The Last King of Texas - Rick Riordan by Rick Riordan Read Free Book Online

few days after that, Aaron Brandon,
Jeremiah's younger son, was shot to death in his living room."
    "That's about the size of it."
    "Aaron was an English professor."
    "Maybe now. But six years ago? Back then he was
snarled up good in the family business. My guess, he was helping his
brother Del put a knife in Sanchez's back."
    "You got anything more than a guess?"
    Ozzie's head jerked back in a silent laugh. "You
know what the M.E. pulled out of Aaron Brandon's fireplace last
Saturday?"
    ".45 slugs."
    "Better than that. Hollow-tipped bullets,
mercury-filled. Not many sons of bitches ever used that kind of
artillery in San Antonio."
    "Still—"
    "And there's a witness. The professor's wife and
kid were out of town but they got this maid lives above the garage.
Everybody else in the neighborhood is pretty much deaf old retirees,
but the maid heard the two shots, gave a pretty good description of
the guy she saw coming out of Brandon's back door just afterward. She
made a positive ID on Sanchez in a photo lineup."
    "Two shots with a .45, in a quiet residential
neighborhood. Sanchez just strolls out the back door and is nice
enough to leave a witness. This after he was smart enough to stay
hidden since when — '93?"
    "Revenge makes you stupid. Thing about
gang-bangers, they're smart only in the ways that they're smart. Kind
of like academics."
    "Hey—"
    "I'm telling you, Navarre. I know Sanchez. He's
good for the murder. SAPD looks where I told them to look, they'll
nail his ass. Let's get some food." Ozzie cut across Military
Drive and pulled into the parking lot of a Circle K that squatted at
the entrance of a particularly bleak subdivision.
    When the big-haired cashier saw Ozzie, she rolled her
eyes. "Where the hell you been all week?"
    "Busy, Mabel. Hot dogs warm? Damn near gave me
E. coli last time."
    "Oh, the hell they did," Mabel grumbled.
"You wish some bacteria'd eat off that extra flesh of yours,
Ozzie Gerson."
    "Balls." Ozzie went behind the counter and
pulled two foam cups from the special cop dispenser.
    I kid you not. There is a special cop dispenser. The
cups say FOR POLICE USE ONLY.
    He tossed me one. "You're honorary today,
Navarre. Help yourself."
    I got some Big Red. Ozzie went for Pepsi. For police
use only. Do not try this at home. We are trained professionals. We
know how to pour soda into these special cups.
    Ozzie grabbed two hot dogs and offered me one. I
declined.
    Ozzie began chewing on both of them. He eyed a couple
of large Latinos in construction clothes who were buying cigarettes
from Mabel.
    "What about the pipe bomb at UTSA?" I asked
him. "The death threats?"
    Ozzie kept chewing. "You mean was that Sanchez?
Why not? Solidox bomb is an old gang scare tactic. Lot of the
veteranos know how to make them."
    "They learn how to craft political hate mail,
too?"
    Ozzie dabbed the ketchup off his jowls with a Circle
K napkin. He kept his eyes on the Latinos at the register, who were
now asking for a fill-up on number four.
    "I don't know, Navarre. Don't waste your time
trying to figure out Zeta Sanchez. He's a gang-banger. He passed the
exit for humans a long time ago." "Bullshit."
    Ozzie shrugged. "You don't want to hear it,
don't. Jeremiah and Aaron Brandon weren't white, we wouldn't even be
having this conversation. We'd let Sanchez go on killing his own.
Tell me it ain't so."
    I tried to control the swell of anger in my throat,
the feeling that I was back in my father's patrol car again, arguing
social issues until common sense started to bend like light around a
black hole. Ozzie was one of the last of my father's generation on
the force, the last who could give me that feeling. Maybe that's why
I'd kept in touch with Ozzie over the years. A sort of negative
nostalgia. Ozzie met my eyes, tried to soften his look of obstinance.
"Listen, kid. It's like I told Erainya — leave this murder to
the SAPD. All your friend Berton's got to do is dig around UTSA a
little, talk to some Mexican activist groups,