Ricardo Salazar asked the heavy-set older woman who ran the motel where he could go for a good but inexpensive meal. She directed him to the 'Restaurante El Cid', a small eatery on a side street a block away. El Cid's was a family run operation with a nice menu and a cheerful staff. The food was mostly Tex-Mex, but there was a selection of traditional Mexican food and a few American dishes.
His waitress was a short thirtyish woman named Liliana, the sister of the restaurant's owner. Liliana was lushly built to the point just short of plump. She had beautiful long black hair, chocolate colored eyes and a decidedly Amerind nose. All-in-all, she was an attractive woman with a very pleasant personality. She wasn't wearing a wedding ring, so Richie openly flirted with her. She flirted right back.
After leaving Liliana a nice tip for his six dollar meal, Richie headed back to Colorado Avenue and turned east towards the bars and strip joints. Nude dancing was allowed outside the city limits, but the county restricted the practice to a four-square block area across Colorado from the airport that was zoned business and light industrial. According to Pete Colon, the Barrio Azteca gang had a hand in the ownership and operation of every one of the five or six strip clubs on the road. Richie let a shill pull him into the first strip club he came to a joint called Captain Loco's, it was upscale enough call itself a gentleman's club.
The club was busy, but it wasn't packed, considering it was Saturday night. Richie asked for a table away from the blaring speakers that sat on either side of the disc-jockey/master of ceremonies. The doorman who collected his ten dollar cover charge pointed him towards a small round table against the wall and off to the side of the stage. Richie's table was out of the way, but his view to the stage was unobstructed. On the stage, a very well built and pretty young Mexican woman moved uninterestedly to the driving beat of Aerosmith. A number of equally attractive and equally dead-eyed topless Mexican girls walked around selling lap and table dances.
The stage was twenty feet wide and fifteen feet deep. Rectangular tables that seated four circled the stage. One of the narrow sides of the tables butted up against the stage with two chairs along each of the long sides. There were twenty-five of the tables, so a hundred people had a birds-eye view of the dancers. The bar ran the length of the wall to the right of the stage. Round tables for four filled the area between the bar and the stage tables in an arc that went across the front of the stage to the other side. Against the wall opposite the bar were a row of plush chairs and love seats for lap dances.
As soon as he sat down, a topless Anglo woman with bleached blond hair and perfect C cup silicone breasts appeared beside him, a tray balanced expertly in her upturned hand. She was wearing a sarong like skirt and platform heels that had to be at least five inches tall. The tall heels only brought her up to five-six or so. Unlike the other girls, this one had a sparkle in her eyes and a small smile on her lips.
"What can I get you sugar?" she asked in mangled Spanish.
Richie smiled and answered her in English.
"Coors Light, please," he said.
She returned his smile with a toothy grin.
"Thank goodness, you speak English. I never know if I'm offering a drink or a dead cat when I speak Spanish. One silver bullet coming right up, you know there is a two drink minimum, right sugar?"
Richie reached out and took her hand.
"Yes, I know, but if I ordered them both now, I wouldn't have a reason to call you over again. And my name's Richie, by the way," he said as he kissed the back of her hand.
She giggled and curtsied cutely.
"Hi Richie, I'm Veronica, and I'll be back plenty, so don't worry."
Richie watched Veronica as she swished away. The young woman's mixture of sexy good looks and quick wit were very attractive. Her being slightly ditsy made her even more appealing. As he sat waiting for his beer, Richie studied the room, looking for the bouncers. There were four of them and they weren't hard to spot. They were all burly, muscular Hispanic men wearing black t-shirts and dozens of jail house tattoos. They all had their hair cut so short they were almost bald, and looked as mean as a pack of Rottwielers. Richie wouldn't care to meet any of them in a dark alley.
Veronica was back fairly quickly with his longneck and a frozen mug. She poured part of the beer into the mug by bending over his left shoulder, her big firm breast pressed against the back of his head. When she finished pouring, she sat the beer down in front of him and smiled.
"That'll be eight dollars," she said.
Richie dug out a twenty and handed it to her. When she started to make change, he waved her away.
"Keep it; you'd be getting it anyway as soon as you started dancing."
She twisted her folded-in-half-long-ways bank roll around her index finger and shook her head.
"I don't dance here, Jose won't let me. Since we hooked up, I teach the new girls how to dance and only waitress a few nights a week as a fill-in."
Richie gave her an exaggerated sigh as he looked her up and down.
"That's too bad, because I'll bet you are a much better dancer than our amiga up there now."
Veronica gave him a pleased smile.
"You'd win that bet, because I was the best. Hell, these chica's can't even use the pole right. They don't seem that interested in learning either. I guess they think they can get by on their looks."
"So, this Jose of yours, he must own the place."
Veronica shook her head and gestured vaguely in the direction of one of the big goons in black shirts.
"Nah, but he is one of the night managers."
When Veronica gestured, the goon in question pushed him self away from the wall, walked over to Richie's table and slipped his arm possessively around Veronica's waist.
"Hey Ronnie, who's your new friend?" Jose asked.
"Hi baby," Veronica cooed. "This is Richie, he's new in town. Richie this is my boyfriend, Jose."
Veronica took off to wait on another table as Jose gave Richie the once over; Jose, who had a nose for such things, didn't think the man smelled like five-oh, but better safe than sorry.
"Nice to meet you Richie, got any ID?"
Richie laughed and pulled out his wallet.
"Been a while since I've been carded," he said as he handed his license to the unsmiling Jose.
Jose pulled out a small pen light and examined Richie's license. The license was legit, so he passed it back.
"We could lose our liquor license if we serve anyone without an ID, no matter how old they look," Jose explained, then he changed the subject, "So what are you doing in El Paso?"
Richie put his license away and fished out one of the simple business cards Brittany created on her laptop.
"Things are slow up in Santa Fe right now, and I heard there was work here."
Jose read the card.
Richard Salazar
The Reliable Handyman
505-555-0505
Jose started to hand the card back after reading it, but Richie held up his hand.
"Keep it, who knows, you might need me one day."
Jose shrugged and stuck the card in his pocket.
"Yeah, shit's always breaking in this joint. You any good?"
Richie smiled and nodded confidently. You couldn't run a ranch and not know how to fix things, and Ty McGuinn was quick to jump into repairing whatever was broken at his spread. His foreman and cowboys saw he was serious, so they taught him right.
"If I can't fix it, I know how to diagnose a problem and find someone who can. Try me once, and you'll never look for anyone else."
Jose laughed at Richie's cocky attitude.
"Welcome to El Paso, Mister Reliable, here, have one on the house," Jose said as he flipped Richie a gold and purple poker chip.
Riche finished his beer and held up the bottle next time he saw Veronica. She bobbed her head in reply and headed to the bar for his second beer. When she returned, she repeated the ritual of leaning against him as she poured his beer. Only this time, she lingered longer and pressed against him harder.
When she finished pouring him half a mug, he picked up the twenty he'd laid on the table and tried to hand it to her. She reached for the bill then stopped when she saw the purple and gold chip the bill was covering.
"Wow, I don't see many of these. Jose must have liked you."
"Yeah, he told me to have one on the house, so I figured I'd buy you a drink."
Veronica looked at him and giggled.
"The chip will get you a lap dance, silly."
Richie picked up the chip and pressed it into her hand.
"That's good; then it should be plenty to get me a beer and you something."
Veronica grinned and snatched up the chip.
"It'll do better than that," she chirped, then she spun gracefully on the heels of her towering shoes and dashed to the bar.
While Richie Salazar was making himself known on Colorado Avenue, Stella Woodson was ensconced in the Embassy Suites Hotel off I-10, three miles away. Stella was fresh from the shower and sitting cross-legged on her bed. Her laptop was sitting on the mattress in front of her, humming away as it booted up.
When the machine was ready, she connected to the Hotel's Wi-Fi and launched the GPS tracking program to see where Richie was. He'd called her earlier that afternoon on her Brittany cell phone to let her know he'd made it to El Paso safely.
As the tracking program came online and put his location on the street map, Stella reflected on the change that Ty underwent when he took on his Richie persona. As Richie Salazar, Ty's phlegmatic personality disappeared, and a flirtatious, funny man emerged to take his place. Stella loved Ty, but she was crazy about him as Richie. Stella knew the change in personalities wasn't just an act. She thought that Ty actually felt better as Richie, without the weight of everyone's expectations for him on his shoulders.
Stella frowned when the icon that indicated Richie appeared to be stationary about three blocks from the motel in which he was living. It was ten o'clock at night, what could he be doing she wondered? She switched the tracker to street level view and snorted when she saw he was at Capitan Loco's Gentleman's Club. She grabbed her Brittany phone and gave him a call.
Richie was downing his first Jell-O shot when his phone started vibrating in his pocket. He slapped the shot glass onto the table and gulped down the cold Jell-O, then dug out his phone. He checked the caller ID and glanced up at Veronica.
"My girlfriend," he explained as he flipped open the phone.
"Hey Britt," he said jovially into the phone.
"Hi Richie, whatcha doin'?" Brittany purred into his ear.
Richie gave a chuckle and replied.
"I'm sitting in a gentleman's club, having a Jell-O shot with, next to you, the sexiest woman I've ever met."
"Hmmm," Brittany replied, "maybe I should move down there and apply for a job so I can keep an eye on you."
"I couldn't let that happen, Honey," Richie said, mock-seriously, "I couldn't have it on my conscience when you gave all these poor boys a heart attack."
Brittany laughed and then her voice turned wistfully serious.
"I don't think I'm going to be able to sleep tonight without you in the bed next to me."
Richie dropped his voice an octave and matched the sentiment.
"Same here, Britt, and I'm not looking forward to waking up alone either."
Just then, the DJ started to introduce the next act, so Richie quickly said, "Hey, the music is about to start up again, so I better go. Who loves you baby?"
Richie's question sent a jolt up and down her spine, and she actually felt her heart flutter.
"You do, don't you, Richie," she answered.
Richie didn't hesitate a second.
"Yeah, I believe I do," he said softly.
Richie was home thirty minutes later and forty dollars poorer, but he'd made a couple of good contacts that night. Meeting Jose was a definite plus, because Richie figured him to be a member of Barrio Azteca. And Veronica, who asked for one of his cards as he left, might also be a valuable source of information. His military intelligence training and experience had taught him not to exclude anyone as a possible source.
As he had predicted, Richie slept fitfully for the first time in ten days. Waking up in the morning was also just as unpleasant as he thought it would be. Nonetheless, Richie hauled himself out of bed, showered shaved and put on his khaki slacks and light blue shirt. The El Cid was closed on Sunday mornings, so Richie had a breakfast sandwich and a cup of coffee at the Mc Donalds that was across Colorado from his motel room.
At a quarter until ten, he was standing in the shade near the front doors of the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe del Norte. Parts of the adobe mission style church were hundreds of years old. The original mission had been built along side El Camino Real, a road that ran from Mexico City to Santa Fe when the southwest was still part of Mexico. It was located about a mile from his motel.
As he knew they would, a number of members of the congregation came over and introduced them selves to him as he stood there. As a bonus, Liliana walked up and said hello. She also introduced him to her brother and sister-in-law, Hector and Marta Sanchez, and invited him to sit with their family during the service.
Mass let out at eleven and the Sanchezes scurried home so they could have their restaurant open by twelve-thirty. Richie stood out front again and made conversation with the other parishioners and the young Parrish priest, Father Acevedo. By fifteen minutes after the end of Mass, Richie felt as if he'd always been a member of the congregation, and a dozen more of his business cards were in circulation. He'd even promised to look at a couple of sagging doors in the rear of the church for Father Acevedo.
As soon as Richie returned to his room, he called Stella and gave her a report on his progress. Stella relayed that she'd talked to Pete Colon and all was well at the ranch. Pete also commented on Wednesday's gossip column in which the columnist reported on good authority that Tyler McGuinn and Stella Woodson were somewhere on a secluded island in the South Pacific on a romantic getaway.
Later that afternoon, Richie made a trip down to Home Depot to buy a nail apron and a hammer loop for his belt. Richie didn't like the bulky and heavy tool belt carpenters wore, because they were awkward when working in tight areas. He also bought a couple of tool bags for some of the tools he'd purchased from pawn shops in Santa Fe. For fewer than five hundred dollars, Richie had fitted him self out with all the power and hand tools a handyman needed. The tools were padlocked inside the topper on his small pickup. When he was organized and ready for his first job, he wandered over to the El Cid and had a nice dinner served by a very solicitous Liliana.
He visited another strip club that night, a place named the Pink Pony, but only stayed the time it took to down the mandatory two beers. This club was also stocked with a bevy of beautiful but unhappy looking señoritas. Richie couldn't figure out why they were so sullen, given the amount of money he saw thrown onto the stage or tucked into their g-strings. The bouncers at the Pink Pony were clones of the ones at Capitan Loco, and ran a tight ship. Richie watched impassively as they none to gently tossed a couple of rowdy GIs out onto the street.
Richie was home by nine and on the phone with Brittany about a minute later.
"Hey Britt, I just called to tell you good night," he said as soon as she answered.
"Hey yourself," Brittany replied, "I was just about to call you. I see you are home from visiting the Pink Pony."
Richie chuckled. The GPS would keep him from having any secrets from her, but he found he didn't mind a bit.
"Yeah, I'm checking out all the places around here, trying to get a feel for how things work. The joints are actually boring as hell, because the dancers act as if they wish they were somewhere else."
There was a slight pause as Brittany thought about what he said.
"You know Richie, maybe they do wish they were somewhere else. Think about it. Remember the girls you saved from the coyotes? Maybe these clubs were where those girls would have ended up if you hadn't rescued them."
Richie was up and out of his room by seven the next morning. After a quick trip to Mickey D's, he drove to the county license office and obtained an occupational license as a handyman. After he had his receipt showing that he'd paid his fees for his license, he found a commercial insurance agent in the phone book and called the man's office. Armed with cost and directions, Richie drove across town and plunked down three hundred dollars for a six month renewable quarter-million dollar liability policy.
Located just a block from the insurance agent's office, was a modern printing and sign shop. For a ten percent surcharge, the printer made him a thousand business cards and three vinyl lettered signs while he waited. The signs read exactly like his business cards, and a shop employee installed the letters on his truck topper, one on each side and one on the back. When Richie pulled into the parking lot of El Cid's at noon, he was a completely legitimate small business owner.
Richie left a small stack of his cards next to the cash register on his way out, and went canvassing for business. Richie walked down the south side of Colorado Street, first stopping at every business he came too. He dropped off a card at each and engaged in a couple of minutes of small talk before moving along. The walk about was really a reconnaissance of the barrio, and Richie made sure he took a good look around at every place he stopped. It was easy to find the businesses run by the Barrio Azteca, but it was harder determining exactly what influence they had over everyone else.
Richie was gratified when he received two calls while he was canvassing from people he'd visited earlier. One was from the owner of the coin-operated laundry to repair a long folding table, the other was from Paco's Pawnshop to replace a deadbolt and lockset on the rear door.
As the week progressed, more and more work found Richie. Work gave him access, and access gave him the opportunity to observe and learn. It was an eye-opening education...
The Northeast Barrio was a self-contained middleclass neighborhood with a decidedly Mexican flavor to it. Most of the residents were first or second generation Mexican-Americans, with a good number of illegals thrown into the mix. In general, the residents of the barrio were hard working and family oriented but the Nasty Boyz street gang openly roamed the streets with their tricked out cars and trucks, distinctive blue bandanas and hot young girlfriends.
The Boyz were on the street, but they didn't intimidate the other residents who went about their normal routines. The street gangs were a controlled presence, because this was Barrio Azteca's home base and the street gangs were children, compared to the hardened criminals of the prison gang.
It was at a house deep in the neighborhood that Richie caught his first break. It happened shortly after twelve noon on Friday. He was rescreening a storm door and putting in a dog guard for a middle-aged couple who got his name from Father Acevedo, when a six or seven year old Cadillac pulled up in front of the house. The caddy had a nice metallic green paint job, darkly tinted windows and huge chrome wheels with wafer thin tires. After a few seconds, a very pretty young woman of about sixteen or seventeen hopped out of the passenger door.
The girl wore the de rigueur gangsta uniform of baggy basketball shorts, skin tight spaghetti strapped knit tank top, and Nike high-tops with the laces untied. She stood leaning against the door for another minute as she talked to someone inside the car. Richie couldn't help but note how nice her shapely, Jennifer Lopez butt looked in those silky shorts. First one cheek flexed and then the other as she stood there shifting from foot to foot. Richie knew she would be fighting a weight problem in a few years, but right then she was at her peak of physical perfection.
She finally stood back from the car and waved as it pulled away from the curb. She looked at the receding Caddy for a few seconds and then started up the walkway to the front door. Richie was just putting the rescreened door back on its hinges and apologized for holding her up. She shrugged with a teenager's indifference.
Richie took a better look at her when she slouched onto one of the plastic chairs that sat on the small porch. She was not a bad looking girl, he thought. A little rough and world-weary looking for being so young, but her skin was clear and her brown eyes weren't clouded with drugs. She wore a diamond stud and gold hoop in her left ear to identify her as belonging to one of the Nasty Boyz. Around her neck she wore a beautiful, ornate gold crucifix on a sixteen inch gold rope chain. In the center of the cross, a circle of gold surrounded a fairly large and flawless ruby.
Richie knew that ruby was flawless, because he had bought it that way. He kept his face expressionless as he remembered the last time he'd seen that crucifix, when it was nestled between Lupe's breasts a few nights before she was murdered. Lupe loved the cross and chain, and seldom took them off.
"That's a nice cross," he said conversationally as he drove in the last hinge pin.
The girl nodded and fingered the cross lovingly.
"Alex, my boyfriend, gave it to me instead of an engagement ring, so my parents wouldn't freak."
Richie tested out the door and held it for her.
"He must love you a lot," he said as she stepped past him.
"Yeah," she replied dreamily, "he does."
As soon as Richie collected his forty-two dollars for the repairs and materials, he jumped in his truck and grabbed the small notebook he kept for work. He wrote down the name Alex and the Caddy's license plate number. He remembered the number, because Alex had a Native Texan vanity plate, NBZ4EVR, (Nasty Boyz forever), the plate read.
He thought about Lupe's necklace as he drove back to his room. It hurt him to his heart that he hadn't thought about it after the murders, because that meant he hadn't thought much about Lupe while grieving for Abuela. Thinking about it now made the anger he had been carefully controlling flare anew.
Once in his room, he called Brittany, told her what had happened, and asked her to find a name and address for Alex and his fancy Cadillac. She said she'd get right on it.
Richie ate a light lunch at El Cid's, then went to the job he had scheduled for that afternoon. The job was installing a couple of sets of new burglar bar security doors on the rear of Capitan Loco's. It was hard work drilling and bolting the heavy steel doors to the block building, but he was making top dollar for doing it. Better yet, he had a key made for himself when he bought the high strength padlocks for the doors. He also installed a new dead bolt on the emergency exit door that was protected by the burglar bar door. He made a copy of that key, too.
Richie had just stepped out of the shower when Brittany called him.
"His name is Alex Padilla, age twenty-two. No wants, warrants or adult convictions. He has a sealed juvenile record and two adult arrests for suspicion of burglary. Both charges were dropped before going to trial. The address on his driver's license and vehicle registration is an apartment building about three-quarters of a mile from where you are living," Brittany explained.
Richie thanked her for the help then changed the subject to one that made Brittany almost swoon.
"I wish we were together tonight, Britt. I really miss you and need you with me," he said, his voice rich and deep.
"I feel the same Richie, but I don't know if you'd be safe from me if we did that. I'm tired of pretending; I want you for real. If you don't feel the same, you need to hire someone else," she replied pensively.
There was a pause and he cleared his throat.
"I stopped pretending ten days ago," he said softly.
That Friday night, Richie cruised past the apartment building Alex Padilla listed as his address. The building was a nondescript stucco two story with six apartments. Alex lived in apartment A, the far left unit, but his car was not in the driveway or on the street. Richie drove back to his room, parked his truck and walked back to get a closer look. He was dressed in dark clothes and wore a baseball cap. The silenced Beretta was tucked in his belt, covered by his untucked shirt, a black knit balaclava was stuck in his back pocket. The shadowy corner of a dark and apparently unoccupied house across the street from the apartment building gave him a good observation point, so he sat down and watched.