The Scorpion, page 11
And why was Kristen even here? She’d all but given up on the Romero case, having pushed it to the back of her mind weeks ago. Why would the Brownsville Police Department come looking for her now?
“All done?”
Marty nodded as she neatly folded the USB cable and slipped it inside her bag. “I want to know what’s going on.”
“Not now,Marty.We’ve got to get someplace safer than this.”
“Yes, now,” she said. She met Kristen’s eyes across the table, waiting. “Please. I have a right to know why someone’s trying to kill me.”
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on. Lieutenant Marsh and Captain Diaz called me aside, said they’d been working the case. They said you’d uncovered something and you were willing to come back, but you wanted an escort. Me.” She shrugged. “So they sent me to get you.”
“But that’s not true. I’ve not had any contact—”
“I know that now.”She stood.“We can talk about this tonight. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here.” Kristen reached for the phones, pocketing both. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Shuttle. Do you know the routes?”
“Not really. I usually walk. There’s a beach shuttle. And there’s one that goes downtown. One to the airport, of course.”
“Let’s go downtown. More people.”
Marty followed and didn’t protest when Kristen grasped her hand. She ignored the curious stares of others and tried to pretend it was perfectly normal for her to walk down the street in Gulfport holding hands with another woman. Kristen was trying to appear nonchalant, but Marty could feel her nervousness as she constantly glanced over her shoulder. She wondered if the cell phones were acting like a beacon, enabling the killers to zero in on them. Her mind flashed to spy movies and tracking devices, and she squeezed Kristen’s hand just a little harder.
“Almost there,” Kris said as she hurried them along. The shuttle had just pulled to a stop and they waited while others departed before getting on. Kris led them to the back, near the side exit door. She pulled the phones out and held them, waiting until the shuttle was in motion before bending over and wedging
the phones between the wall and the legs of the seat.
“So they’ll track the phones, thinking we still have them.”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think they’re tracking us with the phones?”
“Because it’s an easy means of tracking. Of course, if you’ve been using credit cards down here, that’s easy to track too. They had to have found you some way.”
Marty stared at her. “I hate this spy stuff.”
Kristen leaned back in her seat and appeared to relax. “So, how have you been?”
She smiled. “Oh, so now we take time for pleasantries?” She bumped Kristen’s shoulder. “Well, I haven’t been shot at since the last time I saw you.”
“Why Gulfport?”
Marty shrugged. “I don’t know, really. I was feeling paranoid and was afraid to go home. I switched flights from the one your lieutenant made for me. Stopped over in New Orleans, rented a car, got a map and here I am.”
“A beach house that’s not on the beach?”
“I enjoyed our short time down on the bay, enjoyed being near the water. But I found a house right on the beach was out of my price range, so I got the next best thing.”
“It’s probably best you were paranoid. Whatever’s going on, Marsh is definitely in the mix.”
“What happened? I mean, when I left, I thought everything was settled. Well, not the Romero case, certainly, but the attacks on us. On me.”
“That’s just it. Everything was settled too quickly, too neat. There wasn’t any investigation as to why you were being targeted. There wasn’t a consideration to try to link Carlos Romero’s murder. Nothing.” The shuttle came to a stop, and Kristen nudged her arm. “Let’s get off here.”
Back on the street, they walked in silence until Kristen ducked into a pharmacy. Marty followed, then laughed as Kris held up a cheap box of hair color.
“Are you insane?”
Kris ignored her. “You want brown or red?”
“Seriously, you want me to color my hair?” She ran her fingers through it, knowing it was past time for a trim, but her color would last another few weeks. “I pay a fortune for this lovely blond look. I don’t care to go back to my natural brown.”
“Yeah? And how do you think I’ll look bleach blond?”
Marty was surprised at the seriousness of her tone. She took her hand, lowering the box of hair color. “Is this really necessary? I mean, what are we doing, going on the run or something?”
“Your rented beach house just got shot up as if we were part of a mafia hit. I suspect my own lieutenant of being involved.” She looked around quickly, then back to Marty. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. Not yet. I only know I trust you and I trust me. That’s it. That doesn’t leave a lot of options.”
“Okay. Then we need to sit down and go over everything and see if we can come up with an explanation. See if we can figure out what triggered this.” She pulled a box of light brown color off the shelf. “I don’t like this hair coloring thing one bit. But if I must, I’ll go no darker than this.”
“Deal. Let’s find a room—a cheap motel—and talk this out.”
“Does it have to be cheap?” Marty asked as she followed after Kristen, rolling her eyes as she picked up two toothbrushes and a small tube of paste.
“Cheap means no surveillance cameras.”
“Oh, God, we really are in a spy movie, aren’t we? Do I at least get clean underwear?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bailey closed the door and locked it, then went to the window and looked out, making sure they hadn’t been followed. She had chosen this time, at near dusk, before the outside lights were turned on, in the hope of being less conspicuous. It wasn’t like they had luggage.
She turned to survey the room, finding Marty standing near the lone bed, looking at it suspiciously. The cover was stained and rumpled, the pillows looked slept on. Their eyes met, then both slid a glance to the oversized chair against the wall.
“I’ll take the chair,” they said in unison.
Marty laughed. “Seriously, I got the bed the last time we bunked together.” She pointed to the bed in question. “You take it this time. I insist.”
“That’s very kind of you. But I’m the one with the gun. I should probably take the chair so I can keep watch.” She went to the bed and pulled the covers back. “See? Looks clean.”
“No way. This motel probably rents by the hour.” She opened the tiny door to the bathroom. “Okay. And no way am I taking a shower in here.” She turned back around. “Seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a rat or three dart across the room.”
“I’m sorry. But we needed an out-of-the-way place without surveillance, not the Hilton.” She peered over Marty’s shoulder into the tiny bathroom and grimaced. The sink was rusted around the fixtures and a steady drip fell from the faucet. The linoleum was chipped and curling at the edges, the tiles in the shower stained with mildew. “Yikes.”
“So, we won’t sleep and we won’t shower.” Marty put her hands on her hips. “I’m starving, by the way.”
“Okay, so this wasn’t a great idea,” Bailey conceded. She held up the paper bag. “We have clean toothbrushes.”
“All right. Let’s talk. Let’s come up with a plan. Then let’s get the hell out of here. I’d rather get shot at than stay here any longer than necessary.”
Bailey nodded. “Okay. Take the chair. Let’s talk.” She pulled the covers all the way off the bed, revealing a semi-clean sheet before sitting down.
“First of all, are you sure we shouldn’t call the police down here? The FBI? Someone? Surely they’ve been to the beach house. It’s probably on the news. For all I know, I’m listed as a missing person.”
Bailey stared at her, finally raising an eyebrow.
“You think I’ve seen too many TV shows?”
“You think?”
“No FBI?”
“What are we going to tell them? That my police department is trying to kill us? You think they might call them to check on that? So what do you think my department is going to say?”
“That you’re smokin’ crack and out of your mind?”
“Something like that, yes.” Bailey leaned forward. “Marty, we’re pretty much on our own on this one.”
“Who was the man who attacked me at the beach house?” Marty asked suddenly.
“Armando Lopez. Los Demonios Rojos. Here’s where they— my department—dropped the ball. Lopez had a record an arm long, starting when he was an early teen. Armed robbery, assault, drugs, weapons charges, breaking and entering, possession to sell, you name it. But in the last five years, clean.”
“Clean?”
“No arrests. Which I’m told means he was high enough up in the gang that he didn’t have to do the dirty work any longer. At least, not the petty dirty work. Which leads to the question, why was he sent to kill you? Why not an underling? How high up was he and who called the hit?” Bailey got up and paced. “And why? Too many questions, yet they weren’t interested in answering them.” She paused. “Something else. The knife he was using, it had a scorpion engraved in the handle.”
“So this gang, Los Demonios Rojos, is the Scorpion? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I don’t know. No one else thought it was significant. At least, not when I brought it up. And I couldn’t get any answers from anyone. I asked my partner, Marcos, about the Scorpion. He wouldn’t talk about it. So I went to Juan Vargas.”
“One of the original detectives on Carlos’s case, right?” Marty asked.
“Right. He wouldn’t give me the time of day. You could see the fear in his eyes. Said he wouldn’t talk about anything unless Marsh was present. And the evidence box was checked out. I wanted to pull it, to see if you missed something. Reyes told me it was ‘classified,’ meaning I didn’t need to know who had it checked out.”
“Marsh?”
“Most likely. That’s when they came to me with this bullshit story about you wanting to come back.”
“And they said I’d been in contact with them?”
Bailey nodded.
“But Kris, surely you knew I’d get in touch with you first. Right?”
Bailey shrugged and sat down again. “After the attack, I thought maybe you wanted to remove yourself from that. And
me, because I was too close to it.”
“You saved my life.”
“I did what I was supposed to do. My job. That’s all, Marty.”
“No. I have no doubt that if I had been with anyone else, I would have died that night. I think you know that too.”
Yes, as Marty had said before, it had come down to a split second. And in that split second, there was not anyone else she would have trusted to take the shot, to make the shot. Actually, as she thought back on it now, was that the plan? To have Marty killed under her watch?
She met Marty’s eyes. “They didn’t think I could do the job,” she said quietly. “They haven’t let me be a cop, so they have no idea what my skills are.” She stood again, pacing. “That’s it. To them, I’m just a woman with a gun. They don’t know I’m a sharpshooter. They don’t know I scored highest in my class. They don’t know I used to work undercover in narcotics. Hell, they probably never read my damn file. I transferred in, I pissed them off. End of story.” She stood in front of Marty. “That’s why they sent me this time. They wanted us both out of the way. I’ve been asking too many questions. Carlos Romero was a case that wasn’t going to go away. Or so they thought. So send me after you, get us both together. Eliminate us. Have it look like a hit. After all, a gang has targeted us. They’ve tried to kill us before. It’s just all so neat. Case closed. No questions asked.”
“But why, Kris? Why is that case worth our lives? What is that case hiding?”
“I don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”
* * *
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” Marty asked. Sure, it was nearly midnight, but Wal-Mart was still busy. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t be seen.
“We should be fine.” Kris pulled her into the shadows of the building and pressed something cold into her hand. Her weapon.
“Take this.”
Marty shook her head. “No. I can’t—”
“Marty, I can’t very well walk into the store with it, now can I?”
“Oh. I thought—”
Kris gave a lopsided smile as she walked away. “Don’t shoot anybody.”
Marty wasn’t exactly wearing clothing conducive to hiding a gun. She pulled her T-shirt out of her shorts and tucked the gun into her waistband, praying she wouldn’t accidentally shoot herself. She knew little to nothing about guns. Of course, hiding in the shadows probably wasn’t a great way to avoid suspicion. She nonchalantly walked to the outdoor garden center, her backpack slung over one shoulder, and pretended interest in the display of flowers. There was no one about. She wished she could transfer the gun into her already stuffed backpack, but she didn’t want to risk being seen. She continued walking, her nerves on edge, expecting a security guard to come up and question her at any moment.
After what seemed like hours, she spotted Kris pushing a cart out of the store. She raised her hand, getting her attention, then went to meet her.
“Have fun?”
“A blast.” Kris pushed the cart out to the parking lot, then grabbed three bags and handed them to Marty before getting the rest. “Let’s just walk away. How much longer until the next shuttle?”
Marty glanced at her watch. “Twenty minutes.”
“Okay. That’ll give us time to eat. I got a couple of deli sandwiches. Can’t guarantee how fresh they are.”
“I’ll eat anything. I’m starving.”
They sat on the shuttle bench, and while Kris sorted through the bags looking for something, she ripped into the plastic-wrapped sandwich and took a bite. She nodded. “Fresh enough.”
She pointed to a box Kris held. “What?”
“I got a phone. One of those disposable ones.”
“It won’t be traced?”
“No. Besides, we won’t have it long enough. But I need to make a call.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” Kris stood. “I won’t go far.”
Marty nodded, wondering why Kristen suddenly needed privacy for a phone call.
* * *
Bailey waited, letting it ring five, then six times. She knew he didn’t use voice mail. He either took your call or he didn’t. And being this late, chances were he wouldn’t. If not, she’d try again in the morning. Finally, after eleven rings, a sleepy voice answered.
“This better be good.”
She smiled. “Hey, Rico. It’s me. Bailey.”
There was only a slight pause, then she heard covers rustling, imagining him getting up quietly so as not to disturb his wife. “What the hell?” he whispered. “I haven’t heard from you in two years.”
“I know. I’m in trouble. I need help.”
“Of course, Bailey. Anything for you. Where are you? Still in Brownsville?”
“Well, at the moment, I’m in Gulfport.”
“Alabama?”
“Mississippi.”
“Same difference. I have contacts, Bailey, but not in Mississippi. Tell me what you need.”
“First, I need a car. Then…then I need to go under.”
“What kind of trouble are you in, Bailey?”
“I’m not sure. Apparently there’s a price on my head.”
“And the police can’t protect you?”
“I suspect they’re involved.”
A laugh. “I told you never trust the police. Can you make it to New Orleans?”
“Not unless I steal a car. I don’t want to rent one. I don’t want a trace.”
“Bus?”
“Too dangerous.”
He laughed again. “Guess you’ll have to steal one, then. You probably haven’t done that in a while. Don’t forget to switch plates.”
“Yeah. And this phone won’t be good after tonight.” She looked over at Marty, who was watching her with interest. “One more thing. There’re two of us. We’ll both need to go under.”
“Credit cards, driver’s license, passport? The works?”
“Three for each.”
“Male or female?”
“Female. And I need money. I’ve got an account. It’s joint with my mother. Can you find it?”
“Of course, Bailey.”
“Transfer ten grand to a safe account.”
“No problem. Now here’s what you do. In New Orleans, there’s a bar on the far west end, past the French Quarter. Mostly locals. No tourists. It’s a Creole bar. Decoudreau’s.”
“I’ll find it.”
“I’ll have someone meet you there. Noon. He’ll have a clean car and take yours. Drive straight through to Corpus. I’ll have everything ready for you.”
“Thanks, Rico. I owe you.”
“No, Bailey. You’ll never owe me. Be safe, my friend.”
The call ended, and Bailey stared at the phone for a second as old, old memories crowded in. She and Rico Ramos went all the way back to high school, two kids from different sides of the tracks. Two kids who had formed an unlikely bond. A bond that followed them from school, to the streets, to the police force and back to the streets. She took a bullet for him once. She did it out of love, but it was an act he felt indebted to her for. She’d never called in a favor before. That’s why now, when she needed to trust someone, Rico was who she turned to.
“Everything okay?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Better.” She took the water bottle Marty handed to her but shook her head at the sandwich. “Maybe later.”
“I peeked through the bags.”
“Yeah?”
“Hair clippers. Baseball cap. Water bottles. A few T-shirts.” Marty grinned.
“And…underwear?”
“I promised you clean ones. And there’re some jeans for you.”
“Great guess on the size, by the way.”
