6. Gangsta’s Paradise
Gangsta’s Paradise
Much as I would like to turn up at the gate to the Rodriguez family estate in my Aston Martin, I don’t want them to know what my personal car is. Plus, this is Official Police Business, so after two glasses of wine, I get Tim to pick me up from the restaurant.
‘How do you want to play this?’ Tim defers to me once we’re past the security gates and pressing the door buzzer.
Before I can answer, a really old song answers our summons.
Who Let The Dogs Out blasts from a speaker somewhere above us, and I smile wryly at my partner.
I’m surprised when the door swings open to reveal the head of the Rodriguez Cartel standing in front of us, dressed in cream slacks and a crisp grey shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
Vincent Rodriguez is around sixty, with a full head of silver hair and piercing grey eyes. He could be the legitimate businessman he portrays himself as, if it weren’t for the cartel tattoos winding up his arms and neck. Proof that he wasn’t always at the top of the criminal food chain.
There’s no muscle standing behind him. I take that to mean we’re not seen as a threat; this is being treated as a social call. Point taken. I find myself relaxing just slightly.
Glancing at Tim, I dip my head to let him know we’ll play it casual for now. You get more flies with honey- some old saying I’ve heard somewhere. Probably from Micah.
‘Mr. Rodriguez. Thank you for opening your door to us so late in the evening,’ Tim says smoothly, holding out his hand, his blue chambray sweater rising to show his wrist and microchip.
The head of the largest cartel on the Eastern Seaboard grasps my partner’s hand with a slight smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘I’m Detective Tim Easten. This is my partner, Eve Sinclair. We’re with the Paranormal Police Squad,’ he continues in a friendly manner. He’s much better at it than I am.
‘I know who you are,’ the older man tells us. ‘It’s the reason you were allowed through the gates. Come, let’s sit down where we can talk.’
Without waiting for an answer, he turns and heads toward the back of the house. As we follow, I admire the clean lines and minimalist decor, all glass and steel and light neutral colors.
This is Vincent Rodriguez’s private home, distanced from cartel activity. It’s basically a mansion, and I know he has several other residences. If there were anything illegal going on here, we wouldn’t have gained access to the driveway, let alone the house. I idly wonder where his third wife is.
‘Maria is in Saint Lucia,’ Vincent reads my mind as we’re seated in an opulent living area. ‘She needed a break from my crankiness.’
I kept the surprise from showing on my face at his openness.
His own tells me he dotes on his much younger wife.
Each to their own. Not what we’re here for.
And loving his wife doesn’t make him any less the boss of the largest cartel in NYC, if not the East Coast. It certainly doesn’t negate all his illegal activities.
Tim briefed me on the drive over that Rodriguez Senior was informed of the death of his cousin’s son, or whatever he was.
The media are being held at bay by a thin thread on the identity of Jake as the prime murder suspect- for now.
But I’m under no delusions that the man seated across from me, offering us his finest scotch, isn’t fully aware of the charges against the Sin City Alpha.
So I skip the prelims and get right to the point.
‘We would prefer if you let us handle this investigation, Mr. Rodriguez. We have reason to believe Jason’s murder was staged to look like a Lyco attack.
We’re not sure of the reasons yet. Anything you can tell us about his movements last night, any enemies or vendetta against him, would be extremely helpful.
I assure you, we will do everything in our power to find out who killed him.
’ I’m sitting with my legs crossed, leaning back, hands held loosely in my lap.
The picture of ease and understanding, mixed with professionalism and determination.
‘As a sign of respect for who you are and your reputation, Detective Sinclair, and your respect for me in not trying to whitewash me, I’ll give you forty-eight hours to find out who murdered my cousin’s least favorite son.
’ He has perfect diction, a deep rolling voice, and an undertone of a past that he can’t quite hide.
A kid from a poorer part of the city, who made his way ruthlessly up the ranks.
I stay quiet, hoping for more, my partner doing the same. It may not be an interrogation, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use some of the same methods. People often rush to fill the silence; it makes them uncomfortable.
‘I don’t want a war with the Weres. Or to get in the middle of Pack infighting.
It’s no secret Janus wants to merge his pack with the Sin City one.
As long as it doesn’t spill over into my territory, I’m willing to let it play out.
But I also cannot be seen to let a Werewolf, especially an Alpha, get away with taking out one of my men- especially not one related to me. I’m sure you understand.’
Vincent Rodriguez leans casually back in his chair, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, cut-glass crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand. But I’m not about to make the mistake of thinking he’s relaxed- or that his little speech isn’t a subtle threat.
If we don’t come up with the goods, all bets are off. But having his ear to the ground, along with the Vamps and Jake’s pack, can’t hurt. I choose to view it as an added bonus. But I’m not about to tell him that. Instead, I smile to show we understand each other, and he lifts his glass in salute.
‘Any idea what he was doing in the alley outside Delilah’s last night?’ Tim asks, taking advantage of Vincent’s current openness. He gazes longingly at the alcohol, reminding me it’s been a long twenty-four hours for both of us. At least I had wine with dinner.
‘He wasn’t working,’ Vincent says firmly, his eyes narrowing as he looks between us. ‘If that’s what you’re asking.’
‘We know he wasn’t slinging, but he did take supps himself,’ I say, calmly but firmly, maintaining eye contact. We came for info, and I intend to get as much as I can while he’s willing to give it.
‘These fucking young ones. Jacking themselves up, trying to get bigger muscles. It’s ridiculous,’ the head of the Cartel says with derision.
I wonder if he has rules about his boys imbibing the merchandise. Merch he won’t admit to having any part of. I need to keep my poker face and focus on what’s important. We’re not here to bust him on what he does and doesn’t have his guys slinging on the streets.
‘Off the record?’ he asks, leaning forward intently. It’s a question of trust. He’s feeling us out, the same as we’re doing to him. It’s a balancing act, and my respect for him goes up.
‘Yes,’ Tim says before I can respond. ‘We don’t care what he did or didn’t do for you. We’re not here to bust you on anything. We’re here for answers from the relative of a murder victim. Anything you can tell us about his activities last night will help us build a clearer picture.’
Vincent Rodriguez nods and swirls his top-shelf scotch, a thoughtful look on his face. I shove away the image of another glass earlier this evening, filled with what was definitely not alcohol.
‘So, yeah,’ he slips into the vernacular of his past. ‘I’m sure he was having a good time, and I’m sure he did use the merch, but I can tell you he wouldn’t be out in a back alley behind a notorious club buying or selling.’
‘That’s what we thought,’ Tim confirms with a slight smile, aiming to put Rodriguez at ease. It’s a simple play: agree with him to keep him talking and sharing vital info.
‘Maybe taking a piss. Was he drunk?’ he asks, shrugging his designer-clad shoulders. I wonder how well he knew his cousin’s least favorite son.
‘Blood alcohol slightly over the limit,’ I repeat what Ruby Blue told us earlier. ‘Maybe a tryst he didn’t want anyone to know about?’ I’m shooting in the dark, hoping to hit any target.
‘Could be. I’ll ask around, see what anyone knows.
I don’t know of any enemies, but who the fuck knows?
I don’t keep track of the younger generation, unless it impacts my business.
’ His honesty is refreshing. Maybe it’s his age, or maybe he’s secure in his position.
We’re not here to bust him, and in return, he’s being more forthright than I expected.
Tim stands and flashes a holo-card with his micro details on it, allowing Vincent Rodriguez to capture the info with his own micro.
‘One more thing,’ I add as we follow him back down the vast hallway. I keep my tone casual, as if we’re friends catching up. ‘We will need to question those closest to him.’
I’m not really asking permission, but it helps if it seems that way.
It’s part of our job, and we’re all aware of that fact, but I’m giving him a level of respect due to his position in the city, despite it being mostly associated with illegal enterprises - the ‘more flies with honey’ idiom again.
As far as I can tell, and I’m pretty damn good at reading people, he’s been honest with us, so I return the gesture.
‘I’ll let the boys know. They’ll all cooperate.’ He looks me up and down, taking my measure. There’s nothing sexual in it, despite his reputation and the three wives, and that he’s attractive for his age.
I almost breathe out in sheer relief. He’s made our job that much easier. Instead, I hold out my hand, his grip firm and smooth. Tim follows suit.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr. Rodriguez. We appreciate your help,’ I tell the cartel boss, remembering to smile.
‘Let me know if you need anything at all, Ms. Sinclair,’ Vincent Rodriguez throws out his parting shot as the door closes behind us.
Ms., not Detective. As a police officer, I can’t be seen letting a cartel help with this investigation in any way, aside from interviews. So he’s offering it to Eve Sinclair, girlfriend of the Sin City Alpha, instead.
‘I always forget Jake’s Pack is still called Sin City,’ Tim comments once we’re back in our department-issued autocar.
I hate that name and prefer not to use it. By the time the Pack had moved from Las Vegas across to NYC with their old Alpha, it was too ingrained to be changed. Jake once told me that when he took over ten years ago, he didn’t care enough to make it an issue.
‘Better than Devil’s Edge,’ I say with a wry smile. ‘I wonder what Janus Two-Face would rename it if he did take over.’
‘Thankfully, we’ll never find out,’ my partner says seriously, as I lean back and close my eyes.
The smooth, cool leather of the seat, coupled with the almost soundless motion of the car, soothes me. Even if it only lasts for the ride, I’ll take it.