Ty held the heavy steel fire door and let it close slowly and softly behind him. No lights were on in the empty club, but the neon beer signs kept it from being totally dark. Ty pulled the silenced Beretta out of his waistband, then took a look around to get his bearings. To his left were the stairs leading up to the second floor. The dancers used those stairs going to and from the second floor dressing room. When the club was open, a bouncer was stationed there to keep customers from wandering upstairs. Tucked under the stairs was a small lady's bathroom. To his right was the much larger men's room. Straight ahead was the back of the stage with its raised Disc Jockey booth. The dancers enter the stage via a set of steps to the left of the DJ booth.
Nobody was around on the first floor, so Ty started up the darkened staircase. He stopped at the second floor landing, pressing his body against the wall and listening. The only light on this floor was from a single ceiling fixture on either side of a hallway 'T' junction to his front. According to the floor plan at the property appraiser's website, the second and third floors were laid out identically. The short hall off the landing branched left and right into a central hallway that cut long way through the center of the building. At the center of the 'T', opposite the shorter hallway, were the bathrooms. At the east end of the long hall, a door led out to a set of stairs on the outside of the building. That stairway was how the dancers and club employees entered and departed the building. The west end of the hall was a fire exit with a steel ladder bolted to the outside wall.
Ty waited for a full minute, straining his ears for the slightest sound before he climbed up the last set of stairs to the third floor. After the quiet of the first two floors, the voices coming from the east end of the third floor hallway were unnaturally loud. Just as Ty reached the 'T' intersection of hallways, a buzzer sounded and the outside stair door opened. A new voice joined the others. The voices all seemed to be men, and it sounded as if there were at least three of them. Ty slipped into the long hallway and moved quietly towards the open door from which the voices were coming. He paused when the conversation caught his interest.
"Where did you take him?" someone asked.
"The usual place, that arroyo east of the base. Man, whoever robbed him fucked him up good. They shot off his dick and one of his balls. We couldn't do nothing for him, so Oscar capped him in the back of the head, then we wrapped him in a tarp and buried him. José took his rental over to the Avis after-hours turn-in. Oscar followed him to pick him up. Then they were heading over to check out the new talent."
A cell phone rang just after the new arrival finished talking.
"What's up José?" someone, who Ty figured to be El Loco Ortega, asked.
It was quiet for about twenty seconds, then the man who answered started yelling.
"That's fucking unbelievable! First Beltran and now this! Something's going on here, and I ain't liking it. Head on over here and we'll all head over to the safe house together."
Another voice chimed in with a question.
"What's up Jave?"
Ty now had a name for one voice. He sidled up to the door frame as Ortega answered.
"The fucking apartment building on Alamo Street is crawling with Rangers and a SWAT team from the State Police. Suarez hasn't called, so maybe he hasn't made it there yet. Call him and send him to the safe house instead. I'll pack up my laptop and then let's get the hell out of here in case we're next."
Ty edged his head forward until he could see part of the room. From the angle he had, he could see one man sitting on a couch, busy dialing his cell phone. Since the man was occupied, Ty ignored him for the moment. Ty dropped to the ground and rolled into the door way, aiming his pistol in the opposite direction from the man on the couch. In that direction, one man sat at a fancy desk, hurriedly packing a large laptop computer into a backpack. A second man was sitting in a chair next to the desk with his back towards Ty.
It was bad luck that the man on the couch saw Ty first.
"What the fuck!" he grunted before Ty swung his pistol in that direction and put two rounds in his chest.
Ty rolled once, coming to rest facing the desk. The man in the chair was already halfway to his feet, reaching into his jacket, while Ortega was pulling open the top desk drawer. Ty aimed through the space under the desk and shot Ortega in the foot. Ortega howled in pain as Ty swung the muzzle heavy pistol towards the third man. The man in the chair was quick as a panther and was already on his feet, spinning around, a flat black semi-automatic pistol in his hand. Not only was the man quick, he was fearless as well. He ingnored the pistol pointed at him and actually got off a round before Ty could. His shot missed the mark, but it distracted Ty's aim, and his center of mass shot ended up hitting the man in the right shoulder. The man grunted, but didn't drop his weapon.
By the time Ty snapped off a more accurate shot that dispatched him, Ortega had pulled himself together enough to grab his pistol out of the desk. As Ty drew a bead on the gang leader, Ortega hesitated slightly. His hesitation gave Ty time to speak before he fired.
"Think about my grandmother while you rot in hell," Ty said through gritted teeth.
Ortega's eyes went wide in sudden realization, right before the 9 millimeter slug hit him dead center between them.
Ty stood up and looked around at the carnage he'd created, his mind numb and his body wired from the rush of adrenalin. Ty quickly went around the desk and finished packing the laptop in the backpack. He yanked open the desk drawers and rifled through them, but there wasn't anything incriminating in them. Ty grabbed the back pack and slipped out the door without a backward glance.
He turned right to exit the building via the outside stairwell, when he noticed the door across from Ortega's office was marked 'SECURITY'. Curious, he tried the door knob, but the room was locked. The door had an exterior door key lock, but the door itself was a normal hollow core interior door. He backed up a couple of steps and crashed into the door, shoulder-first. The flimsy jam splintered and the door popped open. Ty reached around the door frame and flicked on the light switch, his pistol the only thing visible through the door. The room was unoccupied, so he took a quick look around.
The room was about fifteen feet square, with the door right in the center. The wall opposite the door was dominated by a two station work desk. In front of each station was a set of controls and a joystick. Three flat panel twenty-four inch monitors hung on the wall in front of each station.
On the wall to the right of the monitors, was a rack with six video tape recorders and a set of metal shelving with hundreds of VCR tapes. The video recorders were numbered from one to six, and the tape boxes were numbered with an easy to figure code that included the VCR number and a number from one to thirty-one. Three of the video recorders were running, so Ty ejected the tapes from them and put them in the backpack.
A large Diebold safe was bolted to the wood floor to the left of the monitoring stations. Next to the safe was a waist-high table with a currency counter, a paper-tape adding machine and a tray filled with the paper bands used to secure paper currency. On a whim, Ty tried turning the handle of the safe, but it was locked tight. He glanced at his watch and started to exit the building when he noticed movement on one of the monitors. It was José Figueroa and another man starting up the back steps. Ty spun around and headed for the interior stairs.
Ty went out the same door he came in and locked the burglar bars behind him. He hustled around the opposite end of the building from Ortega's office, stripped off the balaclava and dashed across all six deserted lanes of Colorado Avenue. He called 9-1-1 from the payphone hanging on the side of the closed convenience store, and anonymously reported hearing gunfire from inside Capitan Loco's. A minute later, he was in the front seat of Stella's rented SUV, headed towards her motel room. From start to finish, he'd been in the building fewer than fifteen minutes.
Ty was quiet and withdrawn during the trip to the Embassy Suites, answering Stella's questions with one word answers delivered in a flat monotone. Stella knew Ty was in shock from the ordeal of taking another person's life, regardless of how much his victims had it coming.
As soon as they were back in her room, Stella pulled a bottle of Jim Beam out of her suitcase and poured Ty a healthy slug in one of the motel room plastic tumblers. He nodded thankfully, downed the bourbon in one gulp, and held the glass out for a refill. She poured him half as much the second time and kissed him firmly before putting the glass back in his hand.
Ty looked at her strangely, but between the kiss and the Jim Beam, his color was returning to normal.
"How can you be so calm about what I just did?" Ty asked.
Stella pushed him back until he had to sit on the bed. She looked at him for a moment, then started unbuttoning her shirt.
"You probably think I'm just an old-fashioned girl, because I don't like showing my body," she said as she pulled off the shirt and went to work on the fastener of her Levis. "But that's not the case at all."
She pulled the jeans off her shapely hips and partway down her thighs, exposing her hot pink boy shorts. Then she hooked the right side of the boy shorts and pulled them down. Ty's eyebrows arched up at the angry red jagged scars that crisscrossed the area between her navel and the crease of her right thigh. He'd felt the scars slightly with his fingertips the night they spent together, but it had been impossible to tell how bad they were in the dark and in the throes of passion.
Ty surprised her when he gently pulled her to him and kissed the ugly scars.
"What caused these?" he asked.
"After I finished my training and evaluation ride with a sergeant, I drew night shifts, riding alone in a sector car. Two months later and early one morning about two AM, I stopped an old Chevy with a broken taillight. Following procedure, I called in my 20 and waited for wants and warrants on the tag number. The plate was clean, so I got out of my car and approached the other vehicle in the driver's blind spot, my hand on my service pistol.
"I was about even with the trunk of the car when both passenger side doors opened, and a couple of Westside Locos gang members jumped out and started shooting at me. A couple of rounds hit me in my vest and knocked me backwards. As I was falling, one shot hit me here, right at the bottom of my vest. I had my gun out by then and was wired with adrenalin, so I jumped up and returned fire. I dropped both the passengers and when the driver tried to bail, I killed him too.
"I was woozy by then, so I called in an 'officer needs help'. I spent three weeks in the hospital and two months on limited duty while internal affairs cleared the shootings. The chilling part of it all was that it was an ambush. The driver had even written on his My Space page that he was going to get the big gringa cop for hassling his girlfriend for shoplifting. He had broken out the taillight on purpose, and driven around until I spotted him.
"So you see, I have absolutely no problem with you avenging your grandmother against a bunch of gang members, you did the right thing. Not to mention, they found twenty-two women at that apartment building, along with a corrupt sheriff and a dozen keys of cocaine. I'd say that was a good night's work."
Stella's little speech did make Ty feel better, and he suddenly had a ton more respect for her to boot. It took some big cajones to face down three armed men after already having been shot.
Ty only managed a couple of hours sleep, but he forced himself out of bed at six-thirty. He showered, shaved and brushed his teeth, then he shrugged on his work clothes, kissed Stella goodbye and drove to his rented room.
As Richie Salazar turned into the motel parking lot off Colorado, he caught sight of a couple of police cars and a news truck two blocks down in front of Capitan Loco's. It was Sunday morning, so he dressed for church and walked across the street to McDonald's.
"What's going on down the street?" he asked the counter person.
The thin Latina behind the counter shrugged her shoulders as she placed a couple of sausage biscuits on his tray.
"A cop at the drive-thru said some kind of gang shootout happened at Loco's. They found a bunch of dead guys in there," she said as if she was bored by it all.
Richie found out more when he went to Mass. The happenings last night were the talk of the Parish, and young Father Acevedo even spoke of it in his homily. It was more of the same when he had lunch at the Restaurante El Cid. By now, he was a recognized member of the community, so a couple of people came to his table to share what information they had, and to see if Richie knew anything. The ordinary citizens of the barrio wanted to believe that the end was near for the gangs, but they had to be careful of what they said to whom, as a precaution if that wasn't the case.
One of the big stories was that Sheriff Porlock had made some kind of deal and was singing as if he were the proverbial Canary. From information provided by the disgraced sheriff, Major Gross, the Texas Ranger commander and his men, raided the two buildings that housed the dancers for the strip clubs. Rumor had it that the Rangers ended up with more than eighty women, a serious amount of cocaine, a couple of bales of marijuana and a pot full of cash. They also nabbed a dozen or so Barrio Aztecas they caught red handed with either drugs or women being held against their will.
That Sunday night, all the strip clubs on Colorado were closed. The bars were open, but they were almost deserted, as the commanding officer of Fort Bliss had temporarily placed a five block area along Colorado Avenue off-limits to GIs. The Nasty Boyz street gang and the remnants of Barrio Azteca were laying low, because a suddenly energized sheriff's department was patrolling the streets in force.
By noon on Wednesday, Richie had cleaned out his room and checked out of the motel. He had a legitimate reason for leaving, because his major source of high-paid work disappeared with the closing of the clubs and the loss of military business for the bars. He'd only hung around the extra days to finish work he'd already promised. He did not sneak away, instead he told everyone he knew that he was headed back to Santa Fe until work in El Paso picked up again.
Also on that Wednesday afternoon, Donna Diaz and Alex Padilla had visitors waiting for them when Alex drove Donna home from school. Donna and Alex both looked with curiosity at the shiny black BMW and grey Ford Fusion parked in front of the Diaz's house, as Alex rolled his Caddy to a cautious stop. Alex was on alert, because the Ford had US Government license plates. He breathed a sigh of relief when a man in army digital camouflage exited the Ford, and a pretty and petite blonde Anglo woman stepped out of the Beamer.
Donna looked at a suddenly smiling Alex in confusion, but when he opened his door and hopped out of the car, she did the same. All four of them reached the porch at the same time. The small blonde woman smiled and made introductions.
"Hello, Alex and Donna, my name is Amanda Martin and this is Staff Sergeant Echeverria. A friend sent us to visit you. Our friend said that he made some promises to Alex that we are here to keep."
Echeverria was a slender Hispanic man in his late twenties. Alex's eyes widened in surprise when the uniformed sergeant gave him the Nasty Boyz's recognition hand shake.
"Why don't we sit in my car for a few minutes while we talk," Echeverria suggested.
Amanda and Donna walked up on the porch and sat in the shade. Donna turned on the mister-fan and looked at the petite blonde expectantly. Amanda smiled and pulled a file folder out of her briefcase.
"You have done well in school, Donna; you have good grades and all your teachers comment favorably about you. What impressed me the most was your perfect attendance record throughout high school. I think that speaks more than anything to how seriously you take your education. Your guidance counselor told me you have applied to El Paso Community College, because your family can't afford the tuition for a four year school. Does that about sum things up?"
Donna gave a slight nod and replied, "Yeah, that's about it, but why does any of it matter to you?"
Amanda smiled; this was the part she relished.
"One more question and I'll answer yours. Your guidance counselor indicated you wanted to study nursing, is that still true?"
When Donna nodded, Amanda handed her a couple of documents from the folder.
"So go become a nurse, Donna. The top letter is official notification that you have been awarded a full four year scholarship to UTEP (University of Texas at El Paso). The second document is a lease for a furnished apartment over by the University for you and Alex, which has been paid one year in advance. As long as you are in school, the lease will continue to be paid.
"There are no strings on the scholarship, but there are on the lease. In order to keep the lease, Alex must join the National Guard and successfully complete his training. He must also avoid any contact with the Nasty Boyz in any gang context."
Donna, her eyes as big as saucers, gulped and replied, "He's been talking about those two things ever since all the trouble happened last weekend, so I don't think that will be a problem."
Donna walked Amanda to her car and hugged the petite blonde when she opened the Beamer's door. She thanked Amanda profusely and told her she would make whoever gave her the scholarship proud.
Before Echeverria left, Alex filled out an enlistment packet and agreed to a processing date for the next Tuesday.
When the recruiter departed, Alex turned towards the porch where Donna was waiting for him. The look on her face let him know that he had some explaining to do.
Stella Woodson was a happy young woman when she climbed into the cab of Richie's truck Thursday morning after turning in her rental car. She'd had planned to do some major talking (amongst other things) to convince Ty to return to Santa Fe for a week as Richie and Brittany, but amazingly, he was all for it at the first mention.
"That's a good idea, Honey, as long as we stop in Albuquerque first, so Cassandra can try to hack into Ortega's laptop."
El Loco Ortega's laptop was double password protected, so Ty and Stella couldn't get past the Windows greeting screen. Ty figured Cassie could break into the machine in her sleep, so he had Stella call their young friend about the problem. Cassie told Stella it was no big deal, but they'd have to send the machine to her.
Richie and Stella made it to Albuquerque in time to take Cassie to lunch. Cassie was thrilled to see her new friends again. Cassie was quick to notice how comfortable Ty was in his Richie identity. His personality seemed to have changed even more than his appearance. Stella had changed subtly also, in that she was more affectionate and flirtatious with Richie than she had been with Ty.
After a nice lunch, during which Cassie talked almost nonstop, Richie drove her home and Stella handed her the HP laptop. Cassie grabbed the laptop and gave both adults a kiss on the cheek.
"Who's 'puter is this, anyway?" Cassie asked.
Thinking it was of no significance, Richie responded, "A guy named Javier Ortega. He died earlier this week, and I ended up with it."
"I'll call you if I have any luck," the teen said as she walked away.
Stella thought it was telling that Richie picked the Best Western for them to spend the night, instead of somewhere more upscale like the Marriott or Hilton. It was a place that a handyman could afford. That it wasn't very fancy didn't bother Stella a bit, it wasn't where she was staying that concerned her, it was with whom she was staying that mattered.
Stella and Richie had been in the room for less than half an hour when Stella's cell phone chirped. She looked at the caller ID, saw that it was Cassie and answered the phone. She listened a minute then told Cassie to hold on, and looked over at Richie.
"She's already broken his password and opened all his hidden files. Want to run over there and pick it up now?"
Richie nodded as he looked at his watch.
"How in the heck did she get into it so quickly?" he asked no one in particular.
Stella laughed and relayed the question to Cassie. She listened to the teen's explanation and burst out laughing again, as she hung up and related the conversation to Richie.
"She Googled Javier Ortega and found out his nickname was El Loco. Her third try was 'elloco69'. That was not only his Windows log-in password, but the password for every protected file, folder or website on his computer. She said it was no big deal, because that was what most computer amateurs did."
Richie chuckled for a second, then his eyebrows shot up in concern as he realized the mistake he'd made.
"Oh crap, Stella, call her back and tell her to please wait until we get there before she starts poking around on that thing. Then we need to get over to her place ASAP. We just left the computer of a major drug smuggler and white slaver in the hands of a talented and over-curious teenager. If we give her any time with it, there is no telling what she'll get into."
Ty found out he had been correct in his assessment as soon as Cassandra Neely ushered them into the living room. The normally smiling teenager looked pensive as she seated Ty and Stella on the couch. The laptop was on the coffee table in front of them, with the star field screensaver running.
"I was opening one of his e-mail accounts when I called you, and was about to back out of the thing when I saw your name on one of the messages," Cassie said apologetically. "I was curious, so I opened it. The message is in Spanish, but I speak the language better than most Anglos."
Ty nodded and tapped the touch pad with his fingertip. The star field winked out and a g-mail message snapped into place on the screen. The message was in the form of a directive from someone named Modena, to El Loco, about teaching one Tyler McGuinn not to fuck with his drug shipments. Stella grabbed his hand as he read the message, thinking he might need her help in keeping his composure. Ty smiled at her in appreciation of the gesture, but let her know it was unnecessary. Instead, the discovery of someone higher in the food chain linked to the killings at his hacienda actually calmed him. He turned towards Cassie and shared a little of himself with her.
"You are smart enough to have figured out by now that I disguised myself so I could find out who was involved in my grandmother's death. I guess this message is as about as close to a smoking gun as we are going to find. Do you think you can find out where this e-mail came from and who this Modena character is, without getting yourself into trouble? Also, once we have gone through Ortega's laptop, can you erase any clues that we've been in it before I give it to the police?"
Cassie could do both of those things and it only took her a couple of hours. By four that afternoon, Ty had the laptop with no evidence of their tampering, and the contents of the hard drive copied onto a hundred gigabyte Seagate miniature external drive that Cassie had laying around. Ty also found out that Modena was actually Jorge Modena Morales, the head of the Juarez Cartel. The Juarez Cartel was major the source of the heroin, cocaine, marijuana and methamphetamine entering the United States via El Paso.
Once Ty and Stella were back in their room at the Best Western, they hooked the external drive to a USB port on Stella's powerful Toshiba laptop and perused Ortega's hard drive. Ortega never erased anything or even emptied his trash folder, so his laptop was a treasure trove of incriminating photographs, e-mails and lists of contacts.