Robert stood in the dust of the street, once asphalt, now covered over in hard-packed mud, and looked at the house. This had to be the one. All the other houses were typical Castaño colors – white, yellow, gray, or beige. Only this one at the end of the road was a dingy blue, faded with years of hard winters to the color of sun-bleached denim. He walked up to the door, knocked, and waited, not sure what to expect, but he had his Glock on him, just in case. It had been nearly sixteen years since he had fired it at anything other than a paper target, and his eyes weren’t what they once were, so he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it.
He heard a scrabbling at the door as the chain was unhooked and deadbolts slid back. The door opened and a face peered out, not unpleasant but wary. “Yes?”
The man was young, as Robert had suspected. Alejandro obviously didn’t know who he was. “I’m Robert Dubeck, the new grocery owner. I’m Arthur’s brother. May I come in?”
Alejandro took a step back and Robert entered the front room. As Jim had said, the place had been turned into a liquor store of sorts. The bookcases were emphatically domestic, but shelves had been removed or adjusted to accommodate the height of the bottles. “You’re Alejandro Gonzalez, I take it?” Robert asked.
“Yes,” the young man said cautiously. “What can I get for you? I’ve got bourbon, gin, vodka…”
“I’m here to find out why a $200 monthly payment to you is in my brother’s account books.”
Alejandro gave an elaborate shrug. “People order stuff from me, I deliver it. It’s not my job to ask questions.”
“My brother wasn’t a drinker.”
“I never said he was. It was probably inventory for the store.”
“I’ve been reviewing the books for nearly a week now. All the other purchases and inventory match up. You’re the only outlier.”
The young man sighed in exasperation. “All I know is that I sell and people buy. Would you like to buy something? I’ve got some new pecan liqueur in. They make it special in Santa Fe. I’ll give you twenty percent off if you leave now.”
“No, thank you, and please don’t change the subject. I noticed that the payments to you have continued since my brother’s death.”
“It’s a standing order. Until it gets cancelled, every month I deliver and every month I get paid.”
“What exactly are you delivering?” Robert wanted to know.
“Wine.” Alejandro gave a disdainful snort. “It’s not even the good stuff, but my instructions are to bring twelve gallons a month, quality be damned, and that’s what I do. Any other questions?”
Robert was now frowning in bewilderment. “What did my brother need it all for?”
“Hey, I already told you I don’t know. I’m just a salesman.” he gestured toward a wall of liquor bottles. “Buy something or leave.”
Robert looked at all the offerings. It had been a long time since he had a decent cocktail. But no, in his present state of mind, he might be tempted to overindulge, and no good could come of that. Besides, Jim had said that most of Alejandro’s stock was just cheap corn whiskey anyway. “Fine,” he said. “You’ve told me what I needed to know.”
As he turned toward the door, Alejandro at his heels, the young man said “Hey!”
Robert paused.
“Am I supposed to bring this month’s delivery? It’s due on Tuesday.”
How the hell was he supposed to answer that? “I haven’t decided yet,” Robert said. “I’ll let you know.”
Well, that was a direct approach. I think I'd have just cancelled the order and then seen what happened. I'd probably regret it, but at least then I'd know what was what.
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