Rarities Unlimited 04 - The Color of Death

fifty could fit the description.
    No wonder she looked familiar.
    He tossed the sketch on the unmade bed. The third and fourth sketches surprised him. Each showed the same person, absent makeup and wig, with a man’s haircut and shirt. The result was a subtly effeminate man with a lean build and ordinary looks. The third sketch was of a blond male with light eyes. The fourth version was dark and dark.
    Sam whistled silently. Wonder if Lee Mandel looked like either of these.
    Only Kate could help him on that, and it was too soon to wake her up. Unless he was in bed with her.
    Don’t think about that. It will fuzz what’s left of your brain.
    He set the sketches in a row across the foot of the bed and reached for the folder again. The remaining two pages were a summary of both interviews with Seguro Jimenez.
    When Sam finished reading, he threw the papers on the bed and grabbed his cell phone. It took three separate people and a lot of attitude, but he finally tracked down Mecklin.
    “The stuff arrived,” Sam said.
    “You woke me up to tell me that?”
    “Sorry,” Sam said. “Thought you’d be awake, having just sent me the fax and all.”
    An indistinct grumble was Mecklin’s only answer.
    “I just wanted to verify some facts with you,” Sam said. “Did Seguro think the person trying to pawn the sapphire was a transvestite?”
    “If you read the interview summary you know he couldn’t be pinned down.”
    “You were there,” Sam said. “What did you think?”
    “Seguro Jimenez is a switch-hitter. He doesn’t care what gender as long as he’s not the catcher. He liked what he saw, male or female. So now we have the whole population to look at, male, female, and undecided.”
    “Did Seguro say anything that would make you think the he/she act wasn’t comfortable in the costume, like maybe it was a temporary disguise?” Sam asked.
    “No. In fact, he thought the tits were made-to-order, expensive drag queen stuff for a guy that didn’t want to take estrogen shots and have breast implants in order to attract straight men. That’s why the dress had a high neck—jiggle can be put in bras, but real cleavage is tough to fake close up and bare.”
    “So is the rest of the equipment,” Sam said.
    Mecklin gave a snort of laughter. “Yeah, can you imagine a dude who’s expecting to find pussy between his date’s legs and finds jingle bells instead?”
    “I don’t want to imagine it, thanks. Did Seguro come any closer to admitting that he bought the stone?”
    “That solid citizen? Hell, no. He’s a real prince. He sent the tits and the stone right back out the door. Funny thing, when we showed Seguro a photo I printed of the stone, his eyelids flinched. He recognized it. I’ll show it around to the others tomorrow, but my money is on Seguro being the fence.”
    “Okay. Tell me more about his family.”
    “They’re pimps, cons, thieves, and a few stone killers.”
    “Sounds like part of every immigrant group I’ve ever heard of, including my ancestors. What else?”
    “We’re still looking at it, but right now I’d feel good about sayinghe’s kissing cousins with cousins who are kissing cousins of the Santos gang.”
    “Ecuadorian?”
    “Yeah, but they’re like the Chinese. They have arms of the family in all major cities in the U.S. Nothing formal. Just friends of friends of relatives. If you don’t know a homeboy, you don’t get in the front door.”
    Sourly, Sam wondered if Mecklin had been talking to Sizemore. “You think it was a gang hit from the word go?”
    Mecklin paused long enough to light up a cigarette and blow out a plume across the receiver. “No. I used to work L.A. I read the Mandel file after I got your request. Different MO entirely.”
    “Hallelujah. Someone who understands little things like MO,” Sam said under his breath.
    “What?”
    “Nothing. If Seguro did fence the gem, where would he do it? Miami?”
    “Too close.” Mecklin exhaled heavily. “None of his family here had the right connections. But he married a woman whose maiden name was de Santos.”
    “De Santos and de los Santos? Same crew?”
    “Yeah. The longer you’re here, the less likely you are to keep the full name. First to go is ‘los.’ Next is ‘de.’ We have a lot of Santos.”
    “Are the ones we’re talking about from Ecuador?”
    “Same country. Same rural town. The de Santos have been bringing in everybody but the village idiot. I can’t prove it, but my gut says