“Uh, yep.”
He adjusted the mirrored Oakleys that covered his eyes. “Well. Fuck me.”
“I know.”
I watched two teenagers at the shoreline strap on their leashes, pick up their boards, and run into the water, gliding the noses of their boards into the waves as they made their way out to the lineup.
I wanted to chase after them and forget about the new complications in my life. But I knew it wasn’t gonna happen at that moment.
Carter propped himself up on his elbows. “What the hell do they want with you?”
“Don’t know,” I answered. “They were waiting for me when I left the ME’s. Said that was where Mr. Costilla’s interest was.”
“With Kate?”
I nodded. “I guess.”
He picked up the apple and finished it methodically. He wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand, then looked at me. “What the hell was she into?”
It was the same question that had been dancing in my mind since I’d left them. They clearly knew why I went to see Minton. “They know about Kate’s death. Why does it matter to them?”
“I don’t remember Kate doing drugs,” Carter said.
“I don’t remember anyone we knew doing the kind of drugs it would take to draw Costilla’s attention,” I said.
Carter sat all the way up. He faced straight ahead at the tourists, the beach, and the water, but the sunglasses made it impossible for me to tell where his focus was.
“I don’t like this, Noah,” he said, finally, shaking his head slowly. “Costilla…we don’t want to get near him.”
I agreed with him, but didn’t know how to get out of it. “Unfortunately, that’s gonna be impossible to avoid now.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“And I think the longer we wait, the worse it might get.”
Carter nodded again.
“Can you set up a meeting?” I asked, knowing that, with his connections, he could.
Carter lifted the sunglasses up and rested them on top of his head, the black of the frames contrasting with his white hair and bronze face. He cocked his head to the side, one eye open, the other closed. “Yeah. If you really want me to, I will.” He paused. “But you better be sure on this.”
Reluctance wasn’t something I was used to hearing in his voice, and that bothered me. Normally, he carried enough confidence for the both of us. And most of the rest of the human population, too.
“I think we have to,” I said.
He kept the one open eye on me. “Noah, if they’re interested in Kate, there’s a reason. Costilla doesn’t fuck around. And most likely, whatever the reason, you’re not gonna like it. Neither are her asshole parents.” He paused. “That gonna be something you can deal with?”
Two seagulls buzzed over the patio and out toward the water, chirping like angry lovers. Sitting on the patio, watching the waves, almost always felt cathartic, relaxing. Now, that feeling had turned to fear.
“We’ll see,” I told him. “We’ll see.”
15
Carter had been gone for about an hour, leaving without a word, presumably to set up our meeting with Costilla. I was contemplating what I might say to one of the most powerful druglords known to man when the phone mercifully interrupted my efforts.
“Braddock.” Minton sounded irritated.
“That’s me.”
“I want the tickets delivered to the office by five tonight.”
“Done.”
“And if they are anything less than exquisite seats, you can feel free to never set foot in my office again.”
I thought of about five great things to say about his use of the word “exquisite,” but I reminded myself that I needed his help and held my tongue. “They’re great seats, I promise.”
“Death was caused by strangulation,” Minton said quickly. “Probably about twelve hours before you found her.”
Not a big surprise. I’d figured that out on my own.
“No other trauma to the body that contributed to the death,” Minton continued.
“No other bumps or bruises?” I asked.
“None,” he answered. “But the tox screen was loaded.”
I took a deep breath. “Loaded?”
“Heroin,” Minton said. “And some alcohol.”
I tried to process that. “Could she have overdosed?”
“Nope,” Minton said confidently. “Her windpipe was crushed. Lots of residual, which says to me she was an addict. She had a decent amount in her system, but my guess would be that was a regular thing. The screen showed long-term use, not a binge that would’ve killed her.”
His words felt like a hammer hitting me in the spine. The thought of Kate using drugs felt as foreign to me as her being dead.
“Needle marks?” I asked.
“Nothing fresh, but there was some scarring on the left arm and in between the toes.” Minton paused. “She wasn’t a recreational user. It was a way of life for this girl.”
My brain spun like a tornado. “You’re sure?”
“Positive,” he said. “And, Braddock? We didn’t have this conversation. I haven’t even filled out the report yet.”
“Got it.”
“Tickets by five,” he said and hung up.
I set the phone down and tried to picture Kate as a drug addict. We’d smoked a little pot in high school, but mainly for experimentation and fun. Neither of us had much of a taste for it. We drank our share, but stayed away from anything that got snorted or injected. I couldn’t imagine Kate being involved in anything worse than that.
But Minton clearly disagreed with my imagination.
Randall Tower hadn’t mentioned any drug use to me. It wouldn’t be surprising if he didn’t know, though. Most people try to hide their bad habits from the ones they love, but rich people turned it into an art.
I pondered that as I called my buddy with the baseball tickets and arranged to have them delivered to Minton. He’d confused the hell out of me, but he’d earned them.
The front door opened, and Carter filled the space.
“We’re on,” he said, his face expressionless.
“When?”
Carter stepped aside, and Ramon, the nattily dressed thug from earlier in the day, stood beside him.
Ramon smiled and pointed a nasty-looking pistol at my gut. “Now.”
16
A ride to the South Bay wasn’t what I had in mind for the afternoon, but when an internationally wanted drug kingpin agrees to meet with you and sends his people to escort you, a sandwich and a nap place a distant second.
Carter and I rode in the back of a dark blue Cadillac, Ramon in the front passenger seat with another man driving. The other man hadn’t gotten out of the car, and all that I could see was a black handlebar mustache sticking off the side his face, his head the size of a watermelon.
We drove south on the five, past Lindbergh Field, the ancient El Cortez Hotel, and Balboa Park, home to most of San Diego’s cultural activities. We moved by the on-ramp to the Coronado Bridge and then through the industrial grounds of National City and Imperial Beach to the last U.S. exit in San Ysidro.
There are three reasons to take the San Ysidro exit. You can park and walk across the border into Tijuana, like the thousands of tourists that do just that every day. You can get off the freeway and head back to where you came from, avoiding the dangerous streets of one of Baja California’s poorest cities. Or you can go shopping at the only outlet mall located at a United States international border.
The Cadillac turned into the parking lot of the outlets and drove to the western end of the strip mall.
“Guys, if we could hit the Mikasa store, that would be great,” I said. “I need some new goblets.”
“Just a word of warning,” Ramon said, not bothering to turn around. “Mr. Costilla does not find many things funny.”
I closed my big trap.
The car came to a stop at the end of the lot, idling next to the curb.
Ramon turned around. “I’m going to assume that you know that just because you don’t see any guns doesn’t mean there aren’t any guns.” He smiled. “Follow me, please.”