Linda Kay Silva - Delta Stevens 3 - Weathering the Storm (26 page)

Tony, who returned from the kitchen holding a beer, nodded. “Shit, Delta, you guys are a two-person police department.”

Connie shook her head. “Tonight, it took all five of us.”

Sal and Josh each held up a beer. “Hear, hear. To success.”

“To success.”

After everyone except Delta took a drink, Tony sat on the couch next to Connie and Delta. “You were real cool, Delta. Man, when that guy had that Uzi in your back, I thought I was going to piss in my pants.”

Delta chuckled. “You and me both. But enough about me. What did you get? Anything good?”

Connie nodded. “They’re almost finished with their current filming. The kid you found at Richardson’s wasn’t supposed to get whacked, so they’re looking for another kid to finish `production.’”

“They’re not bolting out of town?”

“Not yet. But then they didn’t know their pals would never return.”

Tony sipped his beer and nodded. “I’ve never seen two people move out as quickly as those guys did. In five minutes, they had the TV, the video, everything out of that motel room and were in the wind.”

“Did you get anything from the room? Prints, anything like that?”

Connie nodded and walked over to her briefcase. “We got two good sets of prints, but let me tell you, Del, these guys are pros. They wiped down everything. I mean everything. Well...almost everything.”

“Yeah, man, Connie lifted the first set of prints from the inside door of the medicine cabinet.”

Delta smiled at her. “Now who’s the pro?”

“Well, the second set was much harder. I got it from underneath the arm of the chair. Those aren’t real good, but they’ll do. We should have something back on them within the hour.”

“Excellent. What else?”

Connie put the prints back and pulled out a stenographer’s notebook. “The reason the feds have had such a hard time tracing the kidnapped kids is because all but one of them were stolen off of reservations.”

Delta perked up at this new evidence. “Indian reservations?” She suddenly remembered Connie’s remark about everyone thinking dark-skinned children were Hispanic.

“A little girl was abducted from a Pueblo reservation in northwest New Mexico just a few days ago. Apparently, the family didn’t know she was missing because she was supposed to be staying with her grandmother.”

“A few days ago? That means she could still be here.”

Everyone nodded in unison. “Let’s hope so. As soon as I heard Rubin mention `the Chiricahua boy,’ I understood exactly what their game plan has been.” Sipping her beer before continuing, Connie walked over to Eddie and flipped off her computer screen saver button. “When we got back, I ran a check on all the kids reported missing from specific geographic locations. Look what I came up with.” Ripping a piece of paper from the printer, Connie handed it to Delta.

At first, it just looked like a map of the United States. As she looked closer, Delta saw there were dark and light patches sprinkled throughout the North and Southwest, and red dots scattered about randomly. “What’s this?”

“That,” Connie said, sitting next to her, “Is a map showing where five of our missing children were snatched from. See these lighter areas? Those show the cultural areas of certain tribes. The darker areas are actual reservations.”

Delta counted twelve red dots within the darker shaded sections. Five dots were from areas in Montana, Wyoming, and Idaho, while the remainder were scattered through Utah, New Mexico, and Arizona. “A dozen kids have been kidnapped off reservations in the last two months? Why hasn’t anyone done anything? What the hell have the feds been doing?”

“You can’t blame everything on them, Del. They didn’t know the kids were Native Americans.”

“But they should have known. How could they not know this?”

Taking the paper from Delta, Connie set it on the coffee table. “Easy, Kimo. You need to understand something about the Native American mentality. There is no love lost between the federal government and these people. Even if the feds came in to help, the distrust is so deep, I’m not sure it will ever be repaired. The Indians on a reservation have their own government, their own police, their own ways of handling things. I’ll bet most of these children went unreported for days before the reservation police called in help. Even then, they probably only got help from the local authorities. That’s the way it is; that’s the way it’s always been.”

Sal sucked her teeth and finished off her beer. “How sad.”

Connie continued. “It’s been that way since the very beginning. Obviously, Rubin and his friends knew this and capitalized on it. They snatched kids from people who would wait an eternity before asking for outside help. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a great plan.”

“Why hasn’t anyone put it all together?” Josh asked.

“Keeping track of the goings-on on reservations isn’t easy. There’s a lot of crime, a high rate of alcoholism, and truancy rates are very high. Add to this the lack of communication with state officials, and there you have it. It’s an ugly situation ripe for someone to come in and take advantage of.”

“And that’s what they’ve done.”

“Right. And it probably wasn’t that hard. Think about it. Rubin is darker skinned. He could fit in very easily on a reservation.”

Delta cast a sideways glance at Connie.

“No, Del, I’d bet everything I own he isn’t a Native American, but he’s obviously been successful passing as one.”

Delta nodded. “If only we could get a bead on who Rubin or Poppy are.”

Connie smiled broadly. “I found a notepad in the hotel room and I’m sure someone had written something on the top page before tearing it off. The guys at the lab should be able to tell us just what was on it within an hour.”

Delta shook her head. “You’re amazing.”

“Not really. I figured I better come up with some excellent clues or risk you pouting forever because I didn’t come after you.”

Delta blushed. “It was a good call, Con. We need evidence. Josh and Sal handled my end with such a level of expertise that it makes my head spin.”

“I was hoping you’d see it that way. Tony and I heard them discussing something about getting rid of anything that might come back to haunt them. Your intrusion has them running scared, Del, and desperate people do desperate things. I think we can expect them to make a major move within forty-eight hours.”

“What kind of move?”

“They’re not here just to get money, Del. They have a product to deliver, and as yet, it isn’t finished. No product equals no money, so they’re now in a bind to produce.”

Delta rose off the couch so fast, she got dizzy. “That means some of those kids may still be alive.”

“Exactly. And we have less than forty-eight hours to find them.”

“But how? They could be anywhere.”

Connie looked over at Tony and they grinned. “Tony and I found out one of the reasons why they steal red Camaros.”

Delta waited. “Why?”

“Because that’s the name of the film they’re shooting. Remember the classic movie we saw as kids called the
Red Balloon
?”

Delta nodded. “It was about that little boy who had a red balloon and the other kids...” Delta raised her hand to her mouth.

“Right. Well, Rubin’s boss is making a movie called
Red Camaro.
They use the stolen cars in the movie.”

Delta reached over and took Connie’s hand. “We’re getting closer, aren’t we?”

Connie grinned. “I believe so.”

“So, now what?”

“Now, we wait to see what the guys at the lab come up with.”

“And then?”

“And then, it’s showtime.”

Delta fished around her drawers for the one shirt she knew Megan really liked. In a few days, Megan would be headed for Central America to put her life in order.Away from the daily grind at the bookstore, away from the throng of idiot college boys hitting on her, Megan might find whatever it was she was looking for. It would be good for her, Delta attempted to assure herself, not really believing it.

The day had crawled by, with more than twenty calls to and from Connie about additional information Eddie had picked up. They were zeroing in and Delta was getting high on the excitement. She owed Rubin and the thin man a few bruises.

Bruises. Gina had come over earlier in the day to apply makeup to some of the bluer bruises Delta now wore. She didn’t want to upset Megan before she went on her trip; it would only make her worry more than usual. No, Megan deserved to go off and do her own thing without wondering whether or not Delta was being dragged out to the desert to give some asshole head before he plugged her full of lead.

Right.

Plucking up a turquoise polo shirt Megan had bought her, Delta held it up to her chest and smiled. They had had so much fun the first time they went clothes shopping together. In Neiman-Marcus, Megan handed Delta this shirt and Delta, as was her custom, looked at the price tag first.

“Eighty dollars?” she had practically yelled. “Eighty dollars for a shirt? You’ve got to be kidding.”

The next thing she knew, she was being hustled into the changing rooms with a hand clamped over her mouth. She knew by the Opium perfume whose hand it was.

“Would you mind not embarrassing me?” Megan said in mock anger.

“Embarrassing you? It’s those people out there who should be embarrassed! Eighty dollars for a stupid shirt. Hmph.”

Half an hour later, Delta walked out with $880 worth of clothes she was sure she could have gotten for less anywhere else.

Ah, those were the days when life wasn’t so complicated.

Tossing the shirt over her head, Delta surveyed herself in the mirror. She, too had changed since they had met nearly two years ago. Megan had brought to her black and white world an unexpected freshness of grays and a rainbow of colors. Megan was the first really honest person Delta had ever been with, and Megan had taught her how to relax and enjoy life in front of the badge. Face it, Delta thought, Megan’s taught me a lot, period.

The ringing phone pulled her away from her thoughts and Delta belly flopped on the bed to answer it.

“It’s your lucky day!” she said happily. “This is not an answering machine!”

“Aren’t we in a good mood?” It was Connie.

“Yes, I am. I’m finally having a well-deserved date with my lover.”

“That’s right. Then I won’t keep you long. We’re batting 500 in the fingerprint department.”

Delta rolled over and grabbed her pen. “Shoot.”

“Rubin’s real name is Elliot De La Cruz, and he’s a big time hustler from Chicago.”

“Chicago?”

“He’s wanted for practically every major deviant law on the books. Apparently, he’s been in Mexico for the last five years and has resurfaced as the right-hand man of this Poppy fellow.”

“Nothing on him yet?”

“Zilch. We won’t get him until we bag at least a medium-size fish. The guy whose wallet you took is D.H. Trindell, AKA Dice or the Dice Man. He got his tag because of the way he sliced and diced up other inmates in the slammer.”

“Nice guy. What about the other set?”

“Nothing so far. They’re not the greatest, so it’ll take a little time for the computer to sort through.”

Delta jotted all this down. “I have some buddies on the Navajo reservation who helped me get information on the kids snatched from the Southwest reservations.”

“And?”

“And the little boy found at Richardson’s belongs to the Chiricahua tribe in Arizona. I told him where the child is and what happened to him, and my friend, Two Fist, promised to call in all of his markers to help us locate the families of the missing kids.”

“Damn good work, Connie.”

“Thanks. Now enough is enough, okay? There’s nothing more to be accomplished tonight, so try to have some fun. You go out with Megan and give her your best. And yes, that’s an order.”

Delta smiled. “I’m going, I’m going. Say `hi’ to Gina and send her my love.” Hanging up the phone, Delta sighed. She might have a good time, but she wouldn’t stop thinking about the men she was after—not until they were behind bars. Grabbing the receiver for the decoy cars from her nightstand, Delta put it in her pocket and headed out the door.

Pulling on her high tops, Delta tugged at the laces one more time before looking at the finished product in the mirror. Megan would approve of the “little tomboy” look Delta so perfectly achieved. Wearing the turquoise polo shirt, 501 button-down jeans, high tops, and her brown leather bomber jacket, Delta decided she much preferred that term over “the big dyke look” which Sandy, her ex, had called it. Either way, it was a more comfortable choice of both clothes and words.

Pulling out of the driveway, she set the receiver on the seat of the truck. It never ceased to amaze her how many electronic gizmos Connie could pull out of a hat. She had connections even the CIA would envy.

Checking the receiver, Delta sighed. She wondered if she didn’t have some sort of secret wish to get kicked out of the department. How many more times could she skirt the rules and bend the letter of the law before someone came down on her for good? Rolling her window down, she also wondered how so many cops could continue to work in a system that continually failed everyone except the criminal. There were criminal rights advocates and there were rules that law enforcement officers had to follow that crooks didn’t. Over and over again, vile human beings were allowed to roam the streets because the system was set up to protect “the innocent.” In Delta’s world, the innocent meant women and children; it meant those who did nothing more than be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The innocent didn’t mean the pusher, the pimp, or the pornographic prince. But they were the ones who knew how to beat the system at its own game. They
knew
the law was on their side. And because they knew it, because it was so obvious that the law supports crooks instead of victims, they are able to stoop even lower and victimize children.