Duke City Hit (8 page)

As they neared the Desert Rose Motel, Ryan said, “Just let me out anywhere.”

“Nonsense,” Vic said. “I'll drop you at your room. This isn't the best neighborhood, you know.”

“It's
your
neighborhood.”

“See? What if there are dangerous men like me living around here?”

“They may be dangerous, Vic, but I'm sure they're nothing like you.”

The space squarely in front of room eleven was empty, and Vic slid the Cadillac into the slot, headlights illuminating the red door's peeling paint.

“Thanks for dinner, Vic.”

“You're welcome. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Maybe so.”

They shook hands, and Ryan got out of the Cadillac. He took his time unlocking the door to his room, but Vic seemed determined to see him safely indoors. Finally, the lock clicked from the inside and the door opened a few inches, still on its security chain. Tina peered through the gap. She was dressed for bed, in tank top and sweatpants, and her long black hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

“Oh, it's you,” she said. “I didn't know who was fooling around out here.”

“So you opened the door?”

She tried to look past him, squinting into the headlights.

“Is everything okay out there?”

“It's fine. Let me in.”

“Is that your dad in the car?”

“Come on, Tina,” he said tightly.

The headlights died and the Cadillac's door popped open.

“Who's that in there?” Vic called. “You got company, my boy?”

Ryan wasn't ready for the two of them to meet, but he had no choice now. When Tina opened the door, Vic practically pushed Ryan inside. The door closed, shutting the three of them in the room together.

Tina must've been in bed already because the covers were mussed. She was holding a paperback book and she set it on the dresser so she could shake hands with Vic.

“Tina Castillo.”

“It's my extreme pleasure, Miss Castillo. I'm Victor Walters, but please call me Vic.”

He was standing too close, a big wolfish grin on his face. Tina flushed at the attention.

“If I may say so, you're a beautiful young woman.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, Vic,” Ryan said. “You can't hit on my girlfriend.”

“No?”

“Bad form.”

“Really?”

“Really bad.”

Vic flashed his smile at Tina. “Sorry, my dear. I'm new to fatherhood. I'm still learning the rules.”

“That's quite all right. It's nice to meet you.”

“Let me just say that Ryan has very good taste in women.”

“Vic—”

“Okay, okay. I'm doing this wrong. I get that. I'm leaving now. Let you two have some privacy. But we'll all get together soon. Get to know each other.”

“That would be lovely,” Tina said.

Ryan groaned.

Tina Castillo couldn't have stopped smiling if she tried.

“So that was him, huh?”

“Sorry that was awkward,” Ryan said. “I hadn't told him about you yet.”

“Clearly. Why not?”

He slipped out of his motorcycle jacket, stalling. It always tickled her to see him dance around the truth. She knew ways to make him tell.

“I wasn't sure the old guy could take another surprise,” he said as he draped the jacket over a chair. “A son suddenly turns up? That's a lot to take in. I kept worrying he was gonna clutch his chest and keel over.”

“He seemed in pretty good shape to me.”

“You were checking him out?”

She smiled. “For his
age
.”

“He sure was checking you out.”

“Guys that age can't help it. They've got to flirt. It's their way of being polite.”

He snorted.

“Be happy I like the way he looks. You'll look just like him when you get to be that age.”

“Think so?”

“I can't believe the resemblance. Those eyes. Your mother must've seen him every time she looked at you.”

Ryan went into the bathroom and turned on the water in the sink. Started washing his hands. His back was to her, but she only had to move a little to see his face in the mirror.

“What's wrong?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I just wasn't sure I wanted you to meet him yet.”

“He seemed perfectly fine.”

“He's in kind of a dodgy business.”

“Bail bonds?”

“He deals with criminals all day. It's like handling newspapers. The black ink comes off on your hands.”

Tina glanced at his leather jacket, the way it hung crooked on the back of the chair. The weight of the pistol in the inside pocket. She knew it was there,
always
knew it. Ryan never explained why he needed a gun. Just told her it made him feel safer. She wondered every day if she'd fallen in love with a criminal.

“How was dinner?”

“It was okay.”

He sat on the end of the bed and bent over, untying his boot.

“ ‘Okay'?” She couldn't help herself. “You finally have dinner with the man and all you can say is it was ‘okay'?”

He didn't look up at her. Started on the other boot.

“We uproot our lives,” she said. “Abandon our apartment. Sell off our possessions. Drive to
Albuquerque,
where we stay in this
beautiful
motel for three weeks, so you can find the father who never even knew you existed. You finally work up the nerve to meet him for dinner. And then you tell me it was ‘okay.' I think I'm entitled to a little recap.”

She was standing over him now, hands on her hips. He finally looked up, grinning.

Tina punched him in the shoulder. The hard muscle there hurt her hand, but she tried not to let it show.

“Spill it, mister.”

“It went fine. We ate New Mexican food. Talked about Mom.”

“Was that real emotional?”

“Come on, Tina. We're
guys
. We stared at our food until we felt better, then we moved on to other subjects.”

“Like what?”

“His business, stuff like that. The conversation was a little stiff, to tell you the truth.”

“He's probably just being cautious. Making sure you're for real. You hear stories all the time about older people getting scammed and abused and stuff.”

Ryan laughed.

“How is that funny?”

“I can't see anybody taking advantage of Vic. A guy who's spent thirty-five years in the bail bond business? He's heard
all
the scams by now.”

“Doesn't matter anyway. He believes he's your father. He said so.”

Ryan looked away. “Guess I'm being cautious, too. I don't want him messing up our lives.”

Tina smiled. “He seemed pretty harmless to me.”

Ryan was sound asleep when someone pounded on the motel room door. He snapped awake and sat up in bed, tangled in the sheets. Sunlight streamed through a gap between the musty drapes.

He checked the clock on the bedside table. 7:48 a.m.

“Son of a bitch.”

Tina moaned. She was curled up on the far edge of the bed. He didn't want to wake her. The sooner she awoke, the sooner she'd resume her questions about Vic and Ryan and the past and the future. He'd had to feign sleep the night before to get any peace.

Wham
,
wham
on the door.

Mad now, Ryan bounded out of bed. He wore only flannel pajama bottoms, but he flung the door open and squinted out at the asshole who dared to knock at this time of day.

Vic. Dressed in a gray suit and black sunglasses. Bulge under his arm. Smile on his face.

“Good morning. You're still in bed?”

“What?”

“Get some clothes on. We're going for a ride.”

It was too much too fast. Ryan said, “I need coffee.”

“Got some in the car. Come on, shake a leg. I want to beat the rush-hour traffic.”

The bed squeaked as Tina sat up, holding the covers to her chin. “Who is it?”

“Go back to sleep, hon.”

“Is that your beautiful young miss?” Vic stood on tiptoe to look past Ryan's head. “Hello in there! Sorry if I woke you!”

Tina fell back onto the bed with a groan.

“Why don't you wait in the car, Vic? I'll be right there.”

“Okeydoke. I'll pour you a cup of joe. Have it waiting for you.”

Ryan shut the door and rested his forehead against it. He could hear Vic on the other side, whistling cheerfully. Then the
whump
of his car door.

“Jesus Christ,” Ryan muttered. “It's too early for this shit.”

From bed, Tina said, “Are you going with him?”

“Do I have any choice?”

She pulled the covers over her head.

Ryan picked up the clothes he'd taken off the night before. The jeans needed washing, but the T-shirt wasn't too bad. He put them on, and was stepping into his boots when Tina peeked out.

“Where is he taking you?”

“No idea.”

“When will you be back?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Will you bring me a Starbucks?”

“I'll try.”

Boots still unlaced, he clumped around the end of the bed so he could stoop over and kiss her forehead.

“Be careful,” she said.

“We're probably going to breakfast so Vic can flirt with waitresses.”

“Everybody needs a hobby.”

“I kinda like the way he does it. He joshes with people, but he never laughs at his own jokes. He smiles sometimes, but it's like he's reading off a script and it says, ‘Insert smile here.' ”

“You think that's a good thing?”

“He's always in control.”

“That's not the way emotions are supposed to work.”

“I'm not talking about emotions. I'm talking about conversation.”

“With waitresses.”

“Yeah.”

Tina pulled the covers over her head again.

Ryan picked up his jacket, feeling the gun's reassuring weight. He stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him.

The brisk morning air helped him wake up. He slipped into the jacket as he went around to the passenger side of the Cadillac.

“Wow, you really were asleep,” Vic said by way of greeting. “Look at your face. It's all lumpy. Did Miss Tina beat you up?”

“Very funny. You said something about coffee?”

Vic held out a red plastic cup, the lid off an old-fashioned thermos. Steam curled from the black coffee inside. Ryan took it from him and had a sip.

“Ah. Better.”

“Sure!” Vic said, still too loud. “Two or three of those and you'll be awake. By then, we'll be there!”

“Where?”

“I can't tell you that. It would ruin the surprise.”

“Fine,” Ryan said. “I can wait.”

“It'll be fun.”

“More driving. Less talking.”

“Righto.”

Vic backed the Cadillac out of the parking slot and turned it around so they were facing Fifth Street. At the first gap in traffic, he shot out and joined the flow.

They rode in silence as the Cadillac climbed a ramp onto I-40, headed toward the dead volcanoes that give Albuquerque's western horizon its lumpy spine. Vic navigated the Friday morning traffic with ease, the Cadillac a big shark swimming smoothly among smaller fish.

Other than the black wraparound sunglasses, Vic was dressed the same as the day before. In fact, Ryan realized, he always seemed to wear the same thing.

“Hey, Vic. What's with the gray suits?”

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I see you, you're wearing a gray suit and a black shirt. Is that, like, your uniform?”

“You could say that. I got three charcoal-gray suits in rotation.”

Ryan drained the last of the coffee from the red cup.

“What does that mean? ‘In rotation'?”

“One on my back, one in the closet and one at the cleaners.”

“You've got a
system
for your clothes?”

“We can't all go around dressed like motorcycle hoodlums. When you get to be a grown man, you dress like one.”

“Grown men wear jeans and T-shirts.”

“Some do.”

“But not you?”

“I prefer something a little dressier. A nice summer-weight suit, tailored with room to move. A shirt made of pima cotton that's soft against my skin. One brand of socks, all black, so I don't have to match 'em up when I do laundry. Black shoes that cost four hundred dollars a pair and are worth every penny.”

“No necktie?”

“Never a necktie. Never a bolo tie like people wear with their cowboy hats. You put a tie around your neck, you're just asking for someone to choke you out.”

“Come on.”

“I've seen it happen. That's why bounty hunters never wear neckties. You don't give some asshole the advantage, providing a noose around your own neck.”

“Okay, I get it. But why gray? A little color wouldn't hurt.”

“Charcoal gray is invisible, especially at night.”

“So's black.”

“Black looks menacing. A cop sees you walking down the street, dressed in your black leather jacket and your black jeans, he might think you're up to something. But he sees me, an older gentleman in a standard gray suit, and he doesn't give me a second glance.”

“Black clothes are automatically suspicious?”

“Plus, they makes you look like a fucking mime.”

The Cadillac weaved a little as Vic bent to reach the floorboard beneath his seat. He handed the red thermos to Ryan.

“Have another cup. You look like you need it. Did you stay up late?”

“Tina asked me a million questions about our dinner together.”

“What kinda questions?”

“What we talked about. What we ate. What you're like.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“That you seem like an okay guy. Maybe a little eccentric, but someone I could be proud to call Dad.”

“That's very nice. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“Don't say that.”

“What?”

“When someone says ‘Thank you,' the proper response is ‘You're welcome.' Not ‘No problem.' I hate when people do that. It takes so little effort to be polite.”

“That's what Tina said about you,” Ryan said. “That you were polite.”

“See? People notice good manners.”

“She also said you were ‘dapper.' ”

“Aha! The gray suit. I'm telling you, kid, it's the way to go. I'll have to introduce you to my tailor.”

“I don't think so, Vic.”

“My treat. We'll put you in a nice suit. Go out on the town. See what kind of reaction you get from people. I think you'll be surprised. People assume you are somebody, you know? They don't know you, but better to be polite and respectful to a man in a suit. He might be dangerous.”

“Like a hit man?”

“I was thinking lawyer, but the principle's the same.”

“Careful talking about lawyers around Tina. She's planning to become one.”

“Really?”

“She grew up in the barrio in South Tucson, and she wants to go into immigration law. She graduated from U of A last spring, and she's waiting to hear from law schools. Coming to Albuquerque's kinda thrown those plans for a loop.”

“She left it all behind to come with you?”

“I tried to talk her out of it, but she doesn't like to let me leave her sight.”

“Afraid you'll run off?”

“She thinks she's got to keep me in line. She thinks I've got potential. If I can stay out of trouble.”

“Potential's good. Accomplish
ment's even better. You know what stands between those two?”

“Hard work?”

“Well, let's say ‘work.' How ‘hard' depends on what kind of work. My job, for instance? Not that taxing.”

“You can't mention that around Tina, either. Don't even hint at it.”

“She doesn't have a clue what I do for a living?”

“Only that you're in the bail bond business. I told her you deal with a lot of shady characters.”

“That's true. I just don't deal with them for very long.”

The Cadillac zoomed up the long slope of Nine Mile Hill, passing trucks that struggled with the steep grade.

“Where the hell are we going anyway?”

“I told you, it's a surprise.”

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“Exactly. Albuquerque's grown so much, you've got to drive a long way now to find some empty space.”

“Why do we need empty space?”

“Okay, fuck the surprise. We're gonna do some shooting, okay? You can't do that right in town. People call the cops.”

“Who are we shooting?”

Vic snorted. “Not ‘who.' Targets. We'll shoot some beer cans.”

“Oh.”

“I like that. I say ‘shoot' and you say ‘who.' What do you say if I say ‘jump'?”

“I say, ‘How come?' ”

“That's good. ‘How come.' ”

Vic stared straight ahead, but he was smiling.

“Jeez, what's with you? You take some happy pills this morning?”

“I'm in a good mood.” He slapped Ryan on the knee, making him flinch and nearly spill his coffee. “It's a beautiful sunny day in New Mexico, and we're going to spend some time outdoors. That, my boy, is hard to beat.”

Once they topped the hill, they could see the dry squiggle of the Rio Puerco and an exit ramp at the bottom of the eroded slope. A huge Indian casino squatted there, its flashing electric sign pimping for morning business.

Vic took the exit, but went north, away from the casino, driving on a gravel road that soon turned into a dusty washboard. Cactus-dotted desert stretched away on either side of the road, fenced to contain a few hungry-looking cows.

“Be a good place to dump a body,” Ryan said.

“I like the way you think, kid.”

The bumpy road topped a rise. At the bottom, a dirt driveway split off to the right. Vic braked as they reached it.

“I think that leads over the hill to an old gravel pit. See if you can open the gate.”

Ryan got out of the car, the wind snatching at his clothes, and trotted over to the gate, expecting to find it padlocked. But it was held closed only by a loop of rusty chain. Just enough to befuddle the cows.

He dragged the gate open, and the dusty Cadillac followed him through, bumping over the rocky soil. As soon as it was clear, he closed the gate and got back into the car.

“Breezy out there.”

“This gravel pit might give us a place out of the wind. We'll see.”

They crept along for another half-mile until the ruts ended at a bowl carved out of the desert. The gravel pit was a hundred feet across. At its far end, excavations had left a ten-foot-tall ledge of pale dirt studded with rocks. A perfect backstop for a shooting range. Other people clearly thought so, too. Brass shells littered the ground, glinting in the sunshine.

Vic drove the Cadillac into the bowl and killed the engine. They sat in the car for a minute, letting the wind carry the dust away.

“I've got the gear in the trunk.”

“What gear?”

“Guns. Cans.”

“I brought my own gun.” Ryan opened his jacket to show the butt of the .45 jutting from the inside pocket.

“Never leave home without it, huh? That's a lot of gun for target shooting.”

“I like a handgun with some stopping power.”

“How dead do you want to make 'em? You put a couple of slugs in the right places, it don't really matter how big the bullets are.”

They got out of the car and went to the trunk. Inside were two lumpy black garbage bags and a maroon gym bag. Vic unzipped it to show Ryan the contents. A couple of the .22-caliber Rugers he favored, a .38-caliber snub-nosed revolver, a nice nickel-plated 9mm, several boxes of ammunition.