Read Online Power Blind by Steven Gore - Free Book Online

survey and came up with the mean . . .” Spike cocked his head and squinted toward the ceiling, then looked back at Gage. “Is it mean or median?”
    â€œI think it’s called the mode. Mode is what there’s most of.”
    Spike smiled. “Mr. Salazar will be thrilled to know ninth grade math stuck.” He took a sip of his Coke. “It’s like Charlie came up with the mode, and then said, ‘That’s the guy.’ ”
    â€œYou have a theory?”
    â€œI think he didn’t want us to catch him.”
    â€œAnd do it himself after he got better?”
    â€œExcept he didn’t get better. When I called Socorro last week, the doctor had just told him he’d recovered as much as he ever would. Might not get worse, but wouldn’t get better. He was never gonna work again, that’s for sure. Maybe never even get out of bed.”
    â€œThat must be why he called me.”
    Spike shook his head. “I don’t think so. He knew you’re not a vigilante. He had to have guessed you’d be doing exactly what you’re doing, not roaming the streets with a six-shooter.”
    â€œThen why didn’t he reach out to you if he changed his mind and wanted to get the guy?”
    Spike shrugged. “Maybe it has to do with one of his cases. Attorney-client privilege and all that.” He aimed his fork at the file. “You know what he was working on the day he was shot? He wouldn’t tell me.”
    â€œA tax evasion case. Yachts. He was interviewing marine appraisers.”
    â€œLike those car donation scams?”
    â€œBut in the multimillion-dollar range. And knowing Charlie, he was probably trying to get one of them to commit perjury by testifying the appraisals were accurate.”
    Gage caught Spike’s eye, then glanced toward the glass entrance doors. Two silver-adorned Jalisco cowboys entered, dressed in the style of their home state in Mexico. Silver belt buckles, silver toe tips on rattlesnake-skin boots, silver bands on their hats, and silver buttons and lapel points on their shirts. The men paused just inside the door and scanned the restaurant, then took a small table near the front window. One slid a black briefcase underneath, while the other pulled out a cell phone, punched in a number, spoke a few words, and disconnected.
    â€œMust be door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen,” Gage said, as a waiter delivered the men a basket of tortilla chips and salsa.
    Spike slipped in a Bluetooth earpiece, punched in a number on his cell phone, and turned slightly away and passed on his location and a description of the Jaliscos. He rested his phone on the table, waited until the men were both looking down and reaching for chips, and then snapped a photo of them and sent it.
    â€œIt’s just like riding a bike, isn’t it?” Spike said.
    â€œDon’t you ever just want to get off it at least long enough to enjoy a meal?”
    â€œCan’t. It’s like having the television on all the time in the back of your head.”
    â€œI used to think of it as white noise,” Gage said, poking around in his birra . “Charlie used to alert to guys like that from a mile away.”
    â€œBut that was more about like attracting like.”
    Spike reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a wallet-sized Mexican prayer card encased in plastic.
    â€œMy brother bought this for Faith at a shrine in Culiacán. He’s still playing amateur anthropologist. He wanted to give it to her at your father’s funeral, but it didn’t seem appropriate.”
    He handed it to Gage.
    â€œShe still interested in Catholic animas ?” Spike asked.
    Gage nodded as he examined the image of folk saint Jesús Malverde, protector of drug dealers, overlaid on a painting of the Virgin of Guadalupe. He dipped his head toward the Jaliscos. “Those guys may need this thing a lot more than Faith.”
    â€œI’m