Outwardly, Gino looked every bit the self-assured hustler except for one detail. His eyes. Instead of arrogance, I saw worry.
I thumbed in the direction of his friend. “Why don’t you ask him to join us?”
“Vinny’s okay where he’s at. I got things to say that are none of his business.”
I hoped Gino’s secrets dovetailed with mine.
“Adrianna told me you’re a private investigator.”
Gino knew too much about me and I knew next to nothing about him. But he’d come here to talk and this was my chance to listen and learn.
I said, “That’s true.”
Gino asked, “What’s your concern with Barrett?”
“My client hasn’t heard from him.”
“Who’s the client?”
“A client,” I answered. “Let’s leave it at that.”
“I didn’t know Barrett had business in Denver.”
“So we’re even. I didn’t know Barrett had business here.” I gave Gino a fake smile.
He reciprocated with an equally fake smile.
“If you think I care about any moneymaking arrangements you had with Barrett or with anyone else”-I made an obvious glance at Vinny-“don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not.”
“Barrett was your friend?”
“We’ve known each other awhile.” Gino’s eyes keyed on mine. “You said ‘was.’ Is he all right?”
“I’m sure he’s looked better.”
“What’s that mean? Is he dead?”
Actually undead. “He’s not alive.”
“You sure?”
“I saw his remains.”
Gino whispered, “Fuck.” His lips drew back and showed clenched teeth. He acted like he was going to bite his way out of this problem. “What happened to him?”
“I don’t know.” About the zombie part. “That’s why I’m in Morada.”
“Doesn’t make any sense. He just disappeared.”
“I’m acquainted with Barrett’s past,” I said. “Seems to me that in your line of work, someone disappearing is an occupational hazard.”
“Not in this case. I was supposed to meet Barrett to pay him big. The fucker was always scrambling for money. But he never showed up and I haven’t seen him since.”
“When was this?” I asked.
“Six weeks ago.”
This jibed exactly with what I’d found out about Chambers’s final days as a human.
“Where did he go?”
A grim mask settled on Gino’s face. “That is what’s so spooky about this. I don’t want Barrett to end up like this guy.”
“What guy?”
Gino unzipped his jacket and reached inside.
I tensed. At the first sign of a gun, I would spring over the table, talons and fangs bared to kill.
Gino raised his other hand. “Relax.” He pulled out a folded copy of the Morada Mountain Weekly and set it before me.
“You wanna see what’s got me spooked? This.” He set an index finger over an article “Local Man Missing.”
The accompanying photograph was of a dumpy-looking middle-aged man in a cowboy hat smiling for the camera. The article said he had vanished. The police were looking into an accidental death. Maybe he fell off his horse and into a ditch. No reason to alarm the family by mentioning the obvious-foul play and murder.
“What’s this got to do with Barrett?”
Gino hunched his shoulders and leaned toward me. “I feel like I’m in the opening minutes of a horror movie. You know when all kinds of freaky gruesome shit happens and no one but the audience has a clue what’s going on?”
Sounded like a typical day in my life. “How so?”
“I had another friend disappear. Stanley Novick.”
That made three. Chambers. The cowboy. Novick. “What freaky shit happened to him?”
Gino’s face grew tight like his insides were compressing. Then his hands shot from the table and he gestured wildly. “He’s fucking dead.”
Gino’s conniption caught me by surprise and I got ready to punch him.
“Stanley didn’t stay disappeared for long.” Gino scissored a hand over his middle. “I found him with his guts gone.” Gino chopped across his thighs. His voice got louder. “Plus both legs.”
Words spewed from Gino’s mouth like blood gushing from a severed artery. “His skull was empty as a coconut. They took his brains.” Gino cupped his hands in offering and practically shouted. “His fucking brains. How sick is that?”
A couple of women at another table stared and then averted their eyes. They gathered their cups and plates and slinked to the café door.
Vinny leaned toward us and cocked an ear.
Gino must have sensed this and turned to Vinny. He waved an okay.
Vinny nodded and relaxed.
Gino’s nostrils flared and the breath huffed from his nose. His skin turned white as an eggshell and his expression became as brittle. “Who would do this?”
Hungry zombies. The missing brains were the best clue. As for the guts and legs, the zombie reanimator could’ve been harvesting parts for new victims.
I said, “I don’t know.”
Gino asked, “Did Barrett have all his stuff? His arms? His legs? His brains?”
Until Mel sliced and diced him with an excavator. “As far as I could tell.”
Gino took the newspaper and shoved it back into his jacket. “What happened to Stan and Barrett gives me the serious willies. Sometimes there’s a scuffle over turf-another gang moving in-and if someone gets his, it’s usually a drive-by or a simple one right here.” Gino touched the back of his head. “I’ve heard of Colombians and Mexicans doing crazy torture shit, but that’s never happened around here.”
A gust of cool, moist air whisked dust across the patio. Napkins fluttered off the tables. Gino put a hand over his forehead to keep the wind from mussing his hair.
Vinny called to him and held up a cell phone. “It’s Uncle Sal. We gotta go.”
Uncle Sal who?
Gino got up from the table. “My cousin told me that if someone came asking about Barrett, that guy would be the one who knew what the score was.”
My kundalini noir twitched. Was that guy me? I’d come here unannounced to investigate zombies and psychic signals, and yet Gino’s cousin anticipated my arrival.
“What cousin? What score?”
“The disappearances.” He backed away, shoulders hunched, as if afraid to say more. “We’ll talk again.” He stepped over the wall and headed for the Titan pickup.
“When?” I got up to follow.
Vinny scowled and hitched the side of his pants to warn he had a gun handy. In other circumstances, I’d take that gun and give him a bullet suppository. But I couldn’t risk the gunplay out here in public, with so many bystanders. For now.
Gino and Vinny got into the Titan and drove off.
I couldn’t let Gino get away. He had information that I needed and I was going to get it. Even if it came to gunplay.
Hard drops of rain splashed on my face.
I rushed to my Toyota. I’d follow Gino and find a chance to hypnotize him. I’d learn what he meant by: “My cousin told me that if someone came asking about Barrett, that guy would be the one who knew what the score was.”
Who in Morada knew I’d be asking about Barrett?
By the time I reached my truck, I was drenched with rain.
I took out my contacts to track Gino by his aura. He’d be easy to spot. Each psychic envelope was as unique as a face.
His aura looked like a dimpled red balloon while Vinny’s resembled a dollop of cinnamon-candy-colored syrup. Stubby tendrils of anxious thoughts poked from each aura.
Gino’s Nissan turned left and went east, then north on a county road.
Sheets of heavy rain muted the landscape to blurry shades of gray. The sky became dark as dusk. Drivers turned on their headlights, but I kept mine off so that I could stay hidden from Gino.
My wipers beat across the windshield. The windows started to fog because of my wet clothes, not my heavy breathing. I don’t breathe. I turned on the defogger.
We crossed over the Rio Grande. The rain-swollen current roiled around the bridge pilings.