Family Counsel (The Samuel Collins Series Book 2) (20 page)

It was late afternoon by the time I got away from the
hospital.  I’d checked in with Niki and told him I’d meet him at his hotel at
5:30.  When he was in town on business he always stayed at the La Mansion Hotel
in downtown San Antonio, nestled on the banks of the San Antonio Riverwalk.  I
took the elevator to the Presidential Suite.

“Hey asshole!”  Niki gave me a bear hug that almost broke my
ribs.

“Looks like you guys have been busy,” I said. 

The dining room table had been converted into their workspace.
There were three laptops hooked up and stacks of papers all over the place.  I
couldn’t help notice that one computer was hooked up to the FBI database; a
little fact that I’d pretend I’d never witnessed.

“Yeah, we’re working.  Come on.  I’ll show you what we’ve got.”

He introduced me around.  Apparently he wasn’t kidding when
he’d said he was bringing his best men with him.  I shook hands with his
brother, Eli, who I hadn’t seen in a couple of  years.  They looked like brothers,
with the same facial structure and build, but unlike Niki’s creepy green eyes, Eli’s
eyes matched his brown hair. 

Matt was there, I must say looking no worse for having lost
Maddie.  Part of me wanted to gloat, but my more mature side prevailed.  “Matt,”
I said, and we shook hands. 

I’d never met the fourth guy, but his reputation preceded him. 
His name was Jason and he was Niki’s right hand man.  After all I’d heard about
the guy, I was surprised to see that he didn’t look ominous at all.  I’d expected
some big, burly, ugly dude, but he looked more like a surfer straight off the California shore.  We shook hands and I took a seat at the table.

“La Gente is one nasty organization,” Niki informed me. “I’m
surprised they sent your cousin’s hair instead of a couple of fingers.”

“Maddie’s cousin,” I corrected. 

“Right,” Niki said absently.  “I’m almost wondering if they’re
the ones behind this.  It doesn’t seem like their style.”

“Well who else would it be?” I asked.

“I don’t know.  So we’ll assume it’s La Gente until we prove
otherwise,” Niki said.  “Here’s what we do know.  Rafael de la Fuentes
Mendoza’s immediate family is the highest ranking family in the organization. 
They got to that position by slaughtering the previously reigning leader in his
home a decade ago, together with his entire family, including the dog.”  He
looked at me for effect. “These are not nice people.”

I thought of Felicia and I swallowed hard.

“La Gente operates primarily out of the Rio Grande Valley, including the Mexican border towns of Laredo and Matamoros, their two main drug
smuggling avenues.  They have cocaine contacts in Columbia and Peru, but as far as I can tell, all of their shipments come through Mexico.  They’ve tried unsuccessfully
to expand their organization outside of Texas to other states, but have been
met with strong resistance by other groups.

“They deal in drugs, prostitution, pornography, human
smuggling, probably arms smuggling.  All kinds of nice stuff.  Rafael De La
Fuentes Mendoza is the youngest of five sons.  No sisters.  On April 10, two
years ago, a verdict came down sentencing Mendoza’s uncle to death in the
triple slaying of a family who owed drug money to the organization.  That same
day, the lawyer who prosecuted the case was shot, execution style, in his
parking garage.  Rafael Mendoza disappeared the same day.  Initial reports were
that police were seeking Mendoza as a witness to the shooting, but I haven’t
come up with anything in any of the databases we’ve breached to suggest that he
saw anything.  Hell, for all I can tell, he could just as easily have been the
trigger man.

“Anyway, somehow the guy ends up in Serenity Hospital, either by choice, or as he claims, by force.  I’m inclined to believe him on that
one.  I won’t even get into what I’ve dug up on Serenity if you decide to
pursue a lawsuit; we’ll get to that after we get your cousin back.  Suffice it
to say you’ll have plenty of ammo on that one.”

Niki walked to the fridge and took out a Big Red.  “Want one?”

I declined.  What I really wanted was a beer, but I didn’t want
to suggest it while they were working.

It was almost 7:00 p.m. by the time someone suggested they take
a break and I was starving.  I realized that between the hospital and the
investigation, I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.  We went to La Margarita, a
touristy spot down at Market Square that serves a great margarita. Their
fajitas come out on a sizzling platter with onions and peppers and they serve
them with homemade tortillas, guacamole and pico de gallo, a Mexican concoction
made with fresh tomatoes, onions, cilantro and lime.  It’s a great place to
take visitors and every time I go, I wonder why I don’t go there more often. 

We walked in as a large group of mariachis were arriving.  They
had silver studs all the way down their pant legs, and it made me think of my
family. The last time I’d been down there, my wife and kids had been with me. 
Oliver had loved the music; Max had hated it.  I’d finally had to take him
outside to make him stop screaming.  It bummed me out that they weren’t with
me.  I hadn’t talked to Maddie in two days.

We sat at a round table in the corner and Niki and I caught up
on what had been going on.  One thing I’d learned was that these guys didn’t
talk business while they ate. Had I lived and breathed the investigator’s life,
maybe I’d feel the same way, but it was as if they’d been hardened to the urgency
of the situation; I was more of the opinion that they shouldn’t rest until they
found Felicia, especially after what I’d just learned about La Gente.  I mean,
it’s not every day that your wife’s cousin gets kidnapped by the mafia.  Still,
I knew that Niki Lautrec was the best in the business; and unlike what I was
going through, this was nothing new to him.  But the fact remained that I
couldn’t get my mind off of Felicia.

“What’s up with you?” Niki finally asked. 

“Nothing,” I started to say, but I knew he wouldn’t let it go.
“It’s . . . Felicia.  I feel like we need to be doing something.”

“We are doing something.  Besides, I thought you didn’t even
like her.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” I said, realizing that it was
actually true.  “She’s just . . . irritating.”

Niki looked at me.  “We are doing something.  Eat your food.”

*    *    *    *

I didn’t go back to the hotel with them.  Actually, they
strongly suggested that I not.  “Let us do our work.  We’ll call you when
something happens,” Niki had said. 

The truth was, I was relieved.  I had no business getting
involved in their business.  Although Lautrec Investigations was a legitimate
upstanding business, I knew that some of the means Niki and his associates would
use to achieve their objective would involve questionable practices – practices
that I as an attorney would rather not know about or be a party to.

I was beat.  The seats of my new Suburban were more comfortable
than the old ones; almost too comfortable.  When I got into the Park, I drove
slowly through the neighborhood, and instantly felt the stress of the day melt
away.  I rolled down the window and the smell of skunk wafted in.  I rolled it
back up.

The Siamese was outside when I pulled into the driveway.  The
bastard must have slipped out the door when I’d left that morning. His tail was
swishing back and forth frantically, and he was making a guttural sound
somewhere between a growl and a purr when I got out of the car.  He wrapped
himself around my leg and wound in and out and between my legs, making it
impossible to walk, so I bent down and scooped him up and carried him.  As I
walked up the sidewalk, the growling sounds coming from my cat intensified; the
purring ceased altogether.  I climbed the steps to my porch and stopped short. 
The door was open. 

My heart was beating hard as I surveyed my yard.  It was pitch
dark outside and there were no street lights so I couldn’t see shit past my
porch.  I put the cat down and he shot into the house and disappeared.  I
considered calling 911, but the truth was, I’d left in such haste that morning
that it occurred to me I might not have closed the door all the way.  My hands
had been full with my briefcase and the box of hair, plus my mind had been on
Destiny.  The more I thought about it, the more likely it seemed that I had
been careless.  But that wouldn’t explain the Siamese’s behavior.  I picked up
Oliver’s baseball bat that was leaning against the side of the house and
stepped inside. 

The front room was just how I’d left it, although it wouldn’t exactly
be a hotbed for thieves since they’re usually not in the market for china and
crystal.  I took off my shoes and walked without a sound into the study.  I
flipped on the light.  Nothing.  I moved on to the living room, then the
kitchen and the breakfast room.  No sign of life.  I went in the utility room
and turned on the light.  Sherlock and Black Cat blinked at the bright light
and meowed simultaneously. 

“Hey, Kitties,” I whispered.

They followed me back to the kitchen and meowed at my feet for
food.  When I didn’t feed them, they followed me to the family room, meowing
impatiently for their dinner, and then to my bedroom.  Everything seemed to be
in order.  I put the bat down long enough to use the bathroom then resumed my
search, with both kitties still in tow.  We came out of my bedroom and I
stopped in my tracks.   It was the Siamese. 

He was sitting at the mouth of the hallway that led to the
kids’ wing.  His pupils were so dilated that his eyes were big black saucers
and his fur was bristled so that he looked twice his size. He hissed when he
saw me, then he turned and proceeded down the hall, crouching so low as he walked
that his stomach almost dragged the ground.  I wished I had my gun. 

When Maddie and I got together, I unloaded my gun and put it up
in the attic so my boys would never come across it.  I hadn’t thought of it in
a year, but I would have felt a lot better with it at that moment than Oliver’s
bat.  The hall was too narrow for me to get a good swing on someone if I had
to, but it was all I had, so I made the best of it.  I gripped the thing with
both hands and followed the Siamese.  Halfway down the hall, I heard talking. 
A man’s voice.  Then a woman’s.  My heart was pounding through my shirt. I
stopped to listen.  It was the damn TV. 

The cats took off ahead of me, chasing the Siamese into the
game room.  I was three steps away.  I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and
I moved into the room with the bat at the ready, just as a voice called out,
“Sherlock!” 

He was lying on the floor propped up with every pillow in the
room, watching my kids’ television. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” I said, not relinquishing
the bat.

“You find me a lawyer yet?”

The question threw me off for a second, which I’m sure was his
intention, but it didn’t deflect my anger. 

“What the hell are you doing in my house?” I repeated.  “You
can’t just break into my house and come back here and watch TV!”

“Hey, what kind of greeting is that?  I thought you’d be glad
to see me.”

He was right. I actually was glad to see him.  His being there
would make getting Felicia back that much easier.  But I was pissed that he’d scared
me.  My heart rate was still elevated.  I leaned the bat in the corner, turned
off the TV, and kicked his foot. 

“Get out of my kids’ room,” I said, and he got up and followed
me back through the house to the kitchen.

I went straight to the phone to call Niki.  Mendoza made a tsk
tsk sound and shook his head. 

“Put the phone down, Sam.”

His voice was cold and hard, and I got the impression that he
had something to back up the menacing tone.  There was no sign of the weary man
I’d left at the farmhouse.  He looked fully recuperated – smooth and ruthless. 
Like a young Andy Garcia. 

I set the phone down in its cradle. “Where’s Felicia?”

He dismissed my question with a wave of his hand.  “We’ll get
to that later.  First, let’s talk about you, counselor.” He picked up my kid’s
cement mixer from the counter and checked it out.

“What’s to talk about?” I asked.

“I used to have a toy just like this.  It was my good-luck
charm,” he said, with a note of nostalgia in his voice.

“Leave my kid’s toy alone,” I said, and I took the cement mixer
out of his hand and put it back on the counter.

“You’re going to be my lawyer,” Mendoza said.

I got this sick feeling in my gut.  I knew what was coming. “Or
you won’t tell me where Felicia is.”

His smile was genuine.  “See.  That’s why I want you.  You’re a
smart man.  A ‘
brilliant attorney,’
I believe, were the words they used
in the article in the Journal.  That’s what I need.  A brilliant attorney.”

“I’m not a criminal attorney,” I asserted.

“That’s not what I hear.  Besides, what makes you think it’s a criminal
matter.”

“I’m brilliant, remember?”

He opened my refrigerator and handed me a beer, then helped
himself to one.  I opened mine and took a swallow.  He chugged his.

“Did you kill the prosecutor?” I asked.

“Are you asking as my attorney?”

“Nope.”

He shrugged his shoulders.  “I told you already.  I was a
witness.”

“
A
witness?  Does that mean there were others?”

Mendoza pointed his beer bottle at me.  “What are you, an
English major? 
A; the
.  What’s the difference?  I witnessed it, okay?”
He shook his head.  “I bet you could screw up Mary Poppins on the witness stand
with that semantics shit.”

It was true and I took it as a compliment.  “If you didn’t kill
the prosecutor, why do you need a lawyer?” I asked.

“Because they’re going to say I did.”

“And why would they do that?”