Diamonds and Cole (15 page)

“I know you think—” Erin tried to interrupt.

“I have loved your mother every day, every hour, every minute of the past 30 years. Losing her, well,” Cole cleared his throat, “she was everything I ever wanted, and I threw her away in an act of selfish stupidity. When I realized what I had done, it was too late. I called and she was gone. Your grandparents, who were never big fans of mine, wouldn’t tell me how to reach her. I was going to have her join me in Cambodia. Today, I learned she’d married. I can’t believe she found somebody that fast. You want pain—try that one on.”

“I had no idea what you meant to each other, but...”

Cole straightened, “Now she’s dying, and all the silly hopes of someday getting back together are dead, all the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if I had onlys’ are all that’s left. When she goes, so does my heart and soul. The thing that hurts the most is I missed all the years when she was growing older. She has gone from the beautiful, wild, passionate girl I worshipped to a poor emaciated shell I don’t recognize. Even her voice that haunted my dreams all these years is gone. Now it’s just a shaky whisper. The only thing that is Ellie is her eyes, her beautiful eyes. When I sat with her, they were all I could look at.”

Erin sniffed hard and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

“All I’m saying, Erin, is regrets are hard to live with. I know; mine outweigh everything I have ever done. None of the awards, prizes and so-called fame ever meant anything because the one person I loved in life wasn’t there to share it with me. And, believe me, there are no substitutes. She is the only mother you will ever have, and she loves you very much.” Cole put his hands on his knees and rose from the bench.

“I wish she could have been with you.” Erin smiled. “You’re probably right, but I won’t go back. When I left, I swore I would never ever go back. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry for the mean things I said to you. I had no way of knowing what she meant to you. I see it now, she felt the same way. But she should never have chosen him over me. I just can’t forgive that.”

Cole looked down at the young woman on the bench. She was so much like Ellie. Her hands were between her knees and she gently rocked back and forth. Her head bowed, Cole could no longer see her face. The meeting was over. He had failed.

ELEVEN

The drive back seemed twice as long. Cole didn’t turn on the radio. He replayed the time with Erin over and over in his head. He played the I-should-have-said game until he finally yelled, “I give up!”

Back at his motel, he showered and changed clothes. As he sat on the bed to tie his shoes, his cell phone rang. The number belonged to Tom Harris in Chicago.

“Cole, I found you some new friends.”

“What have you got?”

“Talked to a detective named Mark Wilson. He’s your man out there if you need help. His first choice is named Perez, Anthony Perez, street name Whisper. Dope, cars, small-time fence for stolen goods. Vato malo. Hangs out at a bar called La Perla. Rough place, be real careful, Wilson says.

“Number two is a guy named Terrell Le’ney Jefferson, AKA Tree Top. No criminal record, but Wilson says he’s into everything but drugs. If it will turn a buck, he’s in. Drives a green and orange Acura with lots of flashy stuff on it. Likes to park on Filbert and watch the world go buy. Lots of flash and cash. A lover not a fighter but has some muscle behind him. “

“Whisper and Tree Top, got it.”

“Hey, you find the girl?”

“Yeah. Ellie’s a grandma. Doesn’t know it. Tom, you wouldn’t believe how much she looks like her mother. Took me way back. She’s a nurse like you said, like Ellie wanted to be. Married to a doctor. I couldn’t get her to come back though. Lots of anger. I don’t know how I’ll tell Ellie.”

“Tell her the truth, Cole. It will hurt, but it’s the only way.”

“I guess.”

“Hey, I got a call. When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Be in touch, thanks.”

“Later.”

Cole stood and went to the window. A strong breeze came up and the curtains flapped hard. The trees in the parking lot swayed and the flag above snapped. He watched a Burger King cup roll and bounce across the pavement. Reaching in his pocket, he counted his money: six twenties, three tens, two fives and seven singles. The alarm on the nightstand flipped over to 4:30.

*
   
*
   
*

La Perla occupied a free standing building, on a short street with the sign missing just off of Market. It sat between an auto electric place and a boarded-up shoe repair shop. The sign on the building looked fairly new, but the twenty year old faded coral pink paint chipped away from the brick and the eves was peeling badly. The attic ventilator on the roof clicked with every rotation. Cole remembered the bar next door to his friend Manuel’s house growing up.

Manuel, a Mexican kid, always held the distinction of being the fattest in class and Cole’s best friend. Cole befriended him one day when he traded his tuna sandwich for Manuel’s burrito. In the early ‘60s, most gringos in California confused a burrito with a small donkey, but even at 10 years old, Cole possessed an adventurous palate. Homemade tortilla, refried beans, chunks of boiled potato with a little green chili sauce. It exploded with a spicy sparkle and Cole knew he just discovered a whole new world.

The next day, he traded peanut butter and jelly for a chili relleno. When they discovered a common love of Wolfman Jack on the radio, the bond was sealed. Manuel lived in a small, unpainted wooden house on the old highway next to a bar called Dee Dee’s. Dee Dee, the original owner of a cowboy bar, died of liver cancer years before. Since then, the place changed hands a dozen times, but always stayed a watering hole for Mexican farm workers on their way home. None of the parade of owners bothered to change the sign out front.

Manuel and Cole found great sport in shooting at the revolving vent on the roof with BB guns. Somehow they always stopped just before they incurred the wrath of the bartender or, worse yet, Manuel’s mother. Cole always addressed her as Se_ora Jaramillo. She stood well under five feet and must have been nearly as big around; short in stature, but a giant in the kitchen.

The Se_ora spoke no English, yet Cole certainly understood what displeased her. She never hesitated to give him a slap on the back of the head if he did anything she didn’t like, then using Manuel as interpreter, she would explain the infraction. Muddy shoes, teasing her little dog, running in the house, and being too loud always got a bop on the head. Fast to scold or slap, and just as quick to give a hug or a fresh hot tortilla sprinkled with cinnamon, sugar and dripping with butter. Se_ora Jaramillo loved Cole, and he knew it.

Cole and Manuel remained the best of friends through grammar school and high school, until their junior year. Cole got a pale green 1963 Volkswagen from his parents and drove proudly over to show Manuel. When he arrived, he found the front door of the little house standing wide open. Inside, not a stick of furniture or picture on the wall remained, only dust balls and a few sheets of paper swirled around the floor. The rectangles on the wall where the few religious pictures hung for so many years almost glowed against the faded wallpaper. They were gone, without goodbye or warning. Cole stood in the kitchen where the table once sat, where he spent hours doing homework and shared hot tortillas and butter that Se_ora Jaramillo so lovingly made, and cried.

He heard nothing of his friend for fifteen years. Then Cole ran into an old classmate from grade school that came from Capitiro, Manuel’s hometown in Mexico. He said his uncle knew Manuel’s father. Manuel and his family returned to Capitiro because his father lost his job. Someone falsely accused him of stealing. The shame proved too much for Armando Jaramillo, and he returned home where such a thing would have been laughed at in its foolishness. In Capitiro, no one would ever question his honesty.

After graduating from high school, Manuel enlisted in the Mexican Air Force. His English helped him get into the Medical Corps. He’d trained in Texas with the Air National Guard as part of a “Friendly Neighbor” exchange. This led to Officer Training School and enrollment in medical school. Over the years, he climbed up though the ranks and finally received a promotion to Colonel. Now Doctor Jaramillo, he held the title of Chief Administrator at a military hospital near Mexico City. He married an important politician’s daughter and they became parents of three little boys. Over the years, Cole never ate a burrito without thinking of Manuel.

The glass front door of La Perla appeared to have been painted white with house paint and a wide brush. Inside it smelled of cigarettes and beer. A yellow Corona sign blinked and flickered above a fish tank behind the bar. One old man sat at a table in the center of the room. Several groups of men sat in booths that lined the walls. There were no women in the place.

Cole fingered the bills in his pocket as he approached the bar.

“Good afternoon.”

“No hablo ingles,” growled the bartender.

“That so?” Cole slipped a $10 bill across the bar.

“Not completely, no.” The bartender smiled. He wore a faded brown T-shirt that advertised a brake shop under a white dress shirt.

“I need to speak to Whisper,” Cole said casually.

“Don’t know him.”

“That’s too bad, he would have been very grateful.”

“For what?”

“For you introducing me.” Cole smiled.

“That so?” said a soft raspy voice behind him.

Cole turned to see a small dark man, with a freshly shaved head and a very sparse moustache. He wore tan chinos and a pair of brand new suede work boots with no laces. His white T-shirt bore sharp creases down the center that spoke of someone taking great pains to iron it just so.

Over the T-shirt he wore a red checked shirt several sizes too big, unbuttoned, stiff with starch, and showing the same careful ironing. Just above the collar of his T-shirt ran a thick, jagged, pink horizontal scar.

“Whisper Perez?”

“Maybe.” The man spoke with the definite sound of vocal cord damage.

“I’m Cole Sage.” Cole stared into Whisper’s eyes, the small man blinked. “From Chicago.”

“Chicago? What the hell are you doing in a shithole like this?”

“Looking for you.” Cole smiled.

Whisper laughed but made little sound. “This is either real important or you crazy.”

“Little of both.”

“Beer?”

“Coca-Cola, please.”

“Javie! Cerveza y Coke.” Whisper pointed in the bartender’s direction. “My sister’s husband. Come, sit.”

Cole followed Whisper to a booth where a thick heavily tattooed man sat spinning a Miller High Lite bottle with his index finger. He wore dark Ray-Ban sunglasses.

“This is Luis.” The man in the sunglasses looked up but didn’t speak. “He’s not very friendly.” Whisper smiled and bobbed his head at his own joke.

“I need some help.” Cole jumped right to the heart of the matter.

“From me?”

“I heard you could help.”

“Who told you that?”

“A cop in Chicago.”

Whisper looked at Cole for a long moment. His eyes gave away his obvious pleasure at this. “What’s his name?”

“Tom Harris, he’s a detective. Know him?”

“Heard of him,” Whisper lied. “What you need to know?”

“First, I’m not a cop or any other kind of law. Second, I don’t want to know anything you don’t want to tell me.”

“I don’t get it.”

“You believe in love?”

“You come here to ask me that! Luis. You hear this shit?” Whisper laughed and wrinkled his brow as he took a long look at Cole, “Yeah, I believe in love.”

“The woman I loved more than anyone on earth is being done a deep wrong. We parted a long time ago, long story, big mistake. She’s sick, dying.” Cole paused. “She called me to help her, asked me to do two things. The first thing, I’ve already blown. I only have this final chance to do one last thing for her before she dies. I can’t let her go knowing I failed her.” Cole looked Whisper straight in the eyes.

“What can I do?”

“Somebody is flashing a lot of diamonds around town. Even tried to bribe a city official with them. I don’t care
where
they are coming from. I just want to nail a guy named Allen Christopher. You know him?”

“No.”

“Ever heard of him?”

“Luis?”

The big man shook his head. Whisper took a stack of business cards out of his shirt pocket and slowly shuffled through them. Several times, he turned a card over and read a handwritten note on the back.

“These are the cards of people who we have done business with one time or another. Kind of a—what you call a Rolla...whatever.” Whisper flicked the cards towards Cole. “No Christopher here. What’d he do?”

“The woman I love is his wife. He put her in a rest home, like where some people throw away their old parents. Hasn’t even gone to visit her, just left her there to die.” Cole could feel his face reddening as his temper rose. “He’s trying to steal the inheritance meant for her daughter. Ellie, my friend, wants her daughter to get her grandparent’s money. Christopher tricked Ellie into signing a document, a power of attorney. Do you know what that is?” Whisper nodded. “I have to get it back. If I can get—”

“So, you want us to kill him? Luis could do it easy.”

“No,” Cole said calmly. Whisper was dead serious. “I need to find out who is helping him get diamonds then screw it up for him. I figure if I can let them know he is looking at a felony bribery charge, they will cut him loose.”

“If it were
my
woman, I would kill him.” Whisper looked at Cole, his brow deeply creased, and Cole knew this fierce young man saw no reason for Christopher to still be alive.

“I promised Ellie I wouldn’t hurt him.”

“When she dies, then.” Whisper kissed the crucifix that hung around his neck and crossed himself.

“Maybe,” Cole said coldly.

“This sounds like niggas to me. You heard of Tree Top? Flashy nigga, lots of money, cars, and shit. He’s a fool.” Whisper nearly spat with contempt.