City of the Sun

TWENTY-NINE

Behr pulled over and left his car idling. Paul was a step behind him as they crossed to Riggi ’ s wrecked vehicle. The car was upside down, dripping colored liquids, the tires slowly spinning down. A broken and bloodied Riggi lay half out of the driver ’ s-side window, the steering wheel lodged in his midsection. The windshield was blown out. From the looks of things, Riggi hadn ’ t been wearing a seat belt and his head had done that work. Drivers began to pull over and gawk at the carnage. Behr took out his cell phone and dialed 911, wondering if Riggi was dead already, when he began to stir. Behr asked for an ambulance and gave the address, then shut off his phone just as Riggi ’ s eyes opened and rolled around a little, struggling for focus. Then his right hand reached out across the torn-up grass. Behr tracked what he was going for, but Paul saw it first: a crucifix attached to a rosary that had been flung free of the wreck. Paul kneeled and picked up the beads, clenching them in his fist out of Riggi ’ s reach.

It was clear the man was dying, and Behr girded himself for what he had to do. He squatted close to the man ’ s bloody face.

“You use the medical offices in your centers to target kids?” he asked.

Riggi shook his head weakly from side to side.

“What do you do with them?” Behr asked, insistent.

Bad. I know it. I ’ m dying. Things were broken and winding down deep inside of him. His thoughts were disconnected from his words. He didn ’ t feel he could work his mouth. If only he could ’ ve reached his rosary, perhaps he wouldn ’ t pass on to damnation. He looked up at the quiet one, who held them, and mouthed the words, “Who are you?” No answer came, and he wondered if he ’ d spoken at all.

Light clouds moved across a pale sky. Blades of grass near his face stirred in a faint breeze. His mind drifted to Ramon Ponceterra, to the recent and future orders that would remain unfilled. He was slapped across the face a few times and he felt himself returning once again.

“Do you kill them when you ’ re done with them?” the big one asked, breathing old coffee in his face.

No answer came from Riggi, just shallow breathing.

“C ’ mon, it ’ s over for you. Give,” Behr said, demanding information even though it caused his stomach to churn.

“They ’ re gone,” Riggi rasped.

For some reason Behr didn ’ t think he meant that he ’ d killed them. “You keep them somewhere to use, is that it?”

Riggi shook his head again and spent a precious breath saying, “No.”

Behr felt weak and wondered whether he could do what he had to do. He reached out and grabbed Riggi ’ s jaw. “Do you want me to make this last moment painful for you?” Riggi was probably beyond pain, but Behr squeezed up under the man ’ s trachea hard, wondering the whole time if it would do any good besides causing him to relive the deed for the rest of his life. Riggi ’ s eyes changed, though, and the act dislodged a statement.

“They ’ re worth more to me than you could pay.”

Behr and Paul looked at each another in horror at the words.

The tumblers in Behr ’ s mind clicked like a series in a combination and understanding came to him. “Because you sell them,” he said.

Riggi blinked. The lying went out of his eyes. It was a yes.

“You used Rooster Mintz and Tad Ford,” Behr thought aloud. “Ford was a driver. You ship ’ em out.”

Riggi ’ s mouth opened but emitted no sound, and Behr realized how hard his grip was on the man ’ s throat. He forced himself to relax it.

“You send them away. To where?”

“South…to Mexico,” Riggi said as the life began to seep from his eyes.

Behr shuddered at the thought of the cold transit. Then he remembered the small wooden key chain he ’ d been given by the exotic dancer, which had been given to her by Tad Ford. It was in the Stor-Box that housed all the paperwork and meager evidence he ’ d assembled so far.

Paul was right there. “Ciudad del Sol,” he said.

Riggi blinked and panted. His eyes began to lose focus and color.

Behr slapped him on the cheek harder to bring him back. “They ’ re taken to Ciudad del Sol. I don ’ t want to hear you fucking deny it. You only say ‘ no ’ if I ’ m wrong.” There was no response, only the labored and scraping sound of Riggi ’ s breathing. Behr and Paul looked at each other over the bleeding man, understanding the enormity of what they ’ d heard.

“What ’ d you do with him, you bastard?” Paul demanded, spittle flying out from between his teeth. Riggi ’ s head just rolled from side to side in response. “What did you do to my son?”

“Don ’ t know…” Riggi croaked.

“Where ’ s his body?” Paul practically screamed in the man ’ s face.

“I ’ m…I ’ m a businessman,” Riggi gasped in faded defiance. “…in nomine Patris… ” He said no more.

Only the wind rustled the thin branches high above them. Paul looked at Behr, then down at the dying man, and then at the rosary and crucifix in his own hand, the beads making a quiet clicking sound. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then opened them and, with a look of pure disgust, reached out for Riggi ’ s open hand and dropped the beads into his palm.

Riggi closed his eyes like an old man taking a nap. His body stopped moving. A vibrating sound escaped his lungs, which caused Paul to jump back.

“Death rattle,” Behr said to the question in Paul ’ s wide eyes.

Behr stood, his knee joints cracking in protest, and walked off a few yards. Paul moved back several feet, sat on the grass, and hung his head.

“When they ask, you waited in the car,” Behr said. Paul just nodded. “You don ’ t know how I got inside. There was no Toombakis.”

The police were first to arrive, a cruiser and then another. They spotted up on Behr and Paul and made radio calls for half a minute. The ambulance was next. Paramedics climbed out, and while the driver got a box from the back, the other, a Latino with a pitted face, crossed to Riggi.

“Ho, Doc,” the Latino called out to his partner as he checked for vitals, “zeroes across the board.”

“Ho,” the partner called back, putting the box away and closing the doors. He approached the body with a clipboard and began filling out paperwork.

The responding officers photographed the scene and then began asking vague questions. Before long a silver Crown Vic rolled up.

Captain Pomeroy climbed out and surveyed the scene for only a moment before crooking a finger at Behr. Behr nodded and crossed over to him.

“I thought I was done with you when I fired your ass,” Pomeroy began, loud enough for a few officers to hear. Behr bit down hard on his tongue against the insult.

“Get in.” Pomeroy gestured to his car, and Behr did.

The dove-gray velour was plush, but the fabric seemed to hold on to Pomeroy ’ s cologne. Over time it had gone sour. Sitting in the car gave Behr an immediate headache. He sat there as Pomeroy moved around the scene and oversaw Riggi being zipped up in a body bag and placed in the back of a coroner ’ s van. Then he crossed to Paul and they had a brief conversation. Pomeroy had gained weight in the few years since Behr had seen him. The flesh under his chin had gone soft and would double in a few more years. Dark command circles had formed under the captain ’ s eyes as well. Behr felt the changes he himself had undergone reflected in his old superior. But the captain still had the look of a hawk — piercing eyes over a prominent nose bone — while he recognized himself as a failure. Behr may have been full of promise as a young officer. He may have added knowledge and experience to that promise and for a moment been on his way to becoming a fine policeman. But then things got in the way. An ill-fated partnership, poor political skills, too much drinking, and then Tim ’ s death, topped off by a busted marriage and more drinking. He could ’ ve viewed any single one of those factors as bad luck, but taken together he knew it was less a question of chance and more one of limitation or even destiny.

Pomeroy got in the car and slammed the door, bringing a fresh wave of cologne with him. There were no pleasantries, as Behr expected.

“Time for the eternal questions, Frank. Why am I here? Why are you here? What the hell happened?”

“That ’ s my client.” He pointed at Paul.

“I know him.”

“I ’ ve been working his son ’ s case. It led me to Riggi — the DB.”

Pomeroy just grimaced.

“I was looking to talk to the man, get something firm, then turn it over. I ’ d been in his house waiting when he showed up — ”

“Is that so?” Pomeroy cut in. Behr figured he may as well put it out there. It could be found out later and then there ’ d be problems.

“The door was open.”

“Uh-huh. Was your client with you?”

“He was out in the car. Then the guy ran and we followed him and he jumped the curb.”

“Motherfucker. And why didn ’ t you come in with this at the start?”

“I didn ’ t have anything firm then.”

“Well, is it firm enough now? What ’ d you get?”

“He targeted kids who frequented medical practices in strip malls he owned. He had people grabbing them up. Selling them, I believe.”

“Selling them? Jesus Christ.”

“That ’ s right. I have reason to believe my client ’ s son was one of them. There ’ s a file of his in my car. Records.”

“How ’ d you…” Pomeroy began. “Don ’ t tell me that. How many are we talking about?”

“About seven in this area, a thirty-mile radius the best I can figure, over the past few years. Boys of a certain age. Many more before that.”

Pomeroy ’ s complexion grew ashen. “Shit, this is going to be a major followup investigation. I ’ m gonna need this all on paper.”

Behr nodded. “I ’ m gonna need time.”

“Why didn ’ t you give when I sent my guys around?”

“I didn ’ t have any of this then. It just came together,” Behr said convincingly.

Pomeroy rubbed his face, massaging in the aftershave oil, Behr imagined. “I ’ ve heard rumors. You were behind a prisoner getting a pretty severe trimming in County. Same prisoner is now dead.” Behr felt Pomeroy study him for a reaction and did his best not to give one beyond his natural appreciation for the swiftness of prison justice.

“I don ’ t know anything about that — ”

“Don ’ t bother. Just don ’ t bother, all right? The prisoner was stabbed to death. Do you have any information on it?”

“None.”

“Where? What the hell does he do with them?”

“I don ’ t know, Captain.” It was a grand-scale lie, and one Behr had planned on telling since the moment Riggi ’ s car had flipped and hit the tree. If he gave up Mexico, the department would contact local authorities, there would be tipoffs, and the resolution he and Paul had been looking for would vanish forever.

Behr watched Pomeroy chew over questions in his mind and either answer them or realize there were no answers. A wrecker arrived on the scene and the driver began to hook cables to the rear axle of Riggi ’ s broken car.

“You always were a fuckup, but you were also honest to a goddamned fucking fault,” Pomeroy said, half as if talking to himself, half for Behr ’ s benefit. It was a tone all good leaders possessed. “You got anything else for me on this steaming pile?”

Behr brought together his inner resolve. If he could sell his next response, he felt Pomeroy would give up on him and attack the endless paperwork that followed such a situation. If not, he ’ d be sitting down at his old station with a lawyer for the next several weeks dealing with questions.

“Negative,” he said.

Pomeroy looked at him and finally gave a nod that was tantamount to pulling on the car-door lever. A momentary dйtente settled between them.

“Have I mentioned I ’ m gonna need all this on paper?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Make sure you ’ re easy to find, next little while,” Pomeroy said.

“Will do.”

Behr got out and Pomeroy spoke before he ’ d closed the door. “An arrest would ’ ve been better, but this son of a bitch is done and gone. That ’ s a result, Frank.” Pomeroy pressed his lips together in approval.

“Can I get my computer back?” Behr asked. Pomeroy jerked the Crown Vic into motion by the time Behr had shut the door.