FRENEMIES
The call came while Ironside was enjoying coffee and taking in a rural morning scene of blue sky and mountains, accompanied by a soundtrack of dogs barking, Basque yodeling, and the myriad sounds of farm animals in residence at the Double B, courtesy of his seat on Ed's back deck. He pulled out the cell from his coat pocket.
"Mr. Ironside?" The voice was young, intense, and formal.
"Speaking."
"My name is Saul Rogers. Edward Rogers is my uncle. I understand you wish to express condolences on the death of my cousin, Gabriella."
"To your uncle, yes."
"You also said you had information regarding Uncle Edward's granddaughter? You can provide me with that information. I will make sure my uncle receives it."
"I believe I was clear when I left the message. I will talk only to him. I don't deal with underlings, no matter what their relationship is. I'll meet him in the Teatro's dining room at one pm. I've booked a table for two." He hung up.
Sarah set the coffeepot down on the table next to him, settling herself in the chair beside it. "I was going to ask you if you wanted to take a lady to lunch, but I heard you make other plans."
Ironside poured himself another mug and refilled Sarah's. "Believe me, Sarah, I'd much rather have lunch with you at May's Diner."
"Flatterer. Tell me about Eddie Rogers."
"He's trying to retire from running the mob in San Francisco."
"I didn't mean that."
"We didn't have contact with Eddie after Dave's murder. was solved. He stayed out of trouble."
"I asked Cat the other day about her family. She mentioned a grandmother in Arizona, Gabriella's mother. That was it. It seems she is unaware of this grandfather."
Ironside filed the information away. Eddie Rogers was married, and the pictures of his current wife that Gertie Lade had emailed him showed a woman of Japanese descent. It was a question he'd ask at lunch. Perhaps a mother needed to be notified that her daughter was dead. Maybe Arizona authorities needed a contact.
"You told Saul his uncle was to come alone. Is that safe?"
"Yes. Eddie isn't a shooter. He's a thinker. It's why he was so successful in running the mob in San Francisco. Neither are his boys, though I'm certain they're trained to do so if the situation arises. I'm also certain that young nephew Saul will be somewhere in the dining room and some of his protection. Eddie knows about Pepe Alvarado and the contract on him. He'll take precautions."
"What about you, Robert? What will you do?"
He pulled out his phone, tapping a number in. "Your honor. How is your first day of the conference going? Really, that good? Mark, I need you. Justice Sotomayor will understand; she's an ex-prosecutor herself. I need someone to keep an eye on Saul Rogers, Eddie's nephew, who thinks he's this generation's Michael Corleone. I'm sure he'll be somewhere in the dining room, and Eddie doesn't travel without protection. I want to know how many we're dealing with and who. Sorry, you have to break your lunch date with Justice Sotomayor. Perhaps the next time you're in DC? Give Sonia my best, will you, Mark?"
His next call was to Jerry Abbey. "That's right; I want everything available on Saul Rogers, his uncle Edward, and anyone else associated with them. Good, and Jerry, plan on having lunch with Mark Sanger at the Teatro at 12:30 today. Bring the material with you then. Yes, I expect you and Mark will have a great deal to talk about. Under no circumstances are you to acknowledge I'm in the room until Mark gives you the sign, nor is Ed to know anything about this meeting either. Not until later. What do you mean, is there a dress code? Who do you think I am, flaming Ralph Lauren? A tie, and a smile, for all I know. Goodbye, Sergeant Abbey." He ended the call.
"Sometimes, I don't know what Ed sees in him."
Sarah smiled. "Ed would be lost without him. Jerry always has his back."
"They make a good team."
"Don't forget, Sam."
"Sam McAllister should be a chief in his own right."
Sarah looked at him. "You're worried, Robert, about your children, and now you find that the family has grown. It's not just the four of them anymore. It's their spouses, children, and those who have been brought in on this case. You want to keep them safe."
"Sarah, they're not my…"
"Oh, tosh Robert Ironside! Listen to yourself. Lie to yourself. Lie to them, but do not ever lie to me. The minute Mark told you he needed to talk to you about something before going to Denver, you were packed and ready to go before you got to his office. I know you were." She said indignantly.
Robert Ironside looked momentarily cowed. "Who's with Catalina right now?"
"Ben Johnson. They're supposed to be doing homework. They're more likely playing Age of Empires or chess from the laughter. Why?"
"I need a ride into Denver; appears you're it."
Sarah laughed. "All right, Robert, give me a few moments to get ready, and you've got yourself a driver. I'll try to have lunch with Fran. We haven't done that recently, and that way, should you need it, I can give you a ride home."
Ironside slapped his hands on his thighs. "You call Fran, and I'll get ready for lunch with Eddie Rogers."
The Teatro was one of the oldest hotels in Denver, dating back to Molly Brown and the mining kings. Rumor was she inaugurated the bar by turning cartwheels on the zinc top. It was exactly the type of place Eddie Rogers would pick to stay in. Old Europe meets Wild West.
The dining room reflected it. Though the latest design team had attempted to update it, there was a city-wide uproar when the discussion turned to removing the original ponderosa pine paneling and ceiling. The team had made minor modifications to the room. There was now better lighting and airflow. The menu had been changed slightly for those needing vegan or gluten-free options. They had the wisdom to keep the 25-ounce dry-aged New York strip steak and buffalo stew, and the truly adventurous could still order the Rocky Mountain Oysters as an appetizer, raved about by no less a personage than Anthony Bourdain. It was a comfortable clubby place, intimate enough to make deals and have conversations without shouting—a perfect place for business meetings.
Robert Ironside pushed himself into the dining room entrance in the furthest corner of the restaurant; he saw Eddie Rogers. Greeting him, the maître' d took the handles of his chair and wheeled him to the table where Rogers sat. The waitstaff removed a chair from the table for him. Water was poured, menus were presented, and drink orders were taken.
"Chief Ironside. It's been a long time."
"Yes, it has. I'm not Chief anymore, just Bob."
"Eddie." They shook hands.
Their drinks arrived; they saluted each other and sipped.
"My condolences on the deaths of your daughter and son-in-law."
"Thank you. It's very hard right now. I've been asked to identify the bodies this afternoon."
"Would you like company?"
"No, Chief Brown called me this morning. He will accompany me. Thank you, though." He drank his martini and gestured for another one that was promptly delivered. "Why are you here in Denver, Bob?"
"Judge Sanger is an old and dear friend. He asked me to join him at the conference here. Chief Brown and his wife are also old friends."
"Yet, you're having lunch with me."
"Yes."
"Chief Ironside, Bob, let's not play games. Judge Sanger is working on an investigation regarding Francisco Alvarado, Pepe, as you call him. He received evidence of a contract on my life. Yes, Bob, don't look so surprised; I still have some connections. I know you met with him yesterday to discuss this with him. You knew about the house fire and the deaths of my daughter and Peter. You are working to find my granddaughter. I suspect you have found her already. We were on the same flight to Denver. Need I go on?"
"No, you don't."
The waiter arrived with their salads. They waited until he had finished with grindings of black pepper and parmesan cheese before resuming the conversation.
"Tell me about Catalina. Where is she? Is she safe?"
"She is well and very safe; I can tell you that much."
"Have you seen her?"
Ironside held back a moment. Rogers probably knew every step he'd taken after getting off the plane too. "Yes, I have."
"Tell me about her."
"She's a delightful young lady. Very direct, honest, and intelligent. I'm told she's quite a writer and an artist as well."
"Dr. Brown must be delighted by that. I know where she is, Chief Ironside. Chief Brown could trust only one person to protect her, himself. I want to see her."
"You need to ask Ed about arranging that."
"I plan to. I am her grandfather. She's all I have left of Gabriella." He paused and tried to take a bite of food, finding he couldn't. "You don't have children, do you, Bob?"
"No, I don't."
"How would you feel, though, if one of your former officers were almost killed or severely injured?"
Ironside paused, thinking how he had almost lost Eve, Ed, Mark, and Fran, multiple times. "Between us, it felt like a piece of me had been cut out."
"You understand how I feel then."
"I do."
They looked at their plates for a time. Rogers called the waiter over, asked him to box up both meals, and ordered a bottle of Rutherford Quintessa. "2016, if you have it."
The meals were whisked away, and the wine was brought and opened with great ceremony by the sommelier, who presented the cork to Rogers to sniff. He waved it away and gestured to Ironside, who took a deep breath savoring the aroma of dark plums, tobacco, chocolate, and bourbon. A small amount was poured into his glass. He swirled it, looking at the deep red color of the Cabernet, sniffed into the glass, then took a sip. The familiar flavors that made up a great Cabernet took over. Ironside swallowed appreciatively and nodded to have the glasses filled.
"An excellent wine. The Zaninovich's are neighbors of mine in Healdsburg."
Unbidden, a waiter brought a charcuterie board, a bowl of olives, water, and a small breadbasket to the table.
"Someone is afraid we'll get hungry. A green salad does not take a man as far as a steak does."
"I think you're right, Eddie."
"I understand that you make wine yourself now?"
"Yes, I quite enjoy that life."
"A man should always find something to do that he loves. Your first love is puzzle-solving, correct? This is why you're here. To help your protégé solve the puzzle of why my daughter and her husband were murdered." Eddie took a long drink. "Let me provide some information you might not have. Thirteen years ago, Peter was a new, slightly struggling accountant working for a company. He and Gabriella were married, and the baby was on her way. He met Francisco somewhere and promised Peter he could make much more money by coming to work for him. Peter was young, ambitious, wanting to prove he could take care of Gabby and Catalina without…"
"Needing your support?"
"Yes. When he began working, Peter was unaware that Pepe Alvarado was a part of the Lorca Valdez syndicate. My information is that he now controls that group." He drained his wine glass and refilled it. "Peter was working on a shipment for the syndicate. It was worth my sources tell me four million, eight hundred thousand."
"Drugs?"
"Yes. Fentanyl, one of Pepe's chemists' specialties."
"The buyer received his drugs, but the money disappeared. They accused Peter. He was there that night to count the money. His count was accurate, but the money was not in the safe the next morning. Of course, he denied taking it. They threatened him. He went into hiding. Gabriella was a stubborn girl. She refused to stay with me, where I could protect her. She loved her husband and her child. They went with him. Until I was told the news, I had no idea they were in Denver."
"Does Gabriella's mother know?"
"No. I don't think it would be appropriate to do this by phone call. After I identify the bodies, I will see her. Emma will want to do things traditionally."
"What about Pete? Did he have any family?"
"He indicated his people were dead. I did a cursory search. I needed to know about this man who loved my only child. I found nothing to show he was lying." From the inside of his jacket, he pulled out several sheets of paper. "Here is the detective's report from that time. It may help your investigation."
"Thank you." Ironside tucked the papers into his jacket. "You seem very knowledgeable about the crime Pete was accused of. Do you have any other information you can share?
"I planned on giving that to Chief Brown."
Ironside nodded. That was the way it was supposed to be. "Can we talk about the contract that's been put out on you?"
"Apparently, my life is worth five hundred thousand dollars to Francisco Alvarado. I understand he personally hired the shooter."
"Any idea who?"
"There are ideas. My people are working on it, as I assume yours are too."
"Not my people. I'm retired now. However, Pepe Alvarado has hired the same man to execute Chief Brown, his wife, and possibly Catalina."
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"There's one thing."
"And that is?"
"Stay safe."
"I will."
Saul Rogers came to the table. "Uncle, you have a meeting with Chief Brown in fifteen minutes."
Rogers checked his watch. "Yes, I do. Saul, get the car, please."
His nephew left scowling.
"Chief, I'd like to be able to call you again while you're in town."
"I'd like that." He took out a card case from an inside coat pocket, opened it, and extended one to Rogers.
"Thank you."
The two men shook hands. Rogers walked slowly towards the exit. His posture revealed the great sadness he felt.
Ironside poured a last glass of wine, sipping it slowly. The charcuterie and bread basket were empty. Jerry and Mark joined him.
"I like your tie, Jerry."
"Thanks, Chief." He handed him a manila envelope. This is all Mattie and I could find. She'll keep looking for you."
"Tell her thanks, would you?"
"Sure."
"Chief, Eddie had two security men sitting with the nephew. I don't know what they were packing, but it was noticeable they were carrying." Mark said.
"Ok, so what's next?"
"What's next, Sergeant, is that you need to go back to work. Your boss will not be amused that you took such a long lunch. Mark, you need to get back to the conference. We must act as normal as possible. We'll talk more tonight."
"Got it. What's your plan?"
Ironside grinned. I'm going to share a dessert with," he looked up as Sarah Brown came to the table. "my designated driver."