Dead Cold Mysteries Box Set #2: Books 5-8 (A Dead Cold Box Set), Blake Banner [readnow TXT] 📗

I waved a hand at her. “Ah, no sweat. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

She sighed noisily through her nose. It may have been a suppressed snarl. “You want to go see him?”

I stood. “Why not?”

El Chato had his premises on the corner of Rhineland Avenue and White Plains Road. It was a narrow, three story building painted an obnoxious bright yellow, with the living accommodation upstairs and the shop on the ground floor.

The front door was mainly glass and plywood, with flaking, desiccated varnish peeling off like dandruff on a balding scalp. As I pushed it open an electronic notifier mocked us with an ‘ee-oh’ sound, and another as it closed. Behind the counter, a big Mexican in his mid to late thirties stood up from a workbench to look at us. I glanced around. He sold belts and boot polish, fixed shoes and handbags, and also made keys. You could tell by his expression that he knew who we were. He leaned his elbows on the counter and said, “I know you don’t just want duplicates for your keys.”

We showed him our badges. “I’m Detective Stone, this is Detective Dehan. Are you Julio Beltran?”

“Yup.” He had the expression of a man who has stopped wincing because he knows the blow is coming anyway. “What can I do for you, Detectives?”

“We’re just looking for some information. Back in 1999, you did a series of jobs in East Bronx.”

He nodded. “For which I served my time, attended my courses, and have stayed out of trouble ever since.”

Dehan said, “We are not questioning that, Julio. But ’round that time, in September, there was a break-in on Bogart Avenue. You know anything about that?”

He pulled a face and shook his head. “Nothin’ to do with me.” He straightened up. “When they caught me, that guy almost killed me. He broke my jaw, four ribs, an’ my right elbow.” He pointed at Dehan. “Best thing that ever happen to me. That guy’s name is Gunnar Olafsen. An’ he is now my best friend, and my sensei. You know that?”

I sighed. “That is very touching.”

“No, I’m serious, man. He scared the shit out of me. I thought I was gonna die that night, but he knew when to stop. See what I mean? That’s what I learnt. Know when to stop. Then he called the ambulance an’ the cops. An’ after that he used to come and visit me in the jail. He talked to me. He convinced me to make a new start. I owe that guy my life. Two times over at that. So what I’m tellin’ you. I came clean. I told the cops everythin’. Clean slate.”

Dehan raised an eyebrow at him. “What about the knife fights and the woundings?”

He made an ugly face that said she was stupid and waved a hand at her. “Anda por ahí ya, pendeja! That was nothin’ to do with you! That was between us. None of the cops’ fockin’ business. We have our disagreements and we solve them ourselves.” He shook a finger at her. “But it was within the Sureños, eh? It did not involve anybody outside. It was private matters of ours. None of your goddamn business.”

I said, “Do you know Sylvie Martin?”

He shrugged and spread his hands. “No…”

“You ever been involved with the St. George’s Methodist Church on Fowler Avenue?”

He stared at me. “Oh, now wait a minute. Bogart Avenue? That the one that’s parallel to Fowler?”

I frowned, nodded.

He sighed and spread his arms wide, like he was a victim on the cross. “C’mon man!” He kind of staggered away, then came back, looking at us like we were being unreasonable. “You gotta be kidding me. The house that backs on to the church? The cute blonde?”

We didn’t say anything. We just watched him and waited for it. He shook his finger in the negative. “You ain’t gonna pin nothing on me there. I never broke into that house. I was gonna. It was on my list. Okay? I am coming clean with you. I was gonna break in. But man, she was always in the goddamn house! An’ if she wasn’t there, that fockin’ kid, the gardener was there. An’ the one time I got into the back garden, that fockin’ freak from the church was hiding in the bushes, sees me, an’ starts screaming and hitting me! Like the fockin’ hunchback of Notre-fockin-Dame!” He surprised me and burst out laughing. “El Diavolo! El Diavolo!”

I held up a hand. “Let me get this straight, Julio. You staked out the house…”

He nodded. “Yeah. It was one of the houses I had on my list. I was an apprentice locksmith. We did some work at the house. Upgraded the locks or something, I don’t recall. Anyways, it was on my list. I staked it out a couple of nights. But it wasn’t worth the fockin’ risk, man. She was always either at home or in the church. The Arab kid was always in the garden. Then that weird fockin’ freak scared the shit out of me and I moved on. I guess God was givin’ me a warning. I should’a paid heed, huh?”

Dehan and I stared at each other for a moment. Then I looked at El Chato. “Who was your boss?”

He grabbed one of his business cards and scribbled on the back. “Klive’s Keys. He won’t give me a good reference, you know what I mean? But he’ll confirm I was working for him.”

“Okay.” I took the card. “Where were you two years ago?”

He shrugged. “Here. Where else?”

I nodded and we turned to go. At the door, he called me back. “Hey, Detective. What was it, a homicide?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Why?”

He kind of winced. “Was it her? She had a baby girl…”

I