Chapter One
Finders Pet Detective Agency is in a strip mall surrounded by high-rise office buildings. I share the space with a liquor store, a pizza parlor, a sub shop and Sparky’s Title Loans and Check Cashing.
The interior of my office is a diverse mixture of hand-me-downs, Goodwill and vintage furniture. I love Grandma Hester’s antique oak desk and her old Remington Standard typewriter. She refused to use my laptop and banged out all her reports on it. Two brown leather chairs are positioned in front of the desk. Pictures of found pets decorate the walls. In the backroom there is a tiny kitchen with a microwave and a small refrigerator. Crammed against the other wall is a variety of dog and cat crates.
To make our office more festive, Mom hung Christmas garlands from the ceiling. The stupid stuff almost strangled two of our taller clients.
The front door opened and in walked a three hundred-pound hoochie mamma in a glow-in-the-dark lime green mini skirt and thigh-high, fuck-me boots. Her enormous breasts threatened to pop out of her low-cut flowered top. “You are Senorita Cain?”
“I am, and you must be Maria Torrez.”
“Si.” Her heavily mascaraed eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. “You must help me.”
I gestured to the chairs. “Please have a seat.” I waited until she had plunked her ample bulk onto a chair before asking, “Who’s missing?”
Maria bursts into tears. “Tinkerbell. Tomas took my Tinkerbell.”
“Is Tomas your boyfriend or husband?” Pushing the box of tissues to her, I noticed her sparkly neon green nail polish.
“That pendejo was my boyfriend until - until I caught him sleeping with my puta sister.” Maria let loose with a string of creative Spanish curses.
I think she called her sister a whore and said something nasty about the size of Tomas’s dick. Sometimes my client’s lives resembled one of those telenovela soap operas. “Do you have a picture of the pendejo and Tinkerbell?”
“Si.” Maria blew her nose loudly, then reached into her purse and pulled out two pictures. “They were taken a month ago.” She placed them on the desk.
The pendejo’s head and face were covered in tattoos. I think he was Hispanic, but it was kind of hard to tell. He was giving the camera the one-finger salute and I noticed the prison markings on his knuckles. “What is Tomas’s last name?”
“Lopez,” Maria supplied.
“How long was Tomas in the big house?”
At Maria’s confused look, I said, “Jail? How long was he in jail?”
“Two years for fighting of the dogs.”
Yeow, and that didn’t send her running for her life? Tinkerbell was a Yorkshire terrier and she wouldn’t last long in a bout. “Do you know if he’s still holding dog fights?”
“Tomas promised me he no do it anymore.” Maria’s mouth quivered. “The pendejo took my puta of a sister to a fight. He is Ringmaster. After the dog and chicken fights, men beat each other in a cage. The puta said the hombres give Tomas mucho dinero to watch. Mucho, mucho blood.”
Sounded like Tomas was running illegal, mixed martial arts fights too.
“Tomas say he will put my Tinkerbell in cage with Brutus, his muy bad pit bull.” She broke down and sobbed like her heart was breaking.
Not on my watch, he wasn’t. “Did you bring something of Tinkerbell’s?”
She placed a bright pink bow on my desk. “There is big fight tonight. Please find her. Por favor. Por favor. Tinkerbell will be so scared.”
“Do you know where the fight is being held?”
“At old warehouse. I think in south Phoenix.” Maria’s mascara ran down her cheeks, giving her a demented clown look.
“I’ll start my hunt now. Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
Maria nodded. “With my abuela.”
Hopefully, her grandmother’s house would be safe. “Good. Once I’ve located Tinkerbell, I’ll call you, but you need to stay away from Tomas. Okay?”
“If he comes near me, I shoot.” She pulled a .380 Ruger from her purse and waved it around.
Holy crap! “Do you know how to use that?”
She shrugged. “You pull trigger.”
“Right, but have you actually ever fired it?”
“No.”
“My advice is call 9-1-1 first and shoot later.”
“Bueno.” Maria shoved the pistol in her purse. Bang! A hole appeared in the floor an inch from my left boot.
I shot to my feet. “Oh my God!”
“Dios mio! The hombre at the pawn shop said it has a hairy trigger.”
No kidding. “And you bought it anyway?”
“It only twenty-five dineros,” Maria said, sticking her finger through the big hole in her purse.
Maybe it was time for me to invest in a bulletproof vest. “My fee for retrieving Tinkerbell from an underground dog fighting ring is five hundred dollars.”
Without blinking, Maria pulled out a stack of twenties and laid them on the desk. “Please find her. Por favor.”
“I’ll do my best.” I quickly wrote her a receipt. “Remember. Stay away from Tomas.”
“Si.” Maria took the receipt and left.
I watched her get into a cherry red Chevy Impala lowrider. Bet it belonged to the pendejo. My vehicle was a beat up, gray Ford van filled with food, crates, leashes, and a doggie first aid kit.
Spreading a map of Phoenix across my desk, I picked up Tinkerbell’s pink bow, and concentrated. A flurry of images flashed across my mind. Ancient metal warehouses. A tavern covered in graffiti. Crowing roosters. I let the bow fall and opened my eyes. Hmmm. Polk and 7th street. Smart people avoided the area, but if a critter was in danger, smart wasn’t always possible. My risk-taking drove my grandmother nuts.