Tarnished Steel Page 5

  “In other words, don’t listen in. Gotcha. Come find me when we can get out of here and back on the road. Will this be a regular event this weekend?”

  “No, and that’s why I need to make the phone call now — so it won’t be,” he told her.

  Accepting that, she left him heading for the grape display, wondering who was following them.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hank pulled out his cellphone and walked into a patch of shade. He dialed the number and waited for Orlin to pick up.

  “Bueno?”

  “Hi Orlin, Hank here. I was going to just let this happen, but my girlfriend is a straight, and Ernando sucks enough at following me around that she’s going to pick up on him and start asking me to call the police. I’m sure he’s on his own, right? Because if you still need to keep this close of an eye on me, then maybe we should just call it quits and move on.”

  Orlin was the head of a local cartel. It was small in comparison with the great ones in Mexico, but it was growing in strength and power every year. Orlin was quiet for a long time, and then said, “He is there? Ernando? You are sure.”

  “Can’t miss that ’67 Chevy truck shell with the racing chaise and track tires. The paint job alone is a dead giveaway. Silver with flames.”

  “He’s in his own truck doing this?”

  “Yes, Orlin, he’s in his own truck and she’s going to spot him. We agreed that time off was a good thing with the calendar we have coming up, right?”

  “Si, yes, in fact I am with my family now. I will take care of this. I don’t know why he does such things. But I will take care of it right now.”

  “Hated to call you about it,” Hank told him.

  “No, no, it was the right thing to do. Have a good weekend and I will see you Thursday, yes?”

  “Yes, Thursday morning, ready for work.”

  ***

  Ernando Delvalle felt that his luck thus far was perfect. He figured that Lakeside could not be that big of a place, so he would eventually find Hank. Even if he didn’t, it didn’t matter. It only mattered that he tried. The gringo was playing them. He knew it. He could feel it in his nuts.

  When Hank pulled into the main street a few car lengths ahead of him with another rider, who was obviously female, heading for the farmers’ market, Ernando knew it was a sign. He was going to find something on this damn gringo today. And then he was going to put a fucking bullet in his brain.

  Looking over at his brother Ramone, he said, “See, I told you we would find him. We are meant to find him.”

  His younger brother spotted Hank too and felt it was more like a curse.

  “We have checked Hank out, Ernando,” he sighed to his brother. “We have checked him out again and again. He is not a cop, has never been a cop. Military for only four years, honorable discharge, never went back. Plenty of good training, very good experience. Twenty-nine confirmed kills with almost twice as many unconfirmed. He’s not even a gringo like you keep calling him. He has more Spaniard in him than you do.”

  Ernando was about to fire a scorching array of insults at his brother when the phone rang. He picked it up, ready to turn it off, but saw it was Orlin calling. “Fuck,” he hissed. He answered and said, “Benuo?”

  “Is it good, Ernando? Because I’m hearing it is not so good. Are you really in Lakeside right now, in your own truck no less, following Hank around and ruining his days off? Seriously? Is this what you are doing?”

  Ernando looked around, wondering how that fucking gringo — and fuck what Ramone had to say about his blood — could have possibly spotted him. He was three blocks away, behind a main road with passing cars and with bushes!

  “Si,” he admitted, because to do otherwise simply wasn’t an option.

  “Then you are coming down to Mexico now. You have obviously been working too hard, amigo. Come to my mother’s house. Spend a few days here, clear your head. That last session was very busy, I understand, but it is time to … how is it said? Decompress. Yes. Decompress. So, drive down here now.”

  “Si, Orlin,” he sighed. “Maybe it is getting to me. I am on my way.”

  “Good. You are a good man, and a loyal one. But this stuff with Hank, it is too much. He’s already paid his way ten times over. Just in his observations of making the landing strips was enough to pay his way.”

  “Yes, but how can he know all of these things without help, and who is he getting this help from? Can he really know about landing strips and headlight covers, and transportation routes that won’t have DEA crawling over them, and everything else? No, he has someone giving him this information. It’s not just popping out of his skull.”

  “Ernando, enough! You are wearying me. He has explained all of these things, many times. He is a very good observer and makes very good decisions on what he observes. You are not to bother him again. Now, drive. I’ll see you in two hours, no more, amigo. Not a minute more.”

  Ernando closed the connection and saw, across the road, Hank and the redheaded puta getting back on their motorcycles. He studied her, and had a very good idea.

  If you want to know a man’s secrets, go to the woman, because she has been busy digging them out of him and always knows more than the man thinks she does. Always.

  Smiling, he started his truck, backed out of the stall and went the opposite direction, back to the freeway. A few days of relaxation, and maybe Wednesday, yes, Wednesday would be unnoticed.

  Then, he would talk to his woman and know all of his secrets. All of them.

  Hank knew too many things. The first time Orlin called Ernando to come to his office in El Cajon and meet their new man, things were wrong.

  After saying a small prayer to the Virgin, as was his habit before entering this room, he came into Orlin’s office to see a man in a leather vest and t-shirt with blue jeans and weathered chaps.

  Hank looked him over, and Orlin seemed very expectant, with just the hint of a smile on his lips. Then Hank said, “You stopped at Alberto’s on your way here, ate in your truck, and then parked in back of the building by the eucalyptus tree. Your gun has been fired no less than three hours ago. You didn’t dally along the way, but you said a small prayer before coming in the room.”

  Ernando pulled his gun and said, “Who the fuck are you, and who do you have following me?”

  “Put your gun away, Ernando, now!” Orlin ordered.

  Ernando looked at Orlin with disbelief. “But you heard this fucking gringo! How can you not think he has people watching me?”

  “Now!” Orlin ordered.

  With violentfrustration, Ernando put his gun away.

  “Good. Now Hank will tell you how he knows these things,” Orlin said, coming out from behind his desk and looking Ernando over.

  “Would you like to try first?” Hank asked Orlin.

  “I am searching, and I have no idea,” Orlin said.

  “Focus on one of the things, the gun, and that it has been fired today. Begin by removing reasons you know aren’t true, leading you to the reason it is,” Hank suggested.

  Ernando didn’t like standing there being observed so closely by either of them, but especially the gringo.

  After nearly two minutes, Orlin ended his searching and said, “No, it isn’t there for me. I know you are going to say it, and I’ll smack my head, because I did know it and it was right in front of me. But no. I cannot see it.”

  “He’s wearing a pendant of Saint Dismas,” Hank said, and then shifted his eyes to Orlin.

  “FUCK!” Orlin shouted with a laugh. “Fuck, how could I miss something so damn obvious! He believes that he has to keep his gun awake, so he will fire it occasionally, to wake its spirit, and enforcers with this belief often wear the pendant of Saint Dismas. Yes, I get it. You didn’t say when, but you did say less than three hours ago.”

  Ernando looked down at his pendant, and decided he would take that off as soon as possible.

  “But what about the rest? Parking in back by the tree? Food at Roberto’s? Y
ou know it is Roberto’s? Not possibly someplace else? Eating in his truck on the way?” Orlin asked.

  “He had a small limp coming in, from a small stone in his shoe. He would have taken it out by now, if he didn’t just acquire it. He was focused on getting here, though. So, he parked in the gravel area in back, the only place he could have gotten the pebble. When I parked in back, I noticed that there was only one space left, the one beside the tree,” Hank explained.

  “Then I could never have gotten the parking space. I did see the slight limp but didn’t put the two together. Very observant. Go on, please,” Orlin said.

  “When he walked by the window over there, we both saw him throw the bag away in the trash. Why would he have the bag if he didn’t eat on the way here?”

  Orlin’s jaw dropped. “I recall it perfectly!” Then he laughed, and said, “This is too much!”

  “The prayer,” Ernando said through gritted teeth. “How do you know this?”

  “Your timing, the speed that you were walking as you passed the window. You reached the door, but you didn’t open it right away. Since you didn’t spend the time removing the pebble, and you are obviously religious, the logical conclusion was a prayer.”

  “And he is right. I’ve seen you do this myself, before entering rooms, so I should have been able to guess that as well,” Orlin sighed. “That is really amazing, Hank.”

  “Not really. I was just seeing what is there and putting it together. I do it regularly. Just like Ernando wakes the spirit of his gun, I keep the spirit of my eyes awake and watchful.”

  Too awake, too watchful, Ernando had thought then, and he thought it now.

  He should not have been surprised that Hank spotted him. Hank always spotted the planes first, always saw the hooded lights of DEA trucks in the dark. He demonstrated his trick several times on other enforcers, but while amazed, they were blind to the threat he was.

  Hank should have kept his mouth shut, because he saw too much, knew too much. Every day, the secrets of Orlin’s Cartel were being told to Hank as if every passing man was shouting them at him!

  How could Orlin not see this? It was so obvious!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Cynthia felt that the rest of Saturday was just as they had planned and everything she hoped for. The ride up the coast was wonderful. In Oceanside, near the pier, they found one of the little cottage places for rent. The man was happy to rent it for two days.

  “Two? You want to spend Sunday as well?” she asked him.

  “I thought the option would be nice to have,” Hank told her. “We don’t have to stay, but at least we can sleep in as long as we please.”

  She nodded her head. “Nice, I like sleeping in. Well, I like the thought of sleeping in. I don’t seem to do much of it these days.”

  “What do you seem to do these days?” he asked as they emptied their saddle bags and brought in food, bottles, cheeses, and breads.

  She looked around. The cottage was a single room with a small bath behind a door. It was a very small bath, in fact, and there would be no showering together here. She checked the bed, seeing as most of their playtime would be spent there, and found the mattress surprisingly good.

  “Well,” she started in answer to his question, “I work a lot. I try to make it down to the club at least three or four times a week to get out of the house and to see my friends — Daphne most of all, though I talk with her on the phone every day, sometimes more.”

  “Daphne?” he asked, and then added, “As in Derrick and Daphne?”

  “Yeah, that’s them. I’m not that fond of Derrick, but Daphne’s my best friend. What’s that look? You’re looking all browbeaten and stuff,” she observed.

  He looked around the cottage, which had really no room to pace. “Can we take a walk?”

  “Yeah, let’s go out on the pier,” she suggested. “I take it there’s some bad blood between you and Derrick. Doesn’t surprise me. There seems to be bad blood between the club and Derrick sometimes.”

  As they walked further out over the ocean, Hank told her the story that had begun four years ago. “So, yeah, I left him. It was that or murder a cop, because she had him. He was pinned under his bike by his leg with a shot gun in his face, and his bike was pinned under her car.”

  “So, he got arrested and wound up doing two years and you got off with the cash,” she summed up.

  “He didn’t have to do the two years, and all of the cash I put on his prison books, along with five grand of my own money that I was going to use for his bail. But he fucked that up, too,” Hank told her.

  “How?”

  “Larry and I, we go down to the bail hearing. We’re expecting at the max they are going to give him $100k bail, so the bond is ten grand. We got the bondsman with us, another member, Gary. So all three of us are there and they bring Derrick in, who’s talking under his breath.

  “Larry goes up to represent him, and he gives out the spiel that Derrick has close ties to the community, he’s part owner of a shop. He’s only been arrested once, six years ago for drug possession. But Larry is so good at this he makes even that sound like it’s nothing and happened in the Dark Ages.

  “Then DA, she gets up and hands Larry a transcription of Derrick’s interview with the detectives, and then passes a copy to the judge,

  and she says: ‘And I quote, “As soon as I’m bailed out of here, I’m getting my share and heading to Mexico.

  "Fuck the bros, and the hoes, I’m done. I’m going to Mexico and never coming back,” end quote. So, your honor, since he swears he isn’t going to make his court date, and that he has a share coming from the robbery, practically admitting not only guilt but guilt without remorse, I ask the court to make the bail five million dollars, or not offer it at all.’”

  “Seriously?” Cyn said, looking at him. “Derrick told that to two detectives, while being interviewed about the robbery. That is so fucking insane!”

  “Oh, it gets worse,” Hank told her. “Even with that, Larry is sure he can get him off completely, if Derrick will just shut the fuck up. ‘Don’t say anything to anyone else!’ But then Larry gets the rest of the transcript from the detectives. And it’s impossible. Derrick admits, several times, to them that the plan was his and that his partner would never have even got a dime out of this sweet deal if Derrick didn’t trust him, and the cocksucker left him behind.”

  Hank looked out at the ocean.

  “He rolled you?” she said with a gasp.

  “No, not once. He did described me, dark hair and green eyes, spider tattoo on the neck. He tells them what kind of bike I ride. He tells them his club isn’t going to stand for this shit. He all but tells them where the clubhouse is, but he never mentions names, or the club name, or actually tells them where the club is. It’s fucking obvious, of course, because there is no other bar near that area, and the detectives come out several times, looking for me, or someone who is tall with dark hair and green eyes who rides a blue Lowrider. But they don’t actually know my name.”

  “What did Knight do?”

  “Oh, Knight was furious. He tells me to call for tribunal, and he’ll take care of the rest, but even though I know there was nothing I could do for him, I still have this guilt, ya know? So, I don’t call, and I never saw Knight more angry at me before. I explained to him, if they take his patch now, there’s no telling what he’ll say in there. The patch is the only thing restraining him from names, dates, and marks. ‘And just how many jobs is he aware of?’ I ask Knight. It takes him a bit, but he calms down and nods his head, and says fine.”

  “But as soon as he is out, you start making yourself scarce,” she notes. “From what I gathered last night, you’ve been leaving for two months, three months, at a time, and this last one has been eight months.”

  “Well, yeah,” he nods, “but not because of Derrick. I’ve just discovered that I love to ride long roads.”

  “Nothing to do with him at all,” she pressed.

  “Nope, no
t at thing.”

  “So, you’re not feeling mad or guilty about any of this anymore?” she asked.

  “Nope, feeling just merry with it.”

  “So when he starts his bullshit some time when we go back to the club—”

  “I’ll kick the shit out of him,” he said, looking into her eyes.

  “What about tribunal?”

  He looked away and out to sea with a look in his eye like he might have been wondering if sailing was anything like riding a bike. “No, no tribunal. Not from me. He’s a sick man. Something broke in him. He wasn’t always like this — well, not this bad. Not this arrogant, and certainly not this stupid. Something broke when I rode away.”