Free Parts Unknown by Rex Burns Page A

got any.” He lurched out of the swivel chair and limped over to lean on the wrought-iron rail that guarded the lower half of the window. The traffic below in Wazee Street was heavy and loud with the day’s final deliveries, trucks returning to their garages, commuters taking shortcuts to and from the Valley Highway. Bunch closed the glass air panel against the noise. “Her neighbors don’t know much about her. She moved into the place maybe a year ago. Stays by herself, doesn’t cause any problems, keeps the house and grounds very neat. She didn’t return the visits a couple people made to welcome her to the neighborhood. She’s self-employed.”
    “Doing what?”
    “Runs a small-time janitorial service—Olympia Janitorial—and my guess is she uses a crew of illegals and pays them maybe fifty cents an hour and all the cigarette butts they can carry. One of the neighbors figures she has plenty of money because there’s always somebody working around the place—doing the yard, washing her car, handyman stuff. And she has a maid who lives in. That’s it.”
    “That’s it? She doesn’t have any extra income from somewhere?”
    “Aside from her apartment building? If she did, I’d know about it. I checked out the realtor who sold the house. She says Chiquichano financed her loan through Citizen’s Bank and Trust and paid a third down with a certified check. The people at Citizen’s wouldn’t give me any information from her loan application—said it was confidential.”
    “We can fix that.” I thumbed through the stationery file for the Kirk and Associates Credit Service letterhead. Professional courtesy between moneylenders opened a lot of doors.
    Bunch went on. “Public records lists her as the sole owner of the place where Frentanes lives, and they say she’s paid her taxes and assessments.”
    “Lived. Felix doesn’t live there anymore.”
    “What’s that mean?”
    I told him and he stared at me for a long moment, putting things together. “Felix thinks Mrs. Chiquichano turned him in to immigration?”
    “It makes sense. It’s a good way to get rid of him, and it happened just after we talked to her about Serafina.”
    “But we didn’t say Felix told us. Maybe we found out from some of the people who live near the apartment—people she asked about Serafina.”
    “And maybe that’s what she told Felix she did. Maybe she and Felix were the only two who knew Serafina was missing.”
    He grunted. “She lies to you about Serafina. Now she gets rid of Felix. Why?”
    “Why indeed.”
    Bunch, restless and hobbling, went to the brick wall and leaned stiff-armed against it to do slow, one-armed presses while he pondered. “I’m beginning to get the feeling, Dev. I think we should have another talk with Mrs. Gutierrez.”
    “Not so fast. Did you see that note about the guy who wants a debugging estimate?”
    “Yeah. I already called him. I go by tomorrow to take a look at his office.”
    On the way over to talk to Nestor’s aunt, we discussed last night’s adventure and the possibility of recovering the battery pack. “Heard anything from the bikers yet?”
    “No,” I said. “Some anonymous calls on the recorder, but that could be anyone.”
    “Probably didn’t find it. It’s probably still there in the ditch.”
    “How’s the leg?”
    “Stiff and bruised, but no infection. I’m not worried about rabies.”
    “It’s supposed to take a few days to show up.”
    “How do you know?”
    “I did some reading on it. Two, three days from now, after the wound starts to heal, bam! Then it’s the needle in the belly routine.”
    “I hate needles worse than I hate dogs.”
    “Then we’d better make some plans,” I said.
    “I’ll think about it,” he said.
    Mrs. Gutierrez was in her forties, stocky, with glossy black hair and high cheekbones that showed a strong mixture of Indian. The hair, braided and then twisted up into a tight coil, showed no gray yet; and despite the worry in