Gordon smiled, grabbed her hand and led her across the pavement to the sandy side where there were jugglers and mimes and every sort of street merchant scattered amongst the palm trees. She and Gordon strolled a hundred yards before they reached a gray-haired man sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the base of a tree.
An upside-down fedora rested at his side for donations while he strummed a beat-up acoustic guitar and a tender version of “Puff the Magic Dragon” floated past his yellowed teeth. Delores wondered if the wrinkled hippie had any grandkids as she tossed her last three quarters into his hat.
A quarter-mile further, they crossed back to the boardwalk side where they inched their way past an endless chain of window displays. At one point they drifted into a gift shop where they were told the local government was making serious rumblings about replacing the street vendors with a row of hotels—an idea nobody seemed to like.
Finally, still hand–in-hand, they reached a small vacant shop with a hand-made For Rent sign in the window. They tucked into the breezeway to get out of the flow of foot traffic for a moment. Then after a few more semi-private moments, Gordon gently pulled Delores to him. “I’m going to be in the states a few more months and I’d love to get to know you,” he said, leaning in for a kiss.
Her eyes shot toward the water and back. A familiar horrible chill raced up her back. She flashed thoughts and images of her youth and Tio rubbing his hands all over her. Did Gordon really like her or was he just another pervert? The chill intensified as she recalled all the other men she’d rejected at impromptu moments like this. It was too much, too quick. “I can’t,” she said, while shoving her new book in Gordon’s chest. “I’ve gotta go.” She turned and ran all the way to her car without looking back.
As she drove away she wiped her tear-covered cheek and cursed herself. She knew from past experience that now she had two choices: either suffer through days and days of self-flagellation or be rid of her angst the usual way: revert to her black cloud personality. At least that way she could pass her rejection, like a hot potato, along to somebody else.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Prior to her trip to the bookstore, Delores thought she was gaining ground on her intimacy issues, but her run-away moment from Gordon proved the opposite. She still couldn’t trust decent men.
It wasn’t new. Delores had always had boyfriend issues. She gave her virginity to a high school classmate who promptly dumped her. Other experiences were equally disappointing. It seemed as if she had no more value than an old coat. Just try her on for size and cast her aside when done.
Then she met Dr. Jeanine Moreno and after Delores discussed some of her intimacy issue she began to understand herself better. She’d had deeper thoughts and hoped she could handle her romantic encounters better. Then she met Gordon.
Once again, the love coward inside Delores took over, and if her knees buckled in fear every time she faced a simple kiss, how could she be certain the dangers at her work wouldn’t lead her to the same type of crippling impotence? A cop had to be much stronger than that.
For better or worse, she had learned from experience that the quickest way to overcome her weakest moments was to be even stronger in similar situations—only in these alternate situations she was the one who had all the control. It was time to balance things out.
Delores had to find a man. Just about any man would do. That was the point. Get him alone and prove that when it came to the love act, she could be just as devoid of emotion as any cold-hearted man. In short: Cowardly Delores was out; Don’t-Give-a-Damn Delores was in.
The first step was to cake on enough make-up to impress a clown. Follow that up with a pair of four-inch hoop earrings and a dozen mists of perfume in all the right places. Then she donned a pair of tight-fittin’ jeans with bangles.
She’d already picked out a bar. Buckaroos was back toward L.A. and away from everybody she knew. She’d driven past the joint a few times and seen the pickup trucks and the big ol’ hats. Perhaps she’d call herself Lorraine. She hadn’t decided yet. All she knew for certain was she’d never ridden a cowboy before.
Nearly an hour later, Delores pulled into the parking lot. As she reached the front porch, the stench of yesterday’s beer suggested she was about to step fifteen decades back in time. She half-expected a saloonkeeper to throw a drunk cowboy out on his ear for making lewd comments to an upstanding saloon girl.
Inside, Buckaroos was dark as midnight, but Delores could make out a dozen good ol’ boys in cowboy hats, and half that many ladies. Except for several booted dudes at the bar, nearly everybody else was sitting at tables. Against the far wall, a jukebox took up a spot where a player piano and a bare-armed dancing girl with a colorful ruffled skirt would’ve fit right in.
Delores eyed a seat at a table away from the speakers. A mustached bartender, with a white towel tucked in his belt, damn near beat her to her seat. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a Bud,” she said.
A moment later, a tall cowboy from the bar, maybe in his mid-thirties, headed her way with two Buds in one hand and two cold mugs in the other. If she were a movie producer casting for a Western, she wouldn’t have to change a thing. Along with blue jeans, boots and a white cowboy hat, he wore a light blue shirt with snaps instead of buttons. He had to have a name like Luke or Austin or Bart. “M’name’s Clint,” he said, pouring her a beer. “This one’s on me.” He dropped his hat on the chair, revealing short, curly brown hair. “What would your name be?”
Delores grinned. When it came to picking up men, it couldn’t have been much easier. “They call me Delores,” she said, tipping her beer his way as if to thank him for the freebee. ”What do you do for a living? Ride bulls?”
“Me? Naw. When I ain’t in this joint, I’m in another one jest like it. I sell boots.” He pointed a knuckle her way. “How ’bout you? You got a job?”
“Yeah, I’m a cop.” It was always fun to watch their eyes when she said that. ”Does that intimidate you?”
He grinned and raised-up his beer. “Hell, no. Why should it? I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“Most guys get nervous around cops.”
“Well. I ain’t most guys. You lookin’ to bust somebody?”
“Nope. I’m on my own time, just looking to have a little fun. That’s all.” She sipped at her beer.
“Oh, yeah. What kind of fun can a lady-cop have in a place like this? There ain’t no bad boys in here.”
“Cops are just like anybody else, ya know.”
He turned partly around. “Hey boys. Looks like we got us a Sheriffette.”
Several heads turned her way but nobody seemed to be shocked or impressed. Delores looked him in the eye. “Was that a tip-off to somebody?”
“Why would I give a damn about these cowboys? If they done something wrong they can fend for themselves.”
Delores tipped her near-empty beer mug his way and he ordered another round.
For the next half hour Delores and Clint discussed their ages and lack of spouses and kids. Then he headed for the men’s room and she scoped out his butt. Not bad.
After they downed another beer, Clint pointed his chin her way. “Mind if I ask you something personal?”
“Guess not. I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.”
“Did you ever get it on in a jail cell?”
She’d heard that question before. “Nope. Too many other people around.”
“So you would have done it if nobody was around?”
She tipped her head down in mock shame and then glanced flirtatiously his way. “I’ll never tell.”
“What about doing it with your uniform on? You ever done that?”
“Does that type a thing turn you on?”
“I dunno. Never thought about it much, but I heard ladies like to do it with guys who wear uniforms. That true?”
She sniggered and pointed at his hat. “Like phony cowboys?”
He sat back, then
smiled and took a swig from his beer mug. Then, “You saw right through me, didn’t you?”
“It took a few minutes,” she said. “Some of your language was a little too sophisticated for a simple cowboy.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Another thing. Nearly every guy in here has a can of chewing tobacco in his back pocket, but you don’t.”
“I never liked sitting down with a can in my pants.”
“Then there were all the questions. That’s what a salesman does. So I reasoned that when you’re not working, you aren’t really a cowboy. It’s just an act. However, you’re pretty good at playing the role and you’ve probably hooked up a few times, so you don’t fight it.” She stared him in the eye. “Is that about right?”
He nodded. “Close enough. But here’s something this salesman figured out about you. You ain’t been looking around at the other guys very much.”
“So? Does that boost your ego or something?”
“What it really says is, you were telling the truth when you said you’re not here to bust anybody. If you were, you would have approached the bartender because he’s the most likely person to know the people in here.”
Delores smiled.
“So that means you were probably also telling the truth about wanting to have a good time. And more importantly, you haven’t eliminated me.”
“It appears salespeople are just as good at reading cops as cops are at reading salespeople.”
“And all of that means you’re open to getting out of this place. I’ve got a nice hotel room just a couple miles down the road. I’d like to drop by and take off these damn boots. Then we can put all the bullshit aside and get something to eat.”
Delores grinned. “I guess I roped me a cowboy.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
What was Maria doing on the sidewalk, two blocks from Cal-Vista and waving Stump down? He pulled Ol’ Ug’ over. “I want you to meet Mama,” she said.
“Okay, but why are you out here?”
“If Dixon sees you or your bike he’s going to butt in again.”
True that. Whenever Stump and Maria had something private to do, good ol’ Dixon always seemed to show up. “Okay. I guess I can lock my bike to a sign post.”
Since Dixon usually paraded the courtyard they hurried to the back of Maria’s building before they scooted down the hall to her apartment. Maria opened the door. ”I’ll get Mama.”
While Stump waited he noticed a pink theme in their apartment. The curtains, lampshades, a sofa and several candles seemed like part of a team. “Mama. This is Stump,” Maria said from just behind him.
Stump pivoted. “Hello, Mrs. Quintana. Maria gave me one of your cookies the other day. It was delicious. Thank you.”
Mrs. Quintana walked right over to Stump and hugged him, then took his hand. “You loved your mama. You are welcome in our home.”
Wow. Stump had barely met the woman and he already understood why Maria was so fond of her.
“You sit down. I get you another cookie.”
“Maria tells me you’ve lived here longer than anybody.”
“Since Maria was born. Then we lost her papa.”
“He was a hero,” Maria said.
Stump nodded. “I know what it’s like to lose somebody. I lost my mom and my dog.” Stump smiled. “I called him Dogg.”
“You made a park for your mama. You’re a good man.”
Stump glanced at Maria. She’d obviously told her mama about the doggie park. It was difficult to believe that anybody, even Dixon Browne, would push this gentle woman around. Maybe she’d verify something else that was on his mind. “Can I ask you a question? Do you like the manager? ’Cause I sure don’t.”
“He lets me work. I do what he wants.” Her face was devoid of emotion, as if she were afraid, just as Maria had said. Maybe a mild push would confirm it.
“I think he’s been taking money from some of the people around here. Do you think I should call the police?”
Her head swiveled back and forth. “Jesus says to forgive.”
“But stealing is one of the Ten Commandments.”
“No police. We just do what Mr. Dixon wants.”
Maria tilted her head toward Stump as if to say, I told you so.
“You’d better get to work now, but come back when your work is done? I’m making posole.”
“That’s Mexican soup,” Maria said. “Mama is the best cook anywhere.”
Stump usually ate fast food so how could he refuse? “Maybe for a little bit, but I have to get home early. I’m working on another project.”
“Something else for his mama,” Maria said before turning to Stump. She led him back to the hall and whispered. “Juanita and Manuel are expecting you after you get off work.”
He nodded and hurried off to get Ol’ Ug’. No wonder Maria was so protective of her mother. Mrs. Quintana was a tender woman who deserved the same type of protection from bullies, particularly Dixon Browne, as his own mother.
After reaching his bike Stump realized he had a big problem. Aside from Goggle searches, he didn’t know much about doing research. Furthermore, he was supposed to do his sleuthing without certain people knowing what he was up to. On another level, it was exciting as hell to enter into his first-ever investigation. He thought of it as, The Case of Did He or Did He Not?
If Stump lucked out, he’d discover that Kraft was correct: Jiggle Jaw had so much power there was no need for violence, in which case, there was some other explanation for Maria’s mama’s strange behavior. That would allow Stump and Maria to “sync their devices,” as James called it.
Unfortunately, Stump had a hunch that the investigation would likely take a route closer to what Maria suspected. He knew first-hand that Dixon was an intimidator. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the man doing other sleazy things.
Together, it was an interesting puzzle that Stump might have appreciated more if he didn’t have to get ready for the next City Council meeting, which was less than a week away and he still hadn’t attended to the things his attorney wanted. With so many demands on his time, something had to give.
After his shift he threw his backpack over his shoulders and cycled three blocks to a convenience store where he handcuffed Ol’ Ug’ to the bike rack. After that, he jogged right back to Cal-Vista and sneaked around to the back door of building seven so Dixon wouldn’t see him. Inside, he scanned the nametags on the mailboxes and found Manuel and Juanita Alvarado in Unit 102.
Stump had seen enough detective shows on TV to have a rough idea of what he was supposed to do, but when it came to the details he wasn’t exactly sure. Should he take notes? Use his iPhone recorder? Take pictures? He wished he’d made a list of potential questions before he got there. Oh, well. He’d just have to wing it. He gently rapped on their door. A few seconds later a big scary-looking guy answered—presumably Manuel.
“Hello. I’m Stump. Maria asked me to speak with Juanita.”
Manuel let him in and they all sat in their nicely decorated living room. “You have a nice apartment here,” Stump said.
Manuel sat forward and glared at Stump. “Mr. Dixon said you got our line-painting job.” His tone was intimidating.
Stump shifted his feet, glanced at Juanita then back at Manuel. “I didn’t know it was going to cause a problem.”
“But you’re rich. You don’t need no money.”
Stump’s jaw muscles tightened. Why did people keep saying that? “I’m not rich. Someday, I might get some money, but that’s a long time away.”
“What are we supposed to do?” Juanita asked. “Live on the streets?”
“No. No. I’m sorry. Honest. I didn’t even know they were thinking of painting the stripes. If you’d like, I can ask Mr. Kraft if I can do something else.”
Seconds passed before the corners of Manuel’s mouth curled upwards. Then Juanita broke into a big smile and Manuel laughed and pointed at Stump. “We’re just joking you. We know that a
rich boy wouldn’t ride that old bicycle around.”
Stump hesitated, then grinned and pretended to wipe his brow. “Whew! That’s a relief. For a minute there, I thought Maria was crazy for sending me up here.”
“We’ve wanted to do something like you’re doing for a long time,” Juanita said, “but we couldn’t afford to get caught.”
“Why don’t you just go to the owner? He’s the real boss.”
“No good,” Manuel said. “Mr. Kraft leaves everything up to Dixon.”
“We need the money and Dixon knows it,” Juanita added.
Manuel raised a finger. “Besides, we heard Mr. Kraft’s days are numbered.”
Stump’s brows jammed down. Naturally, he knew that Mr. Kraft was ill, but this sounded more imminent. He gawked at Juanita. “Are you saying he’s dying?”
“According to Dixon, it’s six months tops. Poor thing.”
Manuel nodded. “My uncle got like that. He just wanted to die in peace, but everybody dragged it out. It was stupid.”
“But you’re different,” Juanita added. “Mr. Dixon can’t fire you or make you move away or threaten to deport you.”
Stump swallowed. Naturally, he’d heard terms like “white privilege” before, but this was the first time he understood that he’d actually caught a few breaks in life.
Manuel spoke next. “We’ve always known Dixon steals money from us, but after he got that fancy car he takes even more.”
“Really? How?”
“Lots of ways. Mr. Kraft bought enough carpet to redo three apartments, but they only carpeted two. Then Dixon had me help load the rest in a pickup. The driver handed Dixon some money, but I don’t know how much it was.”
Juanita pointed her jaw toward her husband. “Tell him about the paint.”
“That too. Two weeks ago Home Depot delivered fifty gallons of paint in five-gallon buckets. We painted some apartments and then I noticed three of the buckets were missing. That stuff is twenty-four dollars a gallon.”