Kirk Russell - Dead Game

Shauf drove Marquez into Sacramento, and he picked up an old Ford Explorer, one of the early models before they’d become so large. He liked the vehicle and hadn’t driven it in a while. He made sure it still started and then walked over to Shauf’s window.

“Time to go see your niece and nephew.”

“I’m leaving tonight. What about you, John?”

“I’ll be home.”

And he would have been, but for taking a call from Ehrmann. The call could have come from another special agent in the Sacramento Field Office, and it wasn’t clear from the questions he’d asked yesterday that Ehrmann was still part of the investigation. He’d gotten the impression Ehrmann might be on involuntary leave.

“Ludovna made a call we were hoping he’d make, and we’re going to take him down tonight,” Ehrmann said.

“I’d like to be there.”

“Sure, if you want.”

Ludovna was at a girlfriend’s, a woman who lived alone not two blocks from his house. She was very surprised when she opened the door. It was all very polite. There were eight of them and one of her. Two agents went in and buttonhooked left with their guns drawn, two went right, and four straight ahead. Ludovna was in the shower. When Marquez saw him, Ludovna stood naked and handcuffed on the tiled floor of the kitchen. He’d come out of the shower and tried to get a gun from near the bed, and they’d taken him down on the bedroom floor. Water dripped from the dark hairs of his chest, abdomen, and groin. Ludovna’s eyes focused on Marquez.

“You’re FBI?”

Marquez shook his head, showed his badge. Special Operations Unit, Department of Fish and Game.

“I should have killed you,” Ludovna said, and an FBI agent cut him off.

The last Marquez heard was an agent telling Ludovna they were going to unhook him so he could dress. They’d already read him his rights, and he was demanding a lawyer. Marquez walked outside with Ehrmann.

“I’ll drop you back at your car,” Ehrmann said. As they drove away he added, “I guarantee you he won’t be buying fish for a very, very long time.”

And that was the way it ended, except it wasn’t the end of everything. There were the poachers they tracked down that came from Ludovna’s list of contacts, and with Baird’s approval Marquez was still chasing those after Christmas. There was enough in Ludovna’s computer to bring trafficking charges against August, though what came later far surpassed those. It was the end of the SOU, or the end until new money was found in the state budget. It was the end of Sacramento Fresh Fish and Beaudry’s Bait Shop and Sportfishing, and the end of August Food’s caviar line.

Torp and Perry got charged in the La Belle killing, and Ludovna, Torp, Crey, and Perry in the Raburn slayings. The FBI had other pending charges against Ludovna that Marquez was told might eventually include arms trafficking but definitely included further counts of murder, auto theft, RICO violations, and drug smuggling.

Marquez didn’t doubt that August would hire the best lawyer. He laughed when he heard it was Batson, but it didn’t surprise him. It was also the end of Anna’s ability to pay Batson when the FBI located, and was able to get a judge to freeze her access to, a Cayman Island account.

Maria moved back home on Christmas Eve, walked in around dusk carrying a bagful of presents, and rode with Marquez a couple of days on his trips into the delta, said she wanted to understand better what it was he did. She was with him this New Year’s Day morning, and it was one of those California winter days when it was bright and clear and warm. The light shone like polished gold on Suisun Bay, and the sturgeon bite was on.

He figured the kid, Julio, would be out, guessed he’d think he was clever getting out early New Year’s Day and fishing for sturgeon when everyone was recovering from last night. Marquez knew Julio had taken more sturgeon since he’d last bought from him. He knew from talking to him where he liked to fish, and they went there now after buying coffees at a convenience store.

“This coffee is terrible,” Maria said.

“Not to your refined tastes.”

“I don’t see how you can drink it.”

Marquez drank it anyway and then carried the Styrofoam cup as they walked along the shore. He glassed the few boats out there and found Julio.

“This guy I may bust is about your age,” he told Maria. “He’s got a fish, but I don’t know what it is yet.”

He felt the sun on his face and watched the kid bring the fish in, then work a gaff. The gray armor of a sturgeon rolled in the water. He’d brought a pair of binoculars for Maria, and she watched Julio secure the sturgeon, and now they trailed him toward the dock. At the dock a couple of Julio’s friends were there to help. They carried the sturgeon up to a pickup and covered it with a tarp.

Marquez looked at Maria holding small binoculars to her face, hiding the binos with her hands. Julio wouldn’t be armed, and his friends were gone. He was alone and back down at his boat, tying it off. He might have a place he needed to deliver the sturgeon to, but they weren’t going to follow him there.

“Let’s walk on down there,” Marquez said, and Julio smiled but was leery as they approached.

“Do you recognize me?” Marquez asked.

“Sure, I sold you that one that time.”

“That’s right. Is this your boat?”

“My uncle’s.”

“The uncle who taught you about sturgeon?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s he at today?”

“Home.”

“How’s that college account coming along?”

Julio hesitated at the change of subject, then pride got the better of him.

“I got in,” he said, and his eyes were full of hope and light. “I got the scholarship, and I’m earning the rest. I’ll be the first one ever in my family to go to college. But how come you remember all that?”

Julio looked to Maria’s face for the answer, then back at Marquez.

“Maybe because Maria has applied to colleges. This is my daughter, Maria. We saw you wrestling with the fish, and I recognized you. We watched your friends help you load it into the pickup.”

“Do you want to buy another one?”

“No, but I want to talk to you. Why don’t you walk with me a minute?”

“What for?”

“Because I don’t want you to sell it to anyone, and I think I can convince you.”

Marquez showed him his badge, and the kid’s face fell as they walked down to the end of the dock. He told Julio what he could cite him for and what that might do to the scholarship, told him the sturgeon had been here two hundred fifty million years, but it was going to take the ones like the fish in the back of the pickup to keep the species going.

“I’m sorry,” and he was a big strong kid but close to tears. “I’m really sorry.”

“How about you give me your word you’ll do something to make up for it, and I don’t bust you on the first day of the year you start college?”

Of course Julio gave him his word, gave it immediately, and Marquez got his full name, wrote it into his notebook. Julio Rodriguez.

“I’m letting you go on this because I think you’re good for your word.”

Julio was scared but trying to face him. He squared his shoulders, looked Marquez in the eye, then looked away.

“I can’t remember the last time I let someone go who has taken as many as you have.”

“I’ll never do it again.”

“Everyone says that, but make that the truth, and I want you to tell your uncle what happened out here.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Last time it was Abe Raburn you called. How did you meet Raburn?”

“Isn’t he dead?”

“He is.”

“I met him through my uncle. We delivered a couple of fish to him.”