Devil's Harbor (10 page)

It was a Friday night in the middle of football season. On the Toshibas, a panel of pundits was discussing Sunday's games. Finn and Diego were discussing Finn's situation. When Finn told his friend about Glenn's phone call, Diego wasn't surprised.

“The DMO never had your back,” said Diego. “You know why they brought him in, an outsider? Because he's supposed to be media savvy. He was supposed to give the branch a makeover. Now three months into the job, he's got a runaway story about a trigger-happy agent? Please. He's throwing you to the wolves.”

Finn said nothing.

“Of course when they call me up to testify,” continued Diego, “I'll tell them what I saw, end of story. Perez went up that flybridge, came out with a gun, and fired. Then you fired back. Then he went into the water. I was
there;
that's
what happened and that's what I'll tell them.”

Diego drank from his bottle. Finn toyed with his Schweppes. Without looking, he saw the bourbon on the top shelf behind the bar.

“You sure it was a gun?” he said.

Mid-swig, Diego swiveled his neck in Finn's direction and said, “You're kidding, right?”

Finn ground his teeth. “There
was
a lot of smoke. And the light
was
bad.”

Diego stared at Finn. Finn looked at the counter.

Diego said, “You feeling all right, Finn?”

“Fine.”

“I mean, you need to talk about what happened…?”

“That's what we're doing, isn't it? Aren't we talking about it right now?” said Finn, sounding sharper than he'd intended.

Diego put down his beer. “Sure. All right. Whatever you want.” Then he added, “What did Mona say about it?”

“I haven't told her yet. She's in Sacramento at a committee hearing.”

Diego hesitated, then said, “You know a lot of people hate her, right? Her doing what she does, working for that not-for-profit, all the trouble she's caused CBP? The lawsuits? You made it hard for yourself, marrying my sister.”

Finn thought for a moment and said, “She's
your
sister. Doesn't it make it hard for you?”

Diego smiled. “Yeah, but you can't choose your sister. You get married, you've only got yourself to blame. Everybody knows that.”

“This from a guy's been married twice,” said Finn.

“Exactly. You should learn from my mistakes. Now I live with my dogs, life is simple. I've got no problems.”

Finn smiled.
No problems. Right.

“You're a real lady-killer, Diego. I can't understand why your wives left you.”

Diego grinned. “The first one left because of the second one. There was an overlap.”

Finn said nothing, waited for the punchline.

Diego paused, getting his timing right, then said, “And the second one, she liked me better when I was married to the first one.”

It wasn't the first time he'd heard Diego deliver that line, but Finn gave him the laugh anyway.

“Mona's right,” he said. “You
are
a moron.”

Diego chuckled. “You marry a woman like my sister, there was always going to be trouble. I've been arguing with her my whole
life
. She is
righteous
.”

Finn shook his head. “We never argue. Not like that,” he said.

Diego's eyebrows popped up and he said, “Sure, okay. Whatever. What I'm trying to say is, you're a Customs and Border Protection agent and she's a … what do you call it?”

“An advocate?”

“Yeah. An advocate for illegals. So, you know, opposite sides. Look, I'm only saying this because you're my favorite brother-in-law.”

“I'm your
only
brother-in-law.”

“Don't pick nits. My point is, as far as the CBP is concerned, you're sleeping with the enemy. So Glenn is a career guy. A civilian, like me. He came over from ICE, right? Worked his whole life in Homeland Security in one branch or another, working his way up? Now he's got a directorship, he's up there in his office, he's got all these field guys under him, most of them ex-military, not giving him any respect; he's got to make his mark somehow, right, if he wants to make commissioner someday? So if one of his guys is accused of shooting dead an unarmed suspect, and it turns out the guy is the
husband
of the attorney who's brought more excessive-force lawsuits against the CBP than anyone outside Arizona, then—”

“You think he's going after
Mona
?” Finn interrupted.

“I think Glenn needed someone to hang out to dry. If you go down for shooting Perez, he can tell the media he got rid of the rotten apple in the station. At the same time, he can tell his higher-ups in Washington how he got rid of a thorn in the CBP's side, because if her own husband goes down for excessive force or even murder, Mona's got no credibility left, does she?”

Finn stared at him. He wondered if he had heard right.
“Murder?”
he said.

Diego was deadly serious. “That's what people are saying they'll charge you with, Finn. Remember those border-patrol guys in Texas, shot that dope smuggler in the ass? He claimed he was unarmed, they couldn't prove otherwise, they got put away for twelve years. And he
admitted
he was a dope smuggler.”

“Didn't the president commute their sentences?”

“You're gonna bet your life on that?”

Finn remembered what Mona had said after he'd told her about shooting Perez:
“You're not in a war zone anymore.”
And that other thing, too:
“The system's broken.”

This nightmare could ruin his life, Mona's, and even Diego's, he thought. He wished he could make the whole thing go away. He glanced up at the top shelf.

“It's a bummer. Anyway, whatever happens, you know you can count on me, right?” said Diego. “And on Mona, too, obviously. Actually,
especially
on Mona. She can be a pain in the ass, but she's the most determined person I know.” As an afterthought, he added, “Like a dog with lockjaw. And I mean that as a compliment.”

Finn straightened, patted his friend on the back. “Thank you,” he said.

Diego nodded. He gave Finn a look, like he wanted to say something more. Whatever it was stayed unsaid.

“Mona got a lead on
La Catrina,
” said Finn. He told Diego what he'd learned from Mrs. Gavrilia down at the Self Help.

“So let me get this straight,” said Diego, “She's saying those boys went aboard
La Catrina,
then … what?”

“Exactly,” said Finn. “No one knows.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

Then Finn said, “We found Espendoza's body in the same patch of water as
La Catrina
.”

Diego looked doubtful. “Espendoza was from East L.A., not Mexico. And we found them almost two weeks apart. If he came off
La Catrina,
no way we would've found him after two weeks. Not with all those sharks around.”

Finn nodded. He wanted it to be coincidence. But his gut told him differently.

“I called Espendoza's probation officer,” said Diego. “She confirmed that he definitely'd been on the streets, messing up, trying hard to become a gangbanger. She said she would notify his mother. It's too bad. Kid was only sixteen.”

“What about the father?”

“Far as I know, there isn't one.”

He'd lost his father when he was Espendoza's age, and he'd gone off the rails, too, Finn thought. He glanced up at the TV. In a replay, the Cowboys' offense was setting up a shotgun formation. The pundits, with all the genius of hindsight, were explaining why it had been a bad idea.

Diego continued, “I told the probation officer we found him out in the channel and right away she says, ‘I knew he shouldn't have gone on that boat. He couldn't swim.'”

Finn turned away from the game. “What boat?” he said.

“Part of the deal to stay out of juvenile was, the kid had to get a job. He wasn't in school, obviously. She said he'd found a gig on a commercial fishing boat out of San Pedro called the
Pacific Belle,
operates out of the commercial port just down the road here. So I called the port authority. They said the
Pacific Belle
came in Wednesday morning, six
A.M
.”

“Six
A.M.
Right after we lost—”

“The phantom's signal. Right.”

“You check if—”

“Anyone called in missing crew? I checked with the coast guard. No one did. So I dropped by the port on the way here and found the boat, but there was no one aboard. I asked around the rest of the fleet, but they're a tight-lipped bunch, those fishermen.”

“Should be easy enough to figure out who owns her,” said Finn. “Just call the DMV, get her registration.” He nodded in Cutts's direction. “Meantime, we can ask the Irishman what he knows.”

Cutts, behind the bar in a short-sleeved white shirt, was sliding glasses into racks. Finn, who hadn't seen him for a year and a half, was shocked by how much the man had aged. The Irishman seemed a decade older. He was moving slowly and avoided bending, as though favoring a wound in his gut. He hadn't shaved, and the ash-gray stubble on his pale face was doing nothing to cloak his pockmarks. Finn had never seen Cutts unshaved before. The man was usually meticulous about his appearance. He looked pale and gaunt, frail despite the coarsened tattoo, visible on his left forearm, of a Kalashnikov underscored with the words
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM,
and of some words scrolled in Irish under a Celtic knot with a ship in it on his right arm. Finn had once asked him what the words meant. “There's hope from the sea but none from land,” Cutts had told him.

Diego signaled Cutts over and ordered another round.

Cutts put a Dos Equis in front of Diego. Then he used the soda gun to fill a glass with club soda. “And another soda for the lady,” he said.

Finn let it go. “You ever heard of a smuggler called
La Catrina
? A sport fisher, going into Catalina, maybe?” he said.

Cutts wiped the counter. “Smuggling what?”

“We were hoping you'd tell us,” said Diego.

“I never heard of
any
smuggling boat going to Catalina. What would be the point?”

Cutts winced, reached for his side.

He hasn't answered the question,
Finn thought. “You feeling all right?” he said.

“I'm fine. Some trouble with my insides, is all.”

“Nothing serious, I hope?” said Diego

Cutts flipped his bar rag over his shoulder and scowled. “For a while there I thought I was going to fulfill Mrs. Cutts's dearest wish and die. But then last week I had an operation, and the doctors put things right. I got out of the hospital this morning. The doctors told me I have a few more years in me yet.”

“Never believe what doctors tell you, Cutts. You're going to die,” said Finn.

“Here's to Mrs. Cutts,” said Diego, raising his beer, “May all her prayers be answered.”

“I didn't hear anything about your boat, lad,” said Cutts, looking at Finn, “but while I was in the hospital I did see on the news how a marine interdiction agent shot a fisherman dead. Would that be the sport fisher you mean?”

“Don't believe everything you see on TV, Cutts,” said Diego.

Cutts seemed keen to cut the talk. “
La Catrina
. I hear anything, I'll let you know. Always happy to help my friends in Customs and Border Protection.”

He wandered down the bar to serve another customer. Finn watched him go.

“He looks sick, doesn't he?” said Diego.

Finn shrugged. “He's old. You get the feeling he knows more than he's telling?”

Diego nodded. “You think we ought to put the pressure on, ask to see the receipts for these TVs?”

Finn picked up his soda. It tasted of nothing. He put it down again.

“So what now?” said Diego.

“I put in a call to Vega down in Mexico, asked him to run Perez through their computer. Meantime, I still think the answer's on
La Catrina
. I'm going to take another look. Also, that fishing boat Espendoza was on? I think we need to talk to her captain. You think you can meet me down at San Pedro at first light tomorrow?”

Diego glanced at his watch. “In that case, I'm going home. Those guys start real early.”

Finn nodded. He noticed that Diego hadn't finished his beer. He couldn't remember ever having left a drink unfinished.

“Yeah, me too,” he said.

They both slipped off their stools. Cutts came over to clear up.

“I got an easy one for you this time, Cutts,” said Diego.

“Go ahead.”

“The
Pacific Belle
. That name mean anything to you?”

Cutts's eyes darted to the ceiling, then back to Diego. “What's that, lad, a boat?”

Diego gave Cutts a look of mock indignation. “No, it's a brand of bra. Of course it's a boat.”

“A commercial fishing boat out of San Pedro, just down the road here,” said Finn.

“Never heard of her,” said Cutts.

“You mean no one from the
Pacific Belle
ever drinks here?” said Diego, disbelieving.

“If they did, I'd have heard of her, wouldn't I?”

Diego tsk-tsked. “It's hard to take you seriously, Cutts. What kind of informant are you, doesn't know anything?”

Cutts gave Diego a hard look. “I never heard of the
Pacific Belle
or of the other one. But doesn't mean I can't find out what you want to know. What are you lads working on?”

Finn knew that informants were a two-way street. It was best not to give them information you wanted to keep confidential. But before he could stop him, Diego leaned in and said, “We found a floater out in the channel might belong to her. A
cholo
from East L.A. named Espendoza. Thing is, she hasn't reported any missing crew.”