Blue Diablo

A Little Butch

Eventually I managed to go back to sleep for a few hours.

By the time everyone else woke, I wondered if I’d dreamed the whole thing, as in a dream that didn’t mean anything, not a lucid dream or an out-of-body experience. Whatever. In the end I decided to share it because the symbol might mean something. We also needed to do something about the wards, if I wasn’t crazy.

Over breakfast, I said, “So, I talked to Booke last night...”

“Dios.” Chuch looked worse for wear. I didn’t think he’d be crawling under cars anytime soon. “Does he ever sleep?”

“Well, I’m not sure on that.” I outlined what we’d talked about without mentioning how I knew.

Chance shot me a strange look while I spoke, but he didn’t interrupt.

When I was done, Eva cursed, soft and virulent, in two languages. “This is my fault, my stupid idea. I’ll redo the wards, mi vida. You just rest, okay? I’ll fix it. I can do this. I’ve seen you do it a hundred times.”

As she went off muttering about sea salt and wormwood, Chuch gave us a grin. “It’s not all bad, no? I get to sit on my ass for two or three days until she stops feeling guilty and figures out I’m milking it.” He got up from the breakfast table and rubbed his belly. “Time for some quality morning TV. I hope Jerry Springer’s on.”

The mechanic’s expression made me laugh as I went to refill my coffee cup. I hovered at Chance’s elbow with the pot. “Want some more?”

“No thanks. I would like to know how you spoke to Booke last night, though.” He regarded me with brow raised. “I couldn’t sleep, so I spent the night researching the sex trade. You never came into the office, Corine. It’s not like you to lie, so what’s going on?”

Oh. “It wasn’t what you’d call a conventional conversation...”

“I’m listening.”

I swallowed my ambiguity as I told him the rest. By the time I finished I couldn’t interpret his expression; he gave no hint how he felt about my dreaming about some stranger. Maybe I wished for a hint of jealousy, but that was purely selfish. He never indulged in such displays. In fact, the only time I could remember him showing even a flicker of it was when I first met Jesse Saldana.

“But you’re sure you spoke to him?” he asked, neutral.

“As positive as I can be. We can call him up to confirm, if you want.” Although it would be embarrassing as hell for Booke to learn I’d been having incredibly vivid dreams about him, if I was wrong about the experience. I wasn’t eager to talk to the Englishman anytime soon. The whole thing had just been too strange.

Chance shook his head. “I trust you. Let’s see what we can dig up on that symbol.”

His casual acceptance warmed me. No matter how crazy the stuff I brought him, he always believed me. Smiling, I went back to the living room for my last clean outfit; we’d been away almost a week and I needed to do laundry. From inside my purse, my phone vibrated silently but insistently.

That meant I had a new message.

Huh. I brought it to my ear, input the code, and listened. “Hi, this is Lenny. Lenny Marlowe? You said not to help, but they laid me off at Delta and I got to thinking. You know in them movies how bad guys always return to the scene of the crime? So I got some doughnuts and went over to the warehouse. Sure enough, around two, they came back. They cleared stuff out of there, put crates in a white sanitation truck, but it wasn’t no trash they took out. Well, I was real careful and I followed them. They went to 6874 Hal—hey!” An explosive burst assaulted my ear, and then the call devolved into sobs and whimpers.

Oh, shit. The call was time stamped three hours ago. “Chance.” He didn’t respond right away, so I shouted, “Chance! Come on, we have to go.”

“What’s the matter?” He came out into the hall half-dressed, but for once I didn’t pause to appreciate his bare chest.

“We need to go see Lenny Marlowe.”

“Why?”

I understood his confusion but we didn’t have time for it. “He might be in trouble.”

Understatement. I dressed in record time and sprinted for the Mustang. Chance joined me and put the car in gear. To simplify matters, I gave him my phone and let him listen to the message himself as he drove.

“Shit. Call Saldana and have him meet us there.”

That sounded great. It made a nice change to have a cop on our side for once, instead of being in the crappy position of trying to explain the wildly improbable. I still wasn’t sure I trusted him, but he was the one who had given us Lenny as a lead. Would he have done that if he intended to watch and kill him for showing a little initiative? Would he really go to that much trouble to confuse us?

I was starting to think... No. I hadn’t tossed out the dirty cop idea entirely; maybe somebody in the station was sneaking around his office, listening to his personal conversations? But then again, except for Saldana, I hated cops, so it made me happy to blame one.

Our pet policeman answered on the second ring. “Saldana.”

“I may have a problem that requires your assistance,” I said in lieu of hello.

He sighed. “You know, Corine, there’s a picture of you next to the definition of high maintenance. What is it now?”

Because I did need his help, I ignored the insult. “Our mutual friend Lenny Marlowe called me in the middle of the night. I was asleep and I missed it, but the message struck me as alarming, to say the least. We’re headed over there to check on him, but I’d appreciate your official presence on scene.”

There was a long pause, and background noise increased. Somebody must’ve come in. I heard him talking and a mumbled reply, maybe from his partner, Nathan Moon. I could go a long while without seeing that fellow and never miss the man. Finally Jesse came back on the line, speaking cautiously.

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take a ride over to check on your nephew. I don’t mind a bit, Miss Alice. No, it’s no trouble,” he added, although I hadn’t spoken.

Huh. He didn’t want his partner to know he was talking to me? Interesting.

“You’re good,” I said with a snicker. “You should do Vegas.”

“I will when you get me thrown off the force,” he muttered. “Who knew being a mentor would turn out like this? I’m on my way.”

I closed my phone with an audible click and glanced at Chance. “I think I may be wearing out my welcome with Officer Saldana.”

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “His loss.”

The sky hung over us like a swathe of gauze. Unlike the almost blindingly bright and sunny other days, the air felt heavy this morning, sullen and threatening. In silence we followed the access road leading back to the trailer park where Marlowe lived.

Jesse managed to beat us there. We found him waiting in the tiny excuse for a front yard, beside the BEWARE OF DOG sign. Chance got out and went toward the porch and knelt as if he were listening to something I couldn’t quite make out. I studied Saldana’s grim expression and knew we were too late.

“Don’t go in,” he warned us. “I already called the forensic folks. It’s bad in there.”

“Pulled-apart-by-demons bad?” I ventured.

Shaking his head, he answered, “Shot-up-with-automatic-weapons bad. What did he say when he called you?”

I played the message for the third time. “I feel like shit. We told him to leave it be.”

Saldana eyed me with an expression of pure dislike. I didn’t expect I’d be fending off his advances anytime soon. “You told him enough to interest him and get him in trouble, the poor dumb bastard.”

“You’re saying this is my fault?” I didn’t know if I could argue that. “You gave me his name, so how about we spread the blame around some?”

“You think I’m not aware of that? Christ, I told you his name and now he’s dead. It’s as much my fault as yours. More. I don’t deserve to wear this badge.” Jesse yanked it off his belt and studied it for a minute, dull silver in the palm of his hand, and then crammed it into his jacket pocket. “I should resign right now.”

Oh. So that was it.

“Maybe you bent the letter of the law, but you had good intentions. You wanted to close the case and you thought—”

“Fuck what I wanted. A man is dead. Don’t talk to me about good intentions.” Saldana stalked to the end of the drive to wait for the coroner’s wagon, now driving down the dusty road toward us.

“We should get out of here. If Moon comes...” I trailed off when I realized Chance wasn’t listening to me.

With a sigh, I crunched over the gravel to see what had him so enthralled. At last he straightened with a tiny, blood-spattered dog in his arms. Butch had lost some of his attitude but not his red leather collar. Trembling, the Chihuahua curled deeper into Chance’s arms, as if he wanted to hide. He regarded us from damp, perplexed eyes, as if wondering how his day could possibly get worse.

“Shit,” I said. “We’re keeping him, aren’t we?”

Chance leveled his best look on me. “What do you think?”