The First Felony by Danny R Smith

Author:Danny R Smith [Smith, Danny R]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-02-21T00:00:00+00:00

25

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

Josie looked out over the bureau parking lot from the shade of the building, her cell phone at her ear. With two missed calls, a text from a number she didn’t recognize, and a message saying it was Jerry and he needed to talk to her, she could only imagine something was wrong.

The sounds of chatter and music filled the background. Jerry said, “I need another favor.”

He told her about the robbery, said he’d been beaten and left with what he believed to be a broken rib or two. If they weren’t broken, they were severely bruised. No, he wasn’t going to the hospital. It’s fucking Tijuana, he said. Why bother? The thugs had taken his cell phone and his wallet containing cash, credit cards, and identification. Without these things, he couldn’t survive in Mexico or get back into the U.S. A broken rib or two was the least of his concerns.

“So, what can I do, Jerry?”

“The safe deposit box. I need the money and my passport.”

She pictured a bank vault where the money was stashed, saw herself being escorted into the private room by a rotund man with a bad comb-over, or maybe a studious woman with specs on a chain around her neck, a ring of keys on a colorful spiral wristband. Her host would direct her to the box in question and leave her alone in the room with instructions on how to notify someone when she was finished. Soon after, she’d be walking out of the bank with a bag of cash that some very bad people might claim as their own and be ready to recover. The thought crossed her mind that she needed to ramp up her off-duty officer safety vigilance—double-check to ensure she wasn’t being tailed by anyone when she left the office and keep an even closer eye on any activity near her home. Tell her mother not to answer the door for anyone she didn’t know.

She said, “You want me to cross over again.”

He was silent for a moment, and Josie heard the voice of a woman speaking Spanish. Josie pictured him at a bar. Not the Caballo—no, it was too quiet for him to be there—but likely at some other Tijuana pub where beady eyes no doubt surveyed him. She said, “Jerry, where are you?”

“I’m at a little place near the beach. I know the woman who runs it, and I came here to get a drink and borrow her cell phone.”

“Get a drink.”

“Yeah, I needed a drink, Josie. It’s been a while since I’ve had my ass kicked, ya know?”

“But you have no money.”

“The woman here, Lucinda, knows I’m good for it. Fact, if you need to leave me a message, get ahold of her. It’s the Puesta del Sol cantina.”

“The Sunset bar, uh?”

“It’s a dive, but it’s near the beach and not far from my apartment.”

Josie pictured a brightly colored ramshackle hovel, sheets of hinged-plywood window coverings raised to shield beachfront boozers in their flip flops, their skin leathery from the afternoon sun.

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