"Yessir, I've got a shotgun-or at least the police have it-and I've got a handgun under the seat of my truck."
"This hired killer you told me about is getting out of jail at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, right?"
"That's what he said."
"And he's going to meet this woman in the parking lot who's going to give him some money?"
"That's right."
"After that's done, I'd like you to meet this gentleman and persuade him not to carry out his contract. You think you can do that?"
"One way or another."
"Joe, I don't want you to commit any crimes in the process; we just got you out. Now let's keep you out, all right?"
"I got you, Mr. Eagle."
"I wanted to know if you had the gun only for purposes of self-defense."
"I understand."
"Then I want you to ask this fellow who it was who hired him and when he's getting out, and when he does, I want you to have a similar conversation with him. Tell him he can keep the money, because my wife isn't coming back to Santa Fe. In both cases, you can use the threat of calling the police on them, since you overheard their conversation."
"I understand."
Eagle pressed five one-hundred-dollar bills into Big Bear's hand. "This will cover your expenses, including cab fare back to your truck. Keep me posted on your progress, will you?"
"Yessir."
"When this is done, you won't owe me a dime."
"Thank you, Mr. Eagle."
Eagle shook his hand and left the courthouse, relieved that the situation had been taken care of.
Eighteen
CUPIE AND VlTTORIO LANDED AT ACAPULCO AND WENT to the airport car rental counter. The only thing available was a huge Toyota 4Runner.
"I hate cars this big," Cupie said, hoisting himself into the front passenger seat.
"Truck," Vittorio replied.
"Whatever. How do we know Barbara is really on her way to Acapulco?" Cupie was flexing his left shoulder.
"The woman knows nothing about Mexico," Vittorio said, "just the hot spots. Eagle said Puerto Vallarta was the only place here she'd ever been, but she's heard of Acapulco, and since we've got her clothes, she needs a place with fancy shops. I think this is where we'll find her."
"Good point. Let's make the rounds of a few hotels and buy some desk clerks, so we'll get a call when she checks in." Cupie took off his sling and flexed his shoulder some more.
"How's the shoulder?" Vittorio asked.
"Better," Cupie replied. "I need to stretch it some, so I'm ditching the sling. I also need a suit without a bullet hole in it. The hotel in Mexico city sent it to the cleaners, but they didn't fix the hole."
Their first stop was the Acapulco Princess, in one of whose shops Cupie found a seersucker suit and waited while the trouser bottoms were hemmed. Then they continued to another few likely hotels, leaving a trail of Ed Eagle's hundred-dollar bills.
"I just thought of something," Cupie said.
"What?"
"If somebody at Barbara's bank made a call to the kidnappers about her three hundred grand, I'll bet the same party has already made another call. I mean, she's still got the three hundred grand, and she doesn't even have to get it out of the bank; all she has to do is countersign the traveler's checks, and the kidnappers can probably persuade her to do that."
"She'll probably sign them Minnie Mouse," Vittorio said drily. "And they don't know where she is."
"If you figured out where she went, so can the kidnappers. Three hundred grand is a great incentive not to give up."
"In that case," Vittorio said, "they're probably only an hour or two behind her, maybe less."
"A scary thought," Cupie said. "Maybe it will scare her when we tell her." He studied the map the rental car agent had given them. "You know," he said, "the main road from Puerto Vallarta is only a couple of blocks from where we are right now. Why don't we just drive over there, park, and wait for her to show up?"
"Good idea."
"You said she rented a Cherokee?"
"A Grand Cherokee is what the agent said. Red."
"What a nice color; pops right out."
Cupie directed Vittorio to the highway, and they found a spot a little way up a hill that gave them a view for half a mile up the road. They parked and settled in to wait.
"You an Angelino?" Vittorio asked.
"Grew up out in the San Fernando Valley," Cupie replied. "Roy Rogers used to sing a song about it. Made me proud."
"College?"
"Two years of night school. Wish I'd gotten a degree; I might have made lieutenant or even captain. You?"
"Grew up on the reservation, got a degree at Santa Fe State, did four years with the tribal police. Boring. Found out I was good at tracking people. I guess it's a genetic thing; Apaches are great trackers. The signs you follow these days are different, of course. Instead of going rock to rock, you go cheap motel to cheap motel. If I had a hundred bucks for every cheap motel door I've kicked in, I could retire."
"Me, too. Family?"
"Nah, I like single."
"Girl?".
"I go from woman to woman; best not to get tied down. When I get to where I need somebody to cut my meat and wipe my chin, I'll settle down. You?"
"Wife died six years ago-cancer. I've got a daughter graduating from UCLA next year. She wants to join the LAPD. Can't seem to talk her out of it."
"UCLA sounds expensive."
"I live on my pension; the P.I. work pays for UCLA. Maybe when she's out on her own I'll just play golf all the time."
"I play golf," Vittorio said.
"Yeah? I never saw an Indian on a golf course."
"Maybe not in L.A."
"Something red," Cupie said.
"Indians aren't red."
Cupie nodded. "Up the road, something red."
Vittorio squinted, then produced a small pair of binoculars from a pocket. "Grand Cherokee," he said.
"Check out four cars back."
Vittorio moved the binoculars slightly. "Black Suburban," he said, "with black windows. Trying to get around the traffic."
Cupie sighed. "Here we go again."
Nineteen
VITTORIO STARTED THE CAR, AND AS SOON AS THE BLACK Suburban passed, he gunned the V-8 engine and forced his way into the line of traffic, nearly causing a multicar accident.
"What the hell are you doing?" Cupie demanded, struggling to get his seat belt on.
"Is it the same Suburban?"
"Don't you see the bullet hole in the rear window?"
"Right. Hang on; big curve coming up."
"What's your plan, Vittorio? If we chase these guys, they're eventually going to get out of their car and shoot at us. You want to get shot at again?"
"Nope, I want to avoid getting shot at."
They entered a sharp curve to the left, and Vittorio stomped on the accelerator again.
"Slow down!" Cupie yelled. "You want to hit them?"
"Yeah," Vittorio said, his face screwed up with concentration.
"You're tailgating!"
"Shut up, Cupie." Well into the curve Vittorio pulled to the left, brought his front bumper in line with the Suburban's rear bumper and jerked the wheel hard to the right. The bumpers connected, and the rear end of the Suburban began sliding to the right. It continued sliding until the big vehicle had rotated about a hundred and fifty-degrees, then its rear wheels left the road and the Suburban began to travel, backward, down a steep, dirt embankment and toward a big copse of thick brush.
"Holy shit!" Cupie yelled.
They passed the Suburban when it had already reached the brush and was tearing, backward, into it.
"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"