'Elena Chavez' was published
by Decadent Publishing
"...the romance moves at a brisk pace, and is full of erotically charged action...high pressure, fast-paced..."
Kirkus Reviews
An excerpt is below.
Please also see: www.jeanettecollinshighdesertart.com
#ElenaChavezNovel #DecadentPublishing.com
Chapter One
Deputy Dale Jackson watched rain course down the windows of the squad car, flow into the gutter to be carried to the arroyo then on to the Rio Grande. The little New Mexico town had sweltered in the heat for weeks, but today, clouds had built up over the mountains and the rain swept through the canyons to drench the dusty streets. He was relieved to see it, but it gave him a sense of isolation, of being left behind, and for a brief minute, left him uncertain he was in the proper place. Should he have stayed in Santa Fe? Was he doing the right thing with his life? He brushed these thoughts away. At midnight, he returned to the Sheriff’s Office, his shift over.
Dale sauntered in, where Agnes Peralta, the mature, brown-haired night secretary, waited to close up and go home.
“Hi, Dale. How about this rain?”
“Good stuff, Agnes,” he answered. “Any messages for me?”
She stood up from the desk and got her purse from a drawer. “Uh-uh. It’s been quiet tonight. The heat has slowed things down, but it will be jumping again once people get some moisture in their bones. Anything to report?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ll see you to your car.”
Agnes locked up, sprinted for her car, and heaved herself in. With a wave to him, she left. Odd that folks waited, anxious for rain, then acted like a drop or two would melt them like sugar.
He got in his car and headed down Main Street toward home. At Apache, he was cut off by a speeding car and became instantly angry. He took off after them, noting the number on the Texas plate, a yellow Ford with a dented left rear fender. If he’d been in the squad car, he could have turned on the lights and siren and scared the hell out of the fool. At the next corner, he pulled in front of the Ford and got out, rose to his full height, and strolled toward the car, his hand on his pistol butt. He never knew what might happen.
He made a circular motion with his other hand, and the woman lowered the window. Young, black hair, dark eyes, fear in her face.
He leaned down. “Going mighty fast, ma’am. You almost hit me.”
The rear seat was empty, and he glanced at her. “Let me see your license and registration, please.”
She rummaged in her purse then in the glove compartment and handed him those. Texas, again. Elena Chavez, age twenty-five, no restrictions, about to expire. Registration was current.
He gave them back to her. “You have your insurance card?”
She handed him a ragged piece of paper, also about to expire. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, I haven’t,” she murmured, her sultry, smoky voice inviting.
Practiced, he decided and regarded her with suspicion. “I’ll take your word for it. You’re headed for trouble if you don’t slow down.”
She smiled. “I got lost.”
Doubtful. “Are you living around here?”
“On Second Street. In the apartments.”
Tired, Dale worked to contain his irritation. “Well, can you make it the three blocks without tearing up the road?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll let it go this time, but if I catch you racing around town again, you’re gonna face a big ticket. And get your paperwork in order. Your documents are about to expire.”
Her voice curled around him. “I’m sorry, Officer.”
He regarded her for another moment. White blouse, cut low, lush breasts. “Okay.”
At his car, he shook the rain off his hat, and got in. As he approached the corner, she sped away.
Damn, an outlaw! He had an impulse to chase after her and drag her off to jail. He saw his hands on her, those frightened eyes, her dark hair tumbling, and went on home. He would not forget Elena Chavez. She would turn up again, and he would be on guard.
***
The second encounter came sooner than he thought. The next day, he went to the Phil’s Market to get food and saw her staring at the produce. He got the items he wanted and lingered around the canned goods, studying her. She wore big sunglasses and ridiculous red shoes, the heels dangerously high, tipping her forward. She had a small waist and a round bottom he imagined he could slide right in and be at ease. Her skirt was so short he could see the curve of her ass. Texas trash, he judged, and fancied he could taste her, salty, an olive oil fragrance, spices on her skin.
She saw him and glanced quickly away again, her expression guilty. He went up front to the checkout.
The owner stepped to the register. “Hi, Dale. Is that all?”
“Yes, it is. How are you, Phil?”
“Gettin’ along. Glad to see that rain, makes everything seem new. Ten dollars and twenty cents.”
Dale handed him his card and glanced around to see that she was standing right behind him. They studied each other.
Phil presented the receipt. “Here you are.”
He signed and left. On the sidewalk, he paused and scanned the newspaper headlines. She strolled out, juggling a six-pack of drinks and a sack.
Against his better judgment, he said, “Hi.” She passed him. He followed. “Need a hand?”
She didn’t look at him but hurried on. “No.”
Why was he pursuing her? But he was unaccountably suspicious. “Well, drive slowly. Where’s your car?”
She didn’t speak. Not too encouraged, he took a few more steps after her. “I wouldn’t mind helping,” he said, keeping his voice cordial. “I’m a public servant.”
She turned to him, her mouth a grim line, her expression scornful. “Go catch some criminals, Mr. Policeman. Don’t you have other things to do? Ride around in unmarked cars, for instance?”
He tried to appear casual and smiled. “I was off duty.”
She shifted the groceries in her arm. “Then why did you stop me?”
“Because you were exceeding…. You know why I stopped you, Miss Chavez.”
“Don’t be remembering my name.” she grumbled, and teetered down the sidewalk on those crazy shoes.
Okay, get lost again. It was nothing to him. He watched the sway of her hips then got in his car and went home. But she stuck in his mind.
Dale did not see local women. He had a few interesting girls in Santa Fe, and that’s where he spent his free time. Getting into anything in the town could damage his image. Talk would pick up and undermine his authority. Sheriff Valdez, his boss and personal hero, might object. The Santa Fe Police hadn’t cared if he had six women, just as long as he got the job done. He liked it better here, in the small town where folks knew and respected him. Most of them, anyway. Not Elena Chavez. She didn’t respect anyone.
***
He worked his shift that night. Two guys got into it out on Comanche Road, someone was hurt, and Dale got the call.
Sonny Vega had a jagged knife wound on his neck, blood oozing steadily, and he chanted in pain, pressing a bandanna against the injury as he paced, cursing. “Goddamn, son of a bitch, goddamn! Get him, Dale, you get him for this. Jimmy Gonzalez, he did it. Call the ambulance, get me some help!”
“They’re on the way,” he said, making notes. “Just hold that bandanna tight. What caused the fight with Jimmy?”
Sonny looked stricken, his thin face pale. “Shit, I don’t know. He was high, that’s what,” he griped. “He had a nose full.”
Dale’s attention increased. “Of what?”
Sonny paced, near tears. “I don’t know!” he answered, walking faster.
“Sure you do. Meth?”
“No,” he howled, clutching his neck. “Get me some help!”
“Did Jimmy do cocaine?”
Sonny mopped at the seeping blood on his neck. “No, no, he didn’t have no coke.”
Dale closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay. Maybe that ambulance strayed. I could call again if you help me out.”
The bandanna darkened with blood. Sonny rolled his eyes to heaven. “Madre de Dios, hear me,” he cried out, his voice weak. “Don’t let me bleed to death, alone here on the street.”
“Maybe you just ought to think it over. You’re in a tight spot, Sonny.”
Sonny looked guarded, his worried eyes shifting. “You won’t tell I told you? You won’t say where you heard?”
“I can keep a secret.”
Sonny babbled. “Heroin, he got some heroin, and then he just went nuts. I thought we were gonna sit around his place, listen to some tunes, you know. Then he just started talkin’ wild about how he needed to get more, and so I said I was goin’ to take him home and get out of it. Then he got all hot, yelled I was gonna turn him in, threatened me and waved a knife around. Then he cut me. He cut me! I fought him off, and he ran away.”
Dale punched numbers on his phone. “Deputy Jackson. Where’s that ambulance? Well, send it over here. When? Okay. Get a move on.” He got a roll of paper towels from the squad car, and Sonny grabbed some, threw down the bandanna, and pressed a wad of towels to his neck. “Five minutes. They had another call. Did Jimmy get it around here?”
Sonny paced faster. “He said he did, but the asshole fuck is a liar.”
“Did he ask you to take him anywhere?”
“Uh…. He wanted to go to Second Street.”
A bell sounded in Dale’s head as Sonny rushed around in circles. “Where on Second?”
Sonny leaned against the squad car, his face tortured. “I don’t know. We never got there. Shit, shit, I’m bleedin’ more. If I don’t make it, tell Lucy I didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Her fuckin’ no-good cousin did this. Ai yi yi. Blessed Jesus! Help me, por favor.”
“Just hang on, Sonny. You’ll make it.”
Sonny reached for more towels, tears streaming down his face. “Tell Lucy—”
The ambulance swung into view, lights turning, the siren wailing.
Sonny danced around. “Thank you, Dale. Thank you, thank you!”
He helped him into the van where the med tech waited then went around to the driver. “Who did you pick up before?”
The guy shook his head. “We didn’t. The other man’s there on Second Street and Willow, dead as a post. Here’s his wallet. We left a man there with him. Gotta go. Have to get this dude to the hospital.”
The ambulance took off. Dale got in the squad car and turned on the overhead light to check the wallet then drove to Second and Willow. Right by the apartments.
Doctor Gerard, the coroner, dapper even at night, his shirt and slacks immaculate, soon arrived with his team and approached the body. “Hmmmm,” he murmured, as he bent down. “What have we here? Gunshot. Right side, back of the head, and out the left temple. Bullet could be anywhere.”
Dale regarded the mess that had once been Jimmy Gonzalez’s head. “He was high, Doc. Can you run a toxicology screen? I heard a rumor of heroin.”
Doctor Gerard grimaced. “Around town? That’s bad, really bad. Well, no more to do here.” He turned to his waiting men, leaning against the white van. “Take him away, boys. Okay, Dale. I’ll get it done as quickly as I can.”
“I’d appreciate it, Doc. Sorry to bring you out so late.”
The doctor glanced once more at the pitiful corpse. “The dead are never courteous, my friend. I’ll get going.”
The coroner’s van sped away, and the street was silent. Dale looked down at the pool of dark blood and a lumpy mass of what had once been a brain. The fire department arrived and hosed down the sidewalk and street, washing away the final thoughts of Jimmy Gonzalez.
***
At midnight, he got in his car and returned to Second Street. He parked under some trees, turned off his lights, and waited. Twelve-fifteen came, and so did the yellow Ford. Elena Chavez got out and went inside. Immediately after, another car parked close behind it, and two men followed her into the building. One carried a small red plastic cooler. Ten minutes later, they came out and drove away. Dale considered going to the door to see how many apartments were in the building and to get a list of names but did not want to be seen in uniform. He went home, his mind moving in all directions. Something was going on in that building, and, unless he missed his guess, Elena Chavez was involved. Tomorrow, he would pursue it further. But he’d better talk the matter over with the sheriff first.
***
The next morning, Sheriff Valdez got to the office, folded his large frame into his desk chair and read Dale’s report. Heroin. Bad news. He had worked diligently to keep the town free of hard drugs, although every man jack smoked weed. Cocaine had not been a problem. That stayed in Santa Fe where more loose cash was available. Few in town could support a drug habit that cost over a couple of dollars, and those with more money went elsewhere. He and his officers had cracked down on folks who did otherwise, and there had been no problems for some months. Now, he wanted to move fast and nip the thing in the bud before somebody else died. The sheriff and his day shift deputy, Clem Farnsworth, were kept occupied with various problems: a domestic quarrel, a fender bender, and a rowdy drunk. Just before noon, Dale Jackson came in the door and greeted Frances Dooley, the pretty and petite secretary. “Hi, Frances.”
“Hello, Dale.”
He nodded to the men. “Sheriff, Clem, how goes it?”
Clem smiled, and the sheriff answered, “Fine, Dale. Sit down. I read your report. You’re sure about the heroin?”
Clem perched on the edge of the desk and listened.
“Only of what Sonny said. He thought he might be dying, so I coaxed him along. It was a superficial wound, but it bled like hell and scared him. I don’t think he lied. Doc Gerard is going to do his thing, and we’ll know for sure what Jimmy had in his system, but it will take time.”
The sheriff absorbed this news. “Any leads?”
“I’m not certain. I have some suspicions about the apartments over on Second Street near Willow, where Jimmy’s body was found. I’ve noticed a few shady people and think something may be going on there. I’ll check it out as best I can.”
The sheriff scowled. “These are killers. Don’t take any big risks.”
“I saw this kind of thing often in Santa Fe. The narc unit was no picnic.”
“I can appreciate that.” He turned to his deputy. “Clem, what do you think?”
“I’d want to see who’s living there, Sheriff. And we ought to move fast.”
Frances, a constant fountain of information, spoke up.
“A friend of mine who was trying to find a place mentioned there are a dozen apartments there, six one-bedrooms on the first floor and six on the second. She thought it tacky and went somewhere else.”
“Find out what you can, Frances. Get the names of the tenants and run them through the computer. Somebody remarkable may turn up. Dale, do what you can, but take it easy. Help is available, but don’t get to a point where you need it too fast. Be mighty cagey.”
Clem nodded. “If something turns up at night, call me. I won’t be far. Any time.”
“Well, my suspicions may come to nothing, but I’ll do what I can and I’ll be careful.”
“We’ll all stay on the alert.”
Dale stood up.
“Right. Thanks, Sheriff, thanks, Clem. See you.”
He headed for the door.
Dale was a good man and a fine officer, the sheriff knew. He would trust him to take precautions. The phones rang, and he and Clem went on with the job.
***
Dale again drove past the apartments on Second Street to see what he could see. The yellow Ford remained where it had been the night before. He circled the block and, when he came around again, Elena Chavez was coming out the front door. He kept going, tracking her in his rear view mirror. She went to Main Street, parked in front of Fuller’s Liquors, and got out. He parked and crossed the street, dodging traffic, and followed her inside. He ignored her and went to the counter. Old man Fuller’s son, James, said hello.
“What can I get for you, Deputy?”
At this, she shifted slightly to face him.
“I’d like a bottle of that Burgundy you recommended, James.”
James put the bottle in a bag and gave him change. He squinted in her direction and waggled his eyebrows.
“Scenery is looking up, wouldn’t you say, Dale?”
He shrugged. “It’s the rain.”
He left and walked slowly down the street toward Phil’s Market, watching for her. Out she came, put a sack in her car then strolled in his direction. Sandals, today, and a sundress so skimpy he should arrest her for indecent exposure. They glanced at each other as she passed him. He trailed her to the market and pretended to shop for something.
By the potato chips, she faced him. “Don’t be following me.”
“Pardon? Sorry, I didn’t notice you.”
“Oh, sure,” she scoffed. “I don’t want anything to do with the cops.”
“Bully for you. See you, Miss Ruiz.”
She frowned. “It’s Chavez. Are you stupid?”
“It’s been said, although I’m very popular with women. Some women.”
She tossed her long hair.
“I won’t have it. Mind your own business.”
“A lady as pretty as you should be used to men being interested. I’m no exception. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She gave him a crooked grin. He had not called her a lady for nothing. He smiled, and counted on his charm.
“Let’s start over, Miss Chavez,” he said. “I’m Dale Jackson.”
She eyed the bags of chips. “Okay. Now leave me alone.”
He stepped closer. “Do I have to? Maybe we could be friends.”
She glanced up at him.
“I don’t need any friends, policeman.”
He needed to find out what she knew. “Sure you do.”
She tossed her black hair again. “Listen—”
“How about joining me for a drink or a bite of lunch? Come on.”
She fidgeted, her eyes darting around.
“No,” she said, trying to move around him. “Get out of the way.”
“I’d like to get in your way, I think.”
She lowered her voice. “Not sure?”
He murmured, “You might bite.”
But she turned away. “You might enjoy it. Good-bye.”
He still blocked her path. “Not so fast. Now that we’ve met again, I don’t want you to just disappear. When are you free?” he insisted. “Let’s get together. We could have a good time.”
“I have to work. I work nights.”
“We both do. I could meet you.” She glanced at the other occupants of the store. “Maybe some time.”
“How about tonight?” He moved still closer to her and smelled her musky scent. “Just for a drink or something. Get to know each other. I have a nice bottle of wine. I could bring it to your place. Elena is a very pretty name. Need things here? I’ll carry them to your car for you.”
“A public servant, huh?” Her voice was icy.
“I do private work, too. When it’s needed.”
Her full mouth curved, her dark eyes lighting up. “Second Street at Willow. Apartment 2B. Come at twelve-thirty. For one hour. I have to sleep.”
“I do, too, now and then. When nothing else is going on.”
She gave him an impudent stare. “You’re a big flirt, Mr. Policeman.”
“Call me Dale. Forget the policeman.”
She gathered up bread, lunchmeat, and a bag of apples. To cover himself, he bought a quart of milk and a package of cookies and gave Phil a big hello. He noted her voluptuous figure, her glossy hair, and her purse as she opened it to pay. He would like to search through it, to find out what she carried around. He took her bag along with his, and they left the market, ambling along the sidewalk to her car.
She was way shorter than him in the sandals. He did not have a free hand to take her arm but wanted to touch her. He tried to catch the aroma of her black hair, but the breeze blew it away. She opened the car door, and he quickly scanned the interior as he put her bag on the front seat but saw nothing of note. She got in the driver’s side, showing him a good deal of thigh, her face knowing. He shut the door and leaned down to her.
“Twelve-thirty. I’ll be there. Will you?”
“I might be,” she answered coyly. “Come and see.”
With that, she started the car and drove away. He felt sort of sickened by the entire phony interaction, but he had to get information, any way he could.
Dale wasted time then parked a block from the apartment entrance and waited. Her car was there, parked right in front. He drank the milk and ate the cookies then the car from last night arrived, and the same two men got out, one carrying the plastic cooler, which did not appear heavy. They went in and, ten minutes later, came out, the cooler in hand, got in the car again, and left. He took down the license number and make of the car and a description of the men, young Mexicans, one of them chubby, furtive glances around, close-cropped black hair, T-shirts, and jeans. If they weren’t doing something illegal, he would eat his badge. He needed to find where in the building they went, but did not want to be seen.
He returned to the office and went in. Frances glanced up.
“Hey, Dale.”
“Hello. Did you get any information about the apartments on Second?”
She sorted the papers on her desk.
“I did. Here’s a list of the tenants as of the first of August. They rent month to month. I printed out a floorplan from the realtor.”
“Great work.”
“None of the names appear on any of our lists, but they might be fake.”
“Don’t add to my worries.” He handed her his notebook. “See what you can get on this Texas plate, blue 2012 Buick. I need the owner.” She copied down the data as he studied the list of names. No Elena Chavez, no Chavez at all. Apartment 2B was at the back west corner of the second floor and had been let to one Daniel Mendoza. Who might he be? He took account of the stairwells and got the whole place fixed in his mind.
“Run this Daniel Mendoza through everything possible.”
She nodded. “Will do.”
Dale left the office and went home to get some rest. He needed to be sharp tonight.
***
Deputy Dale Jackson watched rain course down the windows of the squad car, flow into the gutter to be carried to the arroyo then on to the Rio Grande. The little New Mexico town had sweltered in the heat for weeks, but today, clouds had built up over the mountains and the rain swept through the canyons to drench the dusty streets. He was relieved to see it, but it gave him a sense of isolation, of being left behind, and for a brief minute, left him uncertain he was in the proper place. Should he have stayed in Santa Fe? Was he doing the right thing with his life? He brushed these thoughts away. At midnight, he returned to the Sheriff’s Office, his shift over.
Dale sauntered in, where Agnes Peralta, the mature, brown-haired night secretary, waited to close up and go home.
“Hi, Dale. How about this rain?”
“Good stuff, Agnes,” he answered. “Any messages for me?”
She stood up from the desk and got her purse from a drawer. “Uh-uh. It’s been quiet tonight. The heat has slowed things down, but it will be jumping again once people get some moisture in their bones. Anything to report?”
He shook his head. “No. I’ll see you to your car.”
Agnes locked up, sprinted for her car, and heaved herself in. With a wave to him, she left. Odd that folks waited, anxious for rain, then acted like a drop or two would melt them like sugar.
He got in his car and headed down Main Street toward home. At Apache, he was cut off by a speeding car and became instantly angry. He took off after them, noting the number on the Texas plate, a yellow Ford with a dented left rear fender. If he’d been in the squad car, he could have turned on the lights and siren and scared the hell out of the fool. At the next corner, he pulled in front of the Ford and got out, rose to his full height, and strolled toward the car, his hand on his pistol butt. He never knew what might happen.
He made a circular motion with his other hand, and the woman lowered the window. Young, black hair, dark eyes, fear in her face.
He leaned down. “Going mighty fast, ma’am. You almost hit me.”
The rear seat was empty, and he glanced at her. “Let me see your license and registration, please.”
She rummaged in her purse then in the glove compartment and handed him those. Texas, again. Elena Chavez, age twenty-five, no restrictions, about to expire. Registration was current.
He gave them back to her. “You have your insurance card?”
She handed him a ragged piece of paper, also about to expire. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, I haven’t,” she murmured, her sultry, smoky voice inviting.
Practiced, he decided and regarded her with suspicion. “I’ll take your word for it. You’re headed for trouble if you don’t slow down.”
She smiled. “I got lost.”
Doubtful. “Are you living around here?”
“On Second Street. In the apartments.”
Tired, Dale worked to contain his irritation. “Well, can you make it the three blocks without tearing up the road?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll let it go this time, but if I catch you racing around town again, you’re gonna face a big ticket. And get your paperwork in order. Your documents are about to expire.”
Her voice curled around him. “I’m sorry, Officer.”
He regarded her for another moment. White blouse, cut low, lush breasts. “Okay.”
At his car, he shook the rain off his hat, and got in. As he approached the corner, she sped away.
Damn, an outlaw! He had an impulse to chase after her and drag her off to jail. He saw his hands on her, those frightened eyes, her dark hair tumbling, and went on home. He would not forget Elena Chavez. She would turn up again, and he would be on guard.
***
The second encounter came sooner than he thought. The next day, he went to the Phil’s Market to get food and saw her staring at the produce. He got the items he wanted and lingered around the canned goods, studying her. She wore big sunglasses and ridiculous red shoes, the heels dangerously high, tipping her forward. She had a small waist and a round bottom he imagined he could slide right in and be at ease. Her skirt was so short he could see the curve of her ass. Texas trash, he judged, and fancied he could taste her, salty, an olive oil fragrance, spices on her skin.
She saw him and glanced quickly away again, her expression guilty. He went up front to the checkout.
The owner stepped to the register. “Hi, Dale. Is that all?”
“Yes, it is. How are you, Phil?”
“Gettin’ along. Glad to see that rain, makes everything seem new. Ten dollars and twenty cents.”
Dale handed him his card and glanced around to see that she was standing right behind him. They studied each other.
Phil presented the receipt. “Here you are.”
He signed and left. On the sidewalk, he paused and scanned the newspaper headlines. She strolled out, juggling a six-pack of drinks and a sack.
Against his better judgment, he said, “Hi.” She passed him. He followed. “Need a hand?”
She didn’t look at him but hurried on. “No.”
Why was he pursuing her? But he was unaccountably suspicious. “Well, drive slowly. Where’s your car?”
She didn’t speak. Not too encouraged, he took a few more steps after her. “I wouldn’t mind helping,” he said, keeping his voice cordial. “I’m a public servant.”
She turned to him, her mouth a grim line, her expression scornful. “Go catch some criminals, Mr. Policeman. Don’t you have other things to do? Ride around in unmarked cars, for instance?”
He tried to appear casual and smiled. “I was off duty.”
She shifted the groceries in her arm. “Then why did you stop me?”
“Because you were exceeding…. You know why I stopped you, Miss Chavez.”
“Don’t be remembering my name.” she grumbled, and teetered down the sidewalk on those crazy shoes.
Okay, get lost again. It was nothing to him. He watched the sway of her hips then got in his car and went home. But she stuck in his mind.
Dale did not see local women. He had a few interesting girls in Santa Fe, and that’s where he spent his free time. Getting into anything in the town could damage his image. Talk would pick up and undermine his authority. Sheriff Valdez, his boss and personal hero, might object. The Santa Fe Police hadn’t cared if he had six women, just as long as he got the job done. He liked it better here, in the small town where folks knew and respected him. Most of them, anyway. Not Elena Chavez. She didn’t respect anyone.
***
He worked his shift that night. Two guys got into it out on Comanche Road, someone was hurt, and Dale got the call.
Sonny Vega had a jagged knife wound on his neck, blood oozing steadily, and he chanted in pain, pressing a bandanna against the injury as he paced, cursing. “Goddamn, son of a bitch, goddamn! Get him, Dale, you get him for this. Jimmy Gonzalez, he did it. Call the ambulance, get me some help!”
“They’re on the way,” he said, making notes. “Just hold that bandanna tight. What caused the fight with Jimmy?”
Sonny looked stricken, his thin face pale. “Shit, I don’t know. He was high, that’s what,” he griped. “He had a nose full.”
Dale’s attention increased. “Of what?”
Sonny paced, near tears. “I don’t know!” he answered, walking faster.
“Sure you do. Meth?”
“No,” he howled, clutching his neck. “Get me some help!”
“Did Jimmy do cocaine?”
Sonny mopped at the seeping blood on his neck. “No, no, he didn’t have no coke.”
Dale closed his book and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay. Maybe that ambulance strayed. I could call again if you help me out.”
The bandanna darkened with blood. Sonny rolled his eyes to heaven. “Madre de Dios, hear me,” he cried out, his voice weak. “Don’t let me bleed to death, alone here on the street.”
“Maybe you just ought to think it over. You’re in a tight spot, Sonny.”
Sonny looked guarded, his worried eyes shifting. “You won’t tell I told you? You won’t say where you heard?”
“I can keep a secret.”
Sonny babbled. “Heroin, he got some heroin, and then he just went nuts. I thought we were gonna sit around his place, listen to some tunes, you know. Then he just started talkin’ wild about how he needed to get more, and so I said I was goin’ to take him home and get out of it. Then he got all hot, yelled I was gonna turn him in, threatened me and waved a knife around. Then he cut me. He cut me! I fought him off, and he ran away.”
Dale punched numbers on his phone. “Deputy Jackson. Where’s that ambulance? Well, send it over here. When? Okay. Get a move on.” He got a roll of paper towels from the squad car, and Sonny grabbed some, threw down the bandanna, and pressed a wad of towels to his neck. “Five minutes. They had another call. Did Jimmy get it around here?”
Sonny paced faster. “He said he did, but the asshole fuck is a liar.”
“Did he ask you to take him anywhere?”
“Uh…. He wanted to go to Second Street.”
A bell sounded in Dale’s head as Sonny rushed around in circles. “Where on Second?”
Sonny leaned against the squad car, his face tortured. “I don’t know. We never got there. Shit, shit, I’m bleedin’ more. If I don’t make it, tell Lucy I didn’t do nothin’ wrong. Her fuckin’ no-good cousin did this. Ai yi yi. Blessed Jesus! Help me, por favor.”
“Just hang on, Sonny. You’ll make it.”
Sonny reached for more towels, tears streaming down his face. “Tell Lucy—”
The ambulance swung into view, lights turning, the siren wailing.
Sonny danced around. “Thank you, Dale. Thank you, thank you!”
He helped him into the van where the med tech waited then went around to the driver. “Who did you pick up before?”
The guy shook his head. “We didn’t. The other man’s there on Second Street and Willow, dead as a post. Here’s his wallet. We left a man there with him. Gotta go. Have to get this dude to the hospital.”
The ambulance took off. Dale got in the squad car and turned on the overhead light to check the wallet then drove to Second and Willow. Right by the apartments.
Doctor Gerard, the coroner, dapper even at night, his shirt and slacks immaculate, soon arrived with his team and approached the body. “Hmmmm,” he murmured, as he bent down. “What have we here? Gunshot. Right side, back of the head, and out the left temple. Bullet could be anywhere.”
Dale regarded the mess that had once been Jimmy Gonzalez’s head. “He was high, Doc. Can you run a toxicology screen? I heard a rumor of heroin.”
Doctor Gerard grimaced. “Around town? That’s bad, really bad. Well, no more to do here.” He turned to his waiting men, leaning against the white van. “Take him away, boys. Okay, Dale. I’ll get it done as quickly as I can.”
“I’d appreciate it, Doc. Sorry to bring you out so late.”
The doctor glanced once more at the pitiful corpse. “The dead are never courteous, my friend. I’ll get going.”
The coroner’s van sped away, and the street was silent. Dale looked down at the pool of dark blood and a lumpy mass of what had once been a brain. The fire department arrived and hosed down the sidewalk and street, washing away the final thoughts of Jimmy Gonzalez.
***
At midnight, he got in his car and returned to Second Street. He parked under some trees, turned off his lights, and waited. Twelve-fifteen came, and so did the yellow Ford. Elena Chavez got out and went inside. Immediately after, another car parked close behind it, and two men followed her into the building. One carried a small red plastic cooler. Ten minutes later, they came out and drove away. Dale considered going to the door to see how many apartments were in the building and to get a list of names but did not want to be seen in uniform. He went home, his mind moving in all directions. Something was going on in that building, and, unless he missed his guess, Elena Chavez was involved. Tomorrow, he would pursue it further. But he’d better talk the matter over with the sheriff first.
***
The next morning, Sheriff Valdez got to the office, folded his large frame into his desk chair and read Dale’s report. Heroin. Bad news. He had worked diligently to keep the town free of hard drugs, although every man jack smoked weed. Cocaine had not been a problem. That stayed in Santa Fe where more loose cash was available. Few in town could support a drug habit that cost over a couple of dollars, and those with more money went elsewhere. He and his officers had cracked down on folks who did otherwise, and there had been no problems for some months. Now, he wanted to move fast and nip the thing in the bud before somebody else died. The sheriff and his day shift deputy, Clem Farnsworth, were kept occupied with various problems: a domestic quarrel, a fender bender, and a rowdy drunk. Just before noon, Dale Jackson came in the door and greeted Frances Dooley, the pretty and petite secretary. “Hi, Frances.”
“Hello, Dale.”
He nodded to the men. “Sheriff, Clem, how goes it?”
Clem smiled, and the sheriff answered, “Fine, Dale. Sit down. I read your report. You’re sure about the heroin?”
Clem perched on the edge of the desk and listened.
“Only of what Sonny said. He thought he might be dying, so I coaxed him along. It was a superficial wound, but it bled like hell and scared him. I don’t think he lied. Doc Gerard is going to do his thing, and we’ll know for sure what Jimmy had in his system, but it will take time.”
The sheriff absorbed this news. “Any leads?”
“I’m not certain. I have some suspicions about the apartments over on Second Street near Willow, where Jimmy’s body was found. I’ve noticed a few shady people and think something may be going on there. I’ll check it out as best I can.”
The sheriff scowled. “These are killers. Don’t take any big risks.”
“I saw this kind of thing often in Santa Fe. The narc unit was no picnic.”
“I can appreciate that.” He turned to his deputy. “Clem, what do you think?”
“I’d want to see who’s living there, Sheriff. And we ought to move fast.”
Frances, a constant fountain of information, spoke up.
“A friend of mine who was trying to find a place mentioned there are a dozen apartments there, six one-bedrooms on the first floor and six on the second. She thought it tacky and went somewhere else.”
“Find out what you can, Frances. Get the names of the tenants and run them through the computer. Somebody remarkable may turn up. Dale, do what you can, but take it easy. Help is available, but don’t get to a point where you need it too fast. Be mighty cagey.”
Clem nodded. “If something turns up at night, call me. I won’t be far. Any time.”
“Well, my suspicions may come to nothing, but I’ll do what I can and I’ll be careful.”
“We’ll all stay on the alert.”
Dale stood up.
“Right. Thanks, Sheriff, thanks, Clem. See you.”
He headed for the door.
Dale was a good man and a fine officer, the sheriff knew. He would trust him to take precautions. The phones rang, and he and Clem went on with the job.
***
Dale again drove past the apartments on Second Street to see what he could see. The yellow Ford remained where it had been the night before. He circled the block and, when he came around again, Elena Chavez was coming out the front door. He kept going, tracking her in his rear view mirror. She went to Main Street, parked in front of Fuller’s Liquors, and got out. He parked and crossed the street, dodging traffic, and followed her inside. He ignored her and went to the counter. Old man Fuller’s son, James, said hello.
“What can I get for you, Deputy?”
At this, she shifted slightly to face him.
“I’d like a bottle of that Burgundy you recommended, James.”
James put the bottle in a bag and gave him change. He squinted in her direction and waggled his eyebrows.
“Scenery is looking up, wouldn’t you say, Dale?”
He shrugged. “It’s the rain.”
He left and walked slowly down the street toward Phil’s Market, watching for her. Out she came, put a sack in her car then strolled in his direction. Sandals, today, and a sundress so skimpy he should arrest her for indecent exposure. They glanced at each other as she passed him. He trailed her to the market and pretended to shop for something.
By the potato chips, she faced him. “Don’t be following me.”
“Pardon? Sorry, I didn’t notice you.”
“Oh, sure,” she scoffed. “I don’t want anything to do with the cops.”
“Bully for you. See you, Miss Ruiz.”
She frowned. “It’s Chavez. Are you stupid?”
“It’s been said, although I’m very popular with women. Some women.”
She tossed her long hair.
“I won’t have it. Mind your own business.”
“A lady as pretty as you should be used to men being interested. I’m no exception. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
She gave him a crooked grin. He had not called her a lady for nothing. He smiled, and counted on his charm.
“Let’s start over, Miss Chavez,” he said. “I’m Dale Jackson.”
She eyed the bags of chips. “Okay. Now leave me alone.”
He stepped closer. “Do I have to? Maybe we could be friends.”
She glanced up at him.
“I don’t need any friends, policeman.”
He needed to find out what she knew. “Sure you do.”
She tossed her black hair again. “Listen—”
“How about joining me for a drink or a bite of lunch? Come on.”
She fidgeted, her eyes darting around.
“No,” she said, trying to move around him. “Get out of the way.”
“I’d like to get in your way, I think.”
She lowered her voice. “Not sure?”
He murmured, “You might bite.”
But she turned away. “You might enjoy it. Good-bye.”
He still blocked her path. “Not so fast. Now that we’ve met again, I don’t want you to just disappear. When are you free?” he insisted. “Let’s get together. We could have a good time.”
“I have to work. I work nights.”
“We both do. I could meet you.” She glanced at the other occupants of the store. “Maybe some time.”
“How about tonight?” He moved still closer to her and smelled her musky scent. “Just for a drink or something. Get to know each other. I have a nice bottle of wine. I could bring it to your place. Elena is a very pretty name. Need things here? I’ll carry them to your car for you.”
“A public servant, huh?” Her voice was icy.
“I do private work, too. When it’s needed.”
Her full mouth curved, her dark eyes lighting up. “Second Street at Willow. Apartment 2B. Come at twelve-thirty. For one hour. I have to sleep.”
“I do, too, now and then. When nothing else is going on.”
She gave him an impudent stare. “You’re a big flirt, Mr. Policeman.”
“Call me Dale. Forget the policeman.”
She gathered up bread, lunchmeat, and a bag of apples. To cover himself, he bought a quart of milk and a package of cookies and gave Phil a big hello. He noted her voluptuous figure, her glossy hair, and her purse as she opened it to pay. He would like to search through it, to find out what she carried around. He took her bag along with his, and they left the market, ambling along the sidewalk to her car.
She was way shorter than him in the sandals. He did not have a free hand to take her arm but wanted to touch her. He tried to catch the aroma of her black hair, but the breeze blew it away. She opened the car door, and he quickly scanned the interior as he put her bag on the front seat but saw nothing of note. She got in the driver’s side, showing him a good deal of thigh, her face knowing. He shut the door and leaned down to her.
“Twelve-thirty. I’ll be there. Will you?”
“I might be,” she answered coyly. “Come and see.”
With that, she started the car and drove away. He felt sort of sickened by the entire phony interaction, but he had to get information, any way he could.
Dale wasted time then parked a block from the apartment entrance and waited. Her car was there, parked right in front. He drank the milk and ate the cookies then the car from last night arrived, and the same two men got out, one carrying the plastic cooler, which did not appear heavy. They went in and, ten minutes later, came out, the cooler in hand, got in the car again, and left. He took down the license number and make of the car and a description of the men, young Mexicans, one of them chubby, furtive glances around, close-cropped black hair, T-shirts, and jeans. If they weren’t doing something illegal, he would eat his badge. He needed to find where in the building they went, but did not want to be seen.
He returned to the office and went in. Frances glanced up.
“Hey, Dale.”
“Hello. Did you get any information about the apartments on Second?”
She sorted the papers on her desk.
“I did. Here’s a list of the tenants as of the first of August. They rent month to month. I printed out a floorplan from the realtor.”
“Great work.”
“None of the names appear on any of our lists, but they might be fake.”
“Don’t add to my worries.” He handed her his notebook. “See what you can get on this Texas plate, blue 2012 Buick. I need the owner.” She copied down the data as he studied the list of names. No Elena Chavez, no Chavez at all. Apartment 2B was at the back west corner of the second floor and had been let to one Daniel Mendoza. Who might he be? He took account of the stairwells and got the whole place fixed in his mind.
“Run this Daniel Mendoza through everything possible.”
She nodded. “Will do.”
Dale left the office and went home to get some rest. He needed to be sharp tonight.
***