“You’re kidding me, after all this you guys don’t have the money?”
“Hey, you could have had the dope.”
They gave him the address of a bar on Main Street where Crey would meet him, and Marquez talked with Shauf before going into the bar.
“I’ve got to cut this pair out of the picture.”
“They just got into an old Le Mans out on the street.”
“Run the car, let’s find out what we can about them.”
Marquez was inside the bar on Main Street, waiting for Crey to show up. The bar was empty, no daylight drinkers yet, the bartender glancing up at the light flooding in from outside but not really paying Marquez any attention, maybe registering a big man occupying a stool at the far end. Then Perry and Torp came in the door. Perry waved at him and started toward him. They took stools next to him on either side. Perry drummed on the bar to get the bartender’s attention.
“We got to thinking since you’re the man with all the money this morning, maybe you should buy a round,” Perry said.
“I guess that means there aren’t any more cartoons on TV.”
Perry leaned over the bar, looking past Marquez at his friend. “Hey, Fishman made a joke,” he said. Then more seriously to Marquez, “Liam doesn’t like people laughing at him.”
“Who does?”
When Crey arrived he stopped to say hello to the bartender as though he’d just returned to his office and wanted to know what had happened while he was out. Torp oozed off the seat next to Marquez, and Crey took it. He slid a hand onto Marquez’s thigh.
“I’m not feeling you up. Reach down, I’ve got something for you.”
“Better not be pills or dope.” Marquez reached down, felt the money, and said, “This is a lot of work for one fish.”
Roberts walked in, took a seat at the far end of the bar near the door, and ordered before they did. Crey’s team studied her, Perry, on Marquez’s left, immediately saying, “I’d do her.”
The bartender came over, took drink orders, Marquez asking for a Coke, saying he’d drunk too much last night. Marquez laid one of the hundred-dollar bills on the bar top.
On his left Perry said, “A Coke? That’s pussy-assed, man,” and ordered himself a draft beer and a vodka chaser. The hundreddollar bill got broken and change spread in front of Marquez like a poker hand, the bartender fanning out the twenties. Marquez talked fishing with Crey and watched Perry down the vodka, get up from his stool, move halfway down the bar, and summon the bartender. The bartender drew four more drafts and carried one over and put it in front of Roberts, who already had something to drink. The other three he brought to their end and asked Marquez if he wanted a refill on the Coke. Marquez shook his head, turned to Crey.
“This is disrespect. What’s this little greaseball doing ordering drinks for himself and his friend with my money?”
“Next time they’ll buy.”
Perry lifted his glass to Roberts. She lifted hers, acknowledging the gesture but not touching the beer.
“I’m out of here,” Marquez said, “and these guys need to apply for welfare. I can keep the sturgeon coming, but I can’t deal with these losers.”
Torp heard that, though Perry didn’t because he was down the bar, trying to hit on Roberts.
“Don’t go yet,” Crey said. “Let’s you and me talk a little more.”
Whatever Roberts said, Perry didn’t like. He came back a few minutes later and leaned on the bar near his stool, looking past Marquez and Crey at his friend Torp. He looked angry.
“I’m not good enough for the bitch,” he said to no one in particular, though Marquez answered him, saying, “Makes sense to me,” and then turning back to Crey. “It depends on the bite, but with the storms forecast it could be good fishing this next week.”
They negotiated some more, but it all felt lowlife. Roberts got up to leave before they did, and before she reached the door Perry was off his stool. He reached around and tapped his friend on the shoulder.
“We’re going too,” he said, “catch you later, bro,” to Crey.
“Those two are going to end up back inside,” Crey said as the pair went through the door.
“Whatever. But either way I don’t want them around when I deal with you. They stick out too much.”
Crey looked into his drink, thinking it over, then agreed, “They’ve got some rough edges. But how polished do they have to be to hump a fish around?”
“They’re the wrong type of guys. What were they in for?”
“Perry for robbery and Torp did time for rape, only it was a lot worse than what they were able to pin on him, and there were others they didn’t get him for. Problem is I owe Perry, and he’s trying to get back on his feet.”
“He tried to trade me dope for the sturgeon. Did you tell him to do that?”
Crey didn’t answer, and his eyes kind of glazed over. It told Marquez that Crey had known the offer to trade would get made. He could read the pores on Crey’s nose, see every mark on his face, but couldn’t read much in his eyes, and the feeling came out of nowhere, that he wouldn’t miss having to deal with guys like this.
They finished their drinks now and walked out into daylight.
“I did four years and I’m not going back inside,” Crey said. “You want to know about me, that’s all you need to know. If I’ve got to use some help like Lou and Liam, that’s what I’ve got to do then. The boys aren’t so bad. I know Torp has got some problems, but sometimes I need their lifting power. And they can deliver shit. All they have to do is drive a car, right? You don’t have to talk to them.” He saw he wasn’t getting anywhere with Marquez and added, “I can handle a sturgeon a day if you can do it.”
“Why not live straight? You’ve got your sport fishing business and the bait shop. Why risk it all?”
“Kind of funny of you to ask that.”
“Yeah, well, we’re talking straight, so I’m asking.”
“The answer is I’ve got some other obligations.”
Marquez nodded and saw Crey was tracking the Le Mans, which was heading toward the bridge.
“Look at them,” Crey said. “They’re trying to follow her home, and you can bet they’ll go back there some night. That’s about the only way either one of them can get close to a woman.” He picked at something on a tooth, adding, “I swear to God sometimes I wish I could just start all over.”
17
“The Le Mans is registered to a Sherri La Belle. Stockton address,” Shauf said, and then read off the address to Marquez.
“They’re still on her.”
Roberts cut in. “They’re on me, and they’re not doing a bad job of it. They’re staying with me, Lieutenant.”
“What’s your location?”
“Just passing the Ryde Hotel, coming up that side of the river. They’re hanging back about a third of a mile.”
The pink art deco hotel with the water tower behind it was a straight run up that side of the river. If they stayed behind her they’d be very visible and easy to track.
“Let’s try to turn it around on them and see what we learn. How are you doing for gas?”
“I’m good for a couple hundred miles.”
“Okay, stay on that side of the river, and let’s see if they follow you into Sacramento. Then let’s get them out on the freeway and get photos of each of them and the car, and meanwhile we’ll run them through NCIC. We can ask the CHP for help.”
Shauf fell in behind the Le Mans. Marquez talked to a highway patrol dispatcher and told her two suspects were trailing one of their wardens.
“We want to slow them down while our officer loses them. Can we get a CHP unit to come off an overpass and run alongside them?”
Perry and Torp wouldn’t chase with a CHP unit alongside them, and Roberts could hit it hard and put some distance between herself and this pair that Crey called “his boys.” Shauf would sit on their tail and turn it around on them. It was a twist to the afternoon no one had figured on, but at least a deal had gotten done with Crey, and more would follow. That there was friction between Marquez and Torp and Perry might ultimately build some credibility with Crey. It wouldn’t look so much like he was trying to ingratiate himself. Marquez went back and forth with both the CHP dispatch and Roberts. She continued up the river road, chatting now about the Rio Vista bar.