Wolf in the Shadows - Marcia Muller [58]
Abrego came back to the booth. Salazar would see us, he said, but not until ten-thirty. “You can meet me here at ten, and I’ll take you to him.”
“I thought you were waiting to hear about a job,” I said.
“That?” He moved a hand, pushing it away. “I gave it to another member of my organization.”
“I don’t want to keep you from—”
“You’re not. I didn’t want to make the trip, not after Sunday night. It was only for Ana I was doing it. But since you gave her the money, I don’t have to.” He paused, looking indecisive. After a moment he sat down and said, “I gotta tell you—Marty Salazar’s not a guy you or anybody else want to go see alone. But with me and what I got on him … well, he’s gonna act like a real gentleman.”
“Tell me about Salazar. You called him slime.”
“Too good a word for him, really. Salazar’s got his fingers into everything down here and in Tijuana—drugs, girls, porn, fake documentation, you name it. He’ll buy and sell anything or anybody for the right price. Do anything, too. He slithers around like a rattler looking to strike, and when he sees his chance …” Abrego’s hand flashed out and grabbed my wrist in an apt imitation of a snake.
“You think he’ll tell me what went down on the mesa?” I asked.
Abrego considered. “He’ll tell you something. Part of it’ll be true, part’ll be lies. You keep what you can use, throw the rest away.”
I nodded, then looked at my watch. “Thanks for setting it up, Luis. I’ll meet you here at ten, then.”
“I’ll be outside. Gray Dodge, kinda beat up. You’ll follow me.”
* * *
When we got back to the Scout, John asked, “What do you want to do now?”
“I don’t know. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know. You hungry?”
“Not really.”
“Ought to eat—and we’ve got a lot of time to kill.”
“We,” I muttered, too worn down to fight it.
“I know what. Take the freeway north. There’s a good burger place on Harbor Drive; they make them big and cheap.”
One thing about my brother—he’ll never become a food snob.
* * *
When we left what could loosely be termed a restaurant, it wasn’t yet eight. The big, cheap burger sat in my stomach like a lump of clay. “Now what?” John asked. “Any ideas?”
“No.”
“You got to stop worrying.”
“Well, that’s not likely to happen, is it? And now that I think of it, there is something I want to do: go for a walk on the beach.”
“Now? Why?”
“I still head for water when I’m upset.”
“Okay, then we’ll walk on the beach. Which one?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
In the end we cut over to Ocean Beach at Point Loma, where John used to hang out before he married, trying to pick up girls. The area is typical southern California beach community: shabby apartment buildings and bungalows—some stucco, some wood or shingled, all weathered by salt and the elements. We parked and walked across the sand toward the water, skirting a bunch of teenagers who were playing volleyball. The tide was out, and I wandered along the wet, hard-packed sand, gradually pulling ahead of John. After I passed the first lifeguard tower, he lagged behind, apparently sensing my need to be left alone. I unbound my hair and let the cool breeze play with it, took in great gulps of fresh air.
And tried once again for a connection to Hy. Tried and failed, as I had the other times.
After a bit I quickened my pace and moved briskly in an attempt to shake my foreboding. All that did was get the adrenaline pumping, but not in a good way, and I cast suspicious glances at persons I encountered. I’d intended to walk all the way to the O.B. Pier, but finally I turned and ran back to where John sat on the sand, leaning against the guard tower.
“Let’s get out of here,” I told him.
He checked his watch. “Might as well head back down to National City. If we’re early, we can just sit till Luis shows up.”
Back at the Scout, I found my nerves were so shot that I was afraid I’d be a menace behind the wheel, so I asked John if he wanted to drive. He climbed in and took over—master of his own vehicle once more. I sighed, wondering why I’d bothered to fight him in the first place. As in all the minor skirmishes of his life,