Walk Away, page 23
The curtains in the front window rustled, but she did not see the person looking out. A few moments later the door opened with the safety chain still in place. A gray-haired woman peered out. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Mrs. Trujillo? It’s me. Camaro Espinoza? I lived up the street from you. My father’s name was Hector.”
The woman looked at her, thoughts ticking. “Espinoza?”
“Yes. You remember us? My father died in 2007.”
The moment was a long time in coming, but Camaro saw the light dawn. Mrs. Trujillo’s face brightened. “Oh, yes! You are Camaro? You’re so much older now!”
Camaro smiled. “Yes.”
“One moment.”
The door closed. Camaro heard Mrs. Trujillo unfastening the chain. The door opened again, wide this time, and Camaro saw the roundness of the old woman in her housedress. She stepped out and took Camaro by both shoulders before moving to kiss her cheek. Camaro had to stoop to allow it. Mrs. Trujillo was small.
“Come inside. Come in and see me. I haven’t seen you in a long, long time. How is your sister?”
“She’s good. She has a daughter now.”
“Incredible! You must have a husband and a family, too.”
“Not yet,” Camaro said.
Mrs. Trujillo tsked. “You are a beautiful woman. Don’t let it go to waste. Find a husband and then come back to the neighborhood. We miss Hector so much. He was a gentleman and a good friend to Roberto.”
“I was hoping to see your husband.”
“He’s here. He’s having a nap before dinner. Come sit down in the kitchen, and I’ll wake him up.”
The kitchen was not large, because none of the houses in this neighborhood were large. Camaro had a vague recollection of the Trujillos’ house being like theirs, with three undersized bedrooms. It was difficult to raise any family of size in a home like this one, but it was done and had been for time out of mind.
Mrs. Trujillo stationed Camaro at the kitchen table and went to fetch her husband. She was back in a few minutes and bustled around the space, making fresh coffee and putting out cookies. After a short while Roberto Trujillo appeared.
Mr. Trujillo was the same age as Camaro’s father would have been, and he was fleshy and well fed, like his wife. He wore a red plaid work shirt open over a white T, and his hair was mussed from sleep. When he saw Camaro he smiled, and she rose to let him hug her and touch her cheek. “Camaro, Camaro,” he said. “Where have you been all this time?”
“She was in the army, remember?” Mrs. Trujillo said.
“Of course I remember. How is your sister, Camaro?”
“She’s great.”
“That’s good to hear. We hoped she’d keep the house when your father died, but I guess she didn’t see the point in staying. It would have been nice if she had, though. The new family is not the same. It’s been ten years, but it’s not the same.”
“You’ll stay to eat?” Mrs. Trujillo asked.
“I can’t, actually,” Camaro said. “I have someone waiting.”
“Outside? Tell them to come in.”
“We don’t want to be any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Don’t worry about it. He’s fine out there. Really.”
Mrs. Trujillo sighed. “If you say.”
Roberto Trujillo reached across the table to take Camaro’s hand, and she let him. “You have to tell us everything,” he said. “It’s been forever since we saw you last.”
“Okay,” Camaro said. “But I have a question for you.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
YATES SAT IN the SUV for an hour waiting for Camaro. He almost didn’t see her when she left the house down the street. She approached quickly and got in. “West Third Street,” she said. “A place called iFix.”
Yates set off. Camaro stared out the windshield at the road, saying nothing and doing nothing. She could be utterly still.
“How did it go back there?”
“Fine.”
“How long has it been since you saw this place?”
Camaro shot a look in his direction. “I was here when my father died.”
“How long before that?”
Camaro was quiet, until Yates thought she wouldn’t answer.
“Six years,” she said.
“Long time.”
“It’s complicated.”
“I imagine.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then we don’t talk about it,” Yates said. “Everybody has secrets.”
They drove awhile. Yates considered turning on the radio again for the first time in two hundred miles.
Camaro said, “It’s not a secret.”
“No?”
“When I joined the service after 9/11, my father wasn’t happy. I guess he thought I was better off doing something else.”
“Like what?”
Camaro shrugged. “Meeting a guy. Getting married. Like any guy would want to marry a girl who breaks down bikes for fun and can kick his ass.”
“Father teach you all that?”
“Yeah. I put my hands on an engine when I was seven. He had me in Jeet Kune Do after that, showed me boxing at home. I got on the wrestling team in high school. After that…I didn’t have anywhere to go. He didn’t have any good ideas.”
“What did your mother say?”
“She was gone a long time by then.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It happens.”
“At least you were honest with him. Honesty’s always the best way. In fifty-three years I’ve always told the truth to my wife but once, and I regret that every day of my life. I taught my son to be the same way. Have it out on the table. Get down to the truth of things.”
“Sometimes people don’t want to hear the truth.”
“Doesn’t mean lying is better. Your father probably appreciated you talking straight.”
“I don’t know. He just thought it would all work out. So I came home after Basic and we had it out, and then we didn’t talk at all. He had a stroke that messed him up pretty bad, and then he had another one that killed him. I got home in time for the funeral.”
Yates nodded slowly. “It’s tough not getting a chance to say good-bye.”
“Yeah.”
“My son and I got along better than it sounds like you and your old man did, but we had our disagreements. It would have been nice to hash those out in our own time. But now that’s not gonna happen.”
Camaro kept her silence.
They were close to their destination. Yates took the La Brea exit. “You want to tell me what we’re walking into?”
“There’s a guy who used to live in our neighborhood who worked on electronics. He could do all kinds of crazy stuff, like wire the lights in your house to turn on and off by radio. Things like that. I know he does computers and phones, too.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“The same.”
The directions on Yates’s phone led them in a tight combination of lefts and rights until Yates saw the sign among a string of others on both sides of the street. There was a nail place on one side, and a psychic reader had a storefront two doors down. There was just enough room to squeeze in across the street and not overlap into the red zone. He turned off the engine. “So you really think he can do this?” he asked.
“If anybody can find that phone, Mr. Cabrera can.”
“It’s illegal. He up for that? You haven’t seen the man in an age.”
“You got some extra cash?”
“I’m doing all right so far.”
“Then let’s find out.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
THEY SWITCHED SEATS halfway through the drive to Los Angeles, and now Way was behind the wheel. He had a direct connection with a woman named Marjorie Banner at Hyundai’s Blue Link service, and he’d left strict instructions with her to contact him whenever new addresses were entered into the Santa Fe’s navigation system, but there had been only one additional call between the time they left the Monterey area and when they finally reached LA.
It was easy for Way to spot the rented SUV once they were on the right street. He breathed deeply, but his pulse was up and he was getting a headache. He’d already swallowed six ibuprofen. The pain was tenacious. He was aware of Hannon next to him, seeing what he saw, thinking whatever it was she thought.
They couldn’t park close, but Way found a spot fifty yards past the address and slotted the car into place. He left the engine running.
“I think we should talk,” Hannon said. It was the first time they’d spoken in nearly three hours.
Way adjusted the side mirror to better see the entrance of iFix. He rubbed his temple with his thumb. “We already had a talk.”
“I need to know what we’re going to do here.”
“We’re going to look and listen.” Hannon said nothing. He felt her watching him. He glared at her. “What?”
“I don’t like the way we left things before,” Hannon said.
“We’re on the road six hours and you finally have something to say about it?”
“Keith—” Hannon began.
“Let me cut you off right there. I’m not having a replay of our last conversation. You have objections, and I understand that. But you knew going in how I felt about this, and you said you were clear on what we were going to do.”
“I knew,” Hannon said.
“Okay. You know Jerry and I came up together. We joined the marshals together, we worked together. He was like a brother to me. He was my brother. Anybody, and I mean anybody, who stands between me and taking out Lukas Collier is going to pay the price. So I’m sorry if you’re having second thoughts, but I’m not. I’m doing this.”
“I need to know if you’re going to do something to Yates and Espinoza.”
“I’ll do whatever I need to do. If they’re smart, they’ll stay out of my way. If they’re not, I’m not going to take responsibility for them.”
“That concerns me, Keith. These people aren’t the bad guys.”
“They are interfering with my duties,” Way said sharply. “I don’t give a flying fuck about Yates’s rights as a bail bondsman. That means shit to me. And what the hell is Camaro Espinoza even doing with him? Her sister’s in Carmel; her niece is there, too. They need someone looking out for them. She should be back there playing house and keeping her business to herself. But, no, she’s decided to make Lukas Collier her problem.”
“He came after her family,” Hannon said. “She has cause to worry if he’ll come around again.”
“He’s never coming around again. He’s not going to come around anywhere again.”
Hannon didn’t reply. She turned around in her seat to see iFix. “What do you think they’re doing in there?”
“I have no idea, but I don’t think they’re trying to get their computer repaired.”
“We know where they are now. We should get on Lukas.”
“We are on Lukas. These two are going to take us right to him.”
“How do you know that, Keith? How do you know?”
“It’s the vibe I get off Yates, and it’s definitely because of the sneaky shit going on with Camaro Espinoza. Yates is harder to fit into the picture, but Espinoza—she has dirt all over her. We didn’t have to dig down an inch before we found everything she’s been mixed up with.”
Hannon turned away. She brought out her phone and fiddled with it. Way kept one eye on her and the other on the shop. She did not stop looking at her phone. Way shifted in his seat. “Man, I wish I had some sound in there. Some video, too.”
“We have what we have.”
“And that’s dick.”
“Can you at least tell me you’ll try to keep them clear of whatever happens?”
Way wanted to grit his teeth, but he knew that would only make his headache worse. “Do you want out?” he asked.
“You’re making it hard for me. I’m only—”
“It’s a real simple question. I’ll handle it on my own. You sign off as the lead on the case, but I’ll do what has to get done.”
Hannon fell silent. Way watched her, and she turned her face away from him so he could not see her expression. “I don’t think I’m asking a lot,” she said.
“You’re asking me to take the chance that I won’t get Lukas. That is unacceptable. I will not allow that to happen.”
She looked at him. “What if it’s me between you and Lukas? Would you kill me, Keith? Because that’s what I’m thinking might happen.”
Way stared back at her. “Don’t get between us, and you’ll never have to find out,” he said flatly.
Hannon shook her head and looked away. Way went back to watching the shop. No one went in or came out. His headache boiled.
Chapter Sixty-Five
JUAN CABRERA WROTE an address on the top sheet of a pad of yellow paper and tore it off. “Who wants it?” he asked.
“I’ll take it,” Camaro said. She looked at Cabrera’s scratches. “Sunset Boulevard.”
“Where exactly?” Yates asked.
“I don’t know the place, but I know the area. It’s about twenty minutes east of here if traffic’s all right.”
Yates laid five hundred-dollar bills in Cabrera’s outstretched hand. “Thanks for your help, amigo. And if we need an update?”
Cabrera folded up the money and put it in his pocket. He was a very thin man with a few strands of hair pulled across a bald pate. His shoulders were spindly in his yellow iFix golf shirt. “You only have to call. Anything I can do to help old friends.”
“Let’s go,” Camaro said.
Camaro jaywalked in a hurry and waited for Yates to get the SUV open. She got into her seat and buckled up. As soon as the engine turned over, she called up the GPS and entered the new address. It lit up on the map of Los Angeles, tracing a route north to the location of Lukas’s phone. The blue line pulsed in time with her heartbeat. As they drove, Camaro checked her weapon.
“We get there, let’s make sure we get the lay of the land first,” Yates said. “I don’t want to rush into anything.”
“Okay,” Camaro said.
“I want him, too.”
They drove until they reached Sunset Boulevard, and then Camaro’s eyes searched ahead. She saw the Super 8 and pointed. “There,” she said. “That has to be it.”
“You have reached your destination,” the GPS said.
“I’m going to put us on the street,” Yates said. “If he gets past us, I want to be able to pull out fast.”
He found a place along the curb and parked. Camaro steadied her breath.
“Let’s go.”
The breeze plucked at them on the street. It was cooling rapidly toward dark. Camaro forced herself to walk alongside Yates and not ahead of him. They reached the entrance to the motel’s parking lot together. She peered around the corner and scanned the lot. Any car could have been Lukas’s.
“I’ll take the manager’s office. You watch the rooms,” Yates said. He had his bail-enforcement badge out.
“Don’t take too long,” Camaro said.
He vanished inside the office, and Camaro stood half hidden by a pillar on the ground floor. The visible rooms all faced the parking lot, the stairwells exposed so no one could ascend or descend without being seen. There were security cameras at the front and rear of the lot.
Yates returned. “Second floor. Room Two-one-three.”
“Where is that?”
“Right above us. The manager marked up a map.”
Camaro consulted it. A red ink arrow followed halfway down one side of the lot and ascended. Another arrow directed them to Lukas’s door. She nodded and pushed the map away. “I got it.”
She went, and he followed. She slipped the Glock into her hand as she reached the stairs. She held the gun in both hands against her body in the compressed ready position. With Yates at her back, she approached the corner and peeked around it. Lukas was not there.
They advanced past still rooms with drawn curtains until they reached 213, then fell in on opposite sides of the frame. Camaro touched the door. It was metal, and the frame was also metal. She shook her head at Yates. He put his gun away and reached for his picks.
The sound of an ice machine dumping a load of cubes carried to them from the far end of the walkway. Camaro looked up as Lukas came around the corner.
A pause lengthened between them in which time seemed to suspend. Lukas stood with a bucket of fresh ice in his hand, his shirt unbuttoned to expose the pistol tucked in the front of his waistband. He froze, his mouth dropped open.
Camaro pressed the Glock out and up, aiming past Yates, squeezing the trigger, and feeling the gun recoil in her grip. Her bullet struck the wall ten feet behind Lukas. The sound spurred him into motion. The ice bucket tumbled from his hand, spilling chunks of frozen water across the concrete in a silvery fan. He twisted and drew his .45 from his jeans.
Yates stepped in front of Camaro as Lukas’s gun went off. Blood spattered the wall, and the old man groaned. He sagged against Camaro, and she lowered him to the ground. “Go,” he said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”
Camaro moved. Lukas had vanished around a corner. Camaro dashed quickly past the remaining rooms, rounding the same corner to find a through hallway that punched out onto the far side of the building, where more rooms lay. She charged down it and turned the next corner. She had only an instant to see the butt of Lukas’s gun coming at her face. Then she saw lights.
Her knees folded, and she crumpled. She saw Lukas swinging his weapon around again, the gaping blackness of the muzzle coming into line with her face. She’d lost her gun somewhere. Her hands went up instinctively, closing over Lukas’s pistol. She felt his hand flex, and the hammer fell on her finger, a sharp metal bite.
She wrenched the gun one way and then another. Lukas cursed, his finger caught in the guard. Camaro twisted until she felt something give and Lukas cried out. The gun came loose between them and clattered to the concrete.
