Ch. 28 – Rico
R ico’s heart clobbered in his chest. His lungs burned with acid. His legs felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. He forced them to keep moving, pumping his arms with each stride. Rico’s steps ate up the pavement as he conquered another block of downtown San Diego. A little longer. A little farther. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered if his heart would explode.
Rico’s watch dinged to note the final mile, and he stumbled into a shambling walk, gasping for air. After his vision centered, he glanced at his watch. A new five-mile record time.
Grim satisfaction filled him. He’d been destroying himself in the gym and on his morning runs this entire week. He welcomed the pain in his body. It helped dilute the ongoing discomfort in his soul. When his lungs were almost bursting, when his muscles burned with agony, then, finally, he didn’t have the energy to think of her. Jacklyn. Her terrified expression dissolved from his brain. All his hidden self-doubts couldn’t find a perch.
But now, as he caught his breath, those self-doubts trickled back into his gray matter. Why couldn’t he shake her? And why was he too chicken shit to text or call to make sure she was all right? The answer was obvious. If he called, she might confirm his fears that he was the reason she’d looked so scared that night; that she’d been disgusted by his kiss.
Rico heaved out a leaden breath as he turned the corner a block from his building. In the distance, the sun climbed over the horizon, and the air still held just a bit of the night chill. He caught sight of a female figure in front of him, her trim body wrapped in tight workout clothes.
She walked aggressively, elbows bent at 90-degree angles, arms pumping with each step, her platinum blond ponytail swinging side to side like the tail of a golden retriever.
Rico noticed her round ass and the graceful sweep of her long legs—he was still a red-blooded man, after all. But though the male part of him stirred, his heart held no interest. Two weeks ago, he might have matched her stride, offered her a winning smile, and seen where things went. Maybe her eyes would have sparkled with recognition or saucy curiosity. Maybe he would have given her a few compliments on her aerobic capacity. Maybe he would have rolled his R s.
Today, he let the woman power walk farther away as he drew closer to his building.
At the front of the building, a lone figure hunched over a whirring weedwhacker. Rico’s stomach tightened at the sight of the man. The straw hat. The sun-darkened face. The calloused hands. He remembered the landscaper. The man looked up, smiled, and turned toward him.
“Oh my God, watch out!” The blond woman stepped to the side as the weedwhacker swung near her leg. The head of the weedwhacker would have missed her by a few inches even if she hadn’t moved, but it did send grass clippings tumbling over her spotless white-and-pink shoes .
“What the hell!” She ripped her Apple AirPods from her ears. “You almost chopped my leg off!”
The landscaper shut off the weedwhacker and ducked his head. “Lo siento, se?ora.”
She thrust her hands onto her hips. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
“He apologized,” Rico said as he approached the two of them.
“Well, maybe he should speak English,” she spat.
The landscaper turned to Rico. “La gringa, why is she so angry?” he asked in Spanish.
“Gringa? Did you just call me a gringa?” The woman gasped. She looked between the two men, her eyes narrowing. “You can’t talk to me that way!”
“Hey,” Rico said, his voice growing sharp. “It was just an accident. No one got hurt. Let’s just all calm down.”
“Oh, you want me to calm down?” Her voice was rising, her arms flapping. “I was nearly assaulted by this man.”
Whatever vestiges of attractiveness he might have felt for the woman a minute ago disappeared. Inversed. She was ugly now, her rage and cruelty transforming the way he saw her.
“You weren’t nearly assaulted,” Rico said sternly.
“Lo siento,” the landscaper said again.
“ENGLISH,” she hollered at him. “This is America. We speak English in this country.”
“You might want to brush up on your civics, lady,” Rico said, his voice flinty. “The United States doesn’t have an official language.”
Her blue eyes flashed with rage. “It should.” She turned, her ponytail whipping around her face. “Fucking Mexicans,” she hissed under her breath before jamming her AirPods back into her ear canals and speed-walking away .
Rico watched her retreat, his whole body thrumming with anger. No matter how perfect his English, how nice his clothes, how much in taxes he paid every year, there would always be people who took one look at his brown skin and saw him as other.
“I’m sorry about her,” he finally managed, speaking in Spanish to the older man in the straw hat.
The landscaper waved it all away with a casual shrug and a smile. “That gringa, she needs to relax,” he replied. Rico wondered if the man faced this kind of vitriol and suspicion regularly.
“I’ll reach out to the building’s management and let them know what really happened, just in case she tries to get you in trouble,” Rico told the man, struggling to find the right words in Spanish.
The man’s smile grew. “You need to work on your Spanish, hijo,” he said warmly. “I’m Miguel.”
“Rico Torres.” Rico stuck out his hand.
“I know,” Miguel said. “You are on the television. My wife thinks you are very handsome.”
Rico laughed. After a few more pleasantries, he offered Miguel a warm goodbye and headed into his building. As he reached the door of the lobby, he heard the sound of the weedwhacker start up again.
*
“This is weird. You know this is weird, right?” Chuck asked. The grizzled cameraman lounged on the small couch in Rico’s office.
“Huh?” Rico snapped to attention. He’d been staring at notes on his computer screen for a full minute, not reading a single word. The morning’s altercation with the speed-walking Karen still echoed in his mind.
“That.” Chuck pointed a blunt finger at Rico’s shoulder.
Rico turned his face and received whisker kisses from Sancho. Turns out, the rat delighted in hanging on Rico’s shoulder. In his research, he’d discovered that rats were highly social and emotionally intelligent. They could bond with their human companions and enjoyed contact. Of course, he did have to return Sancho to his travel case regularly for bathroom breaks and now kept an extra shirt and suit jacket in the office in case of accidents.
“That is not normal,” Chuck stated.
“Sancho gets separation anxiety,” Rico replied, reaching up to pat Sancho’s head. He tried to re-focus on his notes. The malevolent Diane had assigned him a story about a local school attempting to set a world record this afternoon for the largest container of popcorn ever built.
Why popcorn? What the hell did that have to do with learning? It made zero sense, and yet he’d be out there this afternoon in the sun filming it all. He’d probably sweat through his shirt and look shiny on the broadcast. Better bring extra face powder, he thought to himself.
“Isn’t that the rat you’re trying to get rid of?” Chuck’s gruff voice broke his concentration again.
Rico looked up from his monitor. “I’m not trying to ‘get rid of him.’” He tented his fingers. “I’m trying to humanely re-home him. There’s a difference.”
Chuck scoffed as he picked at a scab on his elbow. “I heard you tried to ‘re-home’ your rat with Danny from the mail room. The guy lives in his mom’s basement and is very likely a serial killer.”
Rico sat back in his chair. “There’s no proof Danny’s a serial killer. Trust me, I’ve checked. He’s just a very quiet guy who has a little trouble relating to other humans. Maybe having a pet would do him some good.”
But to be honest, Rico wasn’t sure he would have felt comfortable releasing Sancho into Danny’s custody even if the quiet mail tech had agreed (which he hadn’t). In fact, Rico was starting to wonder if anyone could really give Sancho all the attention he deserved. Would Sancho receive a carefully ratioed medley of fresh fruits and veggies each morning from a new owner? (Note: 80 percent vegetables to 20 percent fruit.) What about adequate exercise and socialization time? Would they appreciate Sancho’s curious nature, his quiet wisdom, and his occasional streaks of cheekiness?
A knock sounded at the door. A curly-haired intern stepped into the room and blushed as she met Rico’s eyes.
“I, um, finished the research you requested,” she stammered. “I put it all in the project folder online, but I also printed it off . . . just in case.” She looked down at the file folder in her hands and blushed some more.
“Great.” Rico stood and took the folder from her. “Thanks, uh . . . Denise?”
Her face fell. “Danielle.”
“Danielle, of course. Sorry.” He was already opening the folder, scanning the first page.
She nodded, caught sight of the rat, and let out a short scream.
“This is Sancho,” Rico said.
Her face turning a slight shade of green, Debra turned on her heels and not-so-subtly fled the office.
“Rude,” Rico muttered as he opened the folder. Chuck made a noise in the back of his throat. Rico glanced up from the folder. “What?”
“You never forget the names of the interns,” his cameraman said. “The female interns, that is.”
“Sure, I do. I forget them all the time.”
Chuck shook his head. “That girl was practically in heat over you and you barely noticed her. What’s going on? ”
“Nothing,” Rico snapped. “Diane will chop off my balls if I date another intern. They’re off limits.”
Chuck raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Nah. This seems different.”
Rico frowned. “Get out. I have actual work to do. Go find a wide lens or whatever. We have a lot of popcorn to record this afternoon.”
Chuck slowly rocked to his feet but paused at the door of Rico’s office. “You’re losing your touch, Torres,” he teased.
“Out,” Rico ordered.
After the grizzled cameraman was gone, Rico stared down at the file with a frown. Chuck didn’t know what he was talking about. Rico Torres was as hot-blooded as they came. Sure, he hadn’t pursued speed-walking Karen this morning, which was probably the best decision of his life. And he’d forgotten the name of the intern. And he hadn’t accepted cake from that cute nurse at the senior home earlier in the week.
Hmmmm , maybe he was off his game. Obviously, the beautiful Jacklyn was getting into his head and into his balls.
“Get over her,” he ordered himself. She’d literally fled from him, which was as clear a sign of not gonna happen as they came.
Sancho moved to his other shoulder, rose on his hind legs, and sniffed at Rico’s earlobe.
“Not the hair,” Rico chided as he lifted the rat from his shoulder and put him on the desk. “We’ve discussed this.”
Step one in freeing his mind from the tantalizing and torturous Jacklyn? Focus on work. He knew he was tempting fate by asking interns to pull research on the Mayor Bishop story, but if Diane got suspicious, he’d just claim he was doing a warm and fuzzy feature on small-town mayors in San Diego.
Dropping into his chair, Rico flipped open the folder once again. Desiree had done an admirably thorough job of digging into a suspicious organization Rico had flagged known as the Small Cities, Big Achievements Super PAC. Short for Political Action Committees, super PACs didn’t have to worry about donor limitations like political campaigns did. They could accept unlimited money from donors and spend it on anything, from supporting individual politicians to pursuing ballot initiatives or trying to get new laws passed.
As far as Rico was concerned, super PACs were just another way for wealthy individuals and corporations to circumvent the normal system, pour money into their own priorities, and put their thumb on the scale of politics. Super PACS proliferated throughout the US and supported everything from presidential races to local ballot measures.
Rico had discovered that Small Cities, Big Achievements had spent a significant sum buying local ads for Mayor Bishop’s last campaign and hosting meet and greets throughout Yucca Hills. Now, as he read through their financial disclosure documents, his suspicions were confirmed.
The super PAC’s generous coffers had been filled by a single entity, Porter Development Co. In other words, Porter was the super PAC.
Over the next few hours, Rico did the obvious. He followed the money. A pattern quickly emerged. Small Cities, Big Achievements spent gobs of money on local races throughout California, Nevada, and Arizona. They propped up local mayors, planning board commissioners, and governors. And—surprise, surprise—in each city where the super PAC donated, local officials inevitably voted through a large new building project helmed by Porter Development Co.
Rico sat back in his chair. It was a clear pay-to-play scheme. Porter got officials elected or re-elected and, in return, received approval for their projects.
Rico’s eyes trailed to last year’s financial disclosures from the super PAC, to all the money they’d thrown into Mayor Bishop’s campaign .
So, what exactly did Porter Development Company want to build in Yucca Hills?
“The Terrace,” Rico murmured to himself. And where exactly would The Terrace break ground? He had a bad feeling that he knew the answer.
Rico grabbed his phone and dialed. It took an exasperatingly long time to get all the guys on a group call together.
“Hue, what the fuck took so long?” Rico growled. “I’ve been dialing you for fifteen minutes. This is important.”
“I was on the can, Jesus,” Hue answered.
“Did not need to know that,” Sully chimed in.
“Do you eat any vegetables ever?” This from Theo.
“A man deserves to take his time on the porcelain throne,” Hue announced.
“Honest to God, you might want to see a doctor about that,” Theo replied.
“Well, this is off to a good start,” Sully muttered.
“Okay, okay, okay, enough about Hue’s shitting schedule.” Rico pinched the bridge of his nose. “I think I found something about Bishop’s connection to the winery.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Hue demanded. “Lay it on us.”
“Okay.” Rico put his elbows onto his desk. Sancho ran up his arm and took his place on Rico’s shoulder. “Bishop got a lot of financial support in his last reelection campaign from a super PAC entirely financed by a big commercial development company.”
Someone—it sounded like Theo—groaned on the other end of the line.
Rico plowed forward. “I can’t prove anything yet, but I think the company wants to build something called The Terrace on Theo’s land. ”
“The Terrace?” Hue scoffed. “Sounds like some yuppy yacht club where they hunt homeless people in the woods for fun.”
“If Bishop knows this company wants to set up shop on Theo’s land, then maybe he’s trying to buy the winery to line his own pockets,” Sully added.
“Or because he knows I’d never sell at any price,” Theo added.
“Whatever the reason, this isn’t over yet,” Rico continued. “If Bishop made a promise to the development company or if he’s looking for a payday—”
“Or both,” Hue growled.
“Or both,” Rico agreed, “then The Rose and Thorn is still at risk. Bishop could try to sabotage the place again and he might do something worse than just cut a few irrigation lines. We don’t know how desperate he is.”
“Okay, okay, okay,” Sully said. Rico could imagine the other man pushing up his glasses as his analytical mind hummed. “So, can we bring this information to the police?”
“With what proof?” Theo sounded despondent. “All we have are suspicions and Rico’s gut. They’d laugh us right out of the station.”
“Then we need proof,” Hue boomed.
“I was thinking the same.” Rico’s fingers tightened on his phone. “Look, I’ll keep digging on my end. Maybe Bishop was sloppy and I’ll find some proof he’s coordinating with the development company. I also have a source I can lean on.”
“What do we do in the meantime?” Sully asked.
Rico leaned forward, his voice lowering. “In the meantime, we catch that SOB in the act.”
“Yes. This!” Hue declared. He paused. “And how exactly do we do that? ”
“Motion sensor cameras,” Sully responded at once. “We can put them up throughout the property. Whenever something moves, the cameras will turn on and record. I can set them up to automatically upload the video to your network, Theo.”
“Network?”
Sully groaned. “Okay, I can set up a network for you, then install the cameras.”
“How fast can we get the cameras?” Rico asked.
“I’ll order them today,” Sully said. “They’ll probably arrive by Sunday. Hue and I can spend all of Monday setting them up.
“What if the mayor comes by again before then?” Theo asked.
“Stakeout!” Hue crowed.
“Okay, so this is officially insane.” Theo sounded weary.
“I think Hue is right,” Rico agreed after a pause to consider. Today was Friday. “That means we just have to cover this weekend. We’ll take shifts. Who wants to take tonight?”
“Guys, no shifts. It’s my winery. I’ll keep an eye out,” Theo said immediately.
“Like hell you will,” Hue immediately erupted. “You’re going to that fancy schmancy wine-tasting competition this weekend. You’ve been blabbing about it nonstop like a teenage girl obsessing over prom. Fact, I’m pretty sure you can only orgasm to the thought of that competition.”
“I don’t have to go to the Southern California Wine and Spirits Jamboree.” Theo’s voice ached with regret. “I’ll send Breanna.”
Hue burst out laughing so loud Rico had to pull the phone away from his ear. “Breanna? Dude, I know you’ve been dating her for twenty years, but she couldn’t tell pinot noir from a pinot grigio.”
“It’s been four years,” Theo grumbled.
“You’re going to that competition,” Hue clarified .
“One of us can keep a lookout at the winery tonight,” Sully jumped in. “Hue, how about you?”
“Can’t man.” Regret laced Hue’s voice. “I have to finish repainting my empty unit tonight. I’ve got three showings tomorrow. Otherwise I would. What about you, Sully?”
“I can’t, either,” Sully admitted. “Alanna and I are celebrating our three-month anniversary. We have reservations and everything.”
Hue scoffed. Theo groaned. Rico threw up a little in his mouth.
“That’s just sad, man,” Hue said.
“Mock all you want,” Sully replied. “I’m going to bed with the most beautiful woman in the world tonight. You’ll probably be spooning with your dog.”
Something sharp and painful carved into Rico’s chest. He wished he had someone in his bed tonight. And not just someone. Jax.
“That leaves you, Rico,” Hue said. “Your utter fear of commitment finally paid off. You’re completely alone.”
Crude as he was, Hue hadn’t lied. Rico was alone, though not for the reason Hue thought. It wasn’t Rico’s fear of commitment that had damaged his relationship with Jax. She was the one who had run away.
“Sure, fine. I’ll do it,” Rico said as Sancho sniffed under his chin.
Jax’s rejection hurt so fucking much. But it also meant his Friday night was wide open. He might as well use his free time to help his friend and possibly catch a corrupt mayor while he was at it.