The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [71]
“I honestly don’t know where my client is,” Tredwell replied in answer to Clayton’s question.
“He’s wanted for questioning as a material witness,” Clayton said.
“I know that,” Tredwell said tersely, leaning back in his chair. “I spoke to the DA earlier today about the matter. But I can’t inform my client until he contacts me.”
“Has he left town permanently?”
“You could assume that,” Tredwell replied.
“And why should I assume that?”
“Good question,” Tredwell said sarcastically.
“Answer it,” Clayton said. He hated the snippy little word games so many Anglos liked to play. His sharpness with Tredwell earned him a serious look.
“He put his property up for sale and gave me a power of attorney to handle the transaction,” Tredwell said.
“How do you contact him?”
“I don’t,” Tredwell answered. “He said he would call once he got settled.”
“And you haven’t heard from him?”
“If I had, I would have told the district attorney.”
“Where did he go?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Not even a hint?”
“South,” Tredwell replied. “He said he would be traveling south.”
There was a casino outside of El Paso and a racetrack nearby, just inside the New Mexico state line. It made sense that Staggs would want to relocate close to the action, where he could set up shop and draw business.
“Did he mention any plans to visit El Paso?” Clayton asked.
“No, he did not.”
“How did Staggs pay your fee?” Clayton asked.
“That’s none of your business,” Tredwell replied.
Clayton smiled. “If he paid in cash, I’m sure you won’t forget to report it to the IRS.”
“We’re done here,” Tredwell said, unwinding himself from the chair.
Clayton nodded in agreement, left, and paused to see Grace at work to tell her he would be gone overnight. Her classroom was filled with happy, noisy children who were finger painting on large sheets of newsprint spread out on low tables. From the doorway Clayton caught Grace’s eye and motioned for her to approach. The room fell silent as the children watched as Grace came close and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Several children giggled. He told her what was up.
“You promised Wendell and Hannah a phone call to Kerney tonight,” Grace said.
“It can wait for a day or two.”
“That’s not fair,” Grace replied. “It may not be a big deal to you, but it is to them.”
“You can call Kerney. It doesn’t have to be me.”
“I’d prefer if you did it,” Grace said.
“Not tonight,” Clayton said with a shake of his head.
“You can’t keep running away from the fact that Kerney is your father,” Grace said.
“I’m not. Tell him I wanted to call but couldn’t.”
“Do you mean that?” Grace asked.
“Half and half,” Clayton replied with a weak smile. “He’s not an easy man to talk to.”
“Neither are you,” Grace said, squeezing his hand. “I’ll call him.”
Clayton kissed his wife and left to the sounds of tittering children. He fired up the engine of his unit, thinking his best move, given what he’d learned at Rojas’s mountain retreat and from Tredwell, would be to get a handle on the girlfriend and then start looking for Staggs in El Paso.
Ramona Piño got the lowdown on The Players Green Club & Restaurant from Jeff Vialpando. It wasn’t an ordinary sports bar. High-class and expensive, it had opened less than a year ago in a new building in the Northeast Heights, and catered to young, affluent singles who lived in the town homes and condominiums close by.
The grand opening had been attended by the mayor, several city councillors, a couple of state legislators, and some important local business leaders.
Within several months narcotics agents were hearing street talk about drug dealing at the club, and vice cops were getting rumors of illegal Las Vegas-style betting on televised athletic events. Weeks of outside surveillance had identified only two known drug dealers who frequented the club on a regular basis. Undercover cops posing as customers saw no evidence of dealing or illegal