Certain Jeopardy by Struecker Jeff

Author:Struecker, Jeff
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2009-09-05T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 33

MOYER PARKED ON THE street near the alley that ran behind the Estevez restaurant. His watch showed 2330 hours on the dot. He and Jose walked the alley without speaking. From their briefing they knew the owner’s son had been gunned down on this very lane. Moyer thought of his own son and family then forced their faces from his mind. He needed to remain focused.

The light that poured from the window seemed paler than when they had dined there a short time before. Nothing unusual in that, Moyer decided. Business hours were over. He and Jose stepped up the stairs that led to the exterior stoop and knocked on the door.

The door opened and Moyer caught a glimpse of Reuben Estevez. He had his back turned to them. The hair on the back of Moyer’s neck stood, though he didn’t know why. Cautiously he stepped into the kitchen area. Only half of the overhead fluorescent lights were on, casting a dim light on metal tables, an old commercial stove, pots, pans, and a dozen resident objects in the kitchen.

“Señor Estevez.” When the man didn’t turn, Moyer whispered to Jose. “Heads up. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Estevez moved through the kitchen and into the dining room. Moyer and Jose followed.

The restaurant, which had been a cacophony of conversation a short time ago, held no noises other than the footfalls of three men and the gentle roar of a water heater firing up. Estevez moved slowly and like a man with purpose. He hung his head and barely moved his arms as he walked, which struck Moyer as odd.

The restaurant owner stepped to a table in the middle of the dining area. Moyer studied it. It looked like every other table in the place: red tablecloth, two bottles of hot sauce, a tall napkin dispenser, and a thin vase with two long-stem flowers. Nothing struck him as dangerous.

Estevez rounded the table and stood behind a chair. Moyer eyed him then closed the distance between them. When Moyer and Jose were five feet from the table, Estevez reached for something behind the napkin dispenser. Moyer tensed. Estevez stood with a gun in his hand, its barrel pointed at Moyer’s sternum. Moyer stopped midstep. Jose did the same.

Moyer kept his tone calm. “What’s this about?”

“You work for Santi.” Estevez’s hand shook, which made Moyer all the more nervous. “Do not deny it.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Estevez, but that isn’t true.”

“He and his foreign friends come to my restaurant then kill my son. I will avenge my boy.”

“By killing two innocent men?”

He raised the gun toward Jose. “There are no innocent men.” He extended his arm as if he were on a practice range.

“Even if we did work for Santi, killing me wouldn’t bring your son back.”

Pain-filled eyes fixed on Moyer. “No, it will not, but it will keep you and your kind from killing again.”

“How can we convince you that we are here to help?” Moyer moved his eyes to the man’s trigger finger. The gun was old and not well kept, not that it mattered.

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