Chapter 15
My sleep that night was intermittent—mostly because of Tanya. Just after dawn, I begged off and suggested we break for nourishment. She declined and went to sleep. I got dressed and drove to a greasy spoon near the airport. I had no illusions about Betsy's blind devotion to Nadine—if her friend refused to cooperate Betsy would follow suit. As she had said, Eli was not blood—and neither was Leon.
After steak and eggs I drove out to Eli's and got inside unnoticed. In the bedroom closet, I tugged on the hook behind his suits and watched with anticipation as the wall panel popped open. The tapes were gone. Delaney was not fast or efficient, but he was dogged. For a brief moment, I considered stopping by his office and asking to borrow a few for the evening's entertainment. I decided against it. Delaney was probably still viewing them for purposes of blackmail. I made another search looking for the bedroom stash, coming up empty as before. Then I headed for the McAllen City Detention Center.
I identified myself as Leon Huggins' attorney and asked to speak with my client. The old guard nodded with disinterest and, after giving me a sloppy frisk, escorted me to an empty interrogation room. I settled into one of the gray metal chairs framing the square oak table in the center of the room, and made a mental run-through on what I would tell the boxer. A big part of my plan included short shallow breaths and long strings of words to limit the strain on my sinuses. To my surprise, Leon arrived clean-shaven and bathed to the point of smelling antiseptic.
"They said my lawyer was here," he muttered when he spotted me.
I pointed across the table at an empty chair. "Take a seat, Leon. We need to talk."
The guard who had brought Leon took up a position by the closed door. The boxer hesitated a moment and then did as I had instructed.
"What's to talk?" he said. "I'm here. You should be gone."
I asked, "They treating you okay, Leon?"
He folded his gnarled hands and rested his wrists on the tabletop. "They burned my clothes," he mumbled with a mournful shake of his head. He stared down at the orange fatigues he had been issued as if they were part of his punishment. "They said they had to 'cause they couldn't get the stink out."
"You got new clothes."
He looked up and gave me a dismal stare. "I don't cotton to this color."
"Makes you easier to shoot during a jailbreak. Food okay?"
"Ain't bad, I guess. Not to my liking, but I get three squares." Then he gave the guard a furtive glance before leaning across the table and whispering, "What you still here for?"
"I won't collect the five hundred you promised if they execute you, Leon."
He leaned back offering a lame shrug. "I take the fall and everybody but you's happy, Mister. I guess somebody's gotta' pay. Might as well be you."
"Have you seen a real lawyer?"
His right hand went to his forehead and his eyes clenched shut. "Kid come here day after I check in. He don't like me much. I tell him I confessed and he ain't got to do nothin' so he jumps up and calls me names. I don't like him much either, so I call him names."
"Who was he?"
His hand fell away and he sighed, "Randolph Widgeons. Never seen a kid get so mad so quick. He tells me keep shut and he's gonna' fix my mess. I tell him I don't keep shut for nobody but Eli. That's when he shook that finger of his at me. So, I let him have it. Suppose I'll get in trouble for that, too."
"Not if they pump you full of poison first. Is Widgeons still alive?"
"He was breathing, last I saw. They come with a stretcher and carried him out—real careful like."
"Sounds like a promising first meet. Let's talk about Betsy, Leon."
One hand shot across the table toward me, the index finger pointing at my chest like a gun barrel. "You keep clear of her, Mister."
"Keep your hands back," the guard growled.
Leon tucked his fists beneath the table but he remained leaning forward like a hungry tiger. "You keep clear."
"Betsy and a friend of hers by the name of Nadine were at Eli's when he was killed," I said. "I know that because Betsy told me. I also know she wasn't part of the killing, also because she told me. Now if it's her you're trying to protect"
"You got no right scarin' that child."
"She's not a child anymore, Leon," I countered. "Which is probably why she pulled a pistol on me."
His eyes bugged. "Betsy got no gun."
"Not now—I took it from her. But the gun's the same caliber as the one used on Eli. She told me Nadine had given it to her."
Leon jumped to his feet, and leaned across the table toward me. "First you say she don't do it. They you say she got the gun what did. What're you pullin', Mister?"
The guard rushed forward, grabbed Leon by the shoulders and unceremoniously shoved the boxer back into the chair. Then the guard resumed his position at the door. Leon was still wound tight like a coil spring.
"I also have the revolver Moira tried to shoot me with," I continued. "It's also the same caliber as the gun used on Eli."
Leon's mouth gaped as he stared at me like a man whose life had suddenly turned upside down. "What's goin' on, Mister? I ain't in here but days and you're sayin' my wife tried to kill you and my little girl did too? My girls don't cotton to guns 'cause I don't cotton to guns."
"What's going on is, you're about to die for nothing, Leon. I don't think Betsy or Moira were involved. I think Nadine is the key to this whole thing. Somebody she's hooked up with killed your brother. Is she worth dying to protect?"
He made an angry fist and thumped it into his open palm. "Should've killed that black-headed bastard."
"Who, Leon?"
"You know. Port-something! I told Eli he was no good."
"Dominic Portello's an item with Nadine?"
"I seen 'em together at Eli's one time. She on his lap. His hand up her skirt!" Leon knotted and unknotted his hands, his face suddenly twisted in torment. Finally he sobbed, "I don't want to die, Mister. But, it's too late. I signed the paper."
"I'll talk to your attorney, and we'll get that taken care of."
Leon inhaled deeply and then exhaled as if the breath hurt his lungs. "That ain't gonna work, Mister. That lawyer's not gonna' talk to nobody tryin' to help me. Not after I broke his jaw like I done."
I muttered an impatient curse. "Let me worry about that. Who is Nadine?"
"That mayor's girl! She ain't no good! I tell Betsy but she don't listen to me! She used to listen. Not no more." Leon leaned forward and then spoke in a confidential manner. "That Nadine's always gettin' Betsy to do things good girls oughtn't to do. Always puttin' ideas in Betsy's head."
Pieces suddenly fell into place. Dominic's interest in Nadine was no doubt prurient, but his goal was much more far-reaching. By controlling Nadine, he had gained a foothold on local political power. And that meant added protection for the cocaine smuggling. "What kind of ideas, Leon?"
He gave the guard another furtive glance and then lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper. "Parties. Men. You been around, Mister. You know what happens. I tried to talk to Betsy but she don't believe me. All Betsy sees is what Nadine tells her to see. Moira says it's just girl stuff and I should keep shut. Well, it ain't just girl stuff. It's trouble, Mister."
"Was the mayor ever at Eli's parties?"
His chin dipped then he looked up grinning proudly. "Not them parties. But he come to visit at least once a month. I got to shake his hand and everything. Eli had all the right friends."
"Were you around when the mayor and Eli were talking business?"
He wagged his head. "That was when I would run them jobs for the mayor. Real important jobs. Eli'd tell me, 'get dressed in that driver uniform.' Then the mayor would give me a stack of boxes to deliver. I got to drive Eli's big car and everything."
"Drive it where?"
"All over town. Deliverin' boxes to the rich folks."
"What was in the boxes?"
Leon made a
monkey face. "Don't know. Just stuff in boxes. I got tips from those deliveries—five or ten dollars each. Eli said I could keep that."
"Big boxes? Small boxes?"
"Not big. Not small. Just boxes."
"Was the Mayor ever at Eli's when Dominic Portello was visiting?"
He gave me a bleak smile. "I seen him one time. I was havin' trouble with the zipper on that uniform so I didn't leave 'til late. That's when I spotted that Port-bastard drive in! Him and his friends walked right up to the front door and inside—not even knocking."
"Just sit tight, Leon." I stood up. "I'll try to convince your lawyer to help. If he won't, I'll get the judge to appoint someone else."
"What about Betsy?"
"I'll bring her by for a visit, real soon. That's when you'll have to convince her to tell me what she knows—understand?"
He nodded his head as a sudden gleam came to his eyes. Then he gave me a hopeful smile. "You're my only friend, Mister. And I'm real sorry for all them terrible things I been thinkin' 'bout you."
"You and the Pope, Leon. Is there a local actor's group?"
"Sure. I helped them out once. Big play 'bout a boxer and his last fight. Got to be in the ring they set up, and standing in front of all the people, and everything. But they wouldn't let me talk any words. They tried but I just couldn't keep them words straight."
"Where was this play?"
"Over on Gilmore! Ask for a fella' named Ramón! He's in charge. Kinda' funny fella'. You gonna' be an actor, Mister? 'Cause I can give you some pointers on how to stand in front of lots of people. The most important one is not to scratch. Ramón don't like it when fella' scratches. I learned that right off."
"I'll keep that in mind. See ya, Leon."