It was a cool, crisp night at Leisure World.
Sanchez and I were in my crime-stopping van. We were sitting comfortably in the rear swivel chairs with a small light on between us. The small light could not be seen through the heavily- tinted glass. To the outside world, we were nothing more than a biohazard cleanup service.
I had just caught Sanchez up-to-date on the Mitch Golden case. Sanchez nodded. “The moment we hear it’s a drug hit, things change. And a drug dealer who steals from his bosses is low on our priority list. In fact, we’re glad to see them go.”
“ Heartwarming story,” I said.
He glanced at me sideways. “What’s eatin’ at you, whitey?”
“ The job feels…incomplete.”
“ Incomplete?”
“ I was hired to find his killer.”
“ And you did. His killer was, in essence, himself. He knew perfectly well the risks he was taking. It was business as usual for his bosses. Nothing that wasn’t expected. Nothing that no one couldn’t have seen a mile away.”
I thought about what he said, saw the wisdom of his words, and turned to him. “Thanks, bro.”
“ Bro?”
“ I knew I couldn’t pull it off.”
“ Did you just say bro?”
“ Never mind,” I said.
As Sanchez chuckled quietly to himself, I stared silently out my side window and thought about the man who was willing to risk everything for the little guys.
“ No flashers tonight,” said Sanchez. “I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.”
“ It’s a thing,” I said.
“ So where’s Junior?”
“ He’s with Cindy at my apartment. They’re bonding.”
“ By bonding, you mean she’s cleaning up a lot of piss.”
“ Something like that.”
Sanchez said, “I’ve got movement over here.”
It was the first movement we had seen in nearly an hour. I eased over to Sanchez’s side of the van. And there, stepping away from one of the many single-level apartments, were two people. Two men, actually. One appeared older and one younger. The younger man was a good deal taller. The older man led the younger to a car parked not too far from our van. Sanchez and I watched the scene with interest. Perhaps more interest than the scene warranted. We heard muffled talking, a little laughter, and then the tall guy got in, started the vehicle up, and drove off. Going, no doubt, 15 mph.
The old man paused to watch the car drive off, then slipped his hands in his pants pockets, began whistling, and whistled all the way to his little apartment.
“ His son?” asked Sanchez.
“ Let’s hope.”
We watched the house some more, until I got bored and headed back to my side of the van. As I settled in, my cell rang. Caller I.D. restricted. In my experience, this usually meant a cop.
“ Knighthorse.”
“ Mr. Knighthorse,” said a heavily-accented voice. “This is Detective Hermenio, Ensenada Police Department.”
“ Good evening, Detective.”
“ Thought you might be interested to know that we conducted a raid tonight on the shark fin black market.”
“ El negro mercado,” I said.
“ What was that?” he asked.
“ That was Spanish,” I said.
“ It was something, but it wasn’t Spanish.”
I sighed. “You were saying, Detective?”
He continued, “It is as you said it was, Mr. Knighthorse. More shark fins than even I would have believed. As you know, Mexico currently has a moratorium on all shark hunting. Of course, enforcing such a moratorium is another business altogether.”
“ I understand.”
“ Shutting down the black market is a good step. Except…”
I finished his sentence: “Except another will soon replace it.”
“ No doubt, my friend. But, like I said, it is a step. There is one other thing.”
“ Yes?”
“ There were a handful of American buyers at the market during the time of the raid. One of them was a name you gave me.”
“ Trujillo.”
“ Raul Trujillo. Apparently, he is a well-known buyer in the states. Selling shark fins is illegal in California, no?”
“ Yes. Until just recently.”
“ That’s what I thought. He is being held here, and authorities in the US will be contacted. More than likely he will only be fined.”
“ It is at least something,” I said. “This will be good news for someone I know.”
“ I expect so.”
“ Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“ It is a nasty business,” he said, “and I’m happy to help.”
When I clicked off, Sanchez said, “He say what I think he said?”
“ He did.”
Sanchez held up his fist, and as I bumped it with my own, he said, “Good work…bro.”