Page 112 of Tito

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I was half finishedwith my first cup of coffee when Ted showed up. Dressed in a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and a sport coat, he looked like a professional football player preparing for a press conference.

He sat across from me in the booth and nodded toward my cup. “How’s the coffee?”

“Surprisingly good.”

He mouthed the words a cup of coffee? to the waitress. “Coffee’s always good here.”

“I’ll remember that.”

In a flash, the waitress delivered his coffee, black. “Good morning, Ted.”

“Morning, Kate.”

She checked my cup of coffee, realized it was full, and smiled. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”

I smiled in return. “Thank you.”

“I come here nearly every day,” he said. “It’s a good place to unwind and think.”

I glanced around the establishment. The décor was old school Americana, and reminded me of Abby’s Place, a diner owned by a former Marine friend of the motorcycle club. “I like places like this.”

“They’re few and far between,” he said.

I faced him. “So, how’s everything going?”

“I’ve shared a little bit about retirement with you, and with Reggie.” He cupped his massive hands around his coffee cup and peered into it. “I’ve told myself I can’t do it until I get this group of hooligans that I’ve been chasing for the past fifteen years. I’ve said for the past few years that after I had them behind bars that I’d turn in my shield, and my gun.” He met my gaze. “Well, it looks like that day is right around the corner.”

“That’s good,” I said. “Is buying a fishing boat your next move?”

He shook his head. “That’ll be down the road, after they’re convicted at a jury trial.”

“It’s got to feel good to finally catch them though. Reggie said they’ve been a thorn in your side for years.”

“Bittersweet,” he said with a nod. “That’s how I’d describe it.”

If he’d been chasing the gang in question for a decade, I could see that it would be bittersweet to catch them. An end to a decade-long chase, leaving him with nothing to do afterward.

“I can see that,” I said.

He held my gaze. “I’m going to cut the chase.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve got reason to believe the gang in question tried to knock off a gold dealer in Ramona a few weeks ago,” he said flatly. “Before their escape, they blew the electric plant to hell. They used military C-4 as the explosive, which is part of their modus operandi.”

My face flushed. I tried to remain calm and emotionless but doubted that I’d accomplished either. I slid my hands under the table and clenched my fists to keep them from shaking.

“It was a clear diversion tactic,” he continued. “They needed to get what little law enforcement was available to go to the other end of town while they escaped. Then, they blew the gold dealer’s building into toothpick-sized pieces. When we sifted through the ashes, we found microscopic bits and pieces of two dead police officers. As you can imagine, with an explosion like that, it’s been a fucking nightmare to get any clues. Luck must be on my side, because last week I got something. Then, the day before yesterday, I two more somethings.”

If he had me dead to rights on murder, he wouldn’t be sitting across from me, talking. I’d be in handcuffs. Nevertheless, my days in the free world were numbered. My future with Reggie dissolved before my eyes, leaving me contemplating running to another country under an assumed name with a fake passport.

I already knew Reggie’s position regarding thieves. There was no way she’d continue any kind of a life with me once she found out what I’d been involved in, regardless of how I spun the story in my favor.

I swallowed heavily. “That’s good,” I said. “Three clues in a week.”

Holding my gaze, he rested his massive forearms against the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Check cashing place next door had a security system in the parking lot. Sadly, it was pointed in the wrong direction and it wasn’t infrared. We got nothing but a bunch of really shitty footage. After enhancing it, we got a clear video of a bunch of feet shuffling around. We did, however, get a blur of one of the men’s tattoos as he bent down to pick up a penny.”

We were wearing long-sleeved shirts and gloves. I had no idea how he saw any tattoos, unless the men he saw weren’t us. My racing heart slowed its pace at the thought of him pursuing the wrong men.

“You see,” he said. “Up until now, I’ve been chasing nothing but a hunch. I’ve been building a case file based on this gang’s MO. My bulletin board has been filled with dates, times, places, and theories, but no identities. I’ve been chasing a group based on their patterns and what few clues they leave behind. For instance, they always hit places out of San Diego, typically in small towns with inadequate police forces. There’s almost always explosives involved, and they’re typically in and out without anyone getting hurt. That is, until now. Now, two cops are dead. One upside is that I’ve got a face at the top of my bulletin board.”

Clinging to a sliver of hope, I raised my brows in wonder. “A face?”

“Yes,” he responded. “The tattoo in the video was unique. An eyeball on the back of his hand. Didn’t take long to trace that to a man here in San Diego. His name is Graham Baker.” He leaned away from the table and crossed his arms. “Do you know him?”