McCone and Friends (22 page)

An old friend named Luis Abrego frequented the Tradewinds tavern in National City, halfway between San Diego and the border. The first time I’d gone there two years before, John had insisted on accompanying me for protection; tonight he insisted again. I didn’t protest, since I knew he and Luis were fond of each other.

Fortunately, business was slow when we got there; only half a dozen Hispanic patrons stopped talking and when they saw two Anglos walk in. Luis hunched in his usual place at the end other bar, nursing a beer and watching a basketball game on the fuzzy TV screen. When I spoke his name, he whirled, jumped off his stool, and took both my hands in his. His dark eyes danced with pleasure.

“
Amiga
,” he said, “it’s been much too long.”

“Yes, it has,
amigo
.”

Luis released me and shook John’s hand. He was looking well. His mustache swooped bandit-fashion, and his hair hung free and shiny to his shoulders. From the nearly black shade of his skin, I could tell he’d been working steadily on construction sites these days. Late at night, however, Luis plied a very different and increasingly dangerous trade; “helping my people get where they need to go” was how he described those activities.

We sat down in a booth, and I explained about Renny D and Troy Winslip’s murder. Luis nodded gravely. “The young man was a fool to underestimate Dominguez,” he said. “I don’t know him personally, but I’ve seen him, and I hear he’s one evil
hombre
.”

“Do you know where he hangs out down here?”

“A bar two block over, called the Gato Gordo. You’re not planning on going up against him,
amiga
.”

“No, nothing like that. I just want to get a look at him. Obviously, I can’t go there alone. Will you take me?”

Luis frowned down into his beer. “Why do you feel you have to do this?”

“I like to know who I’m up against. Besides, this is going to be a difficult case to prove; maybe seeing Renny D in the flesh will inspire me to keep at it.”

He looked up at my face, studied it for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll do it. But he”—he pointed at John—“waits for us here.”

John said, “No way.”

“Yes,” Luis told him firmly. “Here you’re okay; everybody knows you’re my friend. But there, a big Anglo like you, we’d be asking for trouble. On the other hand, me and the
chiquita
here, we’ll make a damn handsome couple.”

Reynaldo Dominguez was tall and thin, with razor-sharp features that spoke of
indio
blood. There were tattoos of serpents on his arms and knife scars on his face, and part of one index finger was missing. He sat at corner table in the Gato Gordo, surrounded by admirers. He leaned back indolently in his chair and laughed and joked and told stories. When Luis and I sat down nearby with our drinks, he glanced contemptuously at us; then he focused on Luis’ face and evidently saw something there that warned him off. There was not a lot that Luis Abrego hadn’t come up against in his life, and there was nothing and no one he feared. Renny D, I decided, was a good judge of character.

Luis leaned toward me taking my hand as a lover would and speaking softly. “He is telling them how he single-handedly destroyed the Anglo opposition. He is laughing about the look on Winslip’s face when he died, and at the way the other man ran. He is bragging about the cleverness of meeting in TJ, where he has bribed the authorities and will never be charged with a crime.” He paused, listened some more. “He is telling them how he will enjoy stalking and destroying the other man and Winslip’s woman—bit by bit, before he finally puts the knife in.”

I started to turn to look at Dominguez.

“Don’t.” Luis tightened his grip on my hand.

I looked anyway. My eyes met Renny D’s. His were black, flat, emotionless—devoid of humanity. He stared at me, thin lip curling.

Luis’ fingernails bit into my flesh. “Okay, you’ve had your look at him. Drink up, and we’ll go.”

I could feel those soulless eyes on my back. I tried to finish my drink, but hatred for the creature behind me welled up and threatened to make me choke. Troy Winslip had in many respects been a useless person, but he’d also been young and naïve and hadn’t deserved to die. Nor did Daniel Pope or Troy’s woman deserve to live, and perhaps die, in terror.

Luis said softly, “Now he is bragging again. He is telling them he is above the law. No one can touch him, he says. Renny D is invincible.”

“Maybe not.”

“Let’s go now,
amiga
.”

As we stood, I looked at Dominguez once more. This time, when our eyes met a shadow passed over his. What was that about? I wondered. Not suspicion. Not fear. What?

Of course—Renny D was puzzled. Puzzled because I didn’t shy away from his stare. Puzzled and somewhat uneasy.

Well, good.

I said to Luis, “We’ll see who’s invincible.”

I’d expected the Winslips to pose an obstacle to bringing Renny D to justice, but they proved to be made of very strong stuff. The important thing, they said, was not to cover up their son’s misdeeds but to ensure that a vicious murderer didn’t go free to repeat his crime. So, with their blessing, I took my evidence downtown to Gary Viner.

And Gary told me what I’d been fearing all along: “We don’t have a case.”

“Gary, there’s the tape. Dominguez as good as told Winslip he was going to stab him. There’s the record of where the call originated. There’s the eyewitness testimony of Daniel Pope—”

“There’s the fact that the actual crime occurred on Mexican soil. And that Dominguez has the police down there in his hip pocket. No case, McCone.”

“So what’re you going to do—sit back and wait till he kills Pope and Winslip’s woman, or somebody else?”

“We’ll keep an eye on Dominguez. That’s all I can promise you. Otherwise, my hands’re tied.”

“Maybe
your
hands are tied.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? What’re you going to do? Don’t give me any trouble, McCone—please.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to go off and think about this, that’s all. When I do give you something, I guarantee it won’t be trouble.”