Dying to Know (19 page)

Bobby returned. “Wallchak hasn’t spoken with Bear for a

week. He showed up the other day but got into it with Spence

and left. Wallchak never talked to him.”

“Then Braddock has inside information. Someone’s helping

him. I don’t like that.”

Both goons shrugged.

“Perhaps he knows about Iggi, too. Bobby, you’d better pay

Iggi a visit—and Salazar’s widow, too. Make sure they understand

things. Take care of Sarah Salazar—good care. If Iggi doesn’t feel like cooperating, wel , take care of him, too.”

Bobby disappeared again.

“Tommy, get the box, won’t you?”

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“Sure, boss.” Tommy walked to the far corner of the room and

pulled on one of the heavy bookshelves. Like an old Hol ywood

movie scene, the heavy oak bookshelf glided forward and re-

vealed a wall safe. Tommy deftly manipulated the dial and

opened the door. Inside, he retrieved a heavy wooden box

adorned with brass hinges and a heavy ornate lock. It resembled

a pirate’s treasure chest, but was no larger than a shoebox. Reverently, he carried it to Poor Nic’s desk and laid it before him.

Then, he retreated to his post behind the leather armchair and

waited.

“Thank you. Recent events force me to consider my actions

all those years ago. There were so many questions. I am close to

the answers, Tommy. No one is going to keep me from them.”

Tommy remained silent.

Poor Nic sat stoical y holding the sides of the box. His eyes

said he was miles away. The box had a profound spell that seized

him when his eyes rested on its lock. When he reached into his

pocket and withdrew a skeleton key, I’d swear he held his breath.

He manipulated the lock and lifted the lid. Before he looked in-

side, his right hand signed the cross as his lips proclaimed his

faith.

I couldn’t see what treasures lay inside. Strange, though, as I

felt no compulsion to move closer. There was something about

the box. Something powerful that repelled any notion of violat-

ing the old man’s privacy.

He withdrew several folded newspaper clippings and read

them. Then, he withdrew photographs and other papers and laid

them down in a neat stack beside the box. There was also a

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gun—a nickel-plated derringer that he hefted and seemed oddly

pleased to hold. Poor Nic was lost in memories. After reliving

some long ago secret, he replaced each item inside the box. He

locked it and sat back, closing his eyes.

Tommy’s voice startled me. “Do you want me to take care of

this, boss?”

“No, but thank you,” Poor Nic said with a low, sardonic laugh.

Then, in a graven tone, added, “I will handle this myself. Perhaps not today or tomorrow. Perhaps not this year or next. But I wil

take care of this before I die.”

“Okay, Boss. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Yes, please do. Go make sure Wallchak has everything

straight.”

“Sure, Boss.”

“We can’t afford another Salazar situation, can we?”

Whatever that question meant, Tommy knew it didn’t require

an answer and left.

The desk phone rang. He let it ring three times before lifting

the receiver and grunting a shallow greeting. He twice closed his

eyes and drummed his fingers against his temple. The tightness

of his lips and the tel tale shake of his head told me he was not

pleased with the cal .

“Hold on.” He lurched forward. His fingers whitened around

the receiver. “I’m aware of our liability. Don’t presume to explain that to me. Get your hands on those other pieces or else.”

Poor Nic’s face twisted as the caller spoke. He cut in. “We

share that responsibility. Do you understand? Do your part and

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I’ll do mine. Iggi is for me to handle and Lucca is your problem—

I cannot deal with him yet. So do it. Do it soon.”

He hung up the phone. As he leaned back in his chair, he

sipped his cocktail and contemplated the box once again. His de-

meanor softened and his face relaxed.

“Lucca, Lucca, Lucca. You’ve been a bad boy. Very bad in-

deed.”

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thirt y

“Angel, you here?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She spun around at our kitchen table

and looked around the room. “Tuck, you scared me half to

death.”

“Wel , it could have been all the way,” I mused. “Like me.”

Her eyes followed my voice to the kitchen chair opposite her.

“Herc and I have been looking for you.”

I told her about the visit with Poor Nic. “So, if you’re up to it, I have an idea.”

She listened and when I was through, said, “I’m not sure of

this. Let’s call Bear.”

“What’s wrong?”

Her eyes dropped. “You want to find … can’t you be happy the

way things are?”

“No, I can’t. There are no leads on my case. Maybe if we solve

Salazar’s it’ll help.”

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“If I help you solve Salazar’s murder, we could link it to

yours?”

“Sure, maybe.”

She thought about that. “Then I’m calling Bear. I don’t want

to …”

“No, wait until we’re done. Sarah never trusted him.”



Ten minutes later, we pulled into a parking space in front of a

long block of row houses. The homes were in poor repair with

dirty, brick exteriors and paint-chipped windows. Boxes of trash

piled out front spilled into the street. Many of the houses were

dark and most of the streetlamps were, too. The parking lot was

eerily dark and forbidden at this nine o’clock hour.

Angel looked around and frowned. “Oh my, Sarah lives here?”

“Nice, isn’t it? Raymundo Salazar was working two jobs for

this. Sarah has a young baby, too. And, she’s not working.”

“How do they do it? And with a baby?”

I looked around the neighborhood and saw two men climb-

ing into a large sedan down the block. “There goes Bobby and

one of his pals, Angel.”

“Terrific, just what we need. Remember, Tuck, we have a deal.

I do some detective work and we turn it over to Bear, right?”

“Right.” Hercule was sitting in the front passenger seat. I

whispered to him and he barked. To Angel, I said, “Leave your

window down. Herc will have you covered. You’ll like being a

detective. Trust me.”

“Tuck, I mean it. I’m not doing this after tonight.”

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A moment later, we were standing on Sarah’s stoop as Angel

rapped on the door. It opened almost instantly. Perhaps she was

expecting Bobby again. The expression on her face said she was

not expecting Angel.

“Yeah? Who are you?”

Sarah was a plain girl of about twenty. She was blond with

large blue eyes and a broken, but pretty smile. She was tiny—

about five feet tall and slender. The remnants of baby fat showed

above her jeans. She bounced and coddled a young infant in her

arms.

“Sarah,” Angel said in a small voice. Then she gained her con-

fidence. “Sarah, I’m Angela Tucker.”

Sarah looked her over and then peered around her into the

parking lot. “So? What’s that mean to me?”

“Angel Tucker, Sarah,” Angel repeated. “Tuck, my husband,

was murdered—Detective Tucker.”

Sarah’s face paled and she stopped bouncing her baby. “Oh,

I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t know. Right, Tuck’s wife. Sorry.”

“May we come in?”

“We?” Sarah looked around Angel again. “Is someone with

you?”

Angel blushed. “No, I’m sorry. I left my dog in the car. Just

me. May I come in? I need your help. Please?”

“My help?” Sarah’s face transformed from cold and angry to

shameful. A couple tears fil ed her eyes and began the journey

down her face. She pushed the screen door further open. “I’m

sorry, Mrs. Tucker. I heard about him on the news. I’m real sorry.

Come in.”

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Angel followed Sarah into her tiny kitchen. The room smelled

musky and damp. Overhead, a single, bare bulb lighted the room.

A baby’s bottle was warming on the stove and there was a smal

plate and spoon ready on the counter.

“Sorry ’bout this.” Sarah moved a pile of laundry off a kitchen

chair and motioned for Angel to sit. Then, she opened the refrig-

erator. “Hope you don’t mind if I feed Annie. She’s hungry—as

always.”

“Go right ahead.” Angel winced when Sarah’s refrigerator re-

vealed only a half-empty gallon of milk, two jars of baby food,

and some old, browning fruit. “Can I help?”

“No. Annie’s funny with strangers.”

I said, “I wonder how she took to Bobby and the other goon.”

Angel was thinking the same thing. “Sarah, don’t Poor Nic’s

men scare her? Or is she used to them?”

Bullets wouldn’t have gotten Sarah’s attention any faster.

“What does that mean? You tryin’ to say somethin’?”

“We—I saw them leave.”

Sarah shrugged. “Bobby brought Ray’s last paycheck. I

couldn’t pick it up. My car don’t work.”

“Of course.” Angel nodded. “I’m very sorry about your hus-

band, Sarah. I know what you’re going through.”

“Thanks. My Ray was a hard worker—he was always wor-

kin’—two jobs for me and Annie. And he would’a had three if I’d

let him.”

“There’s your cue, Angel,” I said. But when she sat watching

Annie and didn’t make a move, I pressed her. “Angel, come on.

The faster you get what we came for, the faster we’re out of here.”

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Sarah spooned some mushed-something into Annie’s eager

lips. “What you want? You didn’t come here to say you’re sorry.”

“No,” Angel began, “I came to ask about Ray and his friend

Iggi.”

“What about them? I thought you was gonna ask me about

Tuck?”

“Yes, but it may be connected.”

“Huh?”

Angel used a warm, trusting smile to ease Sarah’s angst.

Annie liked her smile, too. She cooed and wiggled, and reached

out her arms. Angel looked to Sarah, got a nod, and took Annie

in her arms.

“Sarah, I think whoever kil ed Ray may have been involved

with Tuck’s murder, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“I dunno.” Sarah watched Annie atop Angel’s knee. “The cops

don’t seem to know nothin’ about Ray’s killin’. Your husband told

me that much. I ain’t seen his partner for a couple weeks, either. I guess nobody cares about Ray no more—not after your husband

got killed.”

Angel tensed before her eyes softened and a painful, almost

teary glistening filled them. “I am sorry, and I’m sure that’s not true. Bear is trying hard to find Ray’s killer. I know he is.”

Sarah shook her head. “Don’t matter. Ray’s dead.”

I said, “Ask about his moonlighting job, Angela.”

With a reluctant bite of her lip, she did.

“I’m not real sure.” Sarah didn’t hesitate. “He went out most

nights after the warehouse shift. Whenever I asked, he said he

got somethin’ part-time. Said he had to get us outta this place. He 181

got mad at me a couple times, so I stopped asking. He was like

that. But, he brought in good money.”

“Good money?” Angel asked. “Doing what?”

“Not what you think. No drugs or nothin’. We were trying to

get Annie outa this damn place—outa this neighborhood. He

worked odd jobs everywhere he could find ‘em. Sometimes he

painted houses. Sometimes he mowed grass or somethin’. I

dunno where this last one was. His friend got him a few hours a

week—you know, just here and there.”

Angel asked, “Was that Iggi?”

“Yeah.” Sarah retrieved Annie. “He in trouble, too?”

“No, no trouble. I think Iggi can help me figure this all out.

And if I can, maybe that’ll help find Ray’s killer, too. Where can I find Iggi?”

Sarah looked at her and sat quiet. If there was something I’d

learned about life, it was that a hard one made you distrust ev-

eryone. Sarah had a hard life.

“Don’t know,” she said. “What’s the difference how Ray got

jobs? What’s Iggi got to do with this? Does he know somethin’

about the murders, too?”

Too? I said to Angel, “That’s what Bobby was doing here,

Angel. Finding out what she and Iggi know.”

“Is that what Bobby was doing here, Sarah?” Angel asked,

touching Annie’s hand and made her smile. “Please, I need to

know what you told Bobby.”

Sarah bit her lip. “Look, I got nothin’ to tell you. Poor Nic is

being good to us—Annie and me. I don’t want to piss him off.”

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“He came to see me, too, Sarah. He said he wanted to help

me. But, he scares me. He scares me a lot.” Angel watched Sarah

closely, looking for a crack in her armor. “If Iggi knows some-

thing and Poor Nic’s men find him first, he might not help me.”

Sarah looked away and stayed silent.

“Angel, she knows something.”

Angel leaned forward. “Sarah, please. Iggi could be in danger.

Since Ray’s murder, Tuck’s been kil ed, someone’s tried to kil me, and a friend of mine was almost killed, too. Please. Help me.”

“Okay, okay.” Sarah stood up and shifted Annie in her arms.

“Ya want some coffee? I wanna help, I do. But I don’t know

nothin’.”

Angel took over the task of making coffee while Sarah fed

Annie. Small talk began and I took the break in tension to snoop

around. In a smal , rear bedroom, I found what I was looking for

on her nightstand—an envelope stuffed with cash. The money

was half-out of the envelope and fanned open as if from Sarah