An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (22 page)

And a child shall lead them, Munch thought.

A bugle played taps. The family stood and filed past
the sealed casket. The women placed their flowers on the grass
beneath Rico's portrait, and then negotiated the soft turf to the
waiting cars.

During the drive back to Fernando's, nobody spoke.
Asia fell asleep on Angelica's lap and had to be roused gently when
the limo pulled up in front of the house in Lawndale.

"
Are you coming in?" Sylvia asked.

Munch looked closely at Sylvia, waiting for the
left-handed comment, the implied insult, that Rico's ex-wife was so
wont to dish out. This time, she seemed to be saying exactly what she
meant.

Though not exactly a warm invitation, coming from
Sylvia the question was tantamount to rolling out the red carpet.

"
Maybe later. I was hoping to go home, maybe
catch a nap."

"
Asia can come with us if she wants,"
Angelica said.

Munch was flabbergasted. Both for the invitation and
that Angelica was capable of unprompted social overtures. Not to
mention expressing a sentiment that didn't revolve around her.

Munch turned to her daughter. "Up to you."

"
I'd like to go with them," Asia said.
"You're coming back, right?"

"
Of course I am."

Angelica put a protective, if bone-thin, arm around
Asia's shoulders. "I'll take care of her."

Munch kissed her daughter
good-bye, gave the driver his instructions, and then sat back for the
ride home to Santa Monica. Back into the belly of the beast, as it
were.

* * *

Munch met with Petey at the coffee shop on Pico and
Lincoln. It was close enough to the police station to ensure at least
one party of cops would be there, off-duty or in uniform. She took a
booth by the window that cast plenty of light on their table. Petey
swaggered in at the appointed hour. He probably assumed that she had
asked for this meeting so she could beg for her life or buy him off
somehow. She was really going to enjoy watching the smirk leave his
face.

"
Hello, Munch," he said, swinging into his
seat, chains jangling. He smelled of tobacco and stale beer and
unwashed hair. She also detected garlic on his breath and that from
all the way across the table from him. He wasn't half as cute as she
remembered. Funny how things changed once the veil of intoxication
was lifted.

"
Hello, Petey," she said. "They still
calling you that?"

"
Yeah." His expression was suspicious.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I had heard different."

Now he was getting mad. "What did you hear?"

"
Something about a desert fox." She opened
her purse. "Let me look it up. I want to make sure I get it
right."

Sweat broke out on Petey's forehead and he looked as
if he might be sick.

She pulled out one of the many copies of the forms
Rico had mailed her and spread them across the surface of the table.
"Here's the deal. I've sent copies to different friends."

"
What do you want?" Petey asked, his voice
sort of a croak.

"
I want you to live a long and healthy life.
Just like me. You're my new guardian angel."

She wrote her address on the back of one of the
forms. "This is where I live. I work in Brentwood, at that
Texaco station. If my friends hear something has happened to me, and
only if, copies of these papers will be sent to Tony Martin. You know
the name, right? He's the Mongols' lawyer. I also have left
instructions that Red Al gets this information. He's still in San
Quentin, right?"

"
You know he is," Petey said.

"
I bet he's good and pissed."

"
Okay, I get your point. You don't have to worry
about us anymore."

"
You got one of those courtesy cards with you?"
Munch asked.

Courtesy cards were what bikers passed out in lieu of
business cards, but they were more than that. They had the club logo,
the name of the club member who had issued it, and a space to write
in the recipient's name. The bearer was officially a friend of the
club. On the rare times a woman had one, it could very well serve as
a "get out of hell free" card. She had him fill it out to
Miranda "Munch" Mancini.

"
Date it today," she added.

One down, Munch thought, a million to go. But all she
could do was all she could do. One asshole at a time.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ABEL DELAGUERRA PACED HIS FLOOR AND STARED AT
nothing. He didn't like the reports he was getting. An
unaccounted-for kilo of his cocaine, displaying the revered black
skeleton, had shown up in Los Angeles. Was this a counterfeit? The
work of some narco pirate infringing on his hard-won trademark? Or
was this part of the shipment he had lost to thieves in the
mountains?

The tip had come from that Peruvian woman,
La
Sombra
, she was called. The Shadow. She was a
freelancer whose services were available to the highest bidder. She
brokered many things; information, weapons, airplanes, disappearance
services. The tantalizing snippet of information had come in the form
of a Polaroid photograph, passed to him by a young child who said
only that a lady in a black veil had given him two Hershey bars to
deliver it. When pressed, the child admitted that they were the kind
with the nuts. The picture showed a sealed kilo of his product placed
strategically on the front page of last Friday's Los Angeles Times.
On the back of the photo was a phone number with a Los Angeles area
code. Saturday noon, it read, if you're curious. The note was signed
with an S that appeared to be casting a shadow. La Sombra's mark.

At exactly twelve o'clock he placed the call.

La Sambra
answered her
phone with a curt "Si?"

"It's Senor Delaguerra," he said in
Spanish. "Returning your call."

"
Good morning, sir. What is your pleasure?"

He liked her manners. Deadly and polite, always a
winning combination. "I understand you have located a book for
me. One I am most anxious to have back in my collection."

"
Yes," she said, toying with her
crescent-moon earring, "I thought you might be interested. How
have you been? I haven't gotten a letter from you in a long time."

"
I will send you twenty-five thousand letters if
I could restore my library."

"
I hope they will be in American. I'm trying to
improve my English."

He chuckled. "Of course." Twenty-five
thousand pesos would buy several nice dinners in Los Angeles.
Twenty-five thousand American dollars would feed a small village in
Mexico for a year. "Is there a mark on the inside cover?"
he asked.

"
There is. I would be happy to send you another
photograph. Perhaps you could post a letter to me outlining our
agreement."

So it was to be cash and carry. This was a problem.
Abel hated to wait, but in such an uncertain world, cash was king.
They both understood that. "I am a man of my word," he
said.

"
I am not saying otherwise, but I have expenses
to cover. I'm sure you understand. If you are in a big hurry, perhaps
you can come over for the day. The weather is beautiful now."

"
Not too hot?"

"
No, very pleasant."

Abel sipped his hot chocolate and struggled to keep
the agitation out of his voice. La Sombra had strict rules regarding
whom she would deal with, especially on a face-to-face basis.
Humberto was already there, but he might as well be in Canada. La
Sombra would never agree to meet with a middleman. In any case, Abel
didn't want to divert Humberto's attention from his appointed task.
The big man's job was equally important and possibly connected to the
errant product, which was all the more reason to keep Humberto
unaware of this latest twist.

Part of Abel's strength was that no one person was
privy to all his moves.

He sighed into the phone. "Could I talk you into
coming to me? I would, of course, pay all your expenses."

"
Regretfully, this is a busy time for me. Let me
see if I can move some dates on my calendar. I will call you later.
Shall we say five?"

"
Thank you, se
ñ
orita,
I will be most anxious to hear from you. Please inform me immediately
if you run across any more books and I will really make your trip
worthwhile."

"
I'm sure you will."
Christina smiled as she hung up the phone.

* * *

When Munch returned home, she had several messages on
her answering machine. She paid her driver and sent him on his way
before she played back the recordings.

The first and second calls were from Ellen. Humberto
had called her and wanted to see Munch. Ellen didn't want to give him
Munch's number, but couldn't think of a good reason not to, so she
gave him a wrong number and was now screening her calls so she didn't
have to talk to him again before Munch called back with instructions.
The machine cut her off.

Ellen's second message was that she hoped Munch was
doing okay, and was thinking of her, and hoped Munch didn't think she
had forgotten where Munch was and what she was doing. Munch smiled.
Some people didn't know what to say at times like these and others
didn't know when to shut up.

The third call was from Roger. Her heart sped up at
the sound of his voice.

"
Call me when you get this," he said. "I'll
be waiting."

He left a number. She dialed it.

"
Munch?" he asked.

"
Doesn't sound like you were expecting anyone
but me."

"
We have an opportunity to wrap this case up.
Are you with me?"

"
I guess that depends. What"s in it for
me?"

"
You mean like your reward? I'm sure we can work
out a commission."

"
That's only part of it." A few days ago,
the danger hadn't bothered her. She'd had blood in her eyes then, but
now she was thinking more clearly.

"
The sooner we shut down this ring," Roger
said, his tone patient as if he were speaking to a small child, "the
sooner we can unseal the indictments and reveal Rico's role in all
this. That's what you want, right?"

"
What do we have to do?"

"
I need you to help me buy some dope," he
said.

"What kind of dope?" she asked.

"
Does it make a difference?"

"
To some of us. Yeah. It does." She was
pretty certain she could resist coke or pot, but much less sure that
her sobriety was up to the ultimate test of her drug of choice.
Heroin.

"
Cocaine. You'd be wearing the wire."

"
What weight?" she asked.

"
A kilo to start."

She whistled. That was some serious money. The
largest deal she'd ever been a part of was a half of an ounce. She
didn't like the fact that she'd be so far out of her element. "I
can't do any, you know, to like test it." Rico wouldn't want her
sacrificing her sobriety, not that she would for him anyhow. "And
I want an agreement in writing from you guys, saying I'm doing this
for you."

Roger chuckled into the phone. "Don't you trust
me? I'm crushed."

"
I'm sure you're not. When do you want to do
this thing?"

"
As soon as you can set it up," he said.
"You remember that big guy, Humberto? You met him at the house
on Hampton?"

"
Yeah, I know who you mean."

"
He's the man I want to meet."

Munch chuckled now. "Yeah, the man is goddamn
everywhere lately."

"
Put out some feelers," Roger said. "Let
it be known you're looking for him."

"
I can do better than that. My best friend is
helping with this case. She gave Humberto her number." Munch
decided it was time to dispense with at least some of the bullshit.
"But I'm not telling you anything you don't know already, am I?
You get me the authorization for this deal in writing. Put down that
Ellen Summers is a cooperating witness who I recruited to help us."

"All right."

"
How long will all that take?"

"I'll be at your door in forty minutes."

Munch felt a little sick to her stomach. This was all
moving too fast and seemed too easy. She should have asked for more
time. She called Fernando's house and asked to speak to Asia. "I'm
going to be another hour at least, honey. Is that okay?"

"
There's a boy named Sean here. He knows magic
tricks."

"
Is he any good?" Munch asked.

"
Sometimes. He needs more practice."

"
So you're okay for now?"

"
Yeah, it's weird."

"What's weird?"

"
I'm kinda having fun. Do you think that's
okay?"

"
Of course it is. I'll be there as soon as I
can." She called Ellen next and spoke to her machine until Ellen
picked up.