BULLETS (11 page)

“Pedro murdering your husband, that doesn’t make sense?”

“Not at all. Of all the boys Roger took under his wing, he was the nicest. Fact is, I can’t imagine none of the boys we had working for us ever doing something like that, but Pedro? He was with us for three summers and we knew him well. Very polite, very religious, never got angry and worked hard. Prayed before every meal, heard he sent the majority of his pay home to his mother in Mexico.

“He’d still be working here, we would’ve kept him on, but he got hired in some construction work that was full time year round for more money, so he moved on. No hard feelings about it, we really liked him, and he liked us. Kept sending us Christmas cards at the holidays, too. Never had a bad word between us. That’s why it don’t make sense that he did this.”

“Ted say what he thought the motive was?”

“Ted’s full of hot air. He said something that maybe Pedro was trying to steal something from the farm, some equipment or some such, and when Roger caught him at it, Pedro killed him, but that’s another crock. Pedro wouldn’t steal a glance, much less anything else, and if he needed money Roger would have given him a job in a second and money even faster. Roger was a soft touch and everyone knew it. I told Ted so but doubt he heard me. Listening ain’t his strong suit.”

“If it wasn’t Pedro, can you think of anyone else who might have had a grievance with your husband?”

“No, I honestly can’t. Roger was pretty popular, much more than me. He grew up here. Folks thought he was eccentric due to his politics, he was way to the left of most people in this area, but even those who disagreed with Roger on nearly everything had to admit he was probably the nicest guy they ever met. Because, well, he was. He was kind and sweet and he cared about the whole world and all the people in it. He was the best, a whole sight better’n me, that’s for sure.”

She sighed, set her glass down. “I found him, you know. He usually came to bed real late, did so ever since we lost Jim, but he always came to bed eventually. I woke up before six because he wasn’t there, went to look for him and … found him.”

She turned away, her voice hitching. She took a deep breath and let it out.

“His funeral’s this afternoon. I ain’t gonna go, I don’t care what the people will say. I can’t bear to watch another one of my men put into the ground, I just can’t.”

Slick nodded at that and gave her some time and space to collect herself. She wiped her eyes and turned back around.

“Hard to be here, too, I see both of ’em everywhere I turn—in the kitchen, in the yard. Been going on nine years and I still swear I hear my son Jim knocking around in the rec room like he used to do. Roger felt the same way, though he’d never admit it to me.

“It’s only been three days and I keep expecting Roger to bang on into the kitchen without wiping his boots, just like always. I don’t think I’ll be able to handle living here alone, not with the both of ’em doing this to me, it’s too much. I guess I’ll end up selling this place after all.”

She nearly lost her emotions again but caught herself and looked Slick in the eye. “You want to get Pedro off, is that it?”

“No, ma’am. I just want to know if he did it. I don’t think he did, but I want to know for sure. If he did do it, I’ll let the wheels of justice turn however they do. If I find out that he didn’t do it then I’ll find out who did.”

“Why would you do that?”

Slick didn’t answer right away. “It’s just how I’m wired.”

She stared for a moment and then nodded. “I believe you. I don’t think Pedro killed my Roger, either, but I don’t know what else I can tell you. You should talk to his priest, though, at Saint Mary’s. If anyone knew Pedro well, it’d be Father Jose.”

“I will do that, thank you. And thank you for the iced tea and for the hospitality,” Slick said. He gave her the empty glass. She held on to it, briefly.

“Do you think I’m a terrible person, for not going to the funeral?”

“No. You have the right to mourn however you see fit.”

She nearly went again, caught it and nodded. “Thank you.”

S
lick caught the
flashing lights in his rear view just as he pulled into city limits. He pulled over, rolled his window down and stuck both of his hands out of it so they could be seen. He watched in the mirror as Brower and Collins climbed out of a patrol car and took their time approaching him, Brower on his side, Collins on the other.

“Is there a problem, deputy?” Slick asked when they got close enough.

“License and registration, please,” Brower said.

Slick eyed Collins on the other side, the big man was clearly seething, his hand on his pistol.

“I’m happy to do that, Deputy, but before I reach into the glove box for my rental agreement, I’d like to point something out to you.”

“And what would that be, sir?”

“This, right here. This is a web camera.” Slick pointed to a small device placed up on his visor. “There are more I’ve put in different spots in the interior, so everything that happens inside and outside this car is digitally recorded and instantly sent to a dedicated server in New York City where my lawyer can get at it. Should something unfortunate happen to me, he’ll know exactly what, why and who. That includes our conversations, too. I share that because, well, I wouldn’t want there to be some misunderstanding while I’m reaching for my car rental agreement and suddenly find myself shot because of something that LOOKS like a firearm but isn’t, you know?”

Slick grinned. “You can get some good equipment these days.”

Brower glanced involuntarily at Collins. “That’s great, license and registration.”

“Absolutely, Deputy.” Slick slowly and carefully got the car rental registration out of the glove box, pulled his license from his wallet and handed them to Brower. Brower glanced at them and stepped back. “Step out of the car, please.”

Slick opened his car door with great care and got out in the hot sun. Collins circled around the front of the car, eyeballing him behind mirrored shades.

“Just for the record, I have cameras aimed outside the car, too,” Slick said. “So are you going to tell me what this is about, or not?”

“I pulled you over because you were driving ten miles above the speed limit.” Brower pulled out his ticket book and started writing.

“I’m sure I wasn’t.”

“You can tell it to the judge.”

“I’ll do more than that, I’ll give him or her the digital recording of my speedometer, which will show that I was driving exactly at the speed limit. I’ll do that after I put it up on YouTube.”

Brower flushed red but that didn’t stop him from writing the ticket. “I’m sure the judge will enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, there are a few things I could put up on YouTube that some folks might find illuminating and interesting. I’ll have to think about that.”

“Home movies of you in the shower, shit like that?” Brower ripped off the ticket and handed it to Slick.

“Yeah, shit like that, little movies of my adventures in redneck Valhalla. You never know what’s gonna catch the public eye, you know. Can I go now?”

Brower just looked at him for a moment. “Just for the record, can you account for your whereabouts last night, around nine or so?”

“I sure can.”

Brower waited a moment for Slick to elaborate, but he didn’t. A muscle in his cheek clenched. “So where were you last night?”

“I was well outside your jurisdiction,” Slick said. “Having dinner with a friend.”

“Can you give me the name of your friend?”

“I can but I won’t. As I said, it was outside your jurisdiction, ergo not any of your damned business. You want to know more, call my lawyer Melvin.” Slick casually leaned back against his car. “But rest assured, I made certain my whereabouts were officially accounted for last night and, I have to tell ya, I’m sure glad I did.

“Because I heard a story this morning, another friend was telling me about these redneck country fuckholes who tried to start some shit with a random black man in some bar somewhere outside county lines. I guess they felt someone of his color didn’t belong there and asked him to step outside, maybe thinking to themselves,
Hey, five on one, this is a piece of cake,
and this brother just … fucked their shit up, I mean, fucked them up but good. I’m sure glad I have an alibi, because I doubt that dumb assholes like them could even tell one black man from another in a lineup, especially in the dark like that.”

Slick winked at Collins. “But thankfully I don’t have to worry about them mistaking me for some whole other body, now do I?”

Brower glanced at Collins, who was nearly purple with rage and stepping close, hand on his weapon. Brower stepped in between them, cutting the big man off.

“Yeah, that’s a helluva story, all right,” Brower said. “Can I take it, from the direction you drove in from, you were out at Roger Carlson’s place, right?”

“I was, in fact, out at Roger Carlson’s place, speaking with his wife Doris.”

“What about?”

“Offering my condolences. She’s a nice lady who’s suffered two terrible losses.”

“A word of advice…” Brower leaned in close, his voice a whisper. “Stay away from Doris, stay away from the Carlson place. You got lucky, got all your charges dropped, you’re a free man, why don’t you quit while you’re ahead and move on?”

“Yeah, why don’t I do that? That’s a good question. I’ll have to think about it.” Slick opened his car door and slid in, glad for the air conditioning. “Okay, I thought about it. I’ll move on when I’m damned good and ready to move on, Deputy.”

Brower really didn’t like that. He leaned down into Slick’s window.

“Seems to me that you’re the type of person who likes to play with fire. And you know what they say about those who play with fire?” Brower said.

“Yeah. They shit thunder and piss lightning.”

Slick rolled the window up, put the car into gear and drove away.

S
lick had to
go back to the Indian restaurant, eventually. They had a decent vegetarian menu, better than anywhere else in Bendijo, and he was tired of eating fruit in his car. He went there for lunch, after sending a text message or two, and savored a meal indoors in the dark, humming cool of air conditioning.

It was seriously hot outside and, while Slick would happily identify his cultural heritage as African, he was no fan of Africa-style heat. Arizona got fucking hot, for real. He’d never been to Africa, at least not yet, but had no doubt the Arizona desert gave the Africa a run for its money when it came to stifling heat.

The door jangled and Camilla walked in and sat down without saying hello.

“What do you have?” she asked.

“Vegetable delight.” Slick gestured to his plate. “Would you like to try it?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I meant what do you have on the sheriff? I know you have something.”

“How do you know that?”

Slick’s prepaid cell buzzed. He checked it. Melvin calling. He silenced it and went back to his guest. She wasn’t sweating. Somehow, even in this heat she managed to look cool, dressed in a business skirt and suit jacket with a dark blue silk shirt. Slick felt positively bohemian in his t-shirt and jeans, recently purchased from the mall, and he was already experiencing major pitting underneath his arms. Not her, she was cool as grape juice. At least on the exterior. He wondered if the cool held the deeper you got.

“Because my boss informed me first thing this morning that we were dropping all charges against you. George was in the office this morning. Early. He’s never there before ten, but today he was there before I was, and I’m always the first one at the office. He was there specifically to tell me that we weren’t indicting you.”

“I heard, Melvin told me at breakfast that you guys were cutting me loose.”

“So what is it, what do you have?”

“Who says I have anything?”

“Come on, I don’t have time for this shit, I really don’t. There’s no way he’d give me a direct order like that without pressure from somewhere. And it wasn’t your pricey lawyer, either. You have something, you have leverage. I want it.”

“If I did have something like that, why would I just hand it over?”

Slick’s phone buzzed once more. Melvin again. He silenced it, but wondered what it was. It had to be important.

She took a moment, sizing him up. Slick never seemed to tire of that.

“Because Pedro Garcia is dead. He never woke from his coma, just died.”

Now Slick knew why Melvin kept calling, likely with the same news.

“That’s too bad,” Slick said.

“It is. And you have a digital video of his arrest, if I’m not mistaken. That’s why you’re being cut loose. You recorded it on your phone and it got cloud-saved before they could destroy it. Am I right?”

“That appears to be what some folks think. Got an email from a friend of mine this morning, seems someone hired a hacker to break into my cloud files and erase everything. But I have friends who are serious real computer ninjas who guard my online gates, so whoever it was had no luck.”

“I want it, I want the video, give it to me.”

“For the sake of argument, let’s say I DO have a digital video like that, hypothetically, and I gave it to you, what would you do with it?”

“I’d bring charges against Ted.”

“What sort of charges?”

“Manslaughter, for one, for what he did to Pedro—”

“Who was considered a murderer, at least that’s what folks around here believe. You think your boss or the population at large is gonna be outraged that Sheriff Ted killed the murderer of a local farmer? Excess force, sure, but it’s doubtful that you’ll get much traction on it. You’ll be lucky if he gets a slap on the wrist.”

“I can charge him with assault and battery for what he did to you.”

“Yeah, and I’d appreciate that, but let me remind you of something. Rodney King. A video of a gang of white cops beating the shit out of a black man, on the ground, and what happened to them? Nothing. No jail time, nothing. Sure, some folks were outraged, riots ensued, but it still was not enough to make a difference. Those cops never went to jail, nothing happened to them. If anything, the riots made white folks feel the cops were justified in what they did.”