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She gave him the necessary information to retrieve the duffel. Before ending the call she said, “Are you really in a place called Paradise?”
“I really am.”
“I take it that the fact that you need your investigative duffel means the town is not living up to its name?”
“Your deductive skills are exceeded only by your ability to work miracles.”
“You keep talking sweet to me we might have to get serious.” She laughed and clicked off.
Puller slid the phone back into his pocket and put the Corvette in gear.
His work was not over yet tonight.
Not by a long shot.
CHAPTER 28
Puller had already spotted the place before, a Hertz rental outlet that stayed open until eleven. He pulled to the curb and got out. It only took a few minutes before he had turned in the Corvette and driven off in a GMC Tahoe. The man at the counter seemed surprised that Puller would want to trade in the Vette for a glorified truck/van, especially in a beach town, but he smiled and handed him the keys.
“Have a terrific time in Paradise, sir.”
“Yeah,” said Puller.
He next went to a beach clothing store and purchased a baseball cap that read “Paradise Is Forever,” sunglasses, and sneakers. Flip-flops or sandals were more typical of beach attire, but one could not run in flip-flops or sandals, at least not very far or very fast. He also purchased some T-shirts and cargo shorts with big pockets that could hold big things, like weapons. He changed into the shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers in the dressing room, put the ball cap on, slipped the shades into a pocket along with his Mu, and walked out.
He was physically imposing enough that it would be hard to miss him in a crowd, but most people’s observation skills were poor. Dressed the way he was now, he could probably walk right past White, Black, and Latino and they wouldn’t even look at him twice. At least he had to hope for that.
He parked two blocks from the Sierra, but on the same street. It was well past dark by now but not quiet. There was a lot of activity around here at night, and not just on the beach. Cars gunning up and down streets, people yelling. He heard footsteps running. Whether they were heading to trouble or away from it he didn’t know and didn’t really care.
Diego had said his casa where he lived with his abuela was down the street and to the left.
Puller checked his watch and then scanned the street. He figured that White, Black, and Latino had all awoken by now, made sure their brains were still in their heads, to the extent that they had any, and were now on the revenge path. He further speculated that they would have done some recon of their own and found out that he was staying at the Sierra and drove a flashy Corvette. Thus the transfer to the Tahoe. Plus the Tahoe had a lot more space and Puller figured he was going to need it. His investigation duffel would be pretty big and the Vette’s trunk wasn’t that large. They might have recruited more muscle to help them enact that revenge, seeing as how three of them were not enough. And they were also now spooked and suffering from concussions.
It might come to bullets this time instead of fists.
But before he confronted that, Puller wanted to check something else out.
He walked down the street, slipping past the Sierra, and nearly ran into a boy coming the other way. Puller caught him by the arm to keep him from falling.
“You okay?”
The boy’s small face was all bunched up in anger. He cursed at Puller.
“Can you tell me where Diego lives?”
He cursed at Puller again, the expletives coming out in a mishmash of English and Spanish.
Puller slipped a five-dollar bill out of his pocket. “You can either take this or a bar of soap in your mouth.”
The boy pointed down the street. “The blue one. On the second floor.”
Puller gave the boy the fiver and he ran off. The blue one meant the little building with the blue awning. It seemed to be a rooming house composed of two stories and what looked to be about eight rooms, four up, four down. There was a wraparound deck on the exterior of the building and Puller made his way up the stairs. He knocked on one door but there was no answer. He was about to knock on another one when the door opened and Diego stood there.
He looked up at Puller and right away Puller could tell something was wrong.
“What is it, Diego?”
There was movement over Diego’s shoulder and Puller was able to answer his own question.
Isabel was standing there with Mateo next to her. Her face was bruised and so was Mateo’s. Someone had used them for punching practice. Mateo was sniffling and coughing. Isabel said nothing. She just stared at Puller with unfriendly eyes.
But Diego said, “Isabel told me what happened. I want to thank you for helping her and Mateo.”
“Are they your brother and sister?”
“My cousins.”
Isabel stepped forward. “We all live with our grandmother.”
“Where is she?”
“Working,” said Diego. “At a restaurant on the water. The Clipper. She works in the kitchen.”
“As a cook?”
“No, as a cleaner,” said Isabel.
Puller motioned to their injured faces. “Who did that?”
“Who do you think?” said Isabel.
“I’m sorry but I had to step in, Isabel. I couldn’t just let them do that to you.”
“Why not? It’s happened before.”
“You’re not a puta,” retorted Diego. Mateo began to cry.
“Maybe lama puta” said Isabel.
“No, you’re not,” said Puller. “It’s not a road you want to go down.”
“Oh, right. I’ll just go to college and become a doctor or something.”
“Why not?” asked Puller.
She looked at him pityingly. “What planet do you live on?”
“You are not a puta” Diego said again and she looked away, gently stroking Mateo’s head to make him stop crying.
Puller refocused on Diego. “Did you see the car?”
Diego looked over at Isabel, who was watching them closely. He stepped outside and closed the door.
“What happened to your and Isabel’s parents?” Puller asked.
Diego shrugged. “One day they were here and then the next day they weren’t. They might have gone back to El Salvador. I do not know.”
“Doesn’t your grandmother know what happened?”
“She does not say if she does.”
“And your parents would just leave you all here?”
“They must think this is better than to go back there. They wanted the best for us. Now I am the man of the house. I will take care of things.”
“Okay, I like your guts, but you’re still just a kid.”
“Maybe I am a kid, but I found your car.” He paused. “And you said there would be more money.”
“Did I?” But Puller had already pulled out a twenty. “Give me the details.”
Diego gave him the license plate number first.
