand, got up and led the man out into the hall.

  "Mr. Cartwright, I really appreciate your coming, and so does Jo
e Big Bear."

  "The guy did a good job on my car; it's the least I can do for an innocent man."

  "Let me ask you some questions, now, the same ones I'm going to ask when you're on the stand."

  "Shoot."

  Eagle took him quickly through his testimony, then sat him down on a bench in the hallway and went back into the courtroom as Martinez finished questioning his witness.

  "Mr. Eagle?" the judge said.

  "Ready, Judge. He took a seat at the defense table, as Joe Big Bear was led into the courtroom, wearing an orange jumpsuit.

  "Mr. Martinez?" the judge said.

  "Ready, your honor."

  Eagle had Big Bear sworn and took him through his testimony, establishing his story, then he called Cartwright, who was duly sworn.

  "Mr. Cartwright, are you acquainted with Joe Big Bear?"

  "I certainly am. He fixed my car; did a good job."

  "Did you ever know him before that day?"

  "No, I got his number off a bulletin board at Pep Boys parts shop."

  The mention of Pep Boys jogged something in Eagle's head, but he couldn't place it, so he continued. "Mr. Cartwright, on the day in question, what time did Mr. Big Bear arrive at your house?"

  "Around one-thirty."

  "And what time did he finish his work and depart?"

  "Four-thirty, quarter to five."

  "Was he there for the entire time?"

  "He was."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I was in my home office all afternoon, and I could see him out the window, working on my car in the driveway."

  "Your witness," he said to Martinez.

  Martinez stood up. "Mr. Cartwright, you said you didn't know Mr. Big Bear before that day?"

  "That's right; never set eyes on him before, until he came to my house that day."

  "Are you related to Mr. Big Bear by blood or marriage?"

  "No, sir."

  "Were you acquainted with Mr. Big Bear's girlfriend?"

  "Didn't know he had one, until I read it in the New Mexican."

  "No further questions." Martinez sat down.

  "Mr. Eagle, you have a motion?"

  "Yes, your honor." He reached into his briefcase and removed the coroner's report. "Judge, the coroner has established that the murders in Mr. Big Bear's trailer occurred between two and four in the afternoon. Every minute of Mr. Big Bear's day has been accounted for-I'm sure the district attorney's investigators can confirm that-and, in particular, Mr. Cartwright's testimony has confirmed that Mr. Big Bear could not possibly have committed these murders. Therefore I move for dismissal of all charges and the immediate release of Mr. Big Bear."

  "Mr. Martinez?" the judge said.

  "No objection, your honor."

  "The charges are dismissed for lack of evidence. Mr. Big Bear, you'll be returned to the Santa Fe County Correctional Center and processed out today."

  Joe Big Bear pumped Eagle's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Eagle!" he said.

  Eagle took him to one side of the courtroom and spoke to him quietly. "Joe, let's talk about my fee."

  "I'd like to work it off, or pay you overtime," Big Bear said.

  "There's an easier way," Eagle said. "Do you own a gun?"

  "Yessir, I've got a shotgun-or at least the police have it-and I've got a handgun under the seat of my truck."

  "This hired killer you told me about is getting out of jail at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, right?"

  "That's what he said."

  "And he's going to meet this woman in the parking lot who's going to give him some money?"

  "That's right."

  "After that's done, I'd like you to meet this gentleman and persuade him not to carry out his contract. You think you can do that?"

  "One way or another."

  "Joe, I don't want you to commit any crimes in the process; we just got you out. Now let's keep you out, all right?"

  "I got you, Mr. Eagle."

  "I wanted to know if you had the gun only for purposes of self-defense."

  "I understand."

  "Then I want you to ask this fellow who it was who hired him and when he's getting out, and when he does, I want you to have a similar conversation with him. Tell him he can keep the money, because my wife isn't coming back to Santa Fe. In both cases, you can use the threat of calling the police on them, since you overheard their conversation."

  "I understand."

  Eagle pressed five one-hundred-dollar bills into Big Bear's hand. "This will cover your expenses, including cab fare back to your truck. Keep me posted on your progress, will you?"

  "Yessir."

  "When this is done, you won't owe me a dime."

  "Thank you, Mr. Eagle."

  Eagle shook his hand and left the courthouse, relieved that the situation had been taken care of.

  Eighteen

  CUPIE AND VlTTORIO LANDED AT ACAPULCO AND WENT to the airport car rental counter. The only thing available was a huge Toyota 4Runner.

  "I hate cars this big," Cupie said, hoisting himself into the front passenger seat.

  "Truck," Vittorio replied.

  "Whatever. How do we know Barbara is really on her way to Acapulco?" Cupie was flexing his left shoulder.

  "The woman knows nothing about Mexico," Vittorio said, "just the hot spots. Eagle said Puerto Vallarta was the only place here she'd ever been, but she's heard of Acapulco, and since we've got her clothes, she needs a place with fancy shops. I think this is where we'll find her."

  "Good point. Let's make the rounds of a few hotels and buy some desk clerks, so we'll get a call when she checks in." Cupie took off his sling and flexed his shoulder some more.

  "How's the shoulder?" Vittorio asked.

  "Better," Cupie replied. "I need to stretch it some, so I'm ditching the sling. I also need a suit without a bullet hole in it. The hotel in Mexico city sent it to the cleaners, but they didn't fix the hole."

  Their first stop was the Acapulco Princess, in one of whose shops Cupie found a seersucker suit and waited while the trouser bottoms were hemmed. Then they continued to another few likely hotels, leaving a trail of Ed Eagle's hundred-dollar bills.

  "I just thought of something," Cupie said.

  "What?"

  "If somebody at Barbara's bank made a call to the kidnappers about her three hundred grand, I'll bet the same party has already made another call. I mean, she's still got the three hundred grand, and she doesn't even have to get it out of the bank; all she has to do is countersign the traveler's checks, and the kidnappers can probably persuade her to do that."

  "She'll probably sign them Minnie Mouse," Vittorio said drily. "And they don't know where she is."

  "If you figured out where she went, so can the kidnappers. Three hundred grand is a great incentive not to give up."

  "In that case," Vittorio said, "they're probably only an hour or two behind her, maybe less."

  "A scary thought," Cupie said. "Maybe it will scare her when we tell her." He studied the map the rental car agent had given them. "You know," he said, "the main road from Puerto Vallarta is only a couple of blocks from where we are right now. Why don't we just drive over there, park, and wait for her to show up?"

  "Good idea."

  "You said she rented a Cherokee?"

  "A Grand Cherokee is what the agent said. Red."

  "What a nice color; pops right out."

  Cupie directed Vittorio to the highway, and they found a spot a little way up a hill that gave them a view for half a mile up the road. They parked and settled in to wait.

  "You an Angelino?" Vittorio asked.

  "Grew up out in the San Fernando Valley," Cupie replied. "Roy Rogers used to sing a song about it. Made me proud."

  "College?"

  "Two years of night school. Wish I'd gotten a degree; I might have made lieutenant or even captain. You?"

  "Grew up on the reservation, got a degree at Santa Fe State, did four years with the tribal police. Boring. Found out I was good
at tracking people. I guess it's a genetic thing; Apaches are great trackers. The signs you follow these days are different, of course. Instead of going rock to rock, you go cheap motel to cheap motel. If I had a hundred bucks for every cheap motel door I've kicked in, I could retire."

  "Me, too. Family?"

  "Nah, I like single."

  "Girl?".

  "I go from woman to woman; best not to get tied down. When I get to where I need somebody to cut my meat and wipe my chin, I'll settle down. You?"

  "Wife died six years ago-cancer. I've got a daughter graduating from UCLA next year. She wants to join the LAPD. Can't seem to talk her out of it."

  "UCLA sounds expensive."

  "I live on my pension; the P.I. work pays for UCLA. Maybe when she's out on her own I'll just play golf all the time."

  "I play golf," Vittorio said.

  "Yeah? I never saw an Indian on a golf course."

  "Maybe not in L.A."

  "Something red," Cupie said.

  "Indians aren't red."

  Cupie nodded. "Up the road, something red."

  Vittorio squinted, then produced a small pair of binoculars from a pocket. "Grand Cherokee," he said.

  "Check out four cars back."

  Vittorio moved the binoculars slightly. "Black Suburban," he said, "with black windows. Trying to get around the traffic."

  Cupie sighed. "Here we go again."

  Nineteen

  VITTORIO STARTED THE CAR, AND AS SOON AS THE BLACK Suburban passed, he gunned the V-8 engine and forced his way into the line of traffic, nearly causing a multicar accident.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Cupie demanded, struggling to get his seat belt on.

  "Is it the same Suburban?"

  "Don't you see the bullet hole in the rear window?"

  "Right. Hang on; big curve coming up."

  "What's your plan, Vittorio? If we chase these guys, they're eventually going to get out of their car and shoot at us. You want to get shot at again?"

  "Nope, I want to avoid getting shot at."

  They entered a sharp curve to the left, and Vittorio stomped on the accelerator again.

  "Slow down!" Cupie yelled. "You want to hit them?"

  "Yeah," Vittorio said, his face screwed up with concentration.