Unwanted Company - Barbara Seranella (18 page)

She walked around to the passenger side and studied
the broken window. She could buy new glass for forty bucks and
install it herself. The small blessing there was that the front
windows weren't tinted, so she was saved that hassle and expense.

"
Anything missing inside?" Mace asked.

"
You mean besides the people?" She looked
in through the hole where the window had been and saw the open glove
compartment. "Someone went through the glove box. "

He grabbed the handle of the rear door on the
passenger side, pushing the button in with his thumb. "Locked,"
he said. She saw that the privacy partition was up. Maybe she still
had a television and a sound system in the back.

"
I wonder why the crooks didn't just unlock the
back doors with the power switch," Mace said.

Munch shrugged. "Maybe they got scared off
before they got that far." She walked back around to the
driver's door and opened it with her key. The first thing she noticed
was that the dome light didn't go on. She reached down and flipped
the door lock switch. Nothing happened. "The battery's dead,"
she said.

"
Great," Mace said. "I'll see if there
are any jumper cables in the Pontiac."

"We might not need them," Munch said. She
reached down and pulled the hood release. The hood popped up an inch.
She selected a small key on the ring of keys she'd brought with her
and came around to the front of the car. Working by feel, she found
the chain and lock protecting the contents of the engine compartment.
She slid the small key into the lock and opened the hood.

Mace came over and stood next to her. She checked the
oil, inspecting not only the level but looking and smelling for signs
of coolant or fuel contamination. Next she checked the radiator level
and found it full. Mace stuck his finger in the green fluid, then
wiped it on his pants. She wondered what that test was supposed to
prove as she replaced the radiator cap. She pointed out the limo's
second battery.

"The limo has a lot of extra electrical
accessories," she explained. "When it's running with two
blower motors going, the TV on, headlights, whatever, that draws a
lot of juice from the system and really puts a strain on the charging
system. The factory puts in a hundred-amp alternator, but they still
burn out quickly. By running two batteries in sequence, the
alternator doesn't have to work as hard."

Mace nodded like he was understanding her. Most men
did that, feeling they should automatically know anything automotive.
"So does that mean both batteries are dead?" he asked,
standing in front of the engine with his hands on his hips.

"Not necessarily. If the battery ran down
because something was left on after the engine was shut off, only the
primary battery will be dead. I can jump the car off the auxiliary
battery." She pushed him gently aside and pointed at the Ford
starter solenoid mounted on the fan shroud. "That's what this is
for. " He stuck his hand out and touched the solenoid. She
handed him the keys. "Turn the ignition on, and I'll crank it
from out here."

"
Okay," he said.

She waited until he was seated behind the wheel;
then, using a small pocket screwdriver, she jumped the solenoid
connections. The engine cranked but didn't start. She saw the
accelerator linkage move back and forth and stopped cranking the
motor. "You don't have to work the gas," she said. "This
car is fuel-injected."

"Oh, right," he said. "You want me to
just sit here and look pretty?"

She grinned. "You're getting the idea now."
She opened the cap covering a fuel fitting on the fuel rail. Using
the small screwdriver again, she depressed the spring-loaded shraeder
valve. The fuel rail should have been full of pressurized gas, but
when she held the valve open, only air escaped. "I think we're
out of gas," she said.

She came around to the driver's side and flipped a
lever by the floorboard.

"
Don't tell me," Mace said. "Auxiliary
fuel tank?"

"That's right," she said.

"What other tricks do you have?" he asked.

"A few." She thought about the tape
recorder under the seat. Before she played the tape for him, she
hoped to get an opportunity to listen to it privately. She went back
under the hood and cranked the engine again. This time it caught. He
got out from behind the wheel and came around front to watch the
engine run.

"
You all through under here?" he asked,
hands on the hood.

"Yeah."

He slammed the hood shut and dusted off his hands.
She went back to the car, unlocked the back doors, and rolled down
the privacy partition.

Mace came around to the passenger side and spoke to
her through the broken window. "Don't go back there," he
said. "I don't want any contamination of evidence. We're going
to want to go over the whole area to collect prints and trace
evidence."

"
How long will that take?" she asked. She
leaned across the seat and pushed the yellow button in the glove
compartment that released the trunk latch. There was a clunk as the
lid popped open a few inches, then settled down. The boomerang-shaped
television antenna bolted to the trunk lid bounced outside the small
rear window.

"
A day or two," he said. "Anything
else missing?"

"
That's what I'm trying to figure out. "
She got up from the driver's seat and walked around to the trunk.
Mace met her at the rear of the car. She lifted the lid and looked
in. "I kept a blanket in here," she said. "It's gone."
She rummaged around, trying to figure out what else was missing.

"Hold it," Mace ordered. "I told you
not to touch anything."

"You said in the back, not in the trunk."

"
Leave everything as you found it. "

"
Okay, I'm sorry. Jeez."

"Before we cross the border," he said, "I
need to call Cassiletti and have him cancel the APB I put out on your
limo."

"You're welcome to use my mobile phone, but it
probably won't work out here. Especially without an antenna."

"I'll use the pay phone at the gas station back
down the road. Follow me over there."

"Yeah, okay, " she said. They got back in
their separate vehicles. She was glad they didn't have to drive back
to Los Angeles together. His attitude was starting to get to her. He
started the station wagon and waited while she turned the limo
around. They drove the short distance back to the Pemex station,
where he pulled up by the pay phone.

"You want to get gas here?" he asked.

"Not really," she said, not trusting the
contents of the tanks in the ancient, run-down gas station. She
watched him head off to the pay phone, then resumed her inventory of
the glove box.

"Why would somebody take the registration? she
asked out loud. As soon as the words were out, the chilling truth hit
her. She jumped out of the car and ran after him. "I've got to
call my house," she said. "Whoever went through the glove
box took the registration. My home address is on it."

Mace handed her the phone and stepped aside.

She dialed the operator, and asked, "Do you
speak English?"

"
Uno momento
, "
came the reply.

A second operator came on the line, and said,
"Hello?"

"I have to make a collect call," Munch told
her. She gave the operator her name and number. When the call finally
went through, she heard her own voice on the answering machine's
outgoing tape.

"
I'1l guess you'll have to try again later,"
the operator said. "There's no one home to accept charges."

"Can I charge the call to my home number and
leave a message?

"Is there anyone at your home phone number to
verify payment?"

"
No," Munch said. That was the problem.

"
You'll just have to try again later, ma'am,"
the operator said.

"But this is an emergency," Munch said.

"
I'm sorry," the operator said. "But I
cannot put your call through at this time."

"
Wait," Munch said, hearing the desperation
in her voice. "I'd like to try another number." She gave
the operator Derek's number, but there was no answer there either.
She hung up in frustration and turned to Mace.

He picked up the phone,
and said, "Don't worry, l'll call Cassiletti and have him send
out a patrol unit to the house. Nothing's going to happen to your
kid."

* * *

Ellen watched as all the trucks and buses leaving
Tijuana were funneled into the far right lane. Billboards and lit
signboards flashed the word
Bienvenido
.
Welcome. Open booths lined the side of the road, selling every kind
of kitschy bright-colored thing known to man. Electric yellow ceramic
Tweety birds vied for space under Aztec plates and fluttering
piñatas
. A plaster of
Paris life-size Jesus with blood dripping from his side wound rested
in the arms of a blue-robed Virgin Mary.

"Just what I want in the middle of my patio,"
Ellen said.

"
¿Que?
"Paco
the driver asked.

"
Nothing," Ellen said. "
Nada
.
"It was going to be a long ride. Stick-legged brown girls with
long braids reaching to the waistbands of their dresses darted among
the cars. Their heads just barely poked above the fenders as they
sold individually wrapped candies out of small cardboard boxes.

The speed of exiting traffic picked up. Ellen noticed
that Paco kept buttoning and unbuttoning his shirt cuff. Occasionally
he licked his lips and looked from side to side. As they drew nearer
to the border, his tics increased.

Four car lengths from the kiosk, a boy of perhaps ten
beat together two flare-sized sticks and sang a song in Spanish. His
mouth contorted to enunciate the words that he shouted more than
sang. As they grew even with the boy, Paco rolled down his window and
held out a handful of coins.

"
Buenos dias
,
" the boy mumbled, allowing the coins to be dropped into his
hand. His eyes stayed focused on the departing traffic.

The truck inched forward. Between the turnstiles old
withered women in long skirts held waxed paper cups and begged for
change. They had young children with them. Surely, Ellen thought, the
kids were grandchildren. The women watched. the rows of cars like
wary birds. Paco reached into his pocket and pulled out another
handful of change.

The flow of traffic urged them on.

"
Noña
, " Paco
called out. Ellen twisted in her seat to watch. The woman wasn't
responding. The bus behind them honked. Paco flung the change behind
him. Ellen heard it ricochet cruelly off the metal stanchions.

They pulled up to the booth. The border guard was a
white man.

"Citizenship?" he asked.

"U.S.," Paco said.

"
U.S.," Ellen echoed.

"What are you hauling?" the guard asked.

"I have no cargo," Paco said.

This must have been one of the sentences they missed,
Ellen thought, when they exhausted their mutual vocabulary fifteen
seconds after meeting. Paco started fiddling with his button again.
She saw a fine trickle of sweat run past his ear.

"Anything to declare?" the guard asked.

Ellen leaned forward and grinned. "We're just
glad to be going home."

The guard waved them forward.

Paco wove the truck through the array of cement
barriers arranged so as to prevent speedy getaways. A yellow sign
depicted a man, a woman, and a child in black silhouette. Their hands
were linked, and they were running. The message of the sign was
obvious: Beware of fleeing families crossing the highway.

"
Are you okay?" Ellen asked.

Paco didn't answer. His eyes were still glued to the
rearview mirror. Finally, he exhaled. She wondered how long he had
been holding his breath.

He reached down under the seat and retrieved a bottle
of orange-flavored Fanta. Cracking it open, he offered it to her.

"No, thanks,"
she said. The sun beating in through the windshield made her realize
how tired she was. "I'm just going to shut my eyes for a
second," she said. She didn't care if he understood or not. He'd
get the message soon enough. She put the screwdriver on the seat
between them and made the blanket into a pillow. Pulling the brim of
her cowboy hat over her eyes, she snuggled down for a nap.

* * *

Upon arriving back in Los Angeles, Raleigh moved
Victor to another hotel. Victor demanded that housecleaning come and
change his linen. Raleigh had been through this drill before with the
guy. Victor had a thing about germs. He even traveled with his own
pillow. Actually, Raleigh couldn't fault the guy that. He had his own
quirks when venturing to foreign places.

It took an hour before Victor was finally settled in.
Raleigh told him to stay put. "Can you do that for me?" he
asked.