The Bag Lady, the Boat Bum and the West Side King Read online

  She didn’t wait for me to get out. She came to the passenger side and slid in. I started to say something, but she said, “Head south, turn west at Dunlap.”

  I put the car in gear, “Nice to see you, too.”

  She snapped her seatbelt in place and leaned back. She grinned at me.

  “You are just so sensitive. Tell me again what a rough, tough SEAL you were.”

  I pulled out into traffic, “I was a rough, tough SEAL. But SEALs are kind and polite just like Boy Scouts.”

  “Right up to the moment they slit your throat.”

  “But with a good heart.”

  “There is that.” In a few minutes, she said, “Here’s Dunlap, turn right.”

  I followed instructions. We drove in silence for a while. We finally came to a red light.

  “Let’s go south a while,” she said.

  I slid into the left turn lane. On the arrow, I turned. I drove a while. Finally, I said, “You do know where we are going?”

  “I’m a Detective,” she said. “I know everything.”

  “Good to know,” I said.

  “Take a right,” she said. I made the turn. We had traveled into a neighborhood of strip malls filled with liquor stores, pawn shops and thrift shops. At the end of one of the strip malls was a vacant lot, then a free-standing building with asphalt parking on the front and side. The lot was surrounded by oleander trees. There was an area in the back where the big dumpsters resided. A sign out front proclaimed it was the SanDunes Bar and Grill.

  “That’s it,” she said. “Drive on by.”

  We went a couple more blocks, “Go around the next block,” she said. I did. We came back to the street we had been on, only two blocks from the bar.

  “Find a place to park where we aren’t conspicuous.”

  “You realize this is a brand new, red Mustang convertible. That inherently makes it noticeable.”

  She didn’t answer. I maneuvered to the curb behind a pickup truck with a landscape trailer attached. A crew of landscapers was working on one of the properties. They didn’t even glance at us. So much for being conspicuous.

  We sat, and watched the bar. An occasional customer would pull into the lot and walk in. Each time I would glance at Boyce, but she didn’t react. Finally, a black Beemer pulled in and parked in the spot reserved for handicapped parking. A big man, dark with a black ponytail, slid out, stood for a moment looking around then went in.

  Boyce leaned forward, “Little Joe,” she said.

  I smiled, “Little Joe ain’t so little.”

  “Nick name,” she said. “He’s muscle for Cicero Paz. Thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  “What’s his real name?”

  “Joe Cartwright,” she said.

  I laughed.

  She looked at me, “That funny?”

  I shook my head, “You don’t know who Little Joe Cartwright was?”

  “Should I?”

  I shook my head again, “No, I don’t suppose so.”

  Boyce flipped the visor down and opened the mirror that has become standard equipment now days. She unleashed her ponytail and shook her hair out. She applied a bright shade of lipstick that made the red of the Mustang pale in comparison.

  She studied her handiwork then flipped the visor back up.

  “Let’s walk from here,” she said, opening the door.

  “They won’t recognize you?”

  She unhooked her gun and badge then stepped out onto the street. She leaned down, put the gun and badge on the floorboard under the seat, and then looked in at me, “Do I look like a bag lady?”

  I stepped out. The landscapers didn’t glance at us.

  “We go in together?”

  “Yeah, go in have a beer, leave. Just a couple stopping for a quick one.”

  We walked across the asphalt parking lot, her arm in mine. I held the door and followed her in. It was gloomy inside, no windows. The place smelled like a bar. Musty, beer, and the residue of cigarettes. Phoenix has a no smoking law now, but somebody wasn’t paying attention to it. As you walked in, the bar ran the length of the room on your left. There were four booths on the right wall. Where the booths stopped there was a small pool table and behind that an electronic dart board. There were round tables at the back of the room. This was where Paz’s people sat. How did I know they were Paz’s people? It wasn’t rocket science.

  We slid up on stools closest to the door. Little Joe had joined two other guys at one of the round tables. They sat at a set up for five. The bartender was setting a long neck Coors in front of Little Joe.

  Boyce sat between them and me, but turned toward me so they didn’t have a good look at her. The bartender came and set a coaster in front of each of us.

  “What’ll it be?”

  I ordered two draft beers and he turned to get them. I leaned into Boyce, as if engaged in an intimate conversation. I studied the other two men. They looked to be in their mid-forties. They had the hard, worn look of men that had done things they didn’t want to tell Mama about. Their clothes were nice, each wearing a sports jacket. One was completely bald with an earring. Looked like Mr. Clean. The other was Oriental. Mr. Clean leaned toward another table to grab a salt shaker and I could tell by the way his jacket fell that he carried a piece on his right hip. The Oriental guy was leaned back in his chair listening to his earplugs. He was very still, his eyes looking into infinity.

  “You know them?” I asked Boyce.

  She didn’t turn, “Bald guy is Peggy Wieszek. Other guy is Wally Chen.”

  “Peggy?”

  “Yeah, Peggy. Don’t make the mistake of making fun of it. I was sitting across the street, saw him beat a guy almost to death for making fun of his name.”

  “Touchy.”

  “Very. Got a sheet of strong arm stuff a mile long. In and out. Been out a couple of years now. He and Little Joe are the muscle. Little Joe is pretty much Paz’s right-hand guy.”

  “How about Chen?”

  “Chen is a shooter. Deadly as a snake, but he has a clean sheet. He’s never been convicted of anything. Not jaywalking, nothing.”

  “Careful.”

  “Very.”

  The bartender returned and placed a beer in front of each of us. Boyce just looked at me. I pulled a twenty and handed it to him. He made change, and placed it in front of me. I pushed a buck to the inside ledge of the bar as a tip, leaving the rest on the bar to indicate we may want another. Bars have a certain etiquette. It’s a universal thing. He went back down to the other end of the bar.

  “Where’s Paz?”

  “Has an office in back.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Already told you most.”

  “Tell me again.”

  She shrugged, “Came up in South Phoenix. Made his bones on the streets. Dealing, pimping, small time theft, then came under the wing of Manny Munro. Manny had the south and westside meth franchise. Meth became an epidemic, and they started making money hand over fist. Then somewhere along the line, Manny started using his own product. Got addicted, lost control. They found him OD’d, and Paz was the man.”

  “Accidental OD?”

  Boyce looked at me, “Been a long time since guys like these died accidentally.”

  4

  The door opened behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. A man came from the bright outside, his bulk blocking most of the light. He looked like a bright, white bowling ball. He was really round, and not very tall. He wore a white, long sleeved shirt and white linen pants. On top of his round head was an improbable wig. The kind that makes you wonder to yourself, does he even look in the mirror?

  He turned, and beckoned to another man who followed him in. This man was young, thin and jittery. He had an improbable Mohawk haircut, colored an awkward shade of blue. He was wearing a MegaDeath tee shirt with the arms hacked off. His shorts rode low on his hips. He had the gaunt look of an addict.

  Boyce swung around, her knees pressing into me as she look
ed at the round man. She turned back with no outward interest. She lifted her glass to cover her mouth, “Vanilla,” she said under her breath.

  I looked at her.

  She didn’t look at me. She took a drink, “That’s what they call him,” again, under her breath. “He’s Paz’s man in the west. Avondale, Buckeye, Goodyear, Surprise, up to Sun City. Runs the franchise.”

  “Sun City?”

  “Huge. Old people like their meth and heroin. If he could get opioids he’d make a fortune. Old people eat up opioids.”

  I watched in the mirror behind the bar as Vanilla and his buddy approached the three men. He leaned down and spoke with Little Joe. His tone was low, his words unintelligible.

  “He and Mr. Clean share hairpieces?” I said under my breath.

  Boyce grinned, “Don’t underestimate them.”

  “Never,” I said. “Worst mistake you can make. Who’s the other guy?”

  She shrugged. “Never saw him before.”

  We watched without watching as Little Joe disappeared down the back hallway and through the back door. He was back a moment later and cocked his head toward the hallway. Vanilla followed his buddy to the door, then the guy hesitated. Vanilla shoved him the rest of the way.

  Little Joe looked back at us, but we were leaned together in intimate conversation. The bartender floated our way. I finished my beer and signaled him for two more. He turned back to grab them.

  Little Joe came back out, closed the door and sat down. He picked up the beer bottle and held it, but he didn’t drink. The bartender came back with two new beers. He set them in front of us. He picked up my empty, but Boyce’s was still half full. He placed a new coaster under Boyce’s new beer. He selected some money from what was laying in front of me. A moment later he was back with the change. Again, I slid a dollar onto the inside ledge. He hadn’t picked up the first one.

  Boyce took a sip, “How’s Elena doing?”

  “There are constants in this world, and Elena is one of them. You need to come see her.”

  “Yeah, I really should. Every time I do though, she just ends up talking about you.”

  “Me?”

  Boyce laughed.

  “She wants us to get back together. She can’t stand it that you aren’t with someone.”

  “Who says?”

  She shifted to look at me, shaking her head with a wry smile. “Yeah, who?”

  “Maybe I’m playing the field.”

  “Yeah, maybe. That’s gotta be some kinda field,” she said, turning back, placing her elbows on the bar.

  “So, you don’t know the guy with Vanilla?” I said to change the subject.

  Boyce shook her head and took another sip. A hundredth of an ounce of beer disappeared.

  “You need to slow down,” I said. “Don’t guzzle like that.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “It’s the lush in me.”

  The skinny kid came out from the back room, followed by Vanilla. The kid was ashen, the skin on his face pulled tight with fear. They didn’t look at Little Joe or the other two, but moved quickly toward us. The kid was so shook up he tripped on one of the barstools and almost fell. Vanilla grabbed his arm and helped him to the door behind us. They went out into the light.

  “That didn’t go well,” Boyce said.

  “Let’s drink the beer, and get out of here,” I said.

  Boyce picked up the old beer, and downed the remains in one gulp. Then she picked up the new beer and downed it in three large gulps. She set the glass down, leaned back and waited a second. She shifted her torso, then let a long and generous belch.

  “Amazing,” I said. “Absolutely amazing. How can I resist those charms?”

  5

  Blackhawk was in his office. I came in without knocking. He didn’t look up from the papers he had in front of him. I went to the mini-fridge and selected a Dos Equis. I opened the freezer compartment for a chilled glass. Beside the glasses was a multi-colored box. I took a glass.

  “Popsicles?” I said.

  “I like popsicles,” he said without looking up. “Especially the cherry ones.”

  I popped the cap off the bottle with an opener, and carefully poured the beer. I got all the beer in the glass with the foam reaching the very top. I took a sip of foam, and moved to the leather couch. I sat, stretched my legs out, and crossed my ankles. I took another sip of the foam. Blackhawk continued to work with his papers. I waited.

  Finally, with a disgruntled grunt he stacked the papers in a neat pile and set them aside. He leaned back. He took his head in his hands and twisted it one way, then the other. There was a noticeable pop each time. He slid the chair back and placed his feet up on the desk.

  “Going straight is a hell of a lot of paper work,” he said. “What’s up?”

  The head on the beer had diminished enough for me to take a decent swallow of cold beer. I told him about Boyce, and what Mendoza wanted me to do. He listened without interruption. When I finished he leaned forward and pushed a button on the phone console he had on his desk. A second later Jimmy’s voice came on.

  “Yeah, boss?”

  “Have Nacho come up here,” he said. He pushed the button again to disconnect.

  We sat comfortably in silence until Nacho came through the door.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  Blackhawk waved at a chair and Nacho sat.

  “Cicero Paz?” Blackhawk said.

  “What about him?” Nacho noticed my beer. He stood and got himself one. He sat again.

  “What do you know about him?”

  He gave a slight shrug, “West side guy. Ruthless son of a bitch. Even the street gangs steer clear of him.”

  “Does he have any enemies?”

  “Who don’t? Guy like that, that’s all he has.”

  “Rivals?”

  “Same thing to him.”

  “Anyone in particular?”

  “Not really. He scares the shit out of most of the punks out there.” He took a drink, “Maybe that new young kid.”

  We waited while Nacho took a drink of beer. Finally, Blackhawk said, “For Christ sake Nacho, what kid?”

  “New kid down south. Works the area below Baseline. He’s new and cocky. Been pushing his guys into some of the other territories. Just now started bumping up against Paz.”

  “What’s his name?” I said.

  “Bono Pike.”

  I smiled and shook my head. “We have guys named Cicero Paz, Little Joe, Peggy, Vanilla and a chinaman named Wally. Now Bono Pike? Who makes this stuff up?”

  Nacho shrugged, “I don’t know. That’s their names, maybe somebody…”

  “It’s a rhetorical question, Nacho,” Blackhawk interrupted.

  “Oh,” Nacho said. “Why are you asking about Paz?”

  I told him what Mendoza had asked me to do.

  He shook his head, thinking about it. He looked at me, “Those are some bad dudes. Man, you be careful. Especially with that Peggy guy. He’s a psycho.”

  “How do I get close to Paz?” I asked.

  “You don’t,” he said. “Each one of those guys have made their bones with Paz over a long time. You can’t just waltz in.”

  “Maybe you do him a big favor,” Blackhawk said.

  “What kind of favor?” Nacho said. “It would have to be one hell of a favor.”

  “Tell me about Bono Pike,” I said.

  “Don’t know much about him. Pretty young guy. Started with the gangs, soon figured out that there was more to be had than petty stuff. So, he lined up some independent meth cookers and put them together and built a market. I know he’s ambitious. Probably gonna get him killed. Especially if he pisses Paz off.”

  “Paz knows about him?”

  “Oh yeah, Paz is watching. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t have somebody in Pike’s organization.”

  “Pike got anyone in Paz’s?”

  “I doubt it. Like I said, Paz’s people been around a while.”

  I looke
d at Blackhawk, “Any ideas?”

  “Have to be a hell of a favor,” he said.

  6

  “Have to be a hell of a favor,” Blackhawk repeated. We had moved downstairs to watch Elena and her big band rehearse. We were setting at the corner of the three-sided bar. The band was doing a sound check. They had played here forever, but Elena was a perfectionist. She always found something to tweak.

  “Like what?”

  “You be da idea man.”

  “I seem fresh out.”

  We sat quietly, watching Elena run her guys through their paces. On the bar in front of me I still had the same beer from upstairs. I really didn’t want it. I wanted something stronger, but I knew if I had one, I’d have two, and I had a long drive home.

  “You remember that time in Gabon,” Blackhawk said, “when Indigo was hurt, and we were stuck. Our ride couldn’t come get us because they had one of those MANPADS.”

  Shoulder launched surface to air missile, like a Stinger. Put it on your shoulder and take a helicopter out of the sky. Indigo was one of our ten. The only woman. Hard as nails.

  “Twisted her ankle bad. Couldn’t walk. What made you think of that?”

  “Just thinking about you improvising.”

  I smiled.

  “Well, they had the guy with the MANPAD, and two spotters, up on the side of the mountain. Give him a clear shot if anything came swooping into the valley. Actually, it was a smart play on their part.”

  “Yeah, smart. Then you carried Indigo two miles on your back, so you could come up behind them.”

  “Well I’d a gone, just myself, but they had a complete open field of fire. I wouldn’t have gotten within a hundred yards of them before they cut me down.”

  “But, not a woman.”

  “Not a woman that could hardly walk, and was wailing and crying. They had to be wondering where the hell she came from.”

  “And stupid enough to go to her.”