Cool in Tucson (27 page)

“And I get a regular shift again, so I know what I’m doing—”

“Oh, is that happening soon?  Back to narcotics?  Good for you.”

“Hope so.  Let’s see, I take the Ina Street exit, is that the best?”

“Cortaro’s closer.”  She took some time describing the best route to her mother’s house, because the streets in these suburbs wind around so…it was comforting to talk to a person who understood so much about the night’s problems without having them explained.  Dietz seemed happy to chat, too—he described some of the shifts he’d been working, subbing for duty sergeants at the various stations.  He told a funny story about a surge in DUIs after a huge family reunion at a midtown hotel, another about a ridiculous argument in the patrolmen’s break room over the relative merits the Diamondbacks’ pitching staff.  “Yelling at each other as if their own futures were at stake.”  They chuckled together softly, and went on to comment about tomorrow’s weather and the construction on various Tucson streets.  They had both had years to find out how empty a room could feel after you hang up a phone.       

When they finally said good-night she moved the clean clothes into the dryer, set a pot of coffee for six and got ready for bed, still smiling.  A conversation that had begun between colleagues seemed to have ended between slightly-more-than friends.  Sarah found rueful amusement in the reflection that their relationship had taken a step forward, after all these years, thanks to the screwed-up train-wreck that was her sister’s life. 
The first favor you’ve done me in some time, Janine.
 She knew at once what Janine’s response to that would be—how she would flick her hair back and say defiantly, “Any time, honey.”  
Only a sister could be close enough to manage both sides of a fight.
 
       

In bed, drifting toward sleep, the cop in her surfaced and popped her eyes open.  
Okay, the keys were in the ignition, but even so, who’d pick Janine’s old heap out of a big lot full of better cars? 

She answered herself, staring into the dark, “A guy who just needed a ride in a hurry.” 

To go where?  And coming from where?  How’d he get to that parking lot? People didn’t walk on busy, treeless Kolb Road in the summer heat.  Where’s the car he came in?  Did he say to a friend, “Just drop me off at the Fry’s store so I can steal a worthless car?” 

She tried to picture the shrugging man with the oily smile that Denny had imitated.  A man who found a helpless child in the backseat, didn’t abuse her as a monster would have, but didn’t take her back where she belonged either. 
What he did,
she said carefully to herself, trying to get her mind around it,
was buy
her a
cheeseburger and take her to a movie.
  And then leave her there, a ten-year old alone in a darkened theater at night, and drive away in her car. 

What kind of a man is that?

Denny, who in her short life had with reason watched a good many men carefully, had said of him, “He thinks he’s cute.”

A sociopath with a Paris Hilton smile?
  Sarah scrolled through mental pictures of men she’d arrested.  She found one or two sneaky smiles and several mean ones, but none that even at a stretch came close to cuteness. 

Drifting off again, she saw a vague image on the insides of her eyelids:  a brown-skinned male smiling and shrugging the way Denny had done. 

You’re not really on my job sheet, you odd piece of work,
but
if I find you first you’re going to feel major pain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Tilly groped for the ringing phone in the dark.  While he was still lifting it, before he’d had time to say hello, a man’s voice began talking, high and fast.  By the time he got the speaker up to his ear, the caller was in mid-sentence, words tumbling over each other, and all Tilly heard for sure was, “…find some way to make it our fault.”

            “Who is this?”  He sat up and fumbled for the light switch.

“It’s Brody for Chrissake.  Somethin’wrong with your phone?”

“My phone’s all right.”  The light came on, hurting his eyes.  “Hell are you calling me for in the middle of the night?”

 “I’m scared, that’s why I’m calling you.  Shut up and listen, now, because you need to hear this.  I can feel it coming, I seen it before.  He’s got his nuts in a pucker—“

“Who has?”

“Rudy, Rudy, who else?  Will you listen to me?   Rudy’s on the prod on account of Ace getting whacked, and he’s looking around for somebody to blame.”

“What time is it?  The sun ain’t even up, can’t it wait till daytime?”

“It’s almost six o’clock for Chrissake.  Willya wake up and smell the coffee?   Them apes from Old May-Hee-Coe are gonna be here with the snow in a couple hours.  And Rudy’s gonna be there, so before we meet them guys we need a strategy, because I’m tellin’ you, he’s on the warpath.”

“So he’s jumpy because of Ace, so what?  He’s jumpy about everything lately.  Ain’t nothing for you to worry about.” 

“He says it is.  Called me last night at midnight, gave me hell for not finding that Rodriguez kid that worked for Ace.  I said, ‘I can’t find him because he’s gone, I told you that, Rudy.’  And then, my Christ, he started yelling and raving—talked like I had something to do with capping Ace, you ever hear anything so crazy?  I think he figures I took the money, for fuck sake.”

“He was probably drunk,” Tilly said.  He peered at his watch again.  Talking to Brody was tough enough even after a good breakfast.  Getting personal wake-up service from him was cruel and unusual punishment.  “I seen him at the dog races last night, he was drinking a lot of beer.” 
Spilling a lot, anyway
. 

“Rudy don’t get drunk,” Brody said.  “Ten years I worked for him, I never seen him with a load on yet.  He gets crazy, is what he gets.  When he gets mad.  And right now he’s mad at me.”

“Tell him Sanchez did it,” Tilly said, and chuckled in a comfortable way so Brody’d know it was a joke. 

“That won’t fly,” Brody said, and Tilly realized with a little tingle that Brody had seriously considered it. “Sanchez is from the neighborhood, he’s a Mex.”

“So?”

“Mexicans stick together, don’t you know that?  Jesus, how long you been in Tucson?”

Too long, I’m starting to think. 
He got out of bed.  “Brody, I gotta get going, I got things to do before I meet you at the store.”  He hung up the phone before Brody could say any more.  Fucking Mick would talk all day if you let him.

He showered and dressed, drove to HoJo’s and ate the three-egg special with sausage and country fries.  Usually he took his time, enjoyed his food, got two refills on coffee.  Waitresses in the southwest corner of Tucson went out of their way to give Tilly good service.  He was weird-looking but he behaved himself, didn’t grab at them and left a decent tip.  They all knew him by now since he ate three meals a day, by himself, in the half dozen fast-food places within a 20-block area that he could replicate in any city in the country. 

This morning he was even quieter than usual, ate with scant attention to his food and took only one coffee refill.  He sat for some time over the second cup, staring at the condiments holder as if he expected the catsup bottle to tell him how much physical abuse of Hector’s small sisters would persuade their mother to tell him where Hector  was. 

If she knew.  If they all got to screaming that would be a problem, in that neighborhood where the houses were so close together.  He would have to grab the smallest girl as soon as he got inside and threaten to break her arm if they screamed.  Then he’d promise to break it anyway if Mama didn’t talk. 

He went over the scene carefully with his friend, the catsup bottle, including the  message from Rudy about a bonus for Hector that he was pretty sure would get him in the door.  When he felt ready he put his standard tip under the saucer and paid his bill, agreeing with the counter guy that yes, it looked like another hot one. 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“Well, I could certainly get used to
this.
” Aggie Decker’s smile lit up Sarah’s doorstep at seven-twenty-four Thursday morning. “Getting chauffeured across town by a polite attractive man who knows his way around all the West side bottlenecks, what’s next?  Is a fat lady going to sing?”  Her hair had been blow-dried and sprayed, and she was wearing the pink blouse with pearl buttons.  

Dietz stood quiet beside her, looking amused.

“Coffee’s hot,” Sarah said.  “You’re both nice to get up so early.”

“I’m always up early,” Aggie said. “It’s one of Nature’s little jokes: by the time you’re old enough to retire, you can’t sleep late any more.”  She walked into Sarah’s kitchen, picked up a mug and smiled across it at Dietz. “Want some?”

“Thanks, I better get to work.”  He looked at Sarah.

“Right.”  She put her hand on his arm and walked him back out the door, closing it behind her.  “You drew an early shift after a late one?”

“My skej is kind of crazy right now.  Lot of people sick I guess.”

“And fetching my Mom made your night even shorter.”

“Oh, that was a pleasure.” His plain face creased in a smile.  “Any time.” 

What did she say to him, I
wonder?

“Sarah?”  His looked at her in a searching way, and gently touched her face. 

“What?” she said. 

“I just…I like seeing you in the morning.”  He leaned forward and kissed her quickly on the lips.   

 Struck dumb by an overwhelming desire to grab him and make love in the carport, Sarah stared at him in silence as he turned away and opened the door of his car.  At the last minute, she heard herself say stupidly, “See you later.”

“Count on it,” he said, as he climbed in.

 She watched him back out and drive to the end of the block.  As he turned he hit the horn one little tap, Beep!  She waved at his disappearing taillight and went back in the house.   

“So,” Aggie said, without looking up from the paper, “you finally found a keeper, hmm?”

“Just like that, in one ride in from Marana, you made up your mind?”

“It didn’t take the whole ride, for Heaven’s sake.  This one’s the real deal, isn’t he?  Not a bartender, hmm?”  While his marriage to Sarah lasted, Aggie had doted on Andy Burke, called him my son, the restaurateur.  Sometime during the divorce wars, she had begun to call him “that bartender.”   

“Definitely not a bartender,” Sarah said, “Dietz is a cop.” 

“Oh, dear.  Well, you can’t have everything.”  She set the paper down and met Sarah’s eyes.  “Janine’s disappeared again, is that it?”

“No, she’s over there on Lurlene Street, last I knew.  But her mind’s not exactly in the game.”

“I told you she was drinking again.  Is she using too?”

“Beer and pot for sure, I’m not sure what else.  I know you deserve the whole story and I’ll tell you everything I know, but can we wait till tonight?  I need to get to work.”