"Why are you wearing that ridiculous thing?" Fletcher asked as he sat up.
The pouch, designed with a special sleeve for a quick draw, held Kerney's loaded semiautomatic and a spare dip, but Fletcher didn't need to know that.
"Dress," Kerney said, ignoring the question and tossing Fletcher's sweats on the foot of the bed.
"I'll wait for you outside."
When Pletcher joined him, Kerney took a different route for their morning run, half-expecting Fletcher to complain. But as Kerney led the way out of the neighborhood and up a narrow street mat gave them a view of the mountains, Fletcher said nothing.
The first full light of morning streaked speckled carmine on the flat underbelly of some stratus clouds, brushed the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, and nickered against the peak of Sun Mountain. Sunlight tipped the mountaintops as though it were a hazy rivulet of gold spreading across the high summits.
"Why do you look so pleased with yourself?" Kerney asked as they jogged past an open field that gave mema better view of the mountains.
"No particular reason," Fletcher replied.
"Unless you might have some small interest in learning the identity of the mysterious man who was with Bucky Watson at the O'Keeffe benefit."
Kerney slowed to a trot.
"What have you been up to, Fletcher?"
"I happened to run into Bucky and his friend at the Rancho Caballo clubhouse. The man's name is Vicente Puentes. He's Hispanic, with classic Castilian features-quite good-looking. A Mexican from his accent, I would say. Gilbert has a picture of him."
"What were you doing at Rancho Caballo?"
"Having dinner. The food was excellent."
"Did you learn anything more about Fuentes?"
"Only that he's an occasional visitor to Santa Pc. He looks to be quite wealthy."
"I want you to be careful, Pletcher."
"Careful about what?"
"The men we're looking for can be very dangerous."
"Have you identified the crooks?"
"We've got a line on them. Don't let any strangers into the house, and if you see anyone suspicious in the neighborhood, I want you to call me right away."
"Have you been sending patrol officers to check on my house?"
Kerney nodded.
"Andy has. It's just a precaution. Do you have to go anywhere during the next few days?"
"A trip to the grocery store. I need to fill my larder.
That's all."
"Do that, but otherwise stay home, and keep the doors and windows locked."
"You're scaring me a bit, Kerney. Whatever is the matter?"
"Just do as you're told," Kerney said.
"And no more playing Hercule Poirot. This isn't one of those cozy mystery novels you love to read."
The hurt look on Fletcher's face made Kerney stop. ^ don't want anything bad to happen to you."
Pletcher smiled wanly.
"I'll do as you've asked. But I must say you have a rather fierce way of showing your concern." buck? watson's art crating business was housed in a two-story Victorian, on a side street in the Guadalupe District of Santa Fe. A redbrick structure with a wide front porch and a gabled roof, it had a loading dock at the back of the building that led to an alley. Two other Victorians were on either side, one used as a dance studio, and the other rented by a high-end furniture maker.
Across the street stood an upscale nightclub and restaurant. It was one of the few buildings on the street Bucky's company. Matador Properties, didn't own.
The Guadalupe District, within walking distance of the plaza, had once been a blend of homes and family owned businesses. As the tourist industry expanded, and all the buildings on the plaza were fully leased to serve the growing market, the new galleries, boutiques, and specialty shops began spreading into the Guadalupe area. Using De Leon money, Bucky had started buying before other investors jumped on the bandwagon.
He stood on the loading dock and watched the trucks start off on the long haul to Chicago. His breath cut a ribbon through the frigid air of early morning. It had taken all night to put the shipment together.
Moving nearly a half ton of cocaine and an equal amount of smack was no easy proposition. It had to be hidden in specially constructed crates and loaded precisely in the trucks to avoid raising suspicion.
Bucky turned off the overhead lights and walked to the back of the crating room to the large tool closet.
The drivers had been the last employees to leave, and the building was empty. He flipped on the closet light and swung open a floor-to-ceiling shelf that led to a secret basement. Six wetbacks supplied by De Leon had built the hidden passageway and fashioned a cellar under the crawl space. All the excavation work had been done at night; dirt had been hauled up in buckets by hand, loaded into trucks, and carted away before daybreak.
Bucky walked down the stairs and checked his inventory.
He'd deliberately held back some product so he could fill two upcoming shipments, one for Colorado and one for Kansas. He saw no reason not to make the deliveries just because De Leon wanted to bolster the Chicago market. The drugs would be gone within a couple of days, and because the well would be dry for a while, Bucky planned to bump up the price of a kilo and skim the difference, with no one the wiser.
He turned off the light, locked up, went to his office, and logged on at the computer. Except for Kansas and Colorado, it was time to let the network know that the pipeline would be shut down until further notice. gilbert martinbz got to work early and found a memorandum tacked to the office door. The memo, signed by the vehicle maintenance supervisor, directed Gilbert to produce his unit for servicing immediately. It cited departmental policy, and noted that failure to comply could result in disciplinary action.
It was the second memo Gilbert had received in a week, and while he didn't expect to be reprimanded, the car badly needed a tune-up. He unlocked the office, dumped his briefcase on the desk, and walked down the hall to a back suite that looked out on the maintenance building.
The overhead doors were open and the lights were on. Maybe if he got the unit in immediately, he could have it back in a couple of hours.
He drove to the shop, parked by an open bay, found the vehicle supervisor in his office, dropped the car keys on the desk, and asked when he could pick up the unit.
"End of the day," the man said gruffly.
"I'm gonna have to fit you in where I can."
"I need another car," Gilbert said.
"Don't have one," the man replied.
"You'll have to borrow from somebody who isn't using their vehicle, or catch rides with one of the uniforms."
"That won't work," Gilbert said.
The man shrugged.
"You caused the problem, Sergeant, not me. I had you scheduled for maintenance last week. Next time, get your car in when you're supposed to and I'll have a leaner for you."
Back in his office, Gilbert discovered two manila envelopes on the seat of his desk chair containing information on Rancho Caballo sent over by the Environment Department and the Santa Fe county clerk.
He thumbed through the paperwork. One set was compliance documents for the effluent discharge and gray water system at me clubhouse. He set it aside.
The Santa Fe county clerk's packet contained release of mortgage documents, warranty deeds, and copies of the mortgages held on Rancho Caballo. Gilbert read the material carefully. Twelve liens against Rancho Caballo had been released by a company called Matador Properties, based in Santa Pc. The total amount paid off to Matador exceeded a hundred million dollars. Matador held another hundred million in paper against the corporation.
Gilbert checked the due dates on the release documents.
Each were ten-year notes that had been paid off way ahead of schedule.