BULLETS (12 page)

“And that was twenty-some years ago—”

“Just a few years ago, there was video of a policeman shooting some poor black kid in a subway station in Oakland, he had the kid handcuffed, knees on his back, and he shot him. Said he was reaching for his Taser. That’s what he SAID. Nobody thought to ask him, ‘Hey, you got the kid handcuffed, why do you need the Taser?’ If they did, I never heard it. And is he in jail, that cop? Nah.

“Hell, just earlier this year, in Brooklyn, cops rolled up on some black kids and shot one of them to death. Five shots in the front, four in his back. They said he was reaching for a weapon. There was a pistol on the scene. Funny, though, that witnesses on the scene not only claim the kid wasn’t reaching for a weapon, but that he never had one. Yet after he was shot dead, one of the cops conveniently FOUND a gun. No prints on it.”

“This isn’t Brooklyn or Oakland—”

“It’s not, it’s the American Southwest, isn’t it? You’re telling me it’s better in the South? There’s a large portion of this country who, when they see a white sheriff nightsticking a black man, believes that THAT is the proper way of the world. So yeah, we could put the video up on YouTube and I could get a civil settlement at taxpayers’ expense and maybe some sort of bullshit public apology, but the reality is him cracking my skull will also make him more popular than ever around here, really. They’ll say, ‘You go, Ted, show that uppity negro what for.’

“I’m sure Ted doesn’t want the video to get out, no doubt about that, but if it does, so what? He was doing what he was elected to do, which is protect his community.”

She sat there, steaming. “So what are you still doing here, then? If this is such a terribly racist place, why hang around?”

“Let me ask you a question. If it was known, with certainty, that Pedro Garcia DIDN’T murder Roger Carlson and we have our good sheriff on video killing Pedro, that WOULD be bad for his career, would it not?”

She thought about that for only an instant. “That would be bad. On digital video, killing an innocent man, very bad. I could get definite manslaughter charges against him, no matter what my boss says. I’ll go federal if I have to. But I took a look at the case against Pedro, it’s good, they have his prints on the murder weapon—”

“Doris Carlson doesn’t think Pedro killed her husband. Nor do I. I don’t think he had it in him. We clear Pedro’s name and then we can let the good citizens of Bendijo know what their sheriff has done with his authority.”

She looked at him, fully engaged, as if she were trying to peer into his soul. “If WE can prove Pedro’s innocent, of course, but that’s the tricky part, isn’t it? He’s dead, he can’t defend himself or his innocence. How do WE do that?”

Slick liked how she said WE just then. And he thought she kind of liked it, too.

“Doris told me that Father Jose at Saint Mary’s knows Pedro better than anybody, so that’s one place we can start. Are you in?”

She took a moment before she answered. “I’m an officer of the court, you understand that, right? I know you play cards for a living, maybe you think this is some kind of game or something. I’m not playing games, I’m not here for kicks and giggles, I live here and I’m interested in justice.”

“Me, too. Justice for Pedro and anyone else who had their skull and kidneys caved in by an asshole in uniform just because they were the wrong color in the wrong town.”

She stared at him again, and Slick basked in it. She grabbed her bag and stood.

“Okay then, let’s go,” she said.

Slick grinned, threw down some money and followed her out.

“I
don’t know
if I can tell you anything that I haven’t already told the police,” Father Jose said. He was a small, elderly man with a look of perpetual mournfulness upon his face. “It is unimaginable to me that Pedro did this. Pedro never even said a foul word, as far as I know, did not drink except to take communion and was here three, four times a week. I saw him the night before he was arrested, he came for confession.”

They stood in the foyer of a small Catholic church, where it was dark and cool. Slick never cared for churches as a rule, but this one was simpler and more modest than most. A few older women saw them standing there and, at the sight of Camilla, made the sign of the cross. Slick wondered at that.

“Do you know where he went, after he left here?” Camilla asked.

“He went home, to my knowledge. Pedro rarely went out like some do. He lived in a boarding house, as I’m sure you probably know, one that caters to undocumented workers such as himself, and probably went straight home after seeing me. After he was arrested, I asked some of his roommates, men who might not talk to the police but will speak with me, and no one else was home when he got there, they’d gone out drinking and no one can confirm that he was there. He usually went to bed early, before they even came home, so it wasn’t unusual. No one can verify that he was there.”

“When you saw him that night, was there anything unusual about his behavior?” Slick asked.

“I’m sorry, remind me who you are and how you’re involved again?”

“Jon Elder.”

“I know that name. You’re the man who arranged for Pedro’s lawyer—”

“Yes.”

“We are in your debt for that,” Father Jose said, glancing at Camilla and Slick, obviously trying to figure out why the two of them were there together.

“So, Pedro’s behavior that night, was it…”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. He was always smiling, always pleasant. Pedro could and should have been a priest, I think. In many ways he humbled me with his devotion.”

“Why didn’t he become a priest, if he was that devout?” Slick asked.

“Because he had to take care of his mother. Taking a vow of poverty would likely be fine for him, but he needed to make money to take care of her, she’s elderly and sick and requires constant care back in the old country. Pedro originally came here for work because he couldn’t make enough of a living in Mexico. Nearly every penny he made he sent back home for her. I don’t know what’s to come of her now. This is all so very tragic.

“Pedro stayed out of trouble, he was very aware of how undocumented workers were viewed in Arizona, but there was simply more work here than anywhere else. We have fields lying fallow because no one is there to pick the vegetables, farmers selling their land because they can’t harvest the crop and it lies there, rotting under the sun while people in other parts of the world go hungry.

“The undocumented workers who come here simply want the same thing everyone else wants—to put food on their table and provide for their families. Work is here and they want work. No one else wants to do this work, so they do it. They are not evil, Ms. Leon.”

“I’m well aware of that, Father.”

“Are you? Because that’s not what I see and hear every time your boss is quoted in the paper or gives a speech. He thinks that Mexicans are ‘stealing jobs’ from Americans. I don’t see any white people lined up to pick lettuce, do you?”

“Father, I understand—”

“I have many undocumented families in my parish, some who have been here for decades, their children were born here, others came when they were little, they know no other life or home. They can’t go back, either because of what they’ve left behind or what they’ve already built here. And what they hear every day is that they are criminals, fiends who only want to sell real citizens drugs, steal from them and chop off their heads. It’s all a vicious lie. That’s not who they are.”

Slick watched Camilla take this from the priest, obviously not happy but bearing it anyway. She nodded and moved on like a pro.

“Okay. So how can I help?”

“Help with what? Pedro is dead and your office and the papers all call him a murderer. What more do you want to do to him?”

“If he’s innocent, clear his name.”

“Yes, of course, I’m SURE that is what you’re here for.”

Slick was pretty sure that was sarcasm from the holy man. Father Jose snorted and turned away, heading up the center aisle of the church. Slick and Camilla followed him.

“Father, I assure you that is EXACTLY why I am here.”

“You are here, Ms. Leon, to do what you usually do … make your boss look like he is fair to Latinos. So he can point to you and say, ‘See, it’s not about skin color,’ when we all know that’s exactly what it is about. You are here for show.”

Slick could see that Camilla was steaming and about to blow a gasket, so he interjected. “She’s not here on behalf of her office or her boss, Father.”

The priest stopped, turned to her. “Is this true?”

She nodded. “George doesn’t know I’m here. I’m doing this on my own.”

He thought about that, eyes on her. “I see. So that’s why you are with Mr. Elder. I know that Pedro did not murder Roger Carlson. He spoke highly of Roger, looked up to him and thought the world of him and his wife. I cannot prove that Pedro did not do this, but I would bet my soul on it.”

“Did he have any friends that we can talk to?” Camilla asked.

“He volunteered here for everything, but Pedro was very shy, did not make friends easily. I will ask around and see what I can find out, but these days my church regulars are mostly older people, not young like Pedro was. You should try where he worked, too. Some of the people he lived with worked with him.”

“We don’t know where that is, all we know is that he was a day laborer, but we haven’t yet found out where he worked or for whom,” Camilla said. “No one who hires undocumented workers will talk to us.”

“He worked for Banning Construction, they are building a new Walmart by the freeway. He didn’t like working for them, my impression was that he took a lot of abuse, but the money was too good for him to pass up. That is all I can tell you.”

Camilla just waited. Father Jose came to an internal decision.

“I do know of one man who Pedro worked with there, his name is Sergio, you can tell him that I vouched for you. He may speak to you or he may not, I don’t know. He is also undocumented and will be reluctant to expose himself. That is everything that I can tell you.”

“Thank you, Father. If you think of anything else, please call me directly. Here’s my cell phone number,” Camilla handed him her card.

He studied it, glanced back up at her. “Are you Catholic?”

“Weren’t we all, once upon a time?” she replied.

“T
he boarding house
Pedro lived in is now empty,” Camilla said as she drove down the street. “That’s the first place that was hit, all his roommates basically fled the moment word got around of his arrest.”

“They didn’t leave town, though, right? Just moved somewhere else.”

“Yes. We don’t have the names of anyone who lived there, at least, not officially. I could ask around, but I’m not the most popular person in the Latino community here, as you may have noticed.”

“I did observe that, yes.”

“Relations have never been great between our office and the Latino community, but the past five or six years it’s been terrible. I understand why they’re upset, I do. But if I quit my job, that changes nothing. I stick with it long enough, I could possibly make some real changes.”

“So what happens when your boss finds out what you’re snooping around the Pedro case?”

“He’ll give me a verbal spanking, but that’s it. He won’t fire me, it’ll be too embarrassing for his office. I’m the only female and Hispanic on staff.”

“You knew where Pedro worked, when you asked him, you just wanted to see if the padre would tell you.”

“I wanted a name. He gave us one.” She made a turn, heading outside of town.

“He knows more than he’s telling us.”

“Probably he knows something from confession but cannot say, that’s why I wanted a name. He knows somebody who knows something who won’t be bound by the confessional. And now we know who that somebody is.”

“Nice,” Slick said, and then sat and simply enjoyed the silence between them. This should have felt awkward, she worked for the District Attorney’s office, after all, she was John Q. Law personified. It shouldn’t be this easy, joining up with her on this venture, but somehow it came so natural, and for her, too. He caught her glancing at him out of the corner of her eye and that pleased him. He grinned.

“What?” she finally asked.

“You’re pretty smart … for a COP,” he said, but with a smile.

“A cop AND a lawyer, so I got the double hex on me.”

“Yeah, how the hell did that happen?”

She didn’t answer right away, just drove.

“I’m the brown daughter of Mexican born immigrants,” she finally said. “My whole life, people have been telling me what I couldn’t do, simply because I’m female, my last name is Leon and my skin is dark. And whenever someone tells me I CAN’T do something…”

“It makes you want to do it even more.”

She glanced over, nodded. “I’m built that way. Tell me I’m never gonna be smart enough to graduate college? I’ll earn a four year degree in just three. Tell me I’m too fragile for law school? I’ll get into to the toughest one and graduate number one in my class. And as for why I work where I work? Because of the words ‘and justice for all’. I believe in justice like Father Jose believes in God. It’s not perfect, our system, but if I don’t do my part to make it better, who will?”

Slick liked that, liked that a lot. Camilla pulled up to a massive construction project and parked in the lot. Workers toiled in the hot sun, laying bricks and mixing cement.

“Why do you do what you do?” she asked.

“Same reason you do.”

“That’s why you play cards professionally?”

“No. I play cards for fun and I do other things for money. I do what I do because I believe in karma and justice. Something ain’t right here and it bothers me enough to do something about it. Like you said, if we don’t, who will?”

She looked at him for a moment and then smiled before she turned the engine off.

“Who, indeed?” she said.

Slick liked that smile very much and was thankful once again for his dark cultural heritage because it hid the fact that blood was rushing to his face and he was blushing.