Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [54]
“Luis Abrego. He has a mostacho.” Her fingers illustrated its length and curve. “Very long hair.” Hands at shoulder level. “And the skin, very dark.”
“Thank you. I’ll talk with him.”
“Thank you.” She rose and gently touched the bills on the coffee table. “This money will make many things possible.”
* * *
When I got back to the Scout, I found John slumped in his seat, morosely watching a couple of kids who were sifting through the trash in a can in front of one of the nearby houses. “Christ,” he said as I got in, “one of them ate some moldy bread he found there. All I could think of is how I’d feel if my boys were that hungry.”
“Well, they’ve never been and, God willing, won’t ever be.”
“No. But these shouldn’t be, either.” He straightened up. “You find out anything?”
I told him what Ana Orozco had told me. “It’s a little after four now,” I concluded, “so I have time to run you home before I go to the Tradewinds and talk with Luis Abrego.”
John folded his arms and set his jaw. “I told you before, you’re not running around down here without me.”
“John, what do you think I’ve been doing—”
“All these years—I know. So humor me.”
I sighed. John took it for assent and perked right up. “Brockowitz,” he said. “Weird name.”
“Definitely not Hispanic, which knocks a hole in the theory that Mourning’s kidnappers were Mexican nationals. Of course it could be an assumed name, or someone fronting for the kidnappers. On the other hand, we have only what Hy told Gage Renshaw about the accent of the contact woman to back up that theory, anyway. Hy’s very good with languages, but I wonder if a telephone voice is really enough to base an assumption like that on. But then there’s this other name—Ann Navarro. Probably Hispanic, except the first name’s anglicized, so who knows? Ana was definite about it being Ann. I’m pretty sure she’s on the level, but I’d feel a lot better if I knew something about this Luis Abrego before I—” I broke off because John was staring at me, mouth agape. “What?”
“You talk things over with yourself like that a lot?”
“A fair amount, but usually just inside my head. With you here, though … well, you’re sort of like the cat.”
“What? I’m what?”
“When one of the cats is around, I think aloud. Doesn’t seem so silly if there’s something to listen.”
“Something.”
“Or someone. Look, do you want to make yourself useful?”
“I’m not sure, since the cat comment.”
“Well, do it anyway. Call Pete and ask him to check with the guy at the Holiday Market. I want to know if it’s okay for me to tell Abrego he—what’s his name?”
“Vic.”
“If it’s okay to tell Abrego that Vic sent me, just in case saying Ana sent me doesn’t work. And also have Pete ask Vic if he knows anything about Abrego, Navarro, or Brockowitz. Got that?”
“Yes, boss.” John unfolded his long frame from the Scout. “I saw a convenience store with an intact pay phone right around the corner. Will you be okay if I leave you alone here?”
“I’ll fend off any muggers by running them over.”
As soon as he was out of sight, though, I began to feel uneasy—that particular brand of unease that makes me suspect somebody’s watching me. I glanced in the rearview mirror, checked out both side mirrors. No one in any of the parked vehicles, no one in any of the overgrown little yards. Just the waving branches of the pepper trees. The ragged kids had vanished. The feeling persisted, however, and I slipped down in the seat. Even on a bright summer afternoon, this shabby little dead-end street had pockets of shadow—pockets where a watcher could hide.
Don’t get overimaginative, I cautioned myself. RKI hadn’t known where I was at nearly two o’clock when one of their operatives tailed Rae downhill to the Remedy. It was doubtful they’d been able to trace me through John this fast, given that his identity was hidden behind that of Mr. Paint. I’d covered my trail perfectly.
Hadn’t I?
When John opened the passenger-side door, I jerked violently. “Scared?” he asked in mocking tones.
“Shut up. What did you find out?”
“Okay to use Vic’s name. Neither he nor Pete knows anything