“Better put the weapon away,” Charlie said to Gordon, then yelled toward the approaching pair. “We were just attacked by some hoods in a black Acura, license-plate number DXL something. There’s a parking-lot sticker on the rear bumper with a big P.”

  “The plate was DXL-357,” Gordon added loudly. “Call the police. The shooters are heading east and have several bullet holes in the passenger-side doors. Those inside are armed and may be wounded.”

  “Wanna go after them?” Charlie said, looking toward the street again. He knew chances were slim, and he wasn’t very familiar with this part of the city anyway.

  “No, but you better notify Detective DuPree that the redheaded bitch at the Premier Apartments just set us up. Those were her friends in that car, and nobody else had any idea where we were going but her.”

  Charlie nodded. “Ruby ratted us out, and there’s no way Henderson wasn’t involved in Baza’s murder. We’ve got to nail his ass.”

  * * *

  At least a dozen locals and apartment tenants watched from a distance and took cell-phone photos while Charlie and Gordon described the incident to the APD patrol officer first on the scene. The slender young officer was small, probably just tall enough to make the minimum height, and couldn’t have weighed over 110 pounds, but she was confident and well trained.

  The first thing she did was take their weapons and place them inside her white cruiser.

  “You two have to be the luckiest people in the city right now. Eight shots fired at you, close range, and you only suffered a bruised shoulder and a rip in your jeans,” she said.

  “Well, my knee is really scraped up, and I think Charlie has skinned knuckles,” Gordon said solemnly.

  Charlie shook his head. “We spent four tours in Iraq and Afghanistan being shot at, bombed, and otherwise abused. Our instincts are working overtime, and in this case, we were able to see our attackers’ weapons before they opened up. It also helped that these shooters were more interested in style than accuracy. Otherwise we’d probably be dead.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gordon jumped in. “The shooters were gang members, probably from a group calling themselves the WezDawgz. I’ve seen them around the Premier Apartments on the Westside, and the vehicle owner probably lives there. The punks jumped us the other day.”

  Charlie continued. “We’ve been searching for a lead regarding the recent murder of a man named Diego Baza. We’re looking for a connection between him and a man named Eddie Henderson—Edward J. Henderson on his NM operator’s license. Henderson has gang connections, maybe on the east and west sides of the city. He used to live at the Premier Apartments.”

  “Hold on. You the ex-Special Ops guy who backed up Sergeant Medina at that apartment complex shooting in the north valley?”

  “That would be me.”

  “Then you’re the good guys. I know Nancy—Sergeant Medina. She was my training officer a couple of years ago.” She turned and looked at the car Charlie had ducked behind when the shooting started. “Damn, I still think you’re one pair of lucky-ass troopers. I counted eight bullet strikes, three on the pavement, and five into this Chevy. Somebody’s insurance company is going to be really pissed.”

  “Our luck just ran out,” Gordon said, nodding toward an approaching unmarked cop car.

  “Detective DuPree,” Charlie said. “That didn’t take long.”

  The APD detective was shaking his head even before he got out of his car. He walked toward them, hitching up his trousers and adjusting his tie as if primping for the young woman officer now looking in his direction.

  DuPree stopped, waved her over, and they spoke for about thirty seconds. Another squad car pulled up, and two uniformed officers jumped out and began to cordon off the area with yellow tape.

  DuPree, meanwhile, was now on his cell phone, still watching them, but coming no closer.

  Finally he approached. “Looks like somebody has seriously got it in for you two. If you were on my team, you’d be in a safe house, hunkered down beneath the covers or under the bed. Fortunately, I’m not responsible for either one of you, so you’re gonna walk this time. My boss thinks you should be allowed to keep your weapons—for now. But if those gangbangers turn up dead or in an emergency room somewhere, an officer will come by to take your guns for the forensics team.”

  “If the three in that car—there were at least three—didn’t take a hit or two, I’d be surprised,” Gordon said.

  “Neither of you were hit,” DuPree pointed out.

  “Training was on our side—and luck. We spent a combined twelve years deployed in combat zones, Detective, doing Special-Ops shit. Nobody ever got away from us untouched. We were that good,” Gordon said without emphasis.

  DuPree looked at Charlie, who nodded. Gordon was being modest.

  “You’re probably right,” DuPree said. “One of the calls I got reported a black ’08 Acura full of holes about a mile east of here in a minimall lot. Lots of blood, no bodies.”

  “The shooters had a backup team waiting?” Gordon asked.

  “Or they just carjacked somebody else,” Charlie said.

  “Officers on scene are checking with local business surveillance cameras. I’ll know soon enough,” DuPree said.

  Charlie pointed toward the high-rise building. “They have more cameras here than at a Walmart. I’m sure they’ll confirm our story.”

  DuPree looked at the cameras, then whistled over the young woman officer. “See if there’s any video coverage,” he said, waving toward the apartment building. The officer left at a quick pace.

  “Detective DuPree, do you have any news to share concerning Baza, Sarah Brooks or her husband, or Eddie Henderson?” Charlie asked.

  DuPree shook his head. “Only that Henderson is a fake identity, originating in Pennsylvania. If only states were more careful about issuing driver’s licenses. New Mexico is the worst. First illegals, now zombies. The Social Security number belonged to an Edward J. Henderson in Pittsburgh, who’s been dead since 1959. We don’t know who the hell this guy really is.”

  “How about facial recognition? We still don’t have prints.”

  “My captain is trying to convince the bureau to run the photo though their database. We’re supposed to have access to a nationwide system next year, but for now, we’re at their mercy. If we can get the feds involved, maybe through an interstate connection, it would speed things up.”

  “Hey, Detective,” Gordon said. “We have a material witness—Sarah Brooks, who’s connected to a murder victim who is apparently connected to two dead gang members. Another man involved has a stolen identity and partnered with the victim, selling guns to criminal types. Sarah’s from out of state and has been on the run, playing fast and loose with her identity. I don’t know if she’s committed any real crimes, but there’s evidence she was preparing to flee the country with the first victim. Sound like real Homeland Security intrigue?”

  “Just might work,” DuPree said. “Meanwhile, you give the patrol officer your statements and anything else she needs and be on your way. One of you needs to make sure Mrs. Brooks doesn’t make a run for it. And try to avoid shooting at anyone else today.”

  A half hour later, Charlie and Gordon were on their way. They’d managed to get their weapons back, but weren’t counting on having them for long.

  “I know for sure we’re going to be losing these pistols within a day or two. What do we have left in the shop that’s not pawn?” Gordon asked.

  “Bunch of revolvers, including a couple of big .44s and a Blackhawk 45 that must weigh eighty pounds,” Charlie said, trying to remember what was in the for-sale inventory. “If we weren’t so tight for money I’d say go by Ned’s Sporting Goods and find something easier to hide than a cowboy gun.”

  “Hell, Ned’s a good ol’ boy, he ‘trained’ us for our concealed carry. He’d probably give us a great deal once he hears what we’ve been up against lately,” Gordon said.

  “Yeah, if I could, I’d find enough leather to hold an M4 right now,” Charlie said, chuckling. Most of his sack time in Afghanistan was spent cuddled up to his rifle.

  “How about Ma Deuce mounted on a Humvee? I’ve gotta have something with a magazine, eight rounds or more, and no smaller than a .380. Don’t we have a pair of Walther PPKs?” Gordon asked.

  “I think what we have are .32 ACPs. I’d almost rather carry a .22 than one of those peashooters. At least you’d have more rounds.”

  “Hitler offed himself with one of those babies, and I think the original James Bond carried one. Had to shoot the bad guys several times to do the job. But no, I think these are .380s,” Gordon said, “with seven-round mags and a good fit in the jacket or pants pocket. Not as good as my Beretta, but still…”

  “If so, they’ll do until we get our M92s back. Nancy said she’d pick them up from the forensics people when they’re released. Nobody was shot with those—that we know of,” Charlie said. “Yet.”

  “So, we go by the shop to pick up some extra firepower, then over to see the ladies?” Gordon asked. “Call Nancy and see if we can bring by a pizza. Bet the boy could use a man’s lunch.”

  * * *

  It turned out Nancy and her two houseguests had already eaten, so they picked up some Five Guys burgers and ate on the way. The first questions Nancy had when they arrived were about the morning’s drive-by. Their conversation was private by design—Ruth remained in the living room with Rene, mother and son reading together.

  “So far nobody but me in the department knows the details of this little Westside story rumble you had with, what, seven guys?” Nancy said. “That alone could be motivation for today’s drive-by.”

  Charlie shrugged. “There’s more to it than that.”

  “It further confirms that two separate gangs were involved with Baza. We already know that the guys in the van were from a heights group, the ZanoPaks, not the WezDawgz,” Nancy added. “And Eddie Henderson spoke to them while they were staking out Baza’s place.”

  “We were set up by someone from this side of town—this Ruby chick. The shooters were WezDawgz for sure, we recognized the car,” Charlie said. “Ruby must have told the gang or maybe Eddie that we were hot on his trail. He got the Dawgz to do the hit, and Ruby was told how to set us up. She all but led us to that high-rise—the only one in the area.”

  “Baza sold guns to two or more gangs, Ruth confirmed it. We know it was through Eddie, that came from one of the WezDawgz the other day. He must have either been tight with both crews or paid them well to do his dirty work,” Gordon said. “And then there’s Ruby.”

  “Eddie slipped her some cash, count on it. People will do a lot for guns and money. Didn’t you hear that Eddie was well-funded? For a guy with no record of a job, that smacks of something illegal,” Nancy responded.

  “Maybe he’s working for someone who’s dirty and very rich,” Gordon said. “Someone at the top of the food chain.”

  Charlie looked at him and nodded. Gordon, getting the message, nodded back. They looked at Nancy, and suddenly a light bulb came on for her.

  “Ruth’s husband, who has almost unlimited resources and is extremely bent—according to her,” Nancy said, nodding. “Just how far would he go to find and snatch her and Rene back?”

  “And get rid of anyone who gets in the way, like Baza, Gina…,” Gordon said.

  “Or us,” Charlie finished. “Ruth says she’s never heard of Eddie Henderson, but she was still covering up her own situation when you showed her his photo. Let’s show it to her again and see if her story changes this time around.”

  Nancy nodded. “Eddie was looking for someone named Ruth at that GA Foods warehouse, right? We need to press her on the issue. But let’s not do this in front of the boy.” She looked up at Gordon.

  “Okay. I suppose I can be forced into hijacking Rene and playing a couple of levels of Super Mario in the kitchen.”

  Ruth—as she still insisted on being called as long as she was hiding out—stared at the photo of Eddie Henderson for just a few seconds, then nodded.

  “I wasn’t so sure before, it’s been several years and people change. But yes, I saw this man with Lawrence a couple of times. It was never up close, and I didn’t learn his name. We were never introduced—he was part of what one might refer to as my husband’s entourage—the help. At the time, the man had longer hair and was a little heavier. Now that I think about it, Lawrence may have mentioned that he was part of his security detail,” she finally said, handing back the picture.

  “Did you see him at your residence or at your husband’s place of work?” Charlie asked, trying to get a handle on Eddie.

  “I saw him when my husband was driven home. He rode in the front passenger side, like he was security, and he got out of the limo first, then looked around before he opened the rear door for Lawrence. I don’t know about work. I never went to my husband’s office, or on business trips, especially after he started getting … abusive.”

  “How was the Eddie guy dressed? Did you ever see him with a weapon?” Nancy asked.

  “I think he had something on his belt beneath his jacket—a pistol, maybe. He wasn’t wearing a suit when I saw him. It was usually something like slacks and a casual jacket. No tie. He never looked like he was dressed for a business meeting, more like for the golf course or a sporting event,” Ruth said. “And he never spoke.”

  “Was he still working for your husband when you … left?” Nancy asked.

  “Can’t say. By then, I was pretty much a prisoner in my own home, and the country home staff and security were always around me. I bet someone got fired, or worse, when I managed to get away,” she said, shaking her head. “Too bad. Most of them were nice people. Unfortunately, Lawrence had convinced them I was unstable.”

  “Do you think your husband could resort to violence?” Charlie asked.

  Ruth rolled her eyes. “If you’re asking whether he’d do to others what he did to me, I’d have to say no, unless they were obviously a lot weaker—or a woman. Lawrence is a vicious man, but he’s also a coward and a bully. He’d be too afraid of failure to do it himself. He’d hire it out.”

  “Even have someone murdered?” Nancy asked.

  “Oh, he’d be careful so it couldn’t be traced back to him, but yes, he’d order someone killed if they caused problems. I know him well enough to see the monster inside.”

  “We think he sent Eddie Henderson here to track you down and get rid of anyone who got in his way,” Nancy said, glancing at Charlie.

  “That sounds like something Lawrence would do. He could be incredibly patient at times, waiting for just the right moment. How long he knew or suspected I was here, I just don’t know. But he had to act because Diego was going to take me and my son out of the country. We were going to have a new life where we’d be hard to find. I’m guessing that either this Eddie person killed Diego, or else hired someone to do it for him,” Ruth concluded.

  “Like a gang member?”

  Ruth shrugged. “Maybe. It would be better for Lawrence if the link between him and the killer wasn’t so direct. My husband would hire someone like Eddie, then let him handle it without mentioning Lawrence.”

  Charlie looked over and caught Nancy’s attention. She nodded, and he knew they were both thinking maybe Baza’s killer was someone in that black Acura today, or maybe one of the young men in the van.

  “And if that person ended up dead at someone else’s hand…,” Charlie said.

  “Hard to make the connection when the shooter is out of the picture,” Nancy finished.

  Charlie stood. “With that thought in mind, I think that Gordon and I need to track down the woman who set us up. I got the idea that DuPree was going somewhere else first.”

  Ruth looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Set you up?”

  “There was an incident earlier today,” Nancy said quickly, I’ll fill you in.”

  “We’ll get going,” Charlie said. “If Eddie is getting rid of loose ends, we could lose the connection.”

  “Be careful,” Ruth said.

  “Uh, sure,” Charlie said.

  “Be ready for anything,” Nancy added. “One of these days, a gangbanger is going to get lucky and start getting hits on you two.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later they were on their way to find Ruby, who supposedly lived at an apartment building in the city of Rio Rancho just northwest of Albuquerque. They’d called her office, but the manager answered the phone and said she’d left for an emergency dental visit.

  “So, you think Ruby’ll be at home?” Gordon asked, driving north on Coors Boulevard, approaching the same shopping center where’d they’d nearly been gunned down.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. She’ll want to maintain a low profile for a few days after setting us up,” Charlie said.

  “Yeah. And if she finds out we survived the drive-by and can tell APD who led us into a trap, she might want to get out of town.”

  “On the other side of the coin, what if the guys who botched the job are thinking the same thing? If any of them are still in good enough shape, they might be waiting for us to show up at Ruby’s,” Charlie said. “Hoping to correct their aim.”

  “We’ve reloaded. Bring it on.”

  Gordon sped up, taking the bypass leading up onto the mesa and Rio Rancho proper. The GPS told him that Ruby Colón’s apartment was in the oldest section of the city, just west of the second stoplight leading in from the south.

  “It’s the next left,” Gordon said, pulling into the turning lane in the median of the six-lane street.

  “Three-story place on the right, two blocks down—a puky green color,” Charlie said, looking over at the GPS display on the dash to confirm the visual.

  “We’re finally well strapped—two-gun Charlies—if you’ll pardon the expression. Here’s hoping Ruby isn’t packing an AK-47 and a RPG.”

  “I won’t pardon the expression, but I’ll let you off with a warning. And I thought you were convinced Ruby’s a lover, not a fighter,” Charlie said, checking his primary weapon, the Beretta .380. He’d topped off the magazine since this morning.