The Devil May Care (29 page)

“With Navarre, where do you think?”

Mary Pat drained her glass of vodka and poured some more. At the rate she was going, I knew she wouldn't last much longer, and I wanted to speak to her while she was still coherent. I took the bottle, poured a little more vodka into my glass, and set the bottle where she'd have to reach across me to get to it. If she noticed, she didn't let on.

“You gave me the impression that Riley was getting ready to kick Navarre to the curb,” I reminded her.

Mary Pat snorted at the remark.

“That's the impression she gave me,” she said. “Riley's such a…”

“Such a what?”

“Confused woman. One day she wants one thing. The next she wants something else. She can be so smart, so mature, so understanding of the world and her place in it. Then she behaves like an eight-year-old.”

“The girl can be infuriating.”

“Don't insult her,” Mary Pat said. “Who are you to insult her? She's not a girl. She's a woman.”

The rebuke should have told me something, yet it didn't.

“I'm so frightened,” Mary Pat added. “Riley can take care of herself better than most people except—except when she can't.”

“Where would Riley go if she was in trouble?”

“She used to come to me. I've called her, McKenzie—sent texts. She won't pick them up. What the hell do you want?”

I didn't see Maria approach until Mary Pat called her out.

“The carpenter wants to know—” the young woman began.

“Can't you make one goddamn decision on your own? What do I pay you for?” Mary Pat raised her hands as if she were surrendering. “You know what? Who gives a damn?” She slid off the stool, reached past me to grab the Grey Goose by the neck, and stumbled toward her office.

“What's wrong with her?” I asked.

“You really have no idea, do you?” Maria said.

“If I knew…”

“She's in love with Riley.”

“Oh.”

How the hell did you miss that?
my inner voice wanted to know.

“Oh? Is that all you have to say, McKenzie? For a minute there I actually thought you were smart.”

“I can't imagine what gave you that impression.”

“Me, neither.”

I took a pull of the vodka, hoping it would restore my powers of observation. I don't think it did. Maria sat next to me.

“Will you do me a favor?” I asked the young woman. “Will you keep an eye on Mary Pat for me?”

“I'd do that anyway.”

“Let me know if she hears from Riley?”

“Why not? McKenzie—thank you for not telling her about the fire; for not telling Mary Pat about Arnaldo and the rest of them.”

“Don't worry about it.”

“Everything is all messed up. Cesar is furious with Arnaldo about the T-shirts and trying to bring back the Nine-Thirty-Seven. He says if he was here, he'd beat Arnaldo's ass. At the same time, he despises Jax Abana and wants to see him dead. I don't know what's going to happen. Nothing good, probably.”

“Whatever happens, you need to stay out of it.”

“That's what Cesar said.”

Good for him,
my inner voice said.

“Does Arnaldo know where Navarre is?” I asked aloud.

Maria shook her head slowly.

“He's waiting for you to tell him,” she said.

*   *   *

I found Lieutenant Pelzer leaning against his car when I left the restaurant. Greg Schroeder was arguing with him, waving his hands as he spoke. Pelzer didn't look too happy about it. In fact, he looked like he was
this
close to expressing his displeasure when he saw me crossing the parking lot.

“So you two have finally met,” I said. “Are you besties now? Going to have matching bracelets made up?”

“No,” Pelzer replied in a voice that made me believe that he didn't appreciate the joke. “Not even close. Did you get anything?”

I shook my head.

“Keep in touch,” he said. He made to open his car door. Schroeder stopped him.

“Wait a sec, LT,” the detective said.

Pelzer pointed at him yet looked at me. “Is this shamus a pal of yours?” he asked.

“I never saw him before in my life,” I said.

“Then you won't mind if I jail his ass for obstruction if he opens his mouth one more time.”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Lieutenant.” Schroeder's voice was low and calm. “Look at it from my point of view.”

“No,” Pelzer said. “You look at it from my point of view, because that's the one that matters.”

With that, the lieutenant slid into his car, started it up, and drove off.

“What a hard-ass,” Schroeder said.

“Yeah, I'm liking him more and more, too. So what did you do, Greg? Draw Muehlenhaus's name and point it at him like a gun?”

“Something like that.”

“You could always go over his head—Major Kampa runs Hennepin County's Investigative Division.”

Schroeder stared at me for a moment, maybe wondering if I was joking, and then began to chuckle. “That could only be good for me,” he said. “I know Kampa and he is so much more reasonable.” He laughed again.

“What did you want to know that Pelzer wouldn't tell you?” I asked.

“Everything.”

“What did you offer Pelzer in return?”

“Nothing.”

“Yet you two can't get along. I just don't understand it.”

“McKenzie…”

“Cops work on a strict quid pro quo basis. You know that even better than I do. If you want this, you have to give 'em that and plenty of it.”

“I'm just following instructions.”

“I bet.”

“What can you tell me?”

“What do I get in exchange?”

“My undying gratitude.”

“Greg, everything is about the same as it was yesterday when we spoke on the phone.”

“Does Pelzer know that Riley is probably traveling with Navarre.”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell him?”

“I did.”

“Do me a favor—explain that to Mr. Muehlenhaus.”

“Why don't you?”

“I'd rather you tell him.”

“All right, I will.”

“Come with me—in my car.”

“Excuse me?”

“Probably I should tell you—the old man's orders were to bring you to the Pointe. Forcibly, if necessary.”

“I'll meet you there.”

Schroeder paused a moment before he said, “You don't think I can bring you—forcibly?”

“No, I don't. Even if you could, though, the price would be too high.”

“How high?”

“No more free drinks at Rickie's.”

“That would be a tragedy.”

“I think so, too.”

*   *   *

I wanted to follow Schroeder, but he obviously wanted to follow me, so we sat in the parking lot of the Casa del Lago staring at each other through the windshields of our vehicles for about five minutes before he finally flipped me the bird and drove off. I gave him a healthy head start.

Eventually I found myself on Shadywood Road going north through the tiny town of Navarre and wondering, not for the first time, if it had just been a coincidence that Juan Carlos chose that name. I hung a right at the intersection of Shadywood and North Shore Drive and drove east across the bridge. It was another place on the lake where the road came between the homes and their docks. It's also where Arnaldo and the Nine-Thirty-Seven wannabees made their move.

I admit they caught me by surprise. The black Cadillac came up hard on my rear bumper and blew its horn before I knew it was there. I kept driving and the horn kept blowing—I was startled, yet not particularly afraid. I just wanted a moment to think it through before I did anything rash.

I took my foot off the accelerator and let the Lexus slow on its own. The Caddy pulled around me. I could see Arnaldo's face through the passenger window. He didn't look happy. On the other hand, I'd never seen him look happy. He jabbed his finger more or less toward the shoulder of the road as the Caddy sped past.

We weren't terribly far from the house where Juan Carlos Navarre had lived, where Mrs. Rogers had lived, and it occurred to me that Arnaldo had staked it out in case Navarre returned. He wasn't actually following me; he merely saw me driving past and jumped on my tail—he must have recognized Nina's Lexus from when he saw it during our trip to Galena. None of this was important, of course, yet knowing it somehow made me feel better.

When the Caddy slid in front of me and slowed down, I followed its lead and pulled onto the shoulder. On one side of the road was a brown house with huge windows that was built to resemble a Swiss chalet. On the other side was a long wooden dock. A blue and white canvas canopy had been erected at the tip. There was a boat beneath it.

I sat in the Lexus for a moment before deciding it would be rude of me to wait for Arnaldo since he had the broken leg and all. So I left the vehicle—after first checking the load in the SIG Sauer and shoving it between my jeans and the small of my back. I slipped my sports jacket on as I exited the car, walked around the back bumper, and approached the Caddy from the passenger side. The window had been rolled down. I noticed that Arnaldo wasn't wearing his seat belt and the door was unlocked—facts that I kept to myself.

Arnaldo gestured toward the driver. It was the same man who had been driving when they had followed me to Dunn Bros.

“We're getting better,” Arnaldo said.

“So you are,” I said.

The driver grinned at the compliment.

“To what do I owe the pleasure this time?” I asked.

“You made promises…”

“We've had this conversation before, Arnaldo.”

“We're having it again. We're gonna keep having it until you do what you said you were going to do. You think you can make promises to the Nine-Thirty-Seven and not keep 'em, McKenzie? Is that what you think?”

“It's not what I think.”

“Why didn't you call us, then? Huh? Navarre, whatever Abana calls himself, his boat was docked at the restaurant, wasn't it? When were you gonna tell us about that? Huh? Huh? We hadda find out on our own.”

Maria,
my inner voice said.
Remember what Cesar told you—don't get involved.

“I promised to find Navarre, not his boat,” I spoke aloud.

“Don't fuck with me, McKenzie. You think you can fuck with me? I will cut off your balls and feed 'em to you.”

“Arnaldo, when you say real stupid shit like that you ought to smile so a guy knows you're joking, otherwise bad things could happen,” I said, although the man had a legitimate point. It would be dangerous to break my word to the Nine-Thirty-Seven. Arnaldo was as frightening as a summer cold. If Cesar should take offense, though …

One problem at a time.

“Where is he?” Arnaldo asked. “Where is Jax Abana? You said you'd deliver him up. Where the fuck is he?”

“I don't know.”

“You don't know? You don't know? It's been three fucking days.”

“How long have you been looking for him? Hmm? Back off, Arnaldo.”

“You fucking telling me what to do?”

“Arnaldo…”

“No one fucking tells me what to do. 'Specially some white-ass motherfucker. I'm tired of waiting. I am fucking tired of you. You know what I'm gonna do? You don't deliver Abana right fucking now, I'm going to pay your woman a visit. Yeah, that's right, Nina Truhler. Think I don't know her name? Think I don't know where she lives? Lives in fucking Mahtomedi. Yeah, I'll go pay her a visit. She'll love a visit from us. Won't she?”

Arnaldo glanced at his driver and hit him playfully on the arm. The driver didn't appear happy. I think he realized that his buddy had gone too far over the line, even if Arnaldo did not.

“Yeah, she would,” he added. “Give her some dark meat…”

You did warn him,
my inner voice said.

I yanked open the Caddy door and grabbed Arnaldo by the throat.

I dragged him from the car and threw him into the ditch between the road and the shoreline.

He hit the ground and rolled down the modest hill, the cast on his leg bouncing off the rocks, dirt, and tuffs of grass.

I slammed the car door shut and pulled the SIG Sauer out from under my sports jacket. I pointed it through the open window at the driver.

“Get out of here,” I said.

The driver stared at the gun as if he had never seen one before.

I put a round through the driver's-side window. The safety glass shattered into a thousand tiny shards that flew all around him.

The driver quickly started the Caddy and drove off.

I turned toward Arnaldo. He was trying to stand but was having a tough time managing it with the cast.

I used my shoe to push him back down onto the ground.

He cursed me until I pressed the barrel of the SIG Sauer against his cheek. The muzzle was still hot and burned a small circle into his flesh that I knew would probably disappear in a few days. He whimpered at the pain just the same.

“I'm going to say this slowly in words that you'll understand,” I told him. “If you go near Nina I will kill you. I will kill your sister. I will kill your driver and every one of you Nine-Thirty-Seven pukes. I will kill your mother. I will kill your father. When your brother gets out of stir, I'll be standing on Pickett Street waiting, and then I'll kill him, too. You go tell Cesar I said so. Be goddamn sure you tell him
why
I said so. Go 'head, Arnaldo. Make him proud.”

I stood over him. Arnaldo looked frightened, yet not nearly frightened enough as far as I was concerned. I fired two rounds, one on each side of his head. He screamed as if the bullets had hit him. Dirt exploded upward, soiling his face and throwing debris into his eyes. He covered his face with his hands and screamed some more.