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In the end, Mrs. Gomez and her daughter agreed to accept my hospitality for a few days. I jotted my personal number on the back of my business card and told her to call if she needed anything.
Marcus and I took a quick walk through of the house to ensure Mr. Gomez wasn't hiding and to try to determine the cause of the gas leak. It was evident when we opened the door to the basement that it was there from which the smell emanated.
We found a coupler to the hot water heater disconnected. The tank held 50 gallons so it was doubtful anyone would notice the loss of hot water until the morning. By which time both female occupants would likely be incinerated.
"This makes me very angry, boss," Marcus said. "Scudaro skulking around; this gas leak; something is going on."
I nodded.
"It seems pretty evident that Mr. Gomez is still nearby," I said. "Find Scudaro and ask him some questions. You know what we need to know."
Marcus agreed.
"Should I call you when I find him?" he asked. "Do you need to handle this one personally?"
I considered his questions.
"Marcus, I believe in this situation it is best if I am not involved," I said. "You may use whatever means necessary to secure the information. You also may handle the disposition in any fashion you deem appropriate."
Marcus' white teeth shone in the darkness.
"Boss, there is no electricity in the house," he said. "Did you notice that?"
I had noticed.
"Try the water," I said. It was turned off, too.
"So the only utility that Gomez kept on was the gas?" I wondered. "Marcus, once you have secured the information from Ricky, please find Gomez and bring him to me. The only condition I have on his physical state is alive and alert."
"You got it, Boss."
As I predicted it took only four hours to locate Ricky Scudaro. He was scared to death because he knew I had seen him on the premises. He also knew that my justice was usually swift and sometimes painful.
He gave Marcus the answers we wanted in very little time. For his candor, Marcus broke only Ricky's left forearm and three of Ricky's ribs. Marcus was somewhat disappointed that Ricky was so forthcoming so quickly. I reminded him that Leo Gomez would soon be sitting in the same chair where Ricky Scudaro had so recently pissed himself.
That mollified him somewhat.
Leo Gomez had, according to Ricky Scudaro, paid to have his wife and daughter killed. The fact that Ricky had more than $9,500 stuffed into various hiding places on his person made me believe him.
I was doubly angry now. First, I was highly perturbed that Leo Gomez had sought to avoid his own financial irresponsibility by murdering two people innocent of wrongdoing. Secondly, according to my records, Gomez had used a portion of the money I lent to him to pay Scudaro. The serial numbers on the bills were conclusive to that fact.
I felt no remorse in the fact the Leo Gomez would never reappear.
Ricky Scudaro was supposed to meet Gomez in two days at a rest area off the interstate to secure the rest of the money. Ricky seemed certain that Gomez would appear — although I certainly wouldn't have.
"I gotta give him some papers out of the house," Ricky told Marcus. "That's the last part of the deal. There are insurance policies in the desk — taped under the second drawer. He had to leave quick and forgot them. That's what I was going to do tonight. I was waiting for the bitches to pass out then I was gonna get the shit and open the basement door."
It was only the fact that Marcus had once worked in the murder-for-hire trade that saved Ricky's life. Well, that and the fact that Ricky was borderline retarded. I'm sure that played a part in Marcus' decision to spare him.
I hatched a plan with Marcus and two hirelings to secure Mr. Gomez's cooperation in however Mrs. Gomez wished to handle the situation of her wayward husband.
It was with trepidation that I phoned the Watkins Inn Tuesday and asked the clerk to ring the family's suite. The girl answered immediately.
"Good evening, Miss Gomez," I said politely. "May I speak to your mother, please?"
The girl repeated her answer just like I'm sure she was instructed.
"She is in the shower," she told me. "May I please take your name and number and have her return your call?"
I had to smile. With bill collectors calling the house constantly and visiting the house with regularity I'm certain that the girl had said that to many people in the past couple of months. Yet she was careful not to leave the impression that she was alone in the house. After all, the Gomez woman also had to deal with people such as me.
"Of course," I replied. "This is Michael McPherson. Your mother has my number, but I'll leave it with you anyway."
I started to read off the digits when she announced unceremoniously, "Oh, it's you. She's here. Hold on."
I heard her yell, "Mom, it's him."
There seemed to be special emphasis on him.
A few moments later, Mrs. Gomez was on the receiver.
"Good evening, Mrs. Gomez," I said. "How are things at the inn?"
She gushed about the accommodations and amenities and we exchanged generalities for a minute before I got to the reason for my call.
"I have some good news and some horrible news," I said. "Do you think it is possible for us to meet and discuss portions of this privately?"
Honestly, I wished I knew what thoughts went through the woman's head at that moment.
"Mr. McPherson," she said but I interrupted.
"Could you please call me Michael," I said. "Really, my father insisted upon Mr. McPherson. If you had ever met him, you would understand why I am reluctant to be called that by most people."
Mrs. Gomez was silent for a moment.
"Of course, Michael," she said. "I apologize. And I apologize for what I was thinking when you asked to meet privately. I am positive I misunderstood your intention."
"Privately as in without your daughter," I said quickly. "But publicly if you would prefer."
"I understand," she said. "Yes, that would be fine. Is it something that you are unable to discuss over the phone or is it something that would simply be better discussed in person?"
"The latter, I'm afraid," I said. "The good news is pretty good. But the horrible news is really rancid."
"Is tomorrow soon enough?" she asked. "My daughter and I were just sitting down to dinner. Perhaps you and I could have lunch at the hospital."
"That would be fine," I replied. "Which hospital and what time is good for you, Mrs. Gomez?"
The woman told me where she worked and we agreed to meet at 11:30 a.m.
"By the way, my name is Janet Conroy," she said. "I've been divorced from Leo for about five years. But we've lived together off and on since but not as husband and wife. I generally take him in when he has no place else to go. I apologize for not introducing myself. You really have been very kind."
"Thank you, Ms. Conroy," I said. "I am very happy to help you. I will see you at 11:30."
The fact that she was already divorced from Leo Gomez made my decisions so much easier to make.
Sitting across from a freshly scrubbed, well-rested Janet Conroy was a treat for me.
She was bright eyed and perky. I hated to ruin that but I knew that the news I had to impart would do exactly that. I decided to start with the horrible news and get it over with.
"Your husband paid a man $10,000 to kill you and your daughter," I said without preamble. The fire I saw in her eyes the first night I met her returned with vengeance.
"And you got this information how?" she demanded.
"I searched your house after you and your daughter left," I admitted. "When I went around back, I saw a low-life with whom I am familiar sneaking around. My assistant and I found a gas coupler disabled on your hot water heater. It hadn't broken; it had been sawn apart.
"The man I saw in your backyard was questioned and he admitted that your husband, I'm sorry, Mr. Gomez had paid him to create the gas leak and steal some insurance papers from your desk. He planned to wait until you and your daughter were overcome by fumes, open the basement door and wait for the gas to reach the pilot light on the stove. I'm sorry, Ms. Conroy, but I thought you should know the truth."
"Fuck," she swore. "That filthy no-good son-of-a-bitch cock-sucking mother-fucker."
At least she wasn't keeping her anger bottled up.
"Let's go outside," she insisted. "I assume there is more."
I nodded, stood and helped her put her coat on. She looked at me like I was insane.
I waited until we were outside in the relative solitude of the hospital courtyard before I continued.
"Mr. Gomez used the money he borrowed from me to pay the hitman," I stated. "I have $10,000 in my car for you."
"Put it toward the fucking loan," she said.
"You don't owe me money," I insisted — again. "Well, outside of the $500 you insisted was a loan. Mr. Gomez owes me money. I will recoup it full, I can assure you that. The money is his responsibility but I will be damned if I give it back to him. I figure it is rightfully yours for the shape he left you in."
Janet Conroy turned to me and asked me a question I didn't want to answer.
"Do you plan to kill him?" she asked.
I looked up at the sky. Raindrops fell into my eyes. I was silent.
"Stupid question, sorry," she said.
"Not a stupid question," I replied, "but perhaps an unnecessary one. So far, I have managed to conduct my business without killing anyone. I would like for that to continue."
OK, I hedged a bit there. But my father was little more than an animal in my eyes and hunting rabid prey was legal in our state. And Leo Gomez was dead. He just didn't know it yet. So, while I would like for my non-killing streak to continue, I knew it likely would end. Technically, I didn't lie. I'm not a big fan of liars, either.
"The money would go a long way in getting us back on our feet," Janet said. I knew she was talking to herself and not to me.
"You're certain he was going to kill us?" she asked.
I nodded.
"Lila, too?"
"Is Lila your daughter?" I wondered. Janet told me she was.
"Then yes," I replied. I reached into my raincoat and pulled out an envelope. "He took out a half million dollar policy on you with double payout for accidental death. He has another hundred thou on your daughter with the same clause. By the way, the name on the second policy isn't Lila. Is there another child?"
"She hates the name Penelope," Janet said with a slight smile. "I don't blame her. It was Leo's grandmother's name. Penelope Gomez, what the hell sort of name is that, anyway?"
"I can understand the Lila then," I said. "Is that her middle name? If so, it's worse that just Penelope. I mean, Penelope Lila Gomez?"
"It would be Penelope Lila Conroy now," she corrected me. "But thank God no. She has no middle name because Leo's grandma didn't. So when she was about four, I let her pick her own name. She chose Lila and it stuck."
"Good thing my folks didn't do that," I replied. "I would have been stuck with Space Cowboy or Monkey Man or something."
"And I would have been Princess Moonbeam," Janet said with a laugh. The stress lines around her eyes had receded some.
"Ms. Conroy, Leo might be in the wind," I said. "If he can't be found, I don't want you to think I was involved in his disappearance."
Again, technically true. Although I was hoping that I would be involved in his disappearance, I didn't want Janet to think that.
"I don't care if you are or not," she said flatly. "If I ever see that fucking asshole again there won't be a piece of him left. In fact, if you want my consent to set aside your practiced civility and off the bastard, consider it given. If you want the 10 grand to do it, take it. If you want to just find him, call me and let me do, that's OK to. He was going to kill my daughter."
Well, if nothing else, I was certain that the police hadn't caught wind of my aid to the Conroy family and convinced Janet to wear a wire. It had been a consideration when she blurted out her initial question.
"I don't think that will be necessary," I said. "I've made some calls. Leo owes a lot of money to a lot of different people. Someone else is likely to take care of that small detail."
"I'm sorry you're out your money," she said. "Was it a lot?"
"Relatively speaking? No." I said. "However, it was enough that I could not allow Leo to continue dodging payment. That is why I was at your door the other night."
"I know full well why you were there," she said. "Well, actually, no I don't. I don't imagine the president of a credit card company shows up at the house when you're overdue. In fact, I know they don't. They send some smarmy, weasely guy in a cheap suit to badger you. So why were you at my house?"
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