Текст книги "The Call of the Mountain"

Автор книги: Sam Neumann

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

46

Officer Michael Raphino gave me an envelope full of cash and a P.O. Box address.

“We’re going to mail cash?” I asked.

“He doesn’t take checks. Wire transfer’s too risky. I’ve done it before.”

Earl’s had become our meeting place. It was good cover; usually empty, sparse, disinterested staff. It felt safe.

“Listen,” Raphino said, “a lot of stuff is going to be uncovered. This guy’s good; he’ll find most everything. I need you to know that any further involvement on your end will probably be revealed. Just to me, first, but eventually to everyone.”

“I already told you I was involved.”

“I know,” he said. “But we didn’t discuss using.”

“Using drugs?”

He nodded.

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

Raphino shrugged. “Okay. That’s just rare, you know. Most people handling drugs have at least sampled the product.”

“Not in Vince’s crew. I expected some of these guys to be coked out, high on smack, whatever, but they’re all clean. It’s a big rule they have, not to touch the stuff. It’s purely about money. Maybe some of the car handlers or dealers are shooting up; I don’t know. But it’s pretty clean.”

He nodded. “A tight ship.”

“They’re pros. I wouldn’t have even seen the drugs had I not gone snooping around, and I was a driver. Nobody handles the stuff that doesn’t explicitly have to. I wonder how many of them even know.”

“Where’d you call him from last time?”

“A payphone, outside a tobacco shop.”

Raphino nodded again. “Good. Good work. Use it again, but just once more. After that you’ll have to find another. The little things are important.”

It was dark when I called Korman the second time.

“Money’s in the mail,” I said, standing at the payphone and looking at a vacant parking lot.

“Very well,” he said. “We can start.” He could have been a radio host for some rock and roll station. His voice was weathered and commanding; there were no wasted words. “Tell me everything you know.”

I did, retracing the story from when I arrived through the past week. A few times Korman stopped me for clarification, but mostly he listened and typed. This time, I left out nothing.

“That all?” he asked when I finished.

“From what I remember,” I said.

“Here’s what will happen: I’ll do what I can on this in the next few days remotely. I’m finishing up another job, but that shit should be wrapped by the weekend. Then I’m gonna drink beer and watch the playoffs for twenty-four hours, and after that I’ll head to the Rockies. You won’t see me until I want you to. Keep your head down.”

He hung up.

47

In the six days until Dallas Korman contacted me again—in the flesh this time, through cigarette smoke and the endearing haze of a beer buzz—three important things happened. First, someone broke into Raphino’s house while he was at work. He was unsure if it was related to our investigation. He texted me to meet him at Angelo’s –our code word for Earl’s—the evening after it happened.

“I filed a report,” he said over a muted Stones track, “because I have to. They poked around for an hour and confirmed nothing was missing. Someone’s coming to fix the front door.”

“They didn’t take anything?” I asked.

He shook his head. “But that doesn’t mean anything. Chances are it’s just some bored kids. No need to worry.”

I mentioned that it might make sense to call the investigation off.

“No,” he said. “Even if it was somehow related—and I don’t know how, ‘cause we’ve been careful—even if it was, it wasn’t nothing more than a scare tactic. They know they can’t harm a cop.”

“Yeah, but I don’t…”

“Like I said, probably unrelated,” he interrupted. “We keep going forward just like we planned. But just in case, you and me aren’t gonna meet anymore until you hear from Korman. Minimize contact. Just a good practice.”

I agreed not to contact him until Korman turned up with something. I paid for the drinks.

Second, Adeline showed up to my apartment again, drunk, unannounced, and looking to hook up. It was 10 p.m. When I heard her knock, I jumped an inch off the love seat, and my eyes darted toward the bedside nightstand that held the .45.

I carefully looked through the peephole and saw her leaning on the door, eyes half closed.

“I’ve missed you,” she said when I let her in. Her breath smelled of sour mash.

“What are you doing here?”

She scoffed. “Have you gotten stupid, Julian?” She walked to my fridge for a beer.

“You can’t stay.”

She swayed around the kitchen and searched for a bottle opener.

“I told you last time, no more,” I said.

“You said that many times,” she said to the counter.

“This time I meant it.”

She found the opener and took a slug off the bottle, then walked back toward me. Slowly and wobbly.

“You keep lying to yourself,” she said, eyes looking into mine.

“No, you do.”

She laughed and grabbed the front of my shirt. She leaned in. “Come on,” she whispered. “You know you want to.”

I’d always given in to her. Willingly at first, excitedly even, and reluctantly in the later days, but I’d always given in. Because I wanted it, and because it was easy. I still wanted it, still desired her body next to mine, and it was still easy. But the reward was no longer worth the attachments. The juice was no longer worth the squeeze. Her power over me would continue until I decided it wouldn’t, and it had been that simple the entire time.

I denied her again, pushing her away and telling her whatever we had was over, and her anger bubbled. She yelled. I asked her to keep her voice down. She did not.

“Just who the fuck do you think you are,” she said. It was a statement, not a question.

“This was never right,” I said, normal volume. “You know that.”

“And since when do you care about moral high ground? Since when?”

The sex wasn’t the issue. She wasn’t used to hearing “no.”

“You need to think very carefully about what you’re doing,” she said, her voice coming down a little. “Very carefully. I could ruin you.”

“Could you?”

She threw her hands up. “How dumb are you, really?”

“I know you can’t tell anyone,” I said. “About us. You wouldn’t do that. Vince finding out would be as damaging to you as it would to me.”

“You actually believe that?”

“I do.”

“Then you’ve made a big mistake, Julian. You’re ruining yourself and I don’t even give a shit.”

“You won’t tell him,” I said.

She shrugged. “I tried to explain it to you once. That I’m in control. Here and elsewhere. He’s no more powerful than I am.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

She smiled a wide, devious smile that would stay with me. I would remember the smile.

“Have a nice night, Julian. Take care of yourself.”

The third important thing that happened in the six days until Dallas Korman contacted me again was Vince meeting me face to face. This occurred the day after my confrontation with Adeline, and as such, if he had summoned me to his office, I would not have gone. But he came to me.

48

There were two knocks at the door. Clean and quick, like a delivery driver. They startled me off the couch, where I was watching daytime television and debating the validity of Adeline’s threats. I was anxious, and desperately wanted to hear from Dallas Korman or Raphino. The .45 sat on the couch beside me.

If they were coming for me, they wouldn’t knock. This thought was the only thing that allowed me to approach the door.

When I saw him, I cracked the door slightly.

“Vince,” I said.

“Hello Julian.” He smiled. “We need to chat. The two of us.” He looked sleep deprived, but not angry.

“What about?”

“The polite thing to do would be to invite me in.”

I looked back inside at the gun on the couch. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Julian, I came all the way down.”

I looked back inside. “Give me a second.”

I stuffed the gun under the couch and let him in. We sat on folding chairs I used as a makeshift kitchen set. I asked if he wanted coffee and he politely declined.

He squared to me and looked me in the eye. “How is your state of mind?”

“Fine. Great.”

“You sure?”

The gun was too far away. I wanted it closer. It would be comforting if it was closer.

“Yes. Is my work suffering?”

“Of course not. Strong as usual. But work is the only place I’ve seen you. It’s the only place anyone has seen you. You have isolated yourself, it seems.”

I shrugged, hoping it seemed natural. “Not intentionally.”

His head nodded. “Your friends have left. I understand. It’s unfair, but sometimes things are out of our control.”

I nodded along. “Yes. Of course.”

He nodded too. We both nodded together. Two familiar souls, nodding, understanding one another.

“Our last real conversation was about repairing trust,” Vince said. “Do you remember this conversation?”

“I do.”

“And since that time, would you say the level of trust between us has improved?”

I nodded again. “I would. I would definitely say that.” My pulse slowed and my armpits stopped sweating. When I wasn’t wracked with anxiety, I could play the game.

He nodded. “I would agree.”

My pulse slowed more.

My work was impressive, he said, and he was happy with where the trust level was. Trust was important.

“There may even be some in our organization who aren’t so trustworthy,” he said.

“You think?”

He nodded. “I’m afraid so. To be dealt with when the time is right. But the important thing is we put those who are trustworthy into positions of power. You know what? Perhaps I will take you up on that cup of coffee.”

I started a pot brewing and sat back down.

“So,” I said, “trust.”

“Yes. Our mission was to repair trust between us. I would say that mission is complete. Now, it’s time to put your skills to better use.”

“What do you have in mind?”

He scooted the chair closer. “I need an assistant.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Someone I can trust. As you know very well, our business growth has slowed recently. This needs to change. A stagnant business is a dying business.”

“I see.”

“Your intellect makes you valuable. I believe you could see things from a different angle than I. It could help the business. It could help us find where the leaks are.”

He stood up and walked toward the window, running his fingers between the cheap blinds.

“The leaks,” I said.

“Yes,” he said, quieter now. “There are leaks. There are always leaks. But when the leaks become bad enough, they need to be plugged.”

There was power in his voice, and control. These things were always present. But for the first time, I heard a hint of desperation.

“I’d love to help you,” I said. “It would be my pleasure.”

He turned to me and smiled. “Excellent. I knew you’d come around. I knew you would, when you saw the truth. We’re just a simple business, like any other.”

He let out a burst of laughter, and I joined him. We laughed together; the man in charge and his newly minted assistant. I got up and poured us coffee.

“It’s important what we’re doing, Julian. We’re supporting a community here. We’re allowing people to live their lives in freedom. We’re providing for many. We’ve created a community free of oppression. I hope you’ve seen that.”

“I have,” I said.

“And Julian,” he said, “there’s been no decision made on my successor.”

“Successor?”

“Yes. Someday I’ll retire. This line of work puts stress on a man, and someday I’ll want to hang it up. Slow things down. Reap the rewards of a life well lived. And when that happens, someone will take over. Someone who can be trusted with the business. Do you understand what I’m saying, Julian?”

“Yes,” I said. “Most definitely, I do.”

We drank coffee and discussed logistics. I would work more, but receive a twenty-five percent raise to start. I would be considered for profit-sharing. There were company cars. He had thought this over.

Vince left politely and told me to report Monday. Someone else would take over financials. He would begin briefing me on logistics. An hour after his exit, my heart slowed to normal.

I left my apartment that evening and walked to town. I needed fresh air. It was cold; the temperature topped out at nineteen degrees that day, and dropped as the sun did. I wore a wool hat and gloves.

For the better part of six months, my mind had rambled. Through the mountains, the people of Otter Ridge, Vince’s business. Rambling, always. Hazy bars and singing and piano playing. Guitar. The mountain chateau. Random cars and Grand Junction. Pot smoke and bricks of heroin. Brown heroin, under electronics. Strange, twitchy men at the drop point. Disappearances.

My mind had wandered through them all since I’d arrived in Otter Ridge, sometimes obsessively. I was tired. I walked along the path by the lake, half-covered in snow and totally deserted. Yellow lights came on in houses nearby and chimneys billowed smoke. Winter was inside season. The cold nipped my fingertips, told me to go home. But here, alone at sunset by the frozen lake, the cold felt good. I could feel each breath moving though my lungs. Crisp, clean. I could see my exhales. The cold drove others away, and left me alone. The cold was my friend.

The stillness of a winter night gave my mind the rest it needed. It temporarily stopped wandering. My feet moved but my thoughts did not; just simple, blissful stillness. It was stillness that comforted me, that told me it would be okay, like a mother to a child. It told me to keep going. There, by the lake as the sun went down and the lights went on, I felt that an end was near, and that feeling gave me relief.

I walked along the lake path facing north. Ahead to my left were the shops of downtown; some bustling with laughter and music, others closed for the day. To my right was the lake, covered in ice and snow. Past that were houses; some modest and some extravagant, all glowing in some way. Past the houses were trees, past the trees were the mountaintops, and past the mountaintops was everything else. He was out there somewhere. Korman. He was out there; perhaps hundreds of miles away, or perhaps right here in my midst. He was moving, taking care, and slipping between the shadows. He was working, and for that I was grateful. I hoped he was here. I hoped he was watching me now.

He’ll have answers, I told myself. He’ll have answers.

49

Dallas Korman sat in a booth with a hamburger, fries, and a half pint of Guinness in front of him. He wore a weathered gray utility shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown, his face obscured by a beard. It was how I’d pictured him. He saw me immediately and casually waved me over.

I did a quick scan of the room and walked toward him. It was busier than Earl’s, but not by much. Korman was the only one in that particular section. I slid across from him and shook his hand.

“Pleasure,” he said.

“Likewise,” I said, my voice hushed.

“Don’t need to whisper,” he said. “They can’t hear shit back here. Acoustics shoot the noise that way.” He stuck a thumb over his shoulder. “Don’t yell or anything, but don’t need to whisper.”

I looked around and saw the booths next to us were empty. “Okay,” I said.

Korman tore into the burger with one hand, taking down a quarter of it in a single bite. “You hungry?” he asked with a full mouth.

“No, thanks.”

He shook his head. “I’m starvin’. Been eatin’ like crazy since I’ve been up here. Must be the elevation or somethin’.” He took another bite and half the burger was gone. “You least want a beer?”

The waitress appeared and I ordered a coke. I wanted to stay sharp. Korman shrugged and stuffed a handful of fries in his mouth.

“So,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table, “where are we with everything?”

He held up a palm and finished his bite. “You know, I’m trying to be more polite. Doc says it’s good for the blood pressure. So, first, tell me something about you.”

I stared at him, unsure if he was serious.

“Come on,” he motioned with his hands, “I’m not fuckin’ around. Tell me anything. One thing about you.”

“Well,” I said, “I’m divorced.” It was close enough to the truth.

“Me too. Twice.” He nodded and stuffed a few more fries in his mouth. “This is good. We’re building rapport, you and I.”

The waitress brought the coke.

“How’s it been?” he asked.

“How’s what been?”

“Stressful?” he asked. “You’re into some shit here.”

I exhaled and nodded. “A little.”

“You scared?”

“No.”

“You have a gun?”

I scanned the room quickly without moving my head and nodded.

He looked satisfied. “I would, too.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I do. But I just mean, if I were you, I’d have one, too.”

“I appreciate the endorsement.”

He shrugged and reached in a satchel that sat next to him in the booth. “Well, I’m afraid I’m not gonna put your mind at ease here.” He laid a file in front of me. “Everything I found is in there. It’s yours to keep. I summarized the findings on the first page, but I’m happy to go over them with you here.”

I nodded and opened the file.

Vincent Decierdo was the de facto leader of a large narcotics smuggling operation. This much I knew. He employed roughly fifty people, and specialized in heroin but moved cocaine from time to time.

“It’s a mutt,” Korman said, “the mixture they use. The brown stuff is easier to make and cheaper, but weaker, too. Helps ‘em keep costs down. Filthy shit.”

The heroin was smuggled through Grand Junction, where it was delivered from Mexico. That was as far back as Korman could trace. It was broken down and packaged for distribution at three separate locations in Summit County, one being the pole shed where I always dropped the car. After that it was sold to minors and addicts in a two hundred-mile radius, covering more than two dozen mountain towns. Most of it stayed in Summit or somewhere near—Dillon, Frisco, Leadville, Otter Ridge, mainly—but there were customers as far west as Glenwood Springs, and all the way up to Nederland.

“It’s just hard for me to believe,” I said, looking over the papers, “that there are that many heroin users around here. It seems like such a sleepy town. Touristy, sometimes, but not full of drugs.”

“Smackheads stay inside,” Korman said. “You’re not gonna see ‘em much. A lot of it happens in the hills, ‘ol broken down shanties out of plain sight. Go check out the west side of Leadville sometime.”

“Just seems odd. This is like a vacation destination.”

“Mountains’ve had drug problems since the dawn of time. This place is no different. Something about the isolation, I think. Just like booze in Alaska. I was out here twice—shit, maybe three times—back in ’76. Whacked out back then, too. It was crack then, but same concept.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Keep reading.”

Vincent Decierdo did not exist.

“Name’s Ben Murray,” Korman said. “Originally from North Dakota. Started college but dropped out early. Has a few arrests, petty stuff mostly; theft, weed, drunk driving. Did a month in the pen once, got out and moved out here. Started selling weed. One arrest in Colorado for possession, but no charge.”

“How do you know this?”

“You paid me to know this. Builds the weed business up, gets in bed with the cops at some point—lazy ass handout lookin’ motherfuckers—then moves on to hard shit. Been holed up in the Rockies ever since, somethin’ like fifteen years.”

“So Vince is actually Ben.”

He nodded. “Started goin’ by Decierdo when he moved here. Must like how it sounds. Think about it—does that guy look like a Vincent Decierdo?”

I thought about his flat face and golden beard and shook my head. “No. What name is on his legal documents?”

“Probably Murray if he had ‘em, but he really doesn’t. Everything’s off the books, he doesn’t need anything official. You ever see him drive?”

I shook my head again.

“He had a license at one point, but my guess is it expired. Son of a bitch gets chauffeured everywhere.”

“Even if he got pulled over, the cops wouldn’t arrest him,” I said.

“Yeah but he doesn’t risk it. The guy’s careful. Only goes to places he knows he’s protected. Doesn’t put a name on shit.”

I turned the page. “What about Damon?” I asked.

“Well, he isn’t in Arizona,” Korman said. “No matches for a Damon Peters with his description in Phoenix, or anywhere near. To find out more would take a longer investigation and more money. But from that and what we know from your girl…” he snapped his fingers and pulled the name from air, “Suzanne, I think we can reasonably draw a conclusion.”

“Dead.”

“They probably offed him by the side of the road and buried the body in the hills. Just easier for them. One bullet, problem gone. Places like this, there’s so much blank space on the map. Probably dozens of corpses from the drug trade dumped up here, off quiet roads, away from civilization. It’s the perfect hiding space; in the ocean, you gotta worry about ‘em washing on shore. Mountains don’t move.”

The section on Suzanne was incomplete.

“How long ago did you say you saw her?” Korman asked.

“Couple weeks.”

“Far as I can tell, they haven’t gotten to her. She’s probably long gone by now. Wouldn’t be surprised if she stuck around long enough to contact you, then skipped town. Badass chick if you ask me. Ain’t easy slippin’ a kingpin.”

“Where would she have stayed?”

He shrugged. “With a trustworthy friend, or some campsite in the woods.”

“In the winter?”

“I’ve seen it before.”

From what I knew, there were no trustworthy friends.

“She’s a slick one, though. Usually I can run their info and at least get an idea of where they went. You know if that’s her real name?”

“No idea.”

I hoped he was right, that she was somewhere else, far from here. I pictured her on a lounge chair by a pool, sunglasses on her face, lips no longer chattering. It was a romantic thought. Wishful. I made myself think it.

“The wild card here is Vin…Ben Murray’s girl, Adeline. The one you plowed. Real name. Prep school priss turned gangbangin’ drug wife. Don’t usually see that.

“I pulled her info, reads like a slice of Americana. Good school, good family, straight-A’s. Degree in econ. No run-ins with the law or signs of trouble at home. Moved out here after college, and just started runnin’ with the wrong crowd.”

“Wild card,” I said.

“Yeah, well, a broad like that just wouldn’t generally fit with some smack-sellin’ killers. I’ve seen ‘em try before—little miss perfect takes a trip to the other side of the tracks, thinks she wants to run with the big dogs. But they always come screamin’ back, scared shitless.”

“But Adeline stayed,” I said to the papers, following along.

“Seems like she thrived. I ain’t sayin’ she’s lyin’ or nothing—she is who she says she is. My intel’s rock solid, believe that. But I don’t know. Either she’s oblivious to what’s going on—seems real unlikely—or she’s into it. She’s a hard bitch.”

“She isn’t soft,” I said.

The police in Eagle County, Summit County, Lake County, and probably a few other mountain counties, were deeply corrupted and eager to accept money from anyone who had it. They had taken bribes and kickbacks from Ben Murray for long enough that it had become a consistent payroll. They openly allowed the trafficking of heroin and cocaine through the mountains, and regularly bought and placed local political officials. The Eagle County police chief lived in a four million dollar house in Vail, one of his three homes. His Summit County counterpart kept a ski-in/ski-out luxury condo at the base of Breckenridge and had a garage full of BMW’s. Korman had to do some light investigation to uncover the details, but most of it was easily attainable knowledge. Nobody tried very hard to hide it.

“You gotta understand, these mountain towns, they work different than other towns,” Korman said. “I grew up in the Catskills. Not the same, but not that different, either. Mountain business is mountain business, my man. It’s their own rules up here.”

I nodded. “Which is why Raphino was so hesitant to ask the other police for help.”

Korman chuckled. “Shit, you’d be better off takin’ the case to Murray himself. The cops are just as dangerous; they’d probably off ya just for bringin’ it up. Once a man gets some money, he cares about two things: protecting what he has and getting more.

“Hell,” he continued, “I’m flabbergasted your boy Raphino managed to stay straight. Real solid cat, that one. Morals and shit. Can’t say I understand it, but I respect it.”

“So if the cops knew that we knew all this…”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Korman lowered his voice for the first time. “Listen, this is volatile shit. You’re fuckin’ with a lotta people’s livelihoods. I’ve seen guys get iced over less. You guys gotta do whatever you’re gonna do and get on with it.”

I exhaled and took a drink of cola. “So what are next steps?”

“That’s up to you all. I’m afraid my work here is about done.”

“You can’t help us…take these guys down? We have money.”

“Listen,” he said, “I’d love to. I’d love to take down all the bad guys. But it’s not my business. I gather info. I dropped the desperado shit a long time ago.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“I can’t tell ya that,” he said. “I can give you a suggestion if you want, but that’s about it.”

I rubbed my face. This new information—suspicions confirmed, others revealed—and still we hadn’t gotten anywhere. “Well, yeah,” I said, “I’d like the suggestion.”

Korman produced a hard pack of cigarettes and packed it between his hands. “For my money? Get the fuck outta dodge. As soon as you can. Get to Denver and walk right into the police station and tell ‘em everything and ask for protection.”

“Denver hardly seems far enough.”

Korman put the pack down without removing a cigarette. “Denver can manufacture jurisdiction if they want, without gettin’ the feds involved up front. They’ll get involved eventually, but if you want a timely initial arrest, the Denver cops’ll be a hell of a lot quicker. And if you’re worried they’re gonna find ya, Denver ain’t no different than St. Louis or Sacramento. Proximity don’t mean much when you need to find a man.”

I stared past him for a moment.

“You scared now?” he asked.

I drummed my fingers on the table. “He’s already threatened me. About leaving.”

“Course he did. You split in the middle of the night, he’s fucked. Now, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got some surveillance on ya—they do that sorta shit—so it’s a risk, for sure. But what’s your other option?”

I shook my head.

“My question—and sorry to be blunt or whatever—but my question is: why hasn’t he offed you already?” Korman asked. “If he knows you know all this, it’s a big-ass risk he’s taking by letting you walk about. Dude’s cold-blooded; why hasn’t he had one of his guys add you to the cemetery? I mean, I wouldn’t bring this up, but I imagine you’ve thought of it before.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I have. He—I don’t know—he sees something in me.”

“Huh,” Korman said, and considered it.

“Something about handing the operation off, one day. Like a successor or something. He thinks he can trust me.”

“Well, you lucked out there, buckaroo. Your elite east coast schooling has served you well. But I say count your blessings and don’t wait for ‘em to run out.”