“I’m investigating a fraudulent insurance claim,” I began. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
His face whitened and he sat on his hands to stop them shaking. Christ, this character would last precisely thirty seconds in one of my basement interrogation rooms.
“I, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Mr. Jackson, let me put your mind at rest, this has nothing whatsoever to do with your garage or the work you’re doing.”
An all-too-visible sigh of relief. Come mierda, lela, you should be on the stage, you’d be too big for the movies, but perfect for the theater. Everything’s right there on your face.
“You’re not investigating us? But why would you? We run a very tight ship here. That kind of thing is a stranger to our… I mean, we’re not the… What I mean is, we always maintain the highest standards of…” He lost his train of thought.
“Mr. Jackson, my company’s experience with your garage has always been first-rate, so let me just say again that this is nothing to do with you or the work you’ve done for us.”
His smile broadened and I knew I had to hit him now while the relief endorphins were at full tilt. “It’s nothing major, but my supervisor in the fraud department asked me to come up here and ask you for a favor since he knew I was going to be in Denver for a quite different matter,” I said.
“Of course. What can I help you with?” he asked.
“Well, as you know, fraud is most common in cases of personal injury, but sometimes we do see it in fully comprehensive cases too. It’s unusual but it does happen.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
Thin smile, more sweat.
“Generally it’s not worth the risk unless you have double or even triple insured yourself. With different insurance companies, of course.”
Mr. Jackson nodded enthusiastically. “God, yeah, I see what you’re saying. Someone had an accident. We did the work and he claimed it off more than one insurance company, is that what you’re talking about?”
“Exactly.”
“So, like you said, this, uh, wouldn’t be a reflection on the work we’ve done. We’d be, uh, we’d be-”
“Tangential.”
“Yeah, yeah, tangential. Hit the nail on the head. Ok, what do you want me to do?”
“Since this is an ongoing investigation I am not permitted to reveal particulars of the case.”
“No, of course not.”
“What I need are your records for the last week of May.”
“Of this year? May 2007?”
“Yes.”
“No problem. Hold on.”
He pressed an intercom on his desk. “Marilyn, can you bring me the accounts book for May, the red one. The red one,” he said.
She brought the red book. The official book, not the real book with what things actually cost. I scanned the names.
The two names for the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth were the same ones that Ricky had already found. I passed the book back.
Two minutes’ work. Two thousand miles. Two dead men.
“Is that it?” he asked.
That was it. Marilyn saw me out.
Pearl Street was busy. Zombie perras in high-heeled boots, bearded men in sandals and ripped jeans. Pepper-spray perfume. Mustard-gas aftershave.
I started to lose character. Shoulders drooped. Face relaxed.
“Miss Martinez?”
I turned. Marilyn.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Jackson remembered something else that might be of use.”
Back inside.
The office again. Stuffed animal eyes. Fuck sofa. Empty ski lift. His stomach making a rumbling noise.
“Yes?”
“Look, I don’t know if this is important or not.”
“Go on.”
He coughed. “Well, like I say, I don’t know if this is a big deal or not but two other people have been asking questions about our records for the end of May.”
“Have they?”
“Yes.”
“Do you mind if I-”
“One of them was a Latino reporter from Denver, a few weeks back, apparently he talked to one of our mechanics.”
Ricky.
“Who was the other?”
“Sheriff Briggs.”
The day departing behind mountains, saying goodbye with yellow hands and an orange-colored carapace.
Angela shook her head and dissolved in the lotus light. “It’s not just that Esteban pays shit and he’s unreliable. He drinks and he has a gun and he deals drugs.”
Paco looked at me with stupid, tired eyes. “What are you going to do, María?” he asked.
I was dead tired too. I didn’t want to make a thing of it.
“I’m staying,” I said simply.
The Volkswagen microbus honked its horn. Luisa slid open the side door and waved to hurry us up. I acknowledged her wave and shook my head.
“I don’t know,” Paco said.
“We’d like you to come,” Angela said, touching him on the arm.
“Jualo and all my crew are at the other motel on I-70, some of them are in Denver, are you gonna take those guys?” Paco asked.
Angela shook her head. “We’ve got room for two more. Come with us, Francisco. Come on, we want to have you, things will be better in L.A., please come,” Angela insisted.
She hadn’t begged me this much. She liked him. She was a sensible girl. She’d be good for him.
“Listen to her. You should go, Paco, you’ll have more opportunities in Los Angeles,” I said.
“But Esteban’s done so much for us,” he replied lamely.
“Fuck Esteban,” Angela muttered.
The VW honked again.
“Vamonos!” someone shouted.
“Well?” Angela asked.
“How far is L.A.?” Paco wondered.
Angela shrugged. “L.A.? I think it’s just over the mountains. A few hours. Not far. Not very far.”
“Do you have a map?” Paco asked.
Angela was getting impatient. “I don’t know. L.A. is huge. You can’t miss it. You just keep going west.”
Paco looked at me. It was hard, if not impossible, to read him but I had a stab: “Francisco, my friend, my brother, do not feel that you have an obligation to stay here because of me. I am able to look after myself,” I said in formal Spanish.
He grinned. “María, that I know only too well. But we’ve been through a lot together and I don’t want to go anywhere without you,” he said, and his eyes flicked down to the motel parking lot to cover his embarrassment.
“You could make a lot more money in L.A.,” I tried.
“So could you.”
Angela spat. “You’re both crazy,” she muttered. “Come on, I need an answer.”
“I’m not going,” I said.
“Me either,” Paco agreed.
Angela nodded. “Well, it’s your funeral,” she said in English.
I hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. Paco hugged her. She ran across the parking lot and Luisa helped her into the VW.
They waved as they drove out, honking the horn and flashing the lights like they were going to a fair, which I suppose they were, after this shitty town.
Lucky they left when they did. Twenty minutes after they made the highway Esteban’s Range Rover pulled in.
Paco and I retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner but one of Esteban’s remaining goons must have told him what had happened, because soon after we heard him yelling and screaming and running from room to room to see who was missing. When he found us in the kitchen he wasn’t relieved, he was pissed off. “They didn’t want you? What’s your fucking problem?” he demanded.
“Watch your language, there’s a lady present,” Paco said.
Esteban snorted, glared at us, and then left without saying anything more.
“Dinner?” Paco asked.
“I’ll make something,” I said, more than happy, again, to cook for someone else. For a man.
I opened the freezer and found strip steak. I fried it in garlic and olive oil.