The Pawnbroker Read online

  "Her roommate's an Albuquerque cop— Sergeant Medina—Nancy. I should tell her what happened."

  "Medina's already here at the hospital. She's been talking to the staff, barely keeping it under control. Think I should fill her in?" Gordon asked.

  "Definitely. She and Gina are close and we're going to need an insider in the police department on this job, mission, whatever."

  "So you're taking this personally?"

  "Damn straight. And you?"

  "I'm already in, bro. And," Gordon said, voice lowered, "I removed the combination and key from Gina's pocket. Nobody noticed. I didn't see any reason for them gathering dust in an evidence locker. We need the stuff in that safe, and I didn't want to lose them to a civilian. We can return them later if needed."

  "We can copy the key, probably. Anything to add?"

  "Didn't get a chance to look around. The neighborhood ladies who stopped to help were great, but some of the street people wanted to take a look and I had to keep them back...."

  "Gotcha. What about Baza?"

  "Two shots to the chest and one in the nose. Messed him up. Dead before he hit the sidewalk. He was the target, Gina just got in the way. I left the three hundred dollars, of course. It explains the meet and Gina being there," Gordon added.

  "Stay in touch—about Gina."

  "Yeah." Gordon ended the call.

  Charlie took a deep breath, then called the police station. He identified himself, then added that he was en route to the original scene and would give his statement regarding both shootings to the detectives at that location.

  An hour later, Charlie arrived at Saint Mark's Hospital. He had to turn his Beretta over to a Detective Rager at the Commercial location, but luckily he had a twin spare under the seat. He chose to leave it in the Charger, along with his shoulder harness. The four-inch-blade lockback knife in his pocket would suffice at close range. Hospital security frowned on gun-toting civilians anyway, conceal-carry licensed or not.

  He entered the hospital lobby and spotted an APD officer in dark blue. The cop intercepted him before he could reach the main desk. "Excuse me, sir," the tall, slender black officer said. "You Charles Henry?" "Yes, I am."

  "You carrying?" The officer gave him the once-over, his left hand near his own service weapon.

  "Not now. I turned my handgun over to Detective Rager at the crime scene on Commercial. I've got a concealed-carry license."

  The officer nodded, relaxing visibly. "Detective DuPree is in the ER waiting room. He needs to speak with you regarding the shootings."

  "Of course." Charlie looked up along the wall and saw a blue colored arrow and stripe that read "Emergency Room." He turned and walked quickly in that direction. The cop followed, clearly wanting him in the lead anyway, to keep an eye on him.

  They turned the hall corner and stopped beside the narrow passenger elevator just as the bell announced its arrival at the ground floor.

  The door slid open, revealing a tall blonde in an Albuquerque Police Department sergeant's uniform. She reached out and grabbed his arm, venom in her pale-green eyes. "You almost got Gina killed, you know that?"

  Chapter Two

  "I know, Nancy." Charlie looked up into the woman's broad, attractive face and saw the tears she refused to let spill welling in her eyes. "Gina's holding her own, right?"

  "She's still in surgery. The medical team is working to remove the bullet and reinflate the left lung, but the doctors think she's going to make it. According to the EMTs, your friend Gordon kept her alive," Nancy said, easing her hold on his arm.

  As soon as Charlie realized that she was grieving, not angry, he gave her hand a squeeze. "It was my fault, Nancy. I had no idea she was walking into a hit. This is on me," he said, meaning every word.

  "I heard some of the details from Gordon and Detective DuPree." She stood up to full height, about two inches shorter than Charlie, and glanced over at the patrol officer inside the elevator. "Push B, okay?"

  Several seconds later, the elevator door opened again. The waiting room outside the basement-level ER was busy at the moment, with a young Hispanic couple and two children—obviously theirs—sitting anxiously, holding hands and staring at the door leading into the emergency room itself. One of the kids, a boy probably three or four, looked up for a second, then went back to the wooden car he was rolling along the arm of his chair.

  A familiar-looking TV reporter in a brown sports jacket was standing in a corner with his camerawoman. Their eyes were on Charlie, perhaps hoping for handcuffs. To their left, judging from the badge and sidearm at his belt, was the plainclothes detective.

  The camerawoman, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, lifted up her camera and swung it around to Charlie.

  "Not now," the detective ordered, stepping forward. He was a six-foot-plus heavyset man in his early thirties wearing a tired-looking checkered sports jacket, blue slacks, and scuffed suede shoes.

  The woman lowered the camera and the reporter took a step back.

  "Detective DuPree?" Charlie said to the big guy, then glanced over at Gordo, who at five-foot-five looked like a buzz-cut hobbit standing beside the detective. Not that Gordo couldn't have taken the guy.

  Gordon nodded and rolled his eyes, a sign that revealed his impression of DuPree.

  Not good, Charlie thought immediately.

  "You the vigilante who was spraying bullets down Commercial Avenue?"

  "One bullet constitutes a spray? Detective, I have a valid concealed-carry permit, extensive firearms training, and three combat tours under my belt. At the time of the incident I failed to observe any civilians in my line of fire. I directed my one defensive shot into the rear window of the blue Ford Taurus. Inside that vehicle was the person shooting at Diego Baza and attorney Gina Sinclair. I had to take action in order to suppress the hostile's activity. I placed my shot on target and stopped firing immediately once a civilian came in line with the shooter's moving vehicle."

  Charlie was pissed and stuck to the facts, but he wasn't in any chain of command now, so he wasn't about to add "sir" to the end of his report.

  DuPree didn't say a word, so Charlie continued. "Your people check out that Taurus for bloodstains?"

  DuPree frowned. "A mobile crime lab team is processing the vehicle now, Henry."

  "What about the white sedan the perp took later, over by the railroad tracks? Any like that reported stolen recently?" Gordon jumped in.

  "The vehicle didn't belong to anyone at the warehouse. We don't have anything on it yet other than Mr. Henry's description. The street person with the shopping cart was tracked down, but he was no help. Instead of duck and cover, Henry, you should have at least gotten a partial on the plate," DuPree snapped back.

  Charlie ignored the implication and continued to press. "So why was Baza gunned down like that? Drugs, gangs, jealous boyfriend, a crooked deal? Any theories?"

  "You know Baza was the intended target, right?" Gordon added.

  Charlie noticed that the black cop was trying not to smile. He knew what they were doing. Even Nancy was shaking her head.

  "I'm asking the questions here," DuPree announced loudly, his face getting red and his voice a little too high-pitched to take seriously.

  "Of course," Charlie said, looking over at Gordon, who nodded vigorously, a gleam in his eye. They'd had this routine down for years.

  The reporter, meanwhile, shook his head in disgust.

  Five minutes later, DuPree had regained control, at least in his own mind, and completed his list of questions. As he left with the patrol officer, the press followed close behind.

  Charlie, Nancy, and Gordon formed a tight huddle in the corner. "All we have is the description of a white or Hispanic guy wearing sunglasses, a red T-shirt, and a black ball cap. Not even a hair color or length or a gun description, except that it had an obvious barrel, probably a revolver," Charlie said.

  "DuPree seems clueless. If he stays on the case, we're screwed," Gordon said.

  "Agreed," C
harlie added. "What have you heard about DuPree?" he asked Nancy. She'd calmed down and had now set her jaw, clearly determined to take action.

  "He's the master of the obvious, with a series of easy robbery cases under his belt. As far as I know, this is his first homicide taking lead. He made detective with good test scores, but word is he loses it easily and has a hard time handling his authority."

  "A pompous know-it-all who orders his subordinates around?" Charlie said.

  "Pretty much. Unfortunately he has connections —his uncle is high up in the sheriff's department and his dad was a decorated APD officer for thirty years. DuPree got this case because his name was next on the rotation. I'm a little worried this investigation is already on the wrong track. He's got people checking into Gina's client list, thinking it's somebody she or her law firm stiffed. She recently defended some people working for one of the cartels who were laundering money through a horse-racing operation. My guess is that's where DuPree is looking."

  "He does know why Gina was there, meeting with Baza, doesn't he?" Charlie asked, looking at Gordon.

  "I told him the same thing I told the officer at the scene. Gina was there to pay Baza three hundred dollars in exchange for business information concerning his old pawnshop, the business we just bought from the bank. DuPree didn't even ask what the information was about. I think it went in one ear and out the other, bro," Gordon said. "I'd even memorized the safe combination, in case I had to hand over the paper and the key. But he didn't follow up on that."

  "The main thing here is catching the shooter," Nancy said.

  "For Gina," Charlie added.

  "You know we're going to be looking for the shooter on our own," Gordon said to Nancy. "You going to help us out?"

  "Officially, no. Unofficially, you bet your ass I am," Nancy said. "What did you observe about the shooter?"

  "Zip, except he kept his cool, played it smart, and had a script. My guess is he was using a revolver —no brass at either scene, so he'd thought this out ahead of time. He's either a pro or a smart amateur."

  "You've got a plan?"

  Charlie nodded. "Baza is the key, so anything we can get on him helps. This drive-by was carefully arranged, including the backup car by the warehouse loading dock. My guess is that any prints found won't belong to the shooter. Hear anything on that?"

  "Crime-scene team is working the blue Taurus. Nothing yet except for the bullet lodged in the dash," Nancy said. "Yours?"

  "Yeah. I missed the bastard."

  "Too bad," Nancy said. "But if anything else turns up, I'll pass it along."

  "Good. We need to find out, ASAP, who wanted Baza dead and why. We know Gina had nothing to do with this, which puts us a step ahead of DuPree already," Charlie said. "But sooner or later we're bound to cross paths with him."

  "Let me get in the way when that happens. I go on shift in an hour," Nancy said, "but before I do, I'll see what I can get on Baza—where he lived, where he was working—basically anything Detective Rager may know. He'd have passed what he had on to DuPree, but frankly I'm not counting on the big guy clearing this case on his own."

  "Maybe he'll give you some tidbits. There's that professional courtesy among cops, isn't there?" Charlie asked Nancy.

  "Sure, but Gina's my roommate so he'll see my connection as a conflict of interest. Still, I can feed him some of what you get, helping him out. He'll want to close the case. What we need to do is make sure he catches the real perp."

  "No problem. DuPree can get Cop of the Year for all I care as long as we get the bastard who shot Gina," Charlie said.

  "God's ears," Gordon said, echoing Charlie's thoughts.

  "So what's this pawnshop business all about?" Nancy asked.

  "After spending several months trying to get our shit together after our enlistments ended, we decided to team up again, so we bought the business. We're used to structure, so it sounded doable to us," Gordon explained.

  "The previous owner was Diego Baza, right? Gina mentioned his name and that he'd defaulted on his mortgage and lost the business," Nancy replied.

  "Exactly. And Baza had a host of other bills, including gas, electric, and insurance. He let his last employee go just before the bank stepped in. After that, he dropped out of sight, ducking the lawyers," Gordon said.

  "It's possible we now own part of the motive for Baza's murder," Charlie added. "We still have no idea why Baza suddenly let the pawnshop go to crap. The place was making money, according to the books. At least the books we can find."

  "We got the place for way below market," Gordon said. "The bank was eager, but Baza's records are a major fuckup we're still trying to straighten out. He was forcing us to pay for access to an old safe where he claimed he kept backups on the business."

  "What's the name of the pawnshop anyway?" Nancy asked.

  "Baza named it the Three Balls Pawnshop. You know—the historic pawnshop symbol," Charlie added with a shrug.

  "Disgusting name," Nancy said. "Gina told me you two bought a business. Considering you're just out of the army, I was thinking it was probably a bar or a gun shop."

  "Hey, that's a thought. A gun shop/tavern. On tap or double tap," Gordon suggested.

  Nancy and Charlie groaned and shook their heads almost in unison.

  "Bad day for gallows humor," Charlie said. "The day's fading, how about we get to it?" He reached out to shake Nancy's hand. She gave him a hug instead, something he'd missed out on since leaving the service. He'd had a lot of friends among the women soldiers in his battalion, and women tended to hug a lot.

  "Call me when you get anything new on Gina's condition," Charlie said, stepping back. "And Baza's address. Got my number?"

  Nancy nodded. "Yours and Gordon's. How about the pawnshop's?"

  Gordon rattled it off, and Nancy tapped it into her cell phone. They left by different doors. Nancy had parked in a police slot, and Charlie had left his Charger in another lot on the opposite side of the building.

  "So what's the story on Nancy?" Gordon asked as they cruised down Second Street a few minutes later. "She's got the build and looks to be a model. What's she doing wearing a cop uniform?"

  "All I know is what Gina's told me. Nancy's father and mother were both career air force, and Nancy grew up moving around her whole life. Military brat."

  "You'd think she'd want to fly, then. Go to the academy."

  "Naw, her folks were APs, air police. Nancy got a degree in law enforcement, and ended up in the Albuquerque Police Department. She and Gina met at the courthouse, actually, and have been together for about three years, I think."

  "Not just roommates?"

  "Nothing gets past you, Gordo."

  "Well, too bad for me. She comes across as a good cop, so I'll look forward to working with her. Now let's find something to eat."

  Twenty-five minutes later, Charlie parked the Dodge in a space along the curb in front of the Three Balls Pawnshop. It was a solid, fifties-era flat-roofed brick structure with a not-so-subtle black-on-white sign centered above the entrance. The traditional symbol for a pawnbroker's shop, three golden spheres suspended from a metal bar, hung above the door. The windows had been bricked over years ago, and the door was made of reinforced steel with updated locks set in a steel frame.

  Charlie reached under the seat and retrieved his backup Beretta, still in the shoulder holster, as Gordon climbed out the passenger side holding the bags with their stuffed sopapillas.

  "Think we should change the name of the place?" Gordon asked, looking up. "When Baza bought the shop it was Valley Pawn, remember?"

  "Yeah, I'm guessing he thought it sounded too generic. A lot of the businesses in this neighborhood had 'valley' in their name." Charlie looked up and down the sidewalk. Nobody was within sight, and no cars were approaching, so he removed the semiauto and stuck it in his belt, safety on, and held the shoulder setup in his left hand. This wasn't a war zone, but he still felt naked without it, especially after this morning.

  Clim
bing out, Charlie locked the car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. "How much would a name change cost anyway, not including the sign? Would we have to update the business license and crap like that?"

  Gordon had his key in the first of two door locks. "Yeah, maybe we should put that money into conducting business right now. Being closed cost us a day's income."

  "Copy that. Once we nail Gina's shooter, we've got to turn a profit if we're going to make this place work for us."

  Gordon opened the second lock, pocketed the key, and turned the knob. "Maybe an electronic lock here?" he suggested, opening the door.

  "Something to consider down the line. Go ahead," Charlie said, holding the door. Gordon slipped in, set the food down on top of a used microwave oven on the counter, then reached up to the wall panel and entered the alarm code.

  Charlie used his own key to lock the door on the inside, looked to make sure the closed sign was still in place, then punched in a higher setting on the central air, which activated the furnace.

  "Cold and as dry as Kabul in September," Gordon said, picking up the food and heading down the aisle toward the back office.

  A shadow to the right, at the end of one of the display rows, moved slightly.

  "Right on, Ike," Charlie said, trying to avoid any change in tone as he slipped the Beretta out of his waistband, looking toward the shadow.

  They'd learned, years ago, to read each other's minds. Gordon set down the bag, reaching for his own weapon after recognizing their old code words. Ike meant insurgent to them, and right indicated the direction.

  "How many sopapillas you want?" Gordon replied, watching in the direction Charlie was indicating, unholstering his own Beretta.

  "One, I think."

  Gordon covered Charlie as he inched forward, weapon down by his side, safety off. A quick glance had told him nothing seemed disturbed, so if the intruder was a burglar, he'd either taken something small, had just showed up, or was there for another reason.