Page 47

Just a Bean Counter

Hector Chavez’s least favorite part of any day was when he had to sit in a car and wait.

Like he was now, in the casino’s back parking lot.

It was dark, and hot and still.

Hot enough he had to leave his window open more than a crack, or he’d incubate to death.

And still enough he kept swatting mosquitoes.

He hated their buzz near his ear. He was fumbling through his glove box for bug repellent and almost missed Brenda’s text:

Amor: B there in 5 minutes

Hector decided he could survive that long without dousing himself. He scrolled back through his earlier conversation with his wife. He’d been returning to their apartment after paying the guy who had rushed to provide him with Hank’s, Larry’s, and Andre’s fake passports a couple of weeks earlier. When Hector had turned into the barbershop’s strip plaza and scanned the parking lot, he had noticed a white BMW parked outside the bowling alley. Hmm. Brenda said Padma drove a white BMW, although he couldn’t imagine that woman bowling, not with the footwear she favored.

Hector paid attention to people’s vehicles. Brenda teased that he was more likely to know what someone drove than their last name. Hector explained, if you’re the kind of guy who lives with the possibility of sometimes being surprised by people—also interpreted as sometimes being jumped by people—it’s wiser to know what your would-be attacker is driving than to know how to properly address his Christmas card.

Hector found the first text he’d sent Brenda from outside the bowling alley after he had watched Padma throw her phone to the ground and peel out of the parking lot.

Hector: just saw P at bowling alley. very upset

Amor: really? said she had a personal matter tonight

Hector: don’t think it went well

Amor: hmm. Mumbai guys drove off an hour ago

Hector: all?

Amor: no Falcon guy still here. But no explanation. They just left

Hector: dog?

Amor: with Falcon

There had been a break while Hector had considered his next move. Then:

Hector: K. I’ll get dog now.

Amor: K

Hector: can u let me in back door in 20?

Brenda had sent a thumbs-up emoji, and when he’d arrived at the casino, he’d texted:

Hector: here

Amor: wait. P just left Falcon. I saw her in hall on TV. Can tell she’s mad. She took her shoes off and ran!

Hector: who’s with Falcon now?

Amor: no cameras in there but I think he’s alone with dog. Will let u know when clear. dog’s name is Elmer

* * *

Now it was two hours until midnight, when, according to Brenda, Farid was expecting the bank draft to hit the casino’s account. He’d said if it went through with no hitches, he would release the dog. Hector had known enough guys like this Falcon dude, back in his gang days, that he wasn’t going to wait around and see if this one would keep his word. Not after Brenda relayed how he’d come to be called The Fiscal Falcon.

Seems a man had once owed Farid’s employer money and had offered his prized falcon as insurance. But apparently, the man hadn’t paid quickly enough, and Farid had maimed the bird—clipped its wings so the majestic creature would never fly again. Just to send a message. Just because he could.

Hector had to get the dog out of there. If anything happened to Elmer, Brenda would be devastated, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. Plus, he liked that dog.

His phone dinged:

Amor: good to go

Hector turned his phone to silent, got out of his car, put his windbreaker on, and patted his pockets, double-checking he had everything he needed. He trotted across the parking lot, and Brenda let him in the casino’s back door, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and handed him an employee ID and key card. He took the door to the right, the same one he’d left through the day he’d delivered Brenda’s chicken empanada dinner, and went down the stairwell to the basement floor, while she went upstairs to the offices to keep an eye on Padma.

Hector strung the lanyard with the employee ID and key card around his neck and pulled on a baseball cap. Brenda had put still shots up on the cameras in this area so nothing would look amiss on the monitors in the security command center, but if he ran into anyone, he could obscure his face behind the brim. He stepped out into the hallway, walked a few doors down, swiped, and entered the maintenance room.

It was set up as it had been when Hector was last here. Hector scanned the room and found the dog lying on the cement floor to the right, his leash draped across a nearby chair. Elmer raised his head and wagged his tail.

Perfect.

Hector crossed the floor, grabbed the leash, and Elmer pulled himself up, stretched, and took a step toward Hector. At the sound of a voice they both stopped and turned.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Farid rose from behind the table, in the center of the room.

“Sorry. Didn’t see you there,”

Hector said.

Hector scanned the table, saw the laptop and briefcase, and reasoned the man must have been sitting behind the stack of binders, hidden from Hector’s line of sight.

Farid said, “Do I know you? Oh, right. You’re the barber. Guess what, it looks like I am sticking around, and I could probably use that house call after all.”

“Sure. Let me know when. I’m just here to pick up the dog.”

Hector took a step toward Elmer.

Farid edged down the table. “Sorry. You can’t take the dog. I need him.”

Hector shook his head. “Meh. I don’t think you do.”

Farid said, “I told the owner I’ll give him back at midnight.”

He trailed his fingers along the table, toward the leather briefcase.

Hector tilted his head. “I’m not so sure you will.”

Farid raised an eyebrow and gave a small smile. “Why would I want to keep that dog?”

Hector glanced at Elmer, who now sat a few feet away and seemed to be following the conversation, his eyes going from speaker to speaker.

Hector exhaled. “Oh, I’m not worried about you keeping him. I’m worried a man like you might want to use the dog to send a message.”

Farid scoffed. “What kind of message would I send? I’m an accountant. Just a bean counter. I push money here and there.”

Hector studied him a moment and said, “Then you don’t need the dog. What’s he gonna do? Figure out your taxes? I’ll take him home now. Get him outta your hair.”

Farid toyed with the briefcase clasp. “Actually. Come to think of it, there’s a lot to be said for messages. I’ve found they can be an effective way to get people to pay attention, especially when coming to a new city. Listen. This is what’s gonna happen. You are going to back out of this room and go away. At midnight, I’ll give the dog back. Trust me.”

A broad smile spread on Hector’s face, and he chuckled. “In my profession, you trust too much, you don’t celebrate many birthdays.”

Farid’s eyebrows furrowed together.

“John Wayne. In The Shootist.”

“Ah. A movie. It’s lost on me.”

Farid shrugged. “Sorry.”

Hector’s smile dropped, and he sighed. “This is what’s gonna happen. I’m leaving with the dog.”

Hector shifted so his left shoulder was angled toward Farid. He stretched the leash in both hands before him and gently twirled the metal fastener at the end, moving his right hand closer to his windbreaker’s pocket.

Farid eyed the leash’s heavy, spinning fastener. His lips twitched into a tight smile, and he brought his eyes back to Hector. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not just a barber?”

The lock on his briefcase clicked.

“Probably the same reason I get the feeling you’re not just an accountant.”

Farid lifted the lid of his briefcase. “Why would someone like you come for a dog?”

Hector inched his hand to his pocket. “I’m guessing you’ve never seen a John Wick movie.”

Farid shook his head. “Again. Movies.”

Hector said, “You should watch one. There’s four in the franchise. Gotta love Keanu Reeves. Start with the first one. Then maybe you’ll understand why you don’t mess around with someone’s dog.”

And there it was.

Farid was not only stupid enough to point a gun at Hector, but also stupid enough to not pull the trigger.

Farid clocked his arm to the left and leveled his gun at Elmer. “You know what? I’m tired of talking about this fucking dog.”

The pop of the gunshot reverberated through the room. Hector’s ears rang, and the spicy smell of gunpowder stung his nose.

Elmer scurried over and buried his head between Hector’s legs. Hector crouched down and hugged the trembling dog close. From that position, he studied Farid’s body, crumpled on the floor. The bullet hole between his eyes looked clean and crisp, and the blood seeping from the back of his head formed a circle that creeped larger.

Hector stood and returned his gun to his windbreaker’s pocket.

He had to move swiftly. He checked the doors off the room and, finding a janitor’s closet, moved an industrial bucket aside and dragged Farid’s body to rest by the closet’s drain. He threw some rags down to wipe up the blood, bagged them and tossed them in the closet. He gathered Farid’s belongings and stowed them with the corpse. He ran a mop over the area where Farid had fallen. It wouldn’t pass close inspection, but for now, looking around the room, if anyone did stumble in, Hector was satisfied nothing looked amiss. It would do until he returned for a proper cleanup.

He sniffed the air, checked the janitor’s closet, and had just pulled a can of air freshener from the shelf when he heard a voice. He returned the air freshener, stepped out of the closet, and pulled the door closed behind him.