Blindman’s Bluff

“What kind of tattoos?”

“Beeexcel…” His eyes blinked, and the tears ran down his face.

“Pardon?”

“The letters…B…X…L…L.”

Decker thought a moment. “Could it have been B-X-I-I with a capital I?”

“Maybe.”

The Bodega 12th Street gang contained nasty, nasty men, most of them with origins from El Salvador and Mexico. It had originated in the Ramparts division years ago but had spread like a cancer into just about every state in the union. They numbered around fifty thousand loosely organized criminals. There were men at the top, but most of the bastards were drug runners and hard-core felons. It was one of the most violent gangs in the country.

Gil was one lucky sucker.

“He had B-X-I-I tattooed on his arm,” Decker said. “Can you tell me which arm?”

Gil was breathing shallowly. “Right-handed. On his right arm.”

“His right arm was exposed then?”

Gil didn’t answer.

“He was wearing short sleeves?”

“Black T-shirt.”

“Good,” Decker told him. “Any other tattoos?”

“Black cat…with Spanish words. Something negro.”

“Negro is black in Spanish. Can you close your eyes and see that arm…tell me the other word?”

Gil closed his eyes. “G…A…” He shook his head.

“Could it be G-A-T-O? Gato means cat. So gato negro would be black cat.”

No answer. Gil’s lids were closed with eyes moving underneath them.

“Do you see the man’s face, Mr. Kaffey?”

“I…more tattoos…” He touched his neck. “A snake…B…1 or something.”

“B12?”

Gil opened his eyes. “You know tattoos?”

“I know a few gang tattoos. B12 and BXII are two of them.”

“Gangs…Why?”

The most likely answer was that someone hired hit men from the Bodega 12th Street. But no assumptions. Not yet. “That’s what we need to figure out. Did your parents keep a lot of valuables in the house?”

“There were…guards.”

“Some of the guards are missing.”

“Who?”

“Rondo Martin and Denny Orlando. Maybe others as well.”

“Not Denny.” A long pause. “Dad liked Rondo.”

“Did you know the men?”

“Denny’s good…Rondo is cold.” Gil raised a tube-injected hand to his face. “Cold eyes.”

“Good to know.” Decker tried to keep him on track. “The tattoos are a big help. You saw the neck…can your eyes go up a little bit more to the face?”

Gil closed his eyes and was quiet for such a long time, Decker thought he had fallen back asleep. His voice was very soft. “Dark eyes…a rag on his head.” A big exhale. He touched his chin. “A soul patch…” Another long period of silence. Tears were falling down his cheek. “Then the flash and my father…” More tears. “I started to run…I’m very tired.”

Gently, Decker patted his arm. “We’ll talk again when you’re feeling better.”

He closed his eyes. Decker waited until Gil was asleep. Lord only knew the dreams that awaited him.

AS THE ELEVATOR door opened, Dr. Rain stepped out. “Lieutenant.”

“Dr. Rain.” Decker skipped the elevator. “I just finished a brief conversation with Gil Kaffey. He was a lot more coherent than the first time I saw him.”

“I hope you didn’t tire him out. Gil needs to conserve his energy to heal.” He checked his watch. “Try to keep your future interviews short.”

“Nurse Didi called you?”

“She did, and it was the right thing to do.”

“I’ll be more aware,” Decker told him. “Do you know who Guy Kaffey’s primary physician was?”

“For any medical information, you’ll have to consult with the family. I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

“I found out he was taking medication for bipolar disorder.”

“I wouldn’t know. Guy Kaffey wasn’t ever my patient so I can’t address that.” They both heard his name being paged. “I’ve got to go, but really, Lieutenant, what relevance does something like that have to solving a homicide?”

“It helps to know as much about the victim as you can find out.” Decker pressed the elevator down button. “They say dead men don’t talk, but if you listen carefully, they sure as hell do.”

THE FOLDER CONTAINED summaries of each member of the Kaffey clan. Wang said, “I felt an overview would help the both of us and maybe satisfy the brass until I can wade through all the hits. If I printed out all the articles, we’d totally deforest an entire South American country.”

“Can’t do that. Not green and not PC.” Decker looked at the first heading: Guy Allen Kaffey. Wang had included a brief bio on Guy, Gil, Grant, Gilliam, and Mace.

“These are the principal players in Kaffey Industries.” Wang handed him a separate folder. “Mace has a son named Sean who’s working at one of the big brokerage firms. I don’t know why he’s not in the family business—maybe he’s an independent kind of guy—but as the oddball, he attracted my attention.”

“Oddballs deserve a second look.” Decker nodded. “Thanks. This is a start. Send two copies to Strapp. What are you up to now?”

“Back to my Mac.” Wang stretched. “No matter how ergonomic the setup is, I still leave with a sore back from sitting incorrectly, burning wrists from all the typing, and tired eyes from peering at a computer screen. Man was not meant to work a desk job.”

“Tell me about it. Most of my last six years as lieutenant have been spent with my butt glued to a chair. But I’m not complaining.”

“Neither am I. It’s been a long time since I was in the line of fire. Sometimes I think I miss it, but I betcha I really don’t.”

Decker said, “When I actually get to do some genuine police work, it feels really good. Then I get shot or shot at and it cures me for a while.”

“Yeah, the last one was a close one. What happened to the nutcase guy?”

“He’s at Patton State.”

“He took out the guy behind you, right?”

“He did. He meant to get the guy behind me. The man was definitely mental, but lucky for me, his aim was true.”

COFFEE CUP IN hand, Decker sat down at his desk and picked up Lee Wang’s summaries, making notes in the margins in his illegible scrawl.

Guy Allen Kaffey’s date of birth put him at sixty. He was born in St. Louis, Missouri, to immigrant parents who had long been deceased. A terrible student, Guy had dropped out of high school at sixteen with no marketable skills. But as he told Business Acumen Monthly, “I could keep up a steady patter better than anyone on the planet. That meant I could be a disc jockey or a salesman.”

He chose real estate. Flat broke, he began peddling houses shortly after leaving high school and within a year, he had amassed enough cash to start his own real estate firm. As he told the magazine, “My first employee was my sixteen-year-old brother, Mace. Like me, he was flunking high school, but when he dropped out, at least he had instant employment. Still, my parents couldn’t figure out where they went wrong. It was more like where they went right.”

Five years later, Guy Kaffey picked up from the Midwest and moved his operation to the Land of Opportunity, switching from residential to commercial real estate. At twenty-two, Guy had his first million in the bank. Three years later, he qualified as a multimillionaire. Forbes listed Kaffey as a first-time billionaire when he reached the advanced age of thirty.

At thirty-one, he met his wife, Jill Sultie, at the craps table in Vegas after asking the beautiful woman next to him to blow on his dice. That evening, he had walked away with a hundred grand in profit and asked if the beautiful woman would like to celebrate by joining him for dinner. Sparks flew that night. The affair was intense and four months later, they were married.

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