I held my hands up, “They’re all yours, officer. Please don’t shoot.”
He made a snorting sound and sat down in the chair in front of Hondo’s desk. “That John Wesley character you two are looking for is bad news. I talked to some people in Nogales and Douglas that knew him. They said he’s been arrested a number of times, but never convicted. He’s sharp enough not to leave witnesses and knows something about forensics, because everything is wiped clean at the crime scenes.”
I asked, “What crimes?”
“Murder. Five times for murder.”
“And he was never convicted?” I said.
“Nope.” Vick opened the top of the bag and ate a chip. “He’s been in Los Angeles for a year and there’s no reason to think he’s changed. I talked to LAPD and they don’t know who his associates are and neither do we. But he’s working for someone or he wouldn’t be here. This is no town to start up his type of criminal career as a solo act.”
Hondo said, “Someone’s always importing outside talent.”
“Like the NBA and free agents,” I said.
“Except their shooters are a little different.” Hondo said.
Vick stood up, “I hear anything else, I’ll call. And this,” he held out the chips and salsa, “Isn’t enough. You two didn’t keep up with the vig. It’s two bags and two jars.”
“Well, you little loan shark, you,” I said. “I guess we’ll have to get another shipment. Don’t you feel bad taking our last chips?” Hondo looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“I feel pretty good about it, if you want to know,” Vick said, laughing as he went out the door.
After Vick left, Hondo said, “I’m going to the gym and work out with the power-lifters, try to clear my mind a little. You want to come?”
“Nah, I need to check the internet for any open casting calls, see if I can get my ego crushed again.”
“Ohhh yeah,” Hondo said, then added, “I’ll get on the phone later, see if I can put some more feelers out there for our mystery girl.”
“I’ll finish up on the computer, then I think I’ll go motor around a little.”
Hondo looked at me, “A hunch?”
“Maybe, I’m not sure. It’s just that we’re missing something, and it’s bugging me.”
“I can go with you.”
“Go work out, you need it.”
“Uh-huh,” Hondo grinned. He said, “If you run into something, call me. I’ll keep my cell phone handy.”
I asked, “What are you pushing each other on today?”
“Bench press.”
“Don’t let any of those weenie power-lifters sit on your phone. You know how they are.”
The power-lifters are all big and stocky and very strong, and Hondo looks nothing like them, but he out-lifts many of them on a regular basis. Hondo is six-three and weighs a ripped two-oh-five. His body fat stays below six percent. His build is deceptive, and he is strong the way Bruce Lee was strong. Just way out of proportion to his size.
I said, “Be gentle with the big boys today. Their egos are fragile.”
Hondo said, “Call me.”
“I will.”
**
When I finished on the computer, I got into Shamu and headed out. I first drove to the car lot and circled it in a slow, ever-widening, then ever-shrinking grid, hoping something or someone would catch my eye. By the time the sun was going down, I was tired of driving in circles, but still not ready to give up looking.