Dragon Fruit Read online

  I followed the van through the residential streets of Palm Desert, taking care to keep my distance. Not many cars were on the road and the last thing I wanted was for Goretz to notice he had a tail. No, I wanted his plan to flow without a hitch right up to the end.

  He turned into the main drag and headed in the direction of Cathedral City. Now there were more cars on the road and I could hide in the pack.

  I figured Goretz was heading for a meet up with Morehead and expected him to turn off the highway and into a hotel parking lot. But instead, after a mile or less he entered the glitzy Los Zorros Restaurant lot and pulled up in an empty far corner. I chose a spot that provided me with an unobstructed view of the van.

  An overhead light illuminated Goretz as he spoke into his cell. Then he climbed out of the van and headed for the restaurant. His movements looked jerky, as if he were angry, upset.

  When Goretz didn’t return after several minutes, I got out of the sedan, crossed the lot and pushed in through the tall sand-blasted glass doors.

  ‘May I help you?’ The host, who looked more like a bouncer, knew how to make his words sound like mini slaps in the face. He ran an eye up my body, from my black tennies to my pony-tailed hairdo.

  ‘I’m meeting up with a friend in the bar.’ Goretz had already dined, at home. I figured the bar was the best bet.

  Bouncer Boy allowed me to pass. When I stepped into the bar, I could see why I’d been scrutinized. Everyone in the room was dressed in their best duds, as if they were out on the town in Manhattan instead of the dusty Sonoran Desert. But nobody bothered to give me a second glance, which was just how I wanted it.

  It took me a moment to locate Ronald. He was seated at a high top table with another guy whose back was to me. Goretz looked agitated. He leaned forward over the table, making a point.

  I sidled along the curve of the long mahogany bar and took a seat at the far end, in shadow. Then I swiveled around on my stool to face Goretz’s table. And that’s when I found myself looking straight at Jack Morehead.

  Morehead was leaning back, away from Goretz. He’d assumed an easy attitude, with his cashmered arm draped over the chair back. But he was listening, all right.

  The barman approached me and I ordered a beer. I kept an eye on Morehead and Goretz while pretending to study my phone. Goretz didn’t know me from Adam, but I’d met Morehead at Agua Azul and he was too sharp not to recognize me. Luckily at the moment his attention was elsewhere.

  When the IPA arrived, foaming over the lip of the glass, I ignored it. That had to be a first.

  It was difficult to follow Morehead and Goretz’s every move while pretending to look elsewhere. After a while I gave up the show and focused on the two men. They were negotiating, I could see that. Was it Rosie they were haggling over? If so, Morehead and Goretz were no different from slave traders, bartering over a child on the block.

  Morehead raised both hands, palms outward. The bartering had come to an end.

  But Goretz was pissed off. He shoved his chair away from the high top and got to his feet. He looked like he wanted to leave, but he hovered near the table. Morehead was cool and bided his time.

  Then Goretz lifted a hand in a sharp upward motion, and at the same time dropped his head. He wasn’t happy – but it looked like they had a deal.

  I dropped a bill on the bar and followed Goretz out of Los Zorros. I couldn’t lose him, not now. I had to take the risk of being seen.

  I entered the lot in time to see Ronald Goretz open the passenger door of Morehead’s black BMW. He removed a white envelope from an inner pocket of his jacket. He leaned into the vehicle, and when he straightened, the envelope was no longer in his hand.

  I’d just made it to my sedan when Jack Morehead strode into the lot and over to his vehicle. Before Goretz started up his van, Morehead had turned left out of the lot, heading south for Palm Desert and La Quinta.

  I jumped in my rental, pressed the ignition button and backed out of the space. Then I waited for Goretz’s van as it passed through the lot to the highway. Just as I began to move forward, Goretz made a right turn. Unlike Morehead, he was headed north toward Palm Springs.

  God damn it, which way to go? Morehead had Rosie in his possession – didn’t he? But Goretz had apparently just paid to procure her. On the spur of the moment, I decided it was better to keep Morehead in view. I turned left and accelerated.

  A few seconds later I realized I’d made a mistake. I’d forgotten about Eric.

  Jack Morehead was smart enough to protect himself. Smart enough to collect the money and let Eric do the mop-up. In fact, Morehead hadn’t even collected the money: he’d merely found it in his car. Topnotch attorney that he was, the asshole had covered all the bases.

  I glanced once in the rear view mirror, made a sharp U-turnacross the highway, and stepped on it. Three minutes later, I came up on the boxy shape of the van.

  The van didn’t turn into Palm Springs as I’d expected. Instead it headed away from the valley floor, in the direction of Indian Canyons. A sign announced I had entered the land of the Agua Caliente.

  I rolled down all the windows. The desert was mysterious in the dark, the night air delicate and perfumed. I was driving up a bajada, but instead of rising straight up the slope the road was taking a zigzag path. Goretz’s tail lights winked in front of me. I dropped back and switched off my own headlights, so I wouldn’t be observed.

  Goretz showed no sign he was thinking of anything but the road ahead. He kept on at the same steady pace without surging or braking. A car approached, and the driver blinked his headlights to tell me to switch mine on. I ignored the suggestion. So far, I was doing fine.

  We were three miles into the reservation when Goretz jammed on his brakes. The rear of the van flared scarlet. I slowed, then stopped. Goretz had turned off the road.

  I watched as the van juddered over the rocky desert floor, then dropped down into a wash and disappeared. I realized the sedan had been a poor choice: I needed a vehicle with higher clearance to follow Goretz.

  But one way or another I had to make it happen. The guy was meeting someone, and I’d bet my right arm it was Eric. If my hunch was correct, Ronald Goretz was about to take possession of Rosie.

  I moved on past Goretz’s turn-off point, rounded a bend, and slowed. Then I made a U-turn so that the sedan was pointing back the way I’d come, and pulled off onto the shoulder.

  I got out of the sedan and eased the door shut, leaving it unlocked. Then I jogged back down to the turn-off. Here I discovered an unpaved road, covered in a thin layer of flinty rock. The sharp gravel crunched under my feet as I ran. My footsteps sounded like small explosions.

  I jogged up a steady incline for perhaps a hundred yards. As I crested the hill I slowed to a walk, then came to a standstill. Below me lay an oasis.

  A pair of vehicles were parked near a cluster of fan palms. One was the van, the other a large SUV.

  Two men stood near the SUV, arguing. One held a powerful flashlight. The beam was pointed up and away, illuminating the dried skirts of the palms. I inched forward in the dark until I was close enough to make out their words.

  ‘You made a deal, that’s what I’m saying.’ Goretz thrust his head forward like a snake. ‘What you did – that’s called bait and switch.’

  ‘Shit happens, Ronnie. You know that.’ It was Eric. Eric the delivery boy. His tone was familiar: he seemed to know Goretz. I thought about the computer list: maybe Eric and Ronald were members of the same nasty club. The little bastard was in it all right, up to his neck.

  ‘You sent me her picture! Fuck it, Eric, you promised her to me. What, now you guys are saying she’s not available? You sold the kid to a higher bidder, is that it?’

  ‘Take my advice, Ronnie. Let it go.’ Eric swung the flashlight so it pointed straight in Goretz’s face, and the guy stumbled back. ‘For one thing, you already paid Jack. No refunds, bud. So what the fuck are we arguing for?’

  ‘Get that out of my
face. I don’t like the look of the replacement, all right? Jack showed me her picture. She looks like a fox or something. Not my fucking type, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Can’t hurt to take a look, can it? Take a look, you might change your mind.’

  ‘Tell you what, I might take my money back. You’re not pushing me around.’ Goretz’s voice turned stubborn. ‘I might make a stink.’

  ‘A stink?’ Eric’s high laughter snapped like the breaking of dead sticks. ‘There’ll be a stink all right if you try and screw the deal. You have no idea, Ronnie, what Jack can be like. I’d let it go if I were you.’

  ‘I just want to know why.’ Goretz sounded peevish, like a kid determined to get his way. ‘The other guys in the club, they’d want to know about this!’

  ‘You’ll keep your fucking mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.’ There was a drawn-out moment of silence.

  ‘Eric, come on—’

  ‘All right. I’ll tell you what happened. To shut you up once and for all. Just don’t let on to Jack that you know.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘She died. The kid you’re talking about didn’t make it. So you’re lucky, man. Lucky to get a sub.’

  ‘Died? How?’ Goretz’s tone was chilling. It sounded like he was asking about the death of a gerbil or something.

  ‘Fuck, I don’t know. They gave the girls some sedative on the trip, some fruit they use in Mexico to calm kids down and keep them quiet. The one kid, she got too much of it, or maybe she was allergic, who the hell knows? One made it and one didn’t, that’s all there is to it.’

  The dragon fruit. In a flash, the last piece of the puzzle slipped into place in my mind.

  But in my shocked surprise I forgot to keep still. I must have lurched forward. I tripped on a rock, tried to catch myself and failed. The pain from a dozen barbed needles shot though the fabric of my jeans and into my knee.

  ‘What – what was that?’ Eric swiveled the beam of the light in my direction. I hunkered down, unable to lift my knee from the cactus patch. I tried to ignore the pain and control my breathing, but it came in short gasps.

  ‘Some animal,’ Goretz said. ‘They’re out in the desert at night.’

  ‘It sounded more like a man.’ Eric swung the powerful beam back and forth over the hillside. Thank God I’d dressed all in black. The light passed over me, continuing on in a low arc.

  ‘A man?’ Goretz snorted. ‘People don’t wander around in the dark, not on the res. You scared?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you have mountain lions around here?’

  ‘Sometimes. Around these oases, yeah. OK, let’s get it over with. Let’s see the little bitch. Maybe I need to make sure she’s alive, after what you just told me.’

  ‘Oh, she’s alive all right.’

  The deal was about to be concluded. Eric sounded relieved.

  The light beam retracted. At last I was able to get to my feet. I brushed a hand over my knee: half a dozen spines protruded.I yanked them out one-by-one, bracing myself against the stinging pain.

  Goretz followed Eric over to the SUV. Goretz was right in one thing, I thought: there were predatory animals out here tonight. I was looking at two of them.

  Eric opened the SUV tailgate, reached into the back, and dragged a bundle forward. The bundle gave a cry: the cry of a terrified child.

  Stay put, I ordered myself.

  Little kids have many different cries. Some cries are annoying. Others can be ignored. But the cry that came from the back of the SUV: that was the kind of cry that lassoes the mind and the heart and yanks you off your feet. The sort of cry that makes it impossible to stand your ground.

  But I had to bide my time. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

  I watched as the two men unwrapped the bundle. They muttered together, but I could no longer make out their words. No doubt it was just as well. Rosie wailed in the cold air.

  After several minutes Goretz wrapped up the little girl again. He slung her over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Meanwhile Eric slammed down the tailgate, climbed into the SUV, and switched on the big engine.

  Then, in the glare of the SUV headlights, I saw Ronald Goretz climb into the back of his van with Rosie. I knew what I had to do.

  Careful this time to avoid the cactus patch, I dropped to the ground again as the SUV roared up out of the wash. Then I took off jogging along the gravel road, heading back to my car. I listened hard for the sound of the van behind me, ready to fall to the ground once more. I tried not to think about what was taking Goretz so long.

  I’d almost reached the paved road when I halted. I was so focused on my plan, so hell-bent on achieving it, that it was hard to make myself stop and reconsider. The problem was, Goretz wasn’t doing what I’d expected.

  My strategy was to follow Goretz straight back to Silver Spur Drive and watch him lock Rosie in the shed. I would rescue Rosie, then call the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department. Goretz would be caught. And with the evidence on Eric’s computer, the whole sorry lot of them would be rounded up and arrested.

  But now Goretz was taking his time returning to Palm Desert. And he wasn’t reading to Rosie from a storybook, that was for sure.

  I pressed a hand to the small of my back, reassuring myself that I was packing my gun. Then I began to jog back to the oasis. Forget the plan. Right now, Rosie mattered more than anything.

  I was a hundred yards short of the oasis when I heard the van rumbling up the wash. For the third time, I hit the dirt. My frustration was mounting: I was two steps behind.

  The van rumbled past. Once it had disappeared from view I jumped to my feet and ran after it. My adrenaline pumped like a gusher, and it wasn’t long before I reached the paved road.

  The van was long gone by the time I climbed into the sedan and took off. But now I was certain Goretz was headed home, to his cozy place on Silver Spur.

  I wound back down through the dark desert bajada, then turned onto the highway heading south. I thought about what I’d overheard.

  At last the pieces fit into place. Milagros had been intended for Ronald Goretz. The lead pangero had given the little girls what he no doubt assumed was a mild narcotic – the dragon fruit. He hadn’t intended to kill Millie, but that was exactly what he’d done.

  And Rosie. Rosie Robledo was just along for the ride. The pangero had agreed to transport her too, for some extra cash from Chucha.

  When Millie died at sea, the pangero saw an opportunity to salvage the situation. Millie, no doubt, had a sizable price on her head, and the creep wasn’t about to let his cut slip away. The pangero knew who Chucha was, and he guessed she wouldn’t be in a position to do a goddamn thing about it.

  And so he’d delivered Chucha’s daughter to Agua Azul, in Millie’s place.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The one hundred block of Silver Spur Drive was quiet. A cat darted into the street, then changed its mind and shot back to the curb. Here and there a porch light emitted a fuzzy glow.

  I rolled past 153. Sure enough, the two-tone van was backed into the drive, nose pointed out to the street. A gleam of light shone from inside the house, leaking around the edges of the blinds. Funny, I thought, how dead-stillness can seem like peace.

  I continued on down the street and around the corner, into Riata Way. Then I pulled up just past the house that stood behind Goretz’s place. I’d driven down the street earlier in the day and taken a close look. I knew that an older man lived in the concrete block home at 176 Riata, and that he didn’t have a dog.

  Palm Desert isn’t big on streetlights, and there were none on Riata. I stepped out of the sedan and looked up. The black sky glistened with a silvery wash of stars. I paused for a moment, praying without words.

  Then the time for prayer was done.

  I hopped the low block wall enclosing the yard of 176. Hugging the fence, I crossed a graveled area and headed for the back property line.

  Goretz had erected a massive block wall behind
his home – I judged it to be seven or eight feet high. But the man hadn’t been able to control everything in his world. The perpendicular side wall running down the neighbors’ property was no more than five feet high.

  I hoisted myself up onto the side wall, then edged along to the point where the two walls met, behind big shed. A faint light glowed at the ridge line: light was seeping out through the tubular skylight on the west-facing flank of the roof.

  I cautioned myself to hold back. Goretz might be inside the shed. I couldn’t hear a sound – the structure was too well insulated for that. I couldn’t be sure.

  My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen: Gabi. I switched it off. I was sure it was important, but my partner and friend would have to wait.

  I shifted my weight a little and tried not to think about what might be happening in the room below me. My knee stung like hell, but now it was a welcome distraction.

  As I waited, I challenged myself. Maybe I should call local law enforcement immediately. They could trap Goretz – if not in the shed, then on the property. That’s what Mike would have counseled. But I knew it wasn’t a good move – not for Rosie, not in the long run.

  She needed to be with Chucha, if only for a short time. And after, she needed to be with someone who would care for her with love.

  Rosie was what they called ‘an unaccompanied minor.’ ICE would snag her – and then what? Would the little girl be shipped back to the mother who’d mistreated her? Or would she disappear into a gulag of temporary foster care, with no one to give a damn?

  I knew all about neglect. I knew neglect could make it difficult, or even impossible, to trust another human being – maybe for the rest of one’s life.

  No. I didn’t need anyone to tell me what was right.

  I pulled myself up onto the seven-foot wall. Then I dropped to the ground with a soft thud.