Never Look Down by Warren C Easley Page B

was a thicket of dark stubble, and his eyes were puffy and seriously bloodshot. “Come on,” I said. “You look like you need a coffee.”
    He followed me to the back of the building and up the narrow staircase to my apartment. Nando sprawled on the sofa while I filled Archie’s water bowl and set about grinding coffee beans to make him a cappuccino. Nando said, “You are walking crooked. How are the ribs?”
    â€œTender.” As I readied his coffee, I gave him more details about my encounter with Farnell Timmons. When I finished he said, “So the bootmaker told you he had destroyed the records, but the young man at the shop said they had them.”
    I nodded. “Yeah, but the kid might’ve been referring to records for the past three years, which Timmons said he kept for tax purposes. In any case, Timmons made it clear he wasn’t about to share anything with anybody. And he told me in no uncertain terms to mind my own business.”
    â€œWhy would he feel it necessary to threaten you?”
    â€œI don’t know. Probably just a general dislike of outsiders. But it might make sense for you to get a line on this guy.”
    Nando nodded. “I will ask Esperanza to run a background check.”
    â€œWhat about Cardenas? Anything new on that front?”
    â€œYes. I have acquired a copy of the security tape from the Lucky Dragon the night of the shooting. Cardenas was indeed present, but so were a couple of other possible clients for Sheri Daniels, men she was seen talking to. Once I identify these men, I will have the chat with them.”
    â€œMake sure it’s just a chat. I’ve been put on notice by Scott to keep you on a short leash. We’re both on thin ice here.”
    Nando exhaled a long breath. “If the police would do their jobs, this would not be necessary, Calvin.”
    I rolled my eyes but didn’t counter. “I have some other information, too.” I went on to describe what Tay had told me about Manny Bonilla and the need to pass the information on to the Portland Police.
    When I finished, Nando massaged his forehead, then rubbed his eyes and frowned deeply. “So Tayshia would like me to fix it so she doesn’t have to say what she knows about Claudia and this Bonilla?”
    â€œCan’t blame her,” I said. “She thinks it could cost her job. She’s caught in the middle just like Claudia was.”
    He nodded. “This will reflect poorly on Claudia, you know.”
    â€œI won’t be a party to withholding information from the cops. This needs to get done, Nando, and you know it.”
    He sighed. “Very well. I will make sure Harmon Scott gets this information anonymously.” He turned to face me. “The photo album? You brought it?”
    I got up, opened my briefcase and extracted the book. “Here.”
    He took it a bit tentatively. “Thank you. I can’t look at the pictures. I just wanted it back.” He flexed the slashed cover, looked up at me, and wrinkled his brow.
    â€œSorry about that,” I said. “I, uh, had the book in my belt. The bastard’s knife sliced it instead of my stomach.”
    Nando’s eyes widened. “ Dios mio ,” he uttered in a half-whisper. “You didn’t tell me it was so close, my friend.”
    I shrugged. “A miss is as good as a mile.”
    â€œWell, please accept my apology for calling you a boy scout. That was uncalled for.”
    I laughed and waved off his apology.
    We fell silent for a long time. Finally Nando sipped some coffee, leaned back, and ran his hands through his hair. “I called my mother in Cuba and told her what happened.” He paused as if to gather himself. “I broke her heart, Calvin. Again. The first time was when I left Cuba. She begged me to come home. She said America is a bad place. Too many guns. Too many violent people.” He turned to face me, his eyes suddenly