Rum Luck Page 12

  Miguel’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.

  “Are you kidding?” Ben asked. “We have a murderer running loose, and you convinced Miguel’s uncle that he’s playing cops and robbers?”

  “I didn’t exactly have a choice. He was ready to walk out the door, but not before he tried to call Miguel’s grandmother. He had the phone in his hand and had started to dial.” She glared at him. “I did what I had to do.”

  Miguel paled. “He was calling my abuela?”

  “So?”

  “You don’t understand, Ben. You’re my best friend, and I would face an army for you. But not my abuela. A man has limits.”

  “She can’t be that bad,” Ben said. He had only faint memories of his own grandparents, but surely Miguel was exaggerating.

  “A police officer once tried to give her a ticket for jaywalking. Tried. She grabbed him by the ear and dragged him back to his abuela for a tongue-lashing.” He poured another measure of tequila into his glass and knocked it back.

  “See? I made the right call,” Victoria said. “Who knows? Perhaps Enrico can help us solve Antonio’s murder.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.” Ben looked over at the bar, where Enrico was re-teaching Ana how to make a vodka and soda. She smiled politely, her hands so tightly balled it seemed her knuckles might burst. “The man looks like he’s well on his way to getting murdered himself.”

  “Hey, man. That’s my uncle, remember?” Miguel said.

  “Right. Sorry, Miguel.”

  Victoria hadn’t finished. “There’s more bad news. There’s no room at the Diria. I tried to extend my own reservation, but they’ve got a large wedding party this week. There’s no way you’ll get a booking for Enrico.”

  Ben sighed. “All right. I’ll move in here, then. Enrico can have my room.” He glanced down at his wrist where his watch used to sit, then up at the wall clock. “I’ll need to make time to pack my bags and move them over.”

  Victoria flipped open her agenda to jot down a few notes. “Oscar looked as though he’s almost finished with the worst of the clean-up. I’ll have him look after it.”

  So much for his last few days of luxury. “Thanks, Victoria. What about you? Where will you stay?”

  She shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. I suppose I can move to the cantina as well. We do have a second bedroom, after all.” She couldn’t hide her disdain. To Victoria, lack of indoor plumbing was the third circle of hell.

  Miguel let out a deep sigh. “You can take over my room at the Diria. I’ll move in here with Ben.”

  “Are you sure?” Victoria asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Might as well. You seem to be the only one of us who can handle Enrico, so it might help to have you nearby if—when—something comes up.” He rubbed an aching shoulder. “Besides, Ben and I seem to have targets painted on our backs. We might as well stick together.”

  Ben started to say something sarcastic, but Miguel was right. Splitting up would only endanger the others and make each of them more vulnerable. He silently cursed himself for involving his friends in this mess. Miguel looked over at him. Ben nodded in reply.

  “Now that’s settled, did I miss anything while I was out?” Miguel frowned as he looked around the bar, noticing the damage for the first time. “Were we robbed?”

  Ben told him about the coroner’s report, Vasquez’s surprise visit, and the crowbar he had taken into evidence.

  “If the crowbar looked clean, what made him think it was evidence?”

  Ben shook his head. “Vasquez came out of nowhere, tore the place to bits, and left as quickly as he arrived. I still have no idea what he thought was in the safe, or why he ripped the cantina apart. No wonder Enrico thinks this is all part of a game. I want to believe that so badly myself, I can almost taste it.”

  Miguel gave him a weak smile. “I think that’s the tequila.”

  Ben looked back at the bar. Enrico was chatting up one of the surfer girls, studiously ignoring the crowd that was clamoring to be served. Ana raced from one customer to the next, scarcely making a dent in the line.

  “Victoria, can you grab the spare cushions from the storeroom?” Ben rose from his seat with a sigh. “This is going to be a long night.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ben had looked after a child only once in his life. One weekend, Tara’s sister left her two-year-old son, Zenon, with them while she went shopping. It was toddler mayhem. Ben spent the afternoon racing after Zenon as he pulled books off the shelves, shattered treasured keepsakes, and smeared the walls with blueberry jam. Handing the kid back to his mother was one of the best moments in Ben’s adult life. If he concentrated, he could almost hear the click of the front door and the wondrous silence that followed.

  At the time, he had cursed every minute of those four exhausting hours. Now, those memories were his best and only weapons in his battle with Enrico. Unfortunately, Enrico was both larger and stronger than a two-year-old and even less inclined to listen to reason. Ben’s only advantage was that he was slightly more nimble than the chubby musician.

  In some ways, it would have been easier if Enrico was actually trying to be destructive, but he simply didn’t know any better. He just wanted to mix a rum and Coke—how was he to know that the vermouth bottles looked like the rum bottles? And why were they kept next to each other, anyway? And what’s the harm in offering tequila shots for twenty-five cents each, offer valid only for the next two minutes? If Miguel didn’t want to be trampled, he should sit somewhere else. It didn’t get any easier as the night wore on, either. At least Zenon hadn’t managed to down the lion’s share of a tequila bottle during his visit.

  “No, Enrico,” Ben said firmly, “we are not ordering new uniforms for Ana and Victoria. That is final.”

  Enrico drew himself up on his toes. “Mr. Cooper, I think you forget yourself. I am owner of this establishment, and I think that a tropical-themed costume—”

  “Tropical-themed?” Ana snorted. “A pair of coconut halves and a grass skirt are the kind of uniform you would give a—”

  “Mr. Morales,” Victoria interjected, “you are quite right, you are the owner and this is indeed your decision. I will make a few calls and get back to you.”

  Enrico smiled. “Please, Ms. Holmes.”

  Victoria returned a less-lecherous version of his smile, then went into the office.

  “At least one member of the staff has some respect for their employer.” He scowled at Ben. “Keep this up, Mr. Cooper, and I’ll dock your pay.”

  He watched helplessly as Enrico grabbed a bottle of tequila and tried to inveigle two bikini-clad Swedes to do a round of body shots. On the house, of course.

  Ben wondered how much to charge future pretend-owners to make it worth this abuse, but stopped once he realized he needed a calculator to handle such sums.

  Victoria came back a few minutes later. “I have good news, Mr. Morales. I’ve talked to our supplier, and he’ll be able to send us the new uniforms in seven business days. I’ve gone ahead and placed the order. Will there be anything else?”

  Ben suppressed a grin. Brilliant. That would be three days after Enrico’s pretend-ownership came to an end.

  Enrico grinned until the math caught up with him. “That’s all for now, Ms. Holmes.” He turned back to the bar and took another order.

  “Thank you,” Ben mouthed silently to Victoria.

  She caught his gaze and smiled. It was a warm, genuine smile and it lit up the room. He hadn’t seen that smile for a long time. It was nice. Even if it was her gloating over outwitting a lecherous musician.

  “Ben?”

  He turned around and found himself gazing at Jennifer Walker, her hand resting lightly on the bar. She was wearing a flowing red sarong that hinted at her athletic, feminine form. Strands of hair, whitened by the sun, fell across her temples. She wore the faintest hint of mascara and lipstick. She looked like every carefree summer Ben had never had.

  “Uh . . . hi, Je
nni,” Ben said. Out of habit he asked, “What can I get you?”

  A corner of her mouth turned upward. “Sauv blanc, if you have it.”

  “No problem. Back in a minute.”

  He had no idea if they had any sauvignon blanc, but he knew who would.

  He walked over to where Victoria was mixing a gin fizz. “Where did you hide the good wine?”

  She shot him a look. “Ben, I resent that remark—”

  He glared back.

  She sighed, waving at the bar fridge. “Bottom left corner, behind the diet ginger ale. Restock the fridge once you’re done plying your floozy.”

  “Thanks.” Ben smiled. “I’ll keep us in good supply. I know you start breaking out in human emotion if you’re not kept well medicated with grape.”

  She scoffed, but Ben thought he saw her smile faintly as she fixed the last of her order.

  Luis poked his head out the pass-through to the kitchen. “Ben, do you have a minute?”

  He closed his eyes and let out an exhausted breath. “Luis, I have even fewer minutes now than I did yesterday. Is the kitchen burning down?”

  Luis shook his head.

  “Then it can wait,” Ben said.

  Luis ducked back into the kitchen.

  Ben rummaged through the fridge for a few moments, finding a few bottles of decent wine that had survived the onslaught on the bar stock. He was surprised Antonio had such good taste in wine. More likely, Victoria had done some shopping of her own. He settled on a bottle of Cloudy Bay.

  He returned to the bar with the misted bottle of wine and two wine glasses. “It’s from New Zealand. Hope that’s all right.”

  “Well, I’ll be cross if it makes me go blind.” She smiled. “To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised you have wine that comes in a bottle. I think most of what Antonio served came in cardboard boxes.”

  Ben laughed. “I’d never thought of that. We could save some money if we put a few juice boxes out in the sun for a day or two. Might solve our financial troubles.” He filled both glasses.

  Jenni picked hers up by the stem. “Shall we toast?”

  Ben picked up his own glass. “To . . . crossing paths.”

  “And uninjured swimmers.”

  They clinked their glasses and Jenni eased herself onto one of the bar stools.

  “This is nice wine. Don’t tell the Kiwis I said that, though.” She took another sip. “What was that about financial troubles? It’s not as bad as that, I hope.”

  “Pretty much.” Ben took a large swallow of his wine and winced. Everything still tasted like tequila, and probably would until after Enrico left. “Even with Miguel and Victoria buying in as partners, we still only have enough cash to make it through another couple of weeks. That’s why we started the pretend-ownership business.”

  Jenni looked sympathetic. “How’s that going for you so far?”

  Across the bar, he heard Enrico shout, “Watch this!” Glass shattered.

  “About as well as it sounds.”

  Jenni rested her hand on his. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

  Ben raised his gaze to meet her eyes. “I . . .”

  He trailed off as he spotted over her left shoulder the drug dealer, Chris, passing a phone to a tall, lanky beach bum in a ragged T-shirt. On the back of the phone was a small but familiar red maple leaf. The phone disappeared from the dealer’s hand in exchange for a wad of dirty bills, which he stuffed into his pants pocket.

  Ben’s stomach twisted into knots. That was his phone.

  “Sorry, Jenni. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  He glanced over to where Miguel was sitting, only to find his friend gently dozing in his chair. Ben walked through the lounge in search of Victoria. When he found her, Enrico was grilling her about the murder.

  “Did the police find any guns?”

  “No.”

  “Victoria,” Ben said between clenched teeth.

  “Candlesticks?”

  “What? No.”

  “Victoria.”

  “Hmmm . . . a revolver?”

  “A revolver is a type of gun, Enrico.”

  “Victoria!” Ben shouted.

  “What is it, Mr. Cooper?” Enrico flapped his hands in annoyance. “Surely whatever petty business you have with Ms. Holmes can wait. We are trying to solve a murder, after all.”

  There was no way Ben could drag Victoria off to deal with Chris and leave Enrico to his own devices. The bar would burn to ashes in minutes.

  He put a hand on Enrico’s shoulder. “Mr. Morales, there is a matter that requires your urgent attention. There is a dangerous man in this bar, and only you can find out the truth of what he knows regarding Antonio’s murder. Please wait for me in your office. I will bring him to you.”

  Enrico rubbed his chin. “I see, Mr. Cooper.” A faint flicker of doubt crossed his eyes. “But why should he listen to me?”

  Victoria cleared her throat. “He will not want to run afoul of someone with your . . . uh . . . ties to the criminal underworld.”

  Ben’s stomach sank. She would say that, wouldn’t she?

  Enrico’s eyes gleamed. “Of course. My ties to the criminal underworld. As you say. Bring him in immediately, Mr. Cooper.” He straightened his tie and swaggered off to the office.

  “ ‘Ties to the criminal underworld’?”

  “You didn’t give me much time to think. Who’s he going to speak with?”

  “Chris. The drug dealer. You know, the one with real ties to the criminal underworld.”

  “Oh. Want me to call it off? We can find something else for Enrico to do that won’t pose a risk to the cantina.”

  “Like what, duct taping him to one of the pillars? Otherwise, the idiot would probably lock himself inside the walk-in freezer.” Ben shook his head. “There’s no time. Let’s go.”

  Victoria close behind, Ben waded through the crowded bar to where Chris and his lanky customer were trading jokes over a couple of empty beer bottles. He held out his hand. “I’ll take that phone. Now.”

  “Dude, you’re too late,” the beach bum said. “It’s mine. Bought and paid for.”

  Ben snapped. He grabbed the man by his T-shirt and pulled him nose to nose. “It’s stolen property. My stolen property.” He let go of the man’s shirt and turned to Chris. “Give him back his money.”

  “Hey man, no refun—”

  Ben stabbed his index finger in the drug dealer’s chest. “Chris, remember our little chat last night?”

  “Yeah, man.” Chris bobbed his head. “You said no . . . uh . . . special merchandise.”

  “I said no business. None. And that goes double for anything that used to belong to me.”

  “That’s your phone?”

  Ben exhaled slowly. Could Chris really be that dense?

  “Didn’t you turn it on? The background has a picture of me and my . . . my friend on it.” He hadn’t changed his background from the photo of him and Tara in Mexico a few years earlier. He’d thought about changing it after they’d broken up, but there was the trip and . . . well, it would have been yet another change in a world turned upside down.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. Jenni was nowhere to be seen.

  “Oh . . . what? That’s you in the picture with that smokin’ hot chick on the beach?” Chris squinted and leaned in toward Ben. “Not a good likeness, dude. With your round face, you should really go for, like, a two-thirds view.” He nodded to himself. “Yeah, definitely. Two-thirds with a downward angle.”

  “Skip the photography lesson,” Ben said. “I just want my phone. Give this guy his money back.”

  “Oh, right.” He handed the money back. “Sorry for the confusion, dude. Got the phone from one of my regulars for half an ounce. Said he found it on the beach. I wouldn’t have touched it if I’d known it was yours. I like my liver where it is, if you catch my drift.”

  The guy shrugged, pulled the phone from the pocket of his filthy jeans, and handed it to Ben.


  He wrapped his fingers around the phone, savoring its weight in his hand. “Chris, how would you like to earn back your bar privileges?”

  The door to the office flew open, the handle smashing into the freshly plastered wall. Ben pushed Chris into the room and pointed at the same seat he’d sat in the night before.

  The office was perhaps in the worst shape of all the rooms in the cantina, having taken the brunt of the damage during Vasquez’s search. One of the filing cabinets had been tipped over, and the contents of the other cabinets were now a thick carpet on the floor. Holes had been punched in the drywall, seemingly at random, and even some of the electrical outlet plates had been removed. Only the desk was immaculate. Victoria sat in the other visitor’s chair, rum in hand. No Enrico.

  As though on cue, the heavy leather office chair slowly swiveled to reveal Enrico Morales, maestro of the criminal underworld. His elbows rested on the armrests. He pressed his fingertips together and fixed Chris with an expressionless glare. “Mr. Cooper, please tell me why you have brought this gentleman to my office.”

  Ben sat down on one of the filing cabinets, as Miguel had the night before. “Chris has some information that might interest you.”

  “Uh . . . right,” Chris said. He repeated what he had said earlier about the caped man carrying a bundle the night Antonio died.

  “And what do you think was in the bundle?” Enrico asked.

  “My guy didn’t say. Like I told you, he was pretty fried.”

  “I did not ask you what your customer thought was in the bundle, Mister . . . ?”

  Chris glanced at Ben as though asking for help. “People don’t usually ask for my last name.”

  “I will be the exception, then.”

  “And, what if . . . like . . . I wanted to remain anonymous?”

  “That would be very unfortunate, Chris. You see, I only address my friends by their last names. First names are reserved for people I care nothing for.” He paused. “You are aware that I am a man who knows people?”

  Chris swallowed. “It’s Christianson.”

  Enrico raised an eyebrow. “Chris Christianson?”

  “Yeah, man. My parents didn’t like me very much, okay?”