I turned toward the entrance and saw a familiar face. It was Bascomb. And his actions suggested he was looking for someone, in particular. When his eyes fell upon Tanya and me, he tucked his chin and strode directly over to our table.
"Slumming, Bascomb?"
He apologized to Tanya for intruding and then asked if she would take a seat at the bar while he talked to me privately. She gave me a nervous look and then left.
Bascomb settled across the table from me looking very unhappy. He grabbed Tanya's abandoned napkin and then fiddled with it for many seconds before saying, "I want answers, Bishop, straight answers."
"Throw a question out and we'll see what happens," I responded.
He leaned toward me and tapped his index finger on the table like a woodpecker rat-tatting a tree. "Somebody went to war in Mexico last night."
I dropped my cigarette to the concrete floor and crushed it beneath my heel. "It's the heat, Bascomb. Happens all the time in the heat. Pay no attention."
His eyes swept the room and then refocused on mine. "There still looking for bodies but so far the count is six. Seems somebody blew up a mine outside of Renosa after shooting the shit out of several lowlifes and one highly respected attorney by the name of Martinez."
"How respected can he be with a cop for a brother?"
Bascomb's mouth drooped. "Who said he had a brother?"
"In Mexico it would be a miracle if he didn't. What are you getting at?"
His face went through several phases not unlike the changes of the moon. "Mexican authorities think it was an American. One was seen leaving with Martinez."
I leaned forward and tapped the tabletop with a fingertip. "Six will get you seven it was Delaney."
Bascomb gritted his teeth and he leaned back in his chair muttering a curse. "The Portellos are in town—both of them. Took over the top floor of the Ventura Hotel. You were spot-on about those two showing up. Which probably makes you right about Delaney. Which does not make me happy."
I said, "They called Delaney last night. He went to meet with them about issues of the very worrying kind. Have you heard anything of our fearless friend today?"
"To hell with Delaney." One of the prosecutor's hands became a fist and he thumped it on the table in front of me. "I don't think you understand my problem."
I lit a cigarette and shook my head. "Outside of Delaney, no."
He was silent for a moment and then he said, "Every mother's bastard son I've put away over the last ten years will demand release based upon Delaney's corruption. I'll have to retry half of the goddamn prison population. And, most of those will likely walk because they were convicted on Delaney's evidence, alone."
"Think of it as job security, Bascomb."
"It will bankrupt the county."
I suddenly realized that if Bascomb had found me, Delaney might not be far behind. "How is it you found me, here?"
He pawed the sweat from his red cheeks. "I hired a private detective to keep an eye on you," he muttered, with half a grin. "You said I couldn't trust anybody around here, so I got an independent from out of town. Unfortunately he lost you at the Mexican border. What were you doing down there?"
I grinned. "Getting my nails done. There's this little place at the end of an alley that has topless manicurists. I'll take you with me, next time."
He glanced back as if to see if anyone was listening. "Maybe this will wipe that smirk off your face," he said. "I plan to have Delaney arrested tomorrow."
"You can't! It'll blow my plan."
Bascomb's face twisted in disgust. "What plan? You've spent your whole life shooting from the hip and hoping for the best."
"Maybe. But, I can prove Woods was Eli's silent partner."
He tapped a tattoo on the tabletop with his thick fingers. "You're out of your mind. I stood up for his kid when she was baptized."
"You want the real bad news?"
He threw his arms up in exasperation and slumped back in his chair. "Ah, shit."
"I think your goddaughter killed Eli Huggins."
Bascomb got to his feet spittle running from one corner of his mouth. "No way am I buying that, Bishop. Nadine's a sweet kid."
"I'm sure she is when she isn't coked up."
"Coked up? Why you…"
I skidded the notebook I had taken from the house at the mine, across the table. "Sit down before you draw flies and take a look at that. The entries are in Spanish and the cocaine's described as retail goods. But, it's the information on each shipment. How many cases and what it cost. And if your Spanish isn't any worse than mine, you can see each report was faxed to the same telephone number. That number reaches the fax in the mayor's home. Pay him a visit. You can verify for yourself. He's got the number taped on the machine."
Bascomb slumped back down. He picked up the notebook and paged through it. After several moments, he tossed it onto the table as if it smelled bad. "I suppose the next goddamn thing you'll tell me is my priest's is a woman."
"Naw. That's just his fantasy."
He leaned forward and gritted, "How the hell did you survive out there and Martinez didn't?"
"Because your favorite cop wants something I've got. Otherwise, I'd be sharing digs with Martinez. Delaney came to the Blue Turf Mine last night. He talked. I talked. We didn't come to an agreement because the Portellos cut in on our action and demanded he return to McAllen—which he did."
Bascomb clawed at the back of his neck as if something or someone had jabbed a knife, in there. "Sounds like I won't need that arrest warrant after all."
"You can pencil in Wood's name, instead."
Bascomb spread one hand, palm up. "What do we do now?"
"I'm going to need two subpoenas for appearance at your offices in the matter of Eli Huggins murder. The names are Salvator and Dominic Portello: the date and time, leave open. I'll fill them in as I play this out and let you know."
He rubbed his eyes and groaned, "Any reason besides you're crazy that you'd think I'm going to do it?"
"Time to face your fears, Bascomb. The barbarians are on your doorstep and those Sicilians are not going to leave until they find their goods."
He made an impatient swing with one hand. "The only fear I've got is waking up and finding you in charge."
"You going to get me the subpoena's or not?"
He clenched his fists and began a long low muttering of curses. Finally, he asked, "What'll you be doing while I'm committing perjury before a judge?"
"I have a few things in mind. Oh, and don't go out to your ranch until this thing is over."
His mouth fell open and then his eyes bugged wide. "How many goddamn bodies have you put out there?"
I shook my head. "None—yet. Do you have Delaney's cell-phone number?"
Bascomb gave me a nervous nod. "What for? The bastard's probably dead already. Now, what the hell's going on at my ranch?"
"Write down the number. I'll need it later."
"You said he went to meet those Sicilians. They're sure as hell not going to let him walk away."
"They might, once they're convinced he no longer has the stuff."
"Then who does?"
"Me."
"Sweet Jesus!" Bascomb thumped the table again and then dragged out a pen. After which, he scribbled a telephone number on the napkin in front of me. "I don't want to know a damn thing about it." He covered his eyes with his hands. "Now, what do I say to the Portellos when they show up with the subpoenas?"
"Interrogate them for an hour, at least. Dominic Portello was a common visitor at Eli's place, Leon can vouch for that. Just hammer away on that point giving them the idea you've got Dominic penciled in for a hypodermic needle. I need them busy while I do some window dressing."
He stared at me through a fan of fingers. "What window dressing?"
"You don't want to know."
Bascomb jumped to his feet, toppling his chair over backwards
. "I sure as hell do not."
"Good. I'll also need four smoke bombs. No heat, just lots of black smudge."
"And, where in hell am I supposed to get those?" he roared.
The entire bar fell silent and all eyes were focused upon Bascomb. Quietly, I told him, "You must have local talent on the docket who's looking for a break. Just tell him to get busy."