An Unacceptable Death - Barbara Seranella (27 page)

"
I'm home now. What's up?"

"
You should get out of there, come over here.
Humberto doesn't think you're safe."

"
Safe from whom?"

"
He didn't say. Pretty nice of him to care,
don't you think?"

Now Munch felt like shit. This was the guy she was
supposed to bust or at least set up to get busted. She couldn't be
quite as cavalier as Roger was about all this. She almost envied
Roger his moral certainty. She had never had an easy time of
pigeonholing people as good or bad.

"
What are you going to do?" Ellen asked.

"
I'm going to lock
the doors and take a bath. I'm feeling dirty."

* * *

Victoria was of two minds. As little as three months
ago, she would have been overjoyed at Abel's efforts to communicate
and work on their relationship. She believed in the institution of
marriage, and she was not so cynical as to have lost all hope for
romance rekindled. Humberto was all right, but would never have
Abel's fire. She was reasonably certain that only one of the two men
would be returning from their trips north. Up until yesterday, she
had prayed for widowhood with the caveat that Abel not suffer. But
yesterday, she had glimpsed a different side of her husband. And a
future that might still be possible.

But she had gone too far already, hadn't she? Even if
somehow he survived, what if he were to discover the truth? How she
had plotted against him. There would be no forgiveness for that.
Although, if Humberto died quickly, who would tell on her?

And if Humberto returned, would he honor their pact
or put her out into the street? That wouldn't do either. If Abel had
taught her anything, it was to look after her own interests. With a
heavy heart, she went into her children's rooms and gathered them to
her. Roberto was the oldest at ten, followed by eight-year-old Ilda,
and last, the youngest, already walking at eleven months, baby
Carmelita.

"
We're going on a little trip," she told
them. "I want you each to bring your favorite toy."

"
Is Daddy coming, too?" Roberto asked.

She looked down into her son's trusting eyes, ran her
fingers through his curls, and said, "He's going to meet us
there."

"
Can I bring two toys?" Ilda asked. She
batted long curling eyelashes, already a con artist plying her
feminine wiles.

How could Victoria refuse her darlings anything?
Wasn't it going to be hard enough, ripping them from the only home
they'd ever known?

"
All right. Two each, but hurry. And change out
of your church clothes. We're going to have a picnic later. Bring
your coats, too."

Victoria picked up the children's school packs,
emptied them, and took them to her bedroom. She lifted the portrait
of the Virgin from the wall above the dresser to reveal the
combination safe. Abel hadn't cleaned it out yesterday, but he'd
taken at least thirty thousand dollars. She grabbed the remaining
bundles of hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them into the children's
backpacks.

When that safe was empty, she went into the closet.
Abel didn't know she knew about the second safe behind his shoe rack.
He would be equally shocked that she had the combinations. She liked
to think he would be impressed, maybe even a tiny bit proud at her
resourcefulness.

The second safe yielded South African krugerrands,
thousand-peso notes, a black velvet pouch of diamonds, and several
handguns. She wrapped them carefully and hid them among her paints
and brushes. She had the cook pack a basket and had the driver, Adan,
bring one of their Suburbans around. He also helped her load several
canvases, her easel, and the wooden box of paint supplies into the
back of the truck. She carried the children's backpacks herself, in
case Adan commented about their weight, and slung them casually in
the back seat, along with the baby's diaper bag.

While Adan filled the tank from the ranch's own pump,
she returned to the villa for the children.

Carmelita was getting bigger every day, but she still
fit nicely on Victoria's hip.

"
Looks like we're going to make a day of it,"
Adan said.

"
With children, you have to be prepared for
anything," she said.

"
I hope to find that out myself one day,"
he said.

She gave him another long look. "You're not
married, are you?"

"
No, senora. Not yet."

The villa was miles from the main road. They drove in
silence down the long driveway. The children were absorbed in their
private games, but Victoria stared out the window, committing the
property to memory. She doubted she would ever see it again.

She noticed a glint of something coming from the
mountains to the east. The sun, perhaps, playing on a metal gun
barrel or the glass lenses of binoculars or a camera. It occurred to
her that she was probably getting out at just the right time.

"
Where to, senora?"

"
South."

* * *

"
So tell me what you know so far," Chapman
said. He'd drained his Scotch in record time and snapped his fingers
for the waitress to bring another one.

"
I told him about the feds' plan," Becker
said, answering for St. John.

The waitress returned with a cheeseburger for Becker
and a second drink for Chapman. St. John was still nursing his soda
and shook his head when the waitress pointed at it.

"
Okay," Chapman said. "Chacón met
this Mexican heavy named Abel Delaguerra when he was down in San
Diego. Delaguerra was running some fighters back then. This was the
late seventies. Chacón was still a kid and had aspirations of his
own. Delaguerra's driver got a speeding ticket, and it wasn't his
first. He was looking at losing his license and Delaguerra didn't
want to have to replace him. He sees Chacón in uniform and asks him
if there was anything he could do."

St. John nodded. Seemed about right. A peroxide
blonde at the bar laughed loudly at something her escort said. St.
John wondered if she was working.

"
So Chacón goes to the courthouse the day the
driver is there to contest the ticket," Chapman continued. "He
sees the motorcycle cop who wrote the ticket and asks him if maybe he
could develop a case of amnesia."

Becker picked up the story. "The motorcycle cop
knows Rico from briefings and such and says, ‘You know who that guy
was driving for?' Rico's still thinking Delaguerra is a high-rolling
fight manager. Course he never came out and asked 'cause, like
Chapman said, he was looking to break into the game himself. Figured
Delaguerra would be a good friend to have."

Becker took a bite of his burger and Chapman, his
eyes slightly glassy, picked up the narrative. "The motorcycle
cop tells Chacón that Delaguerra is a big-time pot smuggler and
distributor."

"
Rico had no idea," Becker added.

"
Says he," Chapman said.

Becker's small eyes went cold and flat. "Yeah,
that's right. Says he and I believed him."

Chapman raised his palms in surrender.

St. J0hn could see both sides. Sure, Rico had been
intentionally naive. But who hadn't? No matter what opinion he
offered now, St. John would be betraying someone. "So then what
happened?"

"
Rico goes to his commander—" Becker
said.

"
Or his commander comes to him," Chapman
interrupted.

"
Whatever," Becker said. "You tell the
story, all right?"

"
Chacón was encouraged to keep a toe in the
water." Chapman smirked. "But he's a young buck, right? So
he does some creative interpretation to those orders and uses other
body parts. Seems Delaguerra has this hot young wife. I mean young.
She'd be jailbait here, but they do things differently down south.

"
In the meanwhile, the Colombians come to
Delaguerra. They've noticed how successful he is at moving product
over the border and they make him an offer. Now instead of making a
couple hundred profit on each key of pot, Delaguerra starts
transporting cocaine. He's making five thousand a kilo, but he
doesn't stop there.

"
If he can make five grand for just moving the
stuff, what if he gets into sales and distribution? He arranges for
the Colombians to start paying him in product. On a thousand-kilo
shipment, he gets fifty kilos in payment."

"
One thousand kilos at a shot?" St. John
asked, staggered at the amount.

Chapman sipped his drink. "I shit you not. We
figure Colombia exports fifty tons a year, Peru three hundred tons,
but that's Miami's problem."

"
The upshot is that Rico gets in deeper and
deeper," Becker said.

"
He wants out. The powers-that-be agree that
it's gotten too dangerous. Rico introduces Delaguerra to new contacts
and gets transferred to Los Angeles with a cover story that the
department forced him into the move.

"
Rico's happy, anything to distance himself from
Delaguerra, who was getting wiggy. I'm talking dangerous wiggy.
Taking out whole families of people who cross him. Not just spouses,
but babies, cousins, grandparents, everyone. The law here can't touch
Delaguerra because he won't cross the border, and he owns the law in
Mexico."

"
Why doesn't someone just take him out?"
St. John asked. "Sounds like he's a waste of skin."

Chapman tipped the last of his drink into his mouth
and started working on the ice cubes. "Suicide mission, for one
thing. Guy has his own private army, lives on a ranch with only one
road in and out. The perimeter is constantly patrolled by security
guards with binoculars, walkie-talkies, and ARl5s. When he does
venture out, he travels in bulletproof Suburbans, driven by
bodyguards. I mean this dude is totally paranoid."

"
Yeah," Becker said, "nothing like
surveilling a guy twenty-four hours a day to see that side of him."

"
Can't throw down on him with a rocket without
taking out a bunch of civilians, not to mention his wife and kids.
According to Chacón, the wife is a virtual prisoner. She never goes
anywhere without a watcher. Before Chacón cut ties with her and
stopped going down to the ranch, he proposed a plan to smuggle her
out."

"
When was this?" St. John asked.

Chapman cracked some ice between his molars. "A
couple, maybe three years ago. In '83 or '84."

So before he met Munch, St. John thought. "Your
DEA buddy Roger told Munch that if she introduced him to some big guy
named Humberto, the government would issue a formal statement
exonerating Rico."

"
She doesn't want that," Chapman said.

"
Not while Delaguerra is still running things,"
Becker said.

"
Who's this Humberto guy?" St. John asked,
thinking he needed to get to Munch and warn her.

"
Humberto Salcedo is the guy our government has
tapped to succeed Delaguerra," Chapman said.

"
When is this going to happen?" St. John
asked.

"
It's in the works," Chapman said.

"
All right. Fine," St. John said. "But
you still haven't told me who killed Rico Chacón and why?"

Chapman"s beeper went off. He looked down at the
display and said, "Uh-oh. I better see what this is about."
He was on the pay phone for only a minute, and then came running back
to the table.
 

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

MUNCH HAD ASIA TAKE THE FIRST BATH WHILE SHE FED
JASPER.

She had filled the bathtub with hot soapy water for
herself when she heard the front door open.

"
Asia?" she yelled.

"
What?" Asia yelled back.

"
What are you doing?"

"
We're going to play out front."

"
Stay inside. You've been out enough today."

Asia didn't answer and Munch didn't hear the door
shut again. Knowing Asia, she was propped in the open doorway,
technically not "out."

Annoyed, Munch re-buttoned her shirt, but left it
untucked. Almost as an after-thought she grabbed Rico's gun and
pushed it into the waistband of her pants. When she checked the
living room, the front door was open, but Asia was nowhere to be
seen.

Annoyance turning to alarm, Munch crossed the room.
Jasper was in the front yard, growling at a woman with long black
hair who had Asia by the arm.

It was that bitch Christina. She had a hand around
Asia's mouth and was dragging her toward the open back door of a van.

Munch sprinted across the front yard, Rico's service
revolver now in her hand as she sneaked around the front of the van.

Asia must have bitten Christina's hand because Munch
heard her sharp "Ouch," followed by Asia screaming, "Let
go!"

Christina handed Asia to a cohort. Munch saw the
hands reach for her little girl and she knew a cold fury. The time to
act was now, while the kidnappers were distracted by their
disobliging victim. Asia had been taught never to cooperate with her
own abduction.