Thankfully, there wasn’t much pedestrian traffic on the street, which made it easier for Briones to eye the pawn shop. If at all possible, he wanted to avoid having to stand conspicuously near Tortora’s to monitor things, preferring a discreet distance. He considered moving across the thoroughfare so he could keep watch on both the deserted alley and the storefront, and then he saw Julio and Cruz, walking together down the sidewalk from the opposite direction. It was game time.
Reassured by the weight of his Sig Sauer in his shoulder holster, he elected to stay on Tortora’s side of the road and move down the block before circling back and eventually taking up a position across from their objective. Briones strolled towards the shop, figuring he would glance down the alley and then jaywalk across to the opposite side when he was fifty yards past it, and almost collided with another vagrant — this time a man emerging from the squalid alley, wearing grubby brown slacks and a tattered sweater. He clutched a satchel that no doubt contained his few worldly possessions. Both men instinctively started when he rounded the corner, and the two haltingly mumbled apologies to each other as they continued on their separate ways.
Momentarily thrown by the near miss, Briones turned and followed the man with his eyes. Great. Now he was jumping at panhandlers and bums. He needed to rein in his caffeine-augmented imagination and focus on the task at hand, before Cruz and Julio reached the front door. Briones was going to be no use to them if he let his nerves distract him. He mentally shook himself and pulled his act together, concentrating on seeming nonchalant as he strolled at a measured pace. Crossing the alley, he took a hard look at the two dumpsters next to the emergency exit side doors, noting they were overflowing with trash uncollected for weeks. The alley was short, which he remembered from the satellite image, and dead-ended into a brick wall covered with graffiti, the filthy ground littered with stinking refuse around the battered receptacles.
Briones brushed past Cruz and Julio without revealing anything, and continued down the block fifty more yards before seeming to change his mind. Waiting for a break in traffic he jogged across the street, where he took up position with a good view of both the shop and the mouth of the alley.
Julio pushed the door open and heard a buzzer sound from the back of the building, behind the barred window that kept intruders at bay. After a few moments, hearing nothing, Julio called out.
“Senor Tortora? Hola. Senor Tortora. Buenos dias. Is there anybody there?”
Nothing.
Cruz studied the shabby merchandise in two tired display cases while they waited, having registered the mirrored half globe on the ceiling that was a surveillance camera.
“Maybe he’s in the bathroom?” Julio suggested.
Cruz pushed a button mounted by the window, and they heard a bell sound in the back, but no ensuing sounds of movement.
They exchanged troubled glances, and Cruz peered through the bars while Julio tried the handle of the heavy steel access door.
“It’s locked,” he said.
“That figures. What do you want to do?” Cruz asked. This was Julio’s show.
“I think we wait a few minutes. Maybe he stepped out to grab a snack or some coffee,” Julio said doubtfully.
Ten minutes later they were still standing in the shop, with no evidence that anyone was ever going to show up.
“All right. This is bullshit. I’m going to go around and try the other door, and if that’s locked, we fold this up and get someone who can open this. Either he’s made us and bolted, or something’s wrong,” Cruz said, moving to the door while withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket. He called Briones.
“There’s a problem. Nobody’s here. I’m going to go around and see if I can get in the back way. If not, I need a locksmith and a tactical team down here fast, so we can tear the place apart. Have you seen anyone exit the building — including the apartments?” Cruz asked.
“No, although I did…never mind,” Briones said, feeling stupid for even bringing it up.
“What?”
“I almost ran into a homeless guy. He was coming out of the alley you’re about to head down,” Briones explained.
“When? How old was he?”
“I don’t know. Younger than me…” Briones guessed.
“Then it wasn’t Tortora. He’s older. And he isn’t a vagrant, as far as we know.”
“Right.”
“Okay. Keep your eyes peeled. I’m walking out the front door right now, and I’m going to try the alley entrance. Stay on the line, but watch the surroundings,” Cruz instructed, moving down the grim little dead-end street to Tortora’s rear door. He tried the knob, and it, too, was locked.
“Shit. Okay, call a tactical team in, stat, and get someone who can pick this lock.”
“All right, boss. I’m on it.”
Cruz fumed at how close they’d gotten, only to be stymied at the one yard line. He returned to the shop and briefed Julio. The pair settled in to wait for the tactical team. That could take a while.
“Looks like we got made somehow,” Cruz said.
“I don’t see how, though. Really. It makes no sense,” Julio answered.
Cruz paced back and forth. This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go. His phone began ringing, but before he could answer it both Julio and he were startled by a figure opening the front door of the shop. A young woman entered, as surprised to see them as they clearly were to see her.
“Oh. I’m sorry…I…you surprised me. May I help you?” she asked them.
Cruz took her in. Medium height, maybe early thirties at most, huge brown eyes and wavy black hair. A face that was unconventionally beautiful. Conservatively dressed. Counterfeit Dolce and Gabbana purse and sunglasses, he noted — one of the many occupational habits of being a cop.
Julio spoke first.
“What do you mean, can you help us? We’re waiting to see Senor Tortora,” he said with what probably passed in his mind as a charming smile.
“Oh, well, he should be here. Let me go back and see,” she said, returning the smile with considerably less enthusiasm. She eyed Cruz and shot him a smile, too, then moved past them to the door. She fiddled with her keys, and turned to face them.
“Uh, do you mind? Could you move over by the front door? I’m feeling a little crowded here, and I don’t want to open this with you standing beside me. Security and all. No offense,” she apologized, holding her keys at the ready.
Julio glanced at Cruz.
“Of course. I’m terribly sorry. It was thoughtless of us. Please. We’ll just be right here.” Julio motioned at the area by the front door and moved there, pulling Cruz’s sleeve. He stepped over as well.
“Will that work for you?” Cruz asked.
“Thank you. I’ll see where he is.” She slipped through the door as she spoke.
They waited patiently, Julio tapping his foot, Cruz cleaning his nails. She returned to the little showroom area a few moments later, puzzled.
“That’s strange. He’s not here. He’s always here. Hmm. I wish he would carry his cell phone; then I could call him. He leaves it in his apartment upstairs, or in the car. He’s lousy with things like that,” she explained. “I didn’t get your names…”
“I’m sorry. Very rude of us. This is Senor Albon, and I am Raphael Contreras. And you are?” Julio extended his hand.
“I’m his daughter. Dinah Tortora. Pleased to meet you both. Is there something I can help you with since my father has, erm, disappeared for a few minutes?” she asked, shaking their hands in turn.