L.A. Confrontational Page 7

  I could see why the women were attracted to this guy—his strong dark features created an aura of mystery, and he had just the right amount of chin stubble to give the false impression he didn’t give a damn about fashion, despite arriving in a perfectly pressed one thousand dollar suit with the big-breasted female as his cuff link. His perfectly trimmed straight hair didn’t have a single strand out of place, unlike the curly chest hair protruding from a grayish-blue silk shirt open at the collar to reveal a gold cross trying not to get buried.

  I killed another hour pretending to have a good time, but kept a close watch on Freddie. Out of respect for Roger, there would be no confrontation inside. However, if he knew this Freddie had any information on who plugged Andy, he’d be the first one to initiate an interrogation and he wouldn’t have needed waterboarding to get a confession.

  A third mojito swirled in my stomach by the time Freddie appeared to be making motions to leave. After a diet of white wines and snuggling, his blonde companion must have been lubed in all the right places. She hung on to Freddie’s arm like a lifejacket as her right foot tipped, threatening to bust out of her high-heeled shoe. Freddie might have a sure thing even without the booze.

  I returned to the parking lot, stopping at my car to retrieve the gun from the glove compartment. My position at the parking lot perimeter provided a direct view of the club exit. Freddie and his date emerged a half-hour later. I started walking slowly towards the rear of the parking lot when it became evident his car sat behind the building. The shadows would work to my advantage. I also counted on his being distracted with thoughts of getting his date home.

  Freddie stopped at a black Porsche and let his companion in the passenger door. His car selection made me dislike him even more. I removed my keys and hovered next to an adjacent white SUV pretending to search for the appropriate key.

  The trunk end of his car backed up to some dense shrubs against the building, forcing him to walk around the front of the vehicle. I launched, and grabbed him around the throat, pushing his body into the shadows up against the short trunk of his fancy car.

  “What the fuck?” He started to reach down to his leg, but I pinned him down and pulled out my gun to dissuade him from going for a weapon.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” I warned, pressing him more firmly against the car.

  “Look, I got some money in my wallet.” He frantically searched the parking lot as if to call for help, so I placed my gun to his forehead.

  “I don’t want your money, Freddie. I just have a few questions and if you tell me the truth you can be on your way to enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  That seemed to settle him down. “Okay, man. What do you want?”

  “I’m looking for a young girl. You know her. You with me?”

  He nodded to let me know he understood. His companion rolled down the window. “Freddie, what’s going on? I’m not feeling too good.”

  I motioned with my gun and shook my head sideways. “She does anything stupid, I’ll have to club your pretty face.”

  Freddie nodded. “We’ll leave in a minute, babe. Stay in the car.”

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Her blonde head slipped down below the seat backs.

  “You’re going to have a fun ride home, Freddie. Just tell me about the girl and you can go.” I released my pressure on his chest, but kept the gun out just in case.

  He started to smooth down his clothes. “I know a lot of young girls.”

  “I’ll bet you do. This one is special. Her name is Sarah Minor.”

  “Who?”

  I gave him a short left jab to his jaw. “Don’t piss me off. Not only is that her last name, but she was under-aged when you were doing her. You tell me where she is and that information doesn’t need to go any further. You read me?”

  He put up his hands. “Okay. I haven’t seen her in months.”

  I could tell he was reluctant to tell me something so I brought the gun back up to his head. “You’re really making me angry.”

  He cringed. “She became a fucking mess. She was beautiful, but her appetite for drugs was non-stop. I couldn’t afford to have her hanging around anymore.”

  “Sure, Freddie. You couldn’t afford the drugs. What happened to her?”

  “I don’t know. I dumped her.”

  “When was this?”

  “About five months ago. I told her I didn’t want to see her any more, but she kept coming back here. She wouldn’t leave me alone. I had the bouncers keep her out of the club because she’d make a scene.” He hesitated again and I pressed the gun to his head.

  “She was seventeen years old, Freddie. What did you expect?”

  He raised his hands. “Man, I had no idea. She said she was twenty-one. She looked older. Really, I had no idea.”

  “I don’t care. I just want to find her. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you alone.” A few people had filtered out into the parking lot and I lowered the gun against my jacket where Freddie could still see it. The small group walked by, glanced at us, and quickly looked away. It was status quo these days. Just mind your own business and stay safe.

  “So, what happened to her?”

  “I called a guy who specializes in girls.”

  “You mean prostitutes?”

  “Yeah, he took her off my hands by promising her lots of drugs.”

  “You’re a real bastard. Who is he?”

  “They call him Coney. Short for Marconi. That’s all I know.”

  “How did you get in touch with him?”

  “By phone.”

  “You got a number?”

  He nodded. “I need to get my phone.” I backed up, but held my gun where it posed an immediate threat. He raised his hands, and with his right extracted an iPhone from his suit pocket. He read off the number while I entered it into my cell phone with my left thumb.

  “You better hope she hasn’t come to any harm or I’ll be back to find you. and I won’t be this gentle.” I didn’t consider myself a tough guy, but the urge to unload on that miserable creep was overwhelming. I kept my gun on him and back-stepped away from his car, glancing around the parking lot. Freddie got in his car and I retreated to mine across the lot. Freddie pulled out onto Rio Grande with a screech of tires followed by a tracer of smoke.

  I crossed another parking lot into the Hotel Albuquerque and greeted the female receptionist at the front desk. “My cell phone died. Can I use your phone to make a quick local call?”

  I dialed the number Freddie had given me and hung up when a man with a New York accent answered. “Yo, this is Joey.”

  I shrugged at the receptionist. “It was the wrong number. Thanks.” The phone rang at the receptionist desk as I slipped through the doors.

  Back at home, I checked Marconi’s number against the list from Andy’s cell phone. Sure enough, the number matched several calls Andy had dialed or received two days before his death. The case had gotten more interesting.

  Chapter 10

  My call to Jesse provided an excuse to hear her voice, but the request for assistance was valid. “I need your help.”

  “For what?”

  “There’s a guy who was involved with your sister’s disappearance. I’ll need a woman with your credentials to draw him out.”

  “I take it you’re not referring to my nursing experience.”

  “No, but someone might need first-aid.”

  “You?”

  “I’m hoping it’s the other guy.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “I need you to help me get him alone so I can extract the necessary information.”

  “So, I’m the bait.”

  “Yes, but I’m reluctant to ask because it could be dangerous.”

  “Will it help find my sister?”

  “I think so.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “How’s tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up so you don’t need to risk driving.”

  “It’s n
o problem. I’ll take my medication so I don’t whack the bastard before you can find out where Sarah is located.” Jesse’s voice crackled in my ear. I didn’t argue.

  …

  Freddie Martinez lived in a wealthy neighborhood in northeast Albuquerque. His street ran uphill through the neighborhood of high-priced homes surrounded by empty spaces filled with large boulders and prickly-pear cactus.

  I checked the address provided to me by Officer Cordova of the Santa Fe police, and edged past his house, a red brick mansion with white trim. A double-wide white chained gate protected the driveway that led to the three-car garage on the uphill side of the house.

  The brightness from the setting autumn sun reflected in my rearview mirror as I parked and waited down the street. As darkness descended, a coyote emerged from the empty lot in front of my car, crossed the road, and entered the backyard of a neighboring house.

  At about 8:00 pm, Freddie’s Porsche eased out of the garage and down the driveway. I slumped down in my seat as he exited the car to open the gate. I heard him pull through and stop. I got out of my car and crossed the street as he closed the gate behind him.

  He turned and saw me leaning against his car. “What the…not you again?”

  “Running solo tonight, huh Freddie?”

  “What do you want from me now?”

  “I want out of your life, but I need one more thing first.”

  “What?”

  “Marconi might be calling you to ask about me. If you rat me out, you better hope he gets to me before I get to you.”

  “Yeah, but he might just take me out first.”

  “I doubt it. You’re just directing some business his way. You don’t know anything about me, except what I tell you: I’m a married man looking to unload my girlfriend. You stick with the plan and everyone will be fine.”

  “Except Marconi.”

  “I’ve got no intention of hurting the man. I just want to find the girl and bring her home.”

  “And then you’ll leave me alone.”

  “You got it.”

  Freddie drove off in a hurry and I returned to my car. Using a disposable cell phone with an unpublished number, I called Marconi, fabricating a story about having a wife and a drugged up girlfriend. The wife was getting wise and now I needed to unload the girl. Marconi sounded suspicious, until I mentioned Freddie’s name.

  Marconi wanted to meet me at a club called Low Spirits down on 4th Street. I knew the place, although I hadn’t been inside. It had a reputation as being a biker bar, but with progressive rock music. He told me to dope the girl and bring her and five grand. I had Jesse, but not the money. That made me nervous.

  Chapter 11

  Jesse walked into my office wearing a short silky red dress with a plunging neckline. I had told her to wear something partially revealing, but wasn’t quite prepared for such a heavenly sight. “Wow.” I muttered before recovering enough to apply some fake hair onto my upper lip.

  She laughed. “Is that your full disguise?”

  “No, I have another piece.” I donned a pair of clear glasses and stood to show her my gray conservative business suit and red tie. I wanted to resemble an accountant coming straight from the office. “What do you think?”

  “You look just like a rotten cheating husband.”

  “Exactly what I was going for.”

  “Did you learn Disguise 101 at private detective school?”

  “What private detective school? I’ve got a PE degree from UCLA.”

  Jesse grinned. “Well, that explains everything.”

  It was a five-minute drive from the office to the bar in my rented Chrysler LeBaron, a car I assumed a two-bit philandering accountant might own. I gave Jesse a summary of my new plan and she agreed to everything. I didn’t lie to her about the dangerous people we might encounter.

  “It’s worth any risk to find my sister.” I would have adored her for her spirit alone, even if she had been ugly and wearing a potato sack.

  Parking spots were plentiful around the bar’s neighborhood and parking lot, indicating a light happy-hour crowd. I parked in the back by a large dumpster. We sat for a moment, waiting for darkness. The lights around the parking lot flickered on, bathing the car in a dim light. It provided enough visibility to see Jesse’s body as she lay in the rear on her side, facing the back seats to reduce the chance of Marconi identifying her later.

  I got out and leaned through the open back window. “Are you ready?”

  “Sure.” She sat up and reached out to adjust my moustache. “Your disguise is falling apart.” Her touch was warm and comforting; her hands didn’t tremble like mine. She must have had more confidence in me than I did.

  I walked around the opposite side of the building and entered the bar. Small groups formed around a series of high-top tables in the center of the elongated room. The clientele consisted of an interesting mix of college kids, business people, and bikers. I ordered a Jack and Coke and inquired about Marconi. The bartender nodded toward the opening in the rear room containing several billiards tables. I dropped a ten dollar bill on the bar counter next to my untouched drink and headed towards the billiards room.

  I picked Marconi out immediately. He sat on a bar stool, drink in hand, between two pretty women. He wore a white dress shirt, dark casual slacks, and expensive loafers on his slender frame. Heavy gold jewelry adorned his skinny neck, ear, and wrist, the weight of which would have put him at risk of drowning in a deep body of water. I almost laughed at the gold cross lying on his chest. The most questionable of characters threw a cross around their neck as if it would absolve them of their sins. He chuckled, his pencil thin mustache to crest, as two large brutes, apparently members of his support staff, attempted to play pool. They came to attention on my approach.

  “Mr. Marconi?”

  “Who are you?” He sneered and studied my wardrobe.

  “I’m Jack. I called yesterday.”

  He smiled and held out his hand. “Joey Marconi.” He said it mechanically like he enjoyed hearing the rhyme in his voice. He got up from the stool. “Excuse me, girls.”

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go outside.” He motioned to the pool players who put the cue sticks down and began to follow us back to the rear bar entrance.

  I stopped and glanced at his two sidekicks. “Hey Joey, this is real embarrassing for me. I’d prefer not to have an audience.”

  Joey examined me for a moment and nodded to the largest of the bodyguards. “Check him.” The man started toward me before Joey grabbed him by the shirt. “Not here in front of everyone, you idiot.” Joey motioned with his head back towards the billiards room. We retreated back to the room where the bruiser patted me down and announced, “He’s clean.”

  Joey nodded. “Okay Jack, let’s go.” He turned. “You guys go back to the game. I’ll call if I need you.” I marveled at his self-assurance and wished I could feel the same. Had his bodyguards escorted us, I would have had to abandon my plan or things would have gotten ugly.

  We went through the back door into the parking lot. “Where is she?”

  “She’s passed out in the backseat of my car.”

  “Perfect. We can pull up a vehicle and drop her right inside.”

  We walked to the car and he peered inside. He whistled. “She’s got some body. No wonder you was cheatin’ on your wife. I woulda gotten rid of the wife.”

  “Too expensive.”

  “I hear ya. You got the cash?”

  “In the glove compartment.” I opened the passenger door and the light went on. A glance back confirmed Joey’s preoccupation with Jesse’s legs, now exposed all the way to her rose-colored thong panties revealing the majority of her left butt cheek. I had counted on his being distracted by the view, as I removed my gun left in the glove compartment in anticipation of them frisking me.

  “Here you go.”

  Joey continued to peer intently through the rear window despite the promise of the 5K. He finally turned and f
ound the muzzle of my gun in his face. “You yell and I’ll smash your face. The girls won’t like that.” I grabbed him by his shirt collar, pulling him over behind the dumpster under a light on the corner of the adjacent building. I turned him around and pushed him against the wall, patted him down, and removed a gun from his belt, tossing it into the dumpster.

  “You’re a dead man.” Marconi raged. The veins in his neck bulged.

  “Not if I kill you first. I’m going to make this really easy for you. I have a picture of a girl. You tell me where she is and I leave you alone.” Holding the gun on him, I pulled the picture of Sarah from my suit pocket, and handed it to him so he could see it under the light. He turned and studied the photo.

  “Yeah, I remember her. Pretty little thing. Messed up like your girlfriend, if that’s a true story. I sold her to a pimp in L.A.”

  “You gotta name?”

  “I’ll tell you, but he’ll torture and kill you before you get near her. He’ll probably do the same to me.”

  “Name.”

  “He goes by the nickname ‘Junky’.” The name made my stomach clutch and bile rise to my throat. My knees buckled with the memory, the gun wavered in my hand. Joey noticed. “Yeah, you know who I’m talkin’ about, don’t you? You’re making a big mistake.”

  My instincts told me to get out of there fast. I backed off while still holding the gun on him until I reached the car. Joey started moving for the back door as I slid in and started the car. “Stay down, Jesse.”

  I backed up, swung the car around in the parking lot, and accelerated out onto 4th street just as Joey’s thugs were exiting the back door into the parking lot. Joey was yelling to them and an image of them running and pulling out their guns flashed across the rearview mirror as the car squealed through a right turn onto 4th street. Punching the gas, I yelled again for Jesse to stay down as a bullet winged the sideview mirror and a pop from a second bullet took out a rear light. The speedometer hit 65 as I headed for downtown and my office. They didn’t seem to be following, but I wasn’t taking any chances. “Are you okay, Jesse?”