BULLETS (15 page)

“Damn your poker eyes, is nothing secret from you?”

“It’s not like I can turn it on or off, it just happens.”

“It was quite some time ago and it wasn’t for very long, but it was long enough that I trust him. We stayed friends.”

“How come?”

“How come we stayed friends?”

“Yes.”

“He’s a very good guy.”

“If he was such a good guy, why didn’t it last?”

“Is this really relevant?”

“Just of interest. Just wondering why, if he was such a good guy, you let him go.”

“You’re ASSUMING that I broke up with him. Maybe it was the other way around and he broke up with me.”

“I’m not assuming anything, I KNOW you broke up with him. There’s no way any sane straight man would break up with YOU on his own, no way, uh-uh.”

She allowed herself a small smile at that.

“Okay, you’re right, I broke up with him. Sometimes things don’t work out. Javier is a very good guy and we had a lot in common, grew up on the same block, both children of immigrant parents from Mexico, both drawn to law. But he is very ambitious. Had I been willing to leave this city, or had he been willing to stay here, maybe it would have worked out. Maybe, maybe not, I don’t know for sure. But he is all about his career. Nothing else matters to him but the job. I love my job, too, but I’m not in Javier’s league in that regard. He won’t even be happy being in Phoenix for much longer, he wants to go all the way to DC, be the first Hispanic Bureau Director, perhaps. I can’t see myself working in Washington, or just being a DC housewife. I love my hometown, I want to stay here and I want to do what I do. So I broke it off. But we’re still good friends.”

They drove comfortably in silence for a few moments.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this,” Camilla said. “If you meet him, you can’t ever tell him I told you any of that. He has a lot of pride and he’d be very hurt.”

“I’ll bet. Mexican-American. Blue-flaming fibbie. I bet he’s a fountain of that male macho bullshit you dearly love so much.”

“You have no idea.” Camilla shook her head and cursed affectionately in Spanish. “You and he have a lot in common. Neither of you seem able to walk away from a conflict, I mean, why do that when you can punch somebody, instead?”

“That is one of my flaws, true.”

“But he is a good guy.”

“Just not a GREAT one.”

“He’s a GREAT FBI agent.”

“But not a great boyfriend.”

“Well … much as it pains me to say it, yes.”

Slick felt her eyes on him as he drove, and it pleased him.

“You deserve a great one,” he said after a few moments.

She didn’t respond at first, just stared out the window until Slick parked the old car in front of Barrios and turned the engine off.

“We all do,” she said.

S
lick and Camilla
stepped inside the smoke-filled bar called Barrios, which was filled to the brim with Mexican workers, nearly all of them male, working class and drinking hard as marimba music blared loud from a jukebox.

Conversation halted when they were noticed and every eye in the establishment turned on them. The music cut off suddenly and the silence weighed on them nearly as heavily as the combined glare of hatred from the customers.

“Wow. They really DON’T like you in this town, do they?” Slick whispered to her out of the side of his mouth.

It seemed as if the entire group took a collective step in their direction then stopped when someone in the back barked out something indistinguishable in Spanish. Everyone turned and, without a word or sound, just flowed on out of the bar, through the back and through the front, gliding by Slick and Camilla without touching or looking at them. In a mere instant the bar was empty save for them, a bartender and a single solitary man sitting at a table in the back.

“So it seems that you completely disregarded my instructions, which were that you were to come alone, Mr. Elder,” said the man. “No matter, I still welcome you. Please, have a seat and join me. You also, Ms. Leon.”

Slick and Camilla hesitated a moment then did as the man requested. Slick clocked him close as he sat down. Mexican, around fifty, well dressed in an expensive leisure suit with plenty of jewelry everywhere and a waxed mustache. His eyes twinkled.

“It is an unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Leon. I have heard much about you.”

“None of it good, I imagine.”

“You’d be surprised. It is thought that, with the right positioning and advisement, you could be our first female Mexican-American District Attorney. You have brains, beauty and ambition, which is a very potent political cocktail once one learns how to mix the three together and use them properly. A nearly unstoppable combination, in fact.”

Camilla was momentarily speechless, a condition she wasn’t used to, Slick observed. A bartender brought over a bottle of tequila and three glasses, set them on the table and then quickly left the room. The man poured for them.

“Granted, those are the opinions from those of us in the Hispanic community who have the position and patience to take the longer view. There are those who harbor anger against you for what they think you represent in the short term. What is it, your unfortunate nickname? Dubya Dee? Short for window dressing, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You are much more than that, but now that I’ve finally met you, I can understand how one might make such a mistake. You are a stunning woman.”

“You’re Sergio?” Camilla asked.

“No,” said Slick. “He’s not Sergio. I don’t know who he is, but he’s not Sergio.”

“Mr. Elder is correct, I am not Sergio, but I am here on his behalf. My name is Angel and this is my establishment. Sorry for the theatrics, but I’d anticipated meeting Mr. Elder alone, and since Ms. Leon is now here I fear it necessary for her reputation that we have some privacy.”

“You’re Sergio’s friend?” she asked.

“I did not know Sergio, but he knew of me and reached out for assistance.”

“Where is he?”

“I have heard that Sergio was picked up and taken away by two men in uniform early this morning. Sadly, I fear that he won’t be back.”

“He was arrested? He’ll be in the system and I can get him out—”

“He wasn’t arrested,” Slick said. “Was he?”

“No. Your friend is correct, he was not arrested. Just picked up.”

“But … if he wasn’t arrested, where did they take him—”

“To some remote spot in the desert where, I imagine, they forced him to dig his own grave before shooting him. Likely they flipped a coin afterward and whoever lost had to bury the poor fellow once he was dead.”

“How do you know this?”

“I don’t know for certain, I can only speculate. But my speculation is based on what I’ve observed from the position I’ve held in my community for the past thirty years. There are many, many bodies buried in the deep of the desert.”

Camilla didn’t care for such speculation and it showed on her face. “You know because you’ve buried some of them there yourself,” she said.

“No.” Angel just smiled at that. “You have the wrong idea of me. I’m just a simple businessman.”

“Every drug dealer and gang member ever prosecuted has made that very same claim. You’re connected, somehow, and—”

“I am my own man, I assure you. I belong to no gang or cartel, nor do I traffic in drugs or women, I won’t have it. I prefer ordinary sins myself, wine, tequila … understandable weaknesses of the flesh. I own a place such as this one in many a town in this state and the next, each with the same name, Barrios. That is where my income is derived, from the honest business of selling spirits to the poor souls in need of them. But you are correct in that this is not all that I do.

“And to explain further I must place myself in your confidence, Ms. Leon. If you are uncomfortable with this, I ask that you leave us so that we can continue without you.”

“I’m staying right here and if you confess to a crime, any crime, then I’m sworn by my oath of office to—”

“He hasn’t,” Slick said. “At least, not one that you’d be concerned with. No drugs, no sex trafficking, no gang violence. That’s not who he is.”

“And how do you know, have you met him before?” she demanded.

“No, but I’ve met many a man like him before. He’s basically a Bumpy.”

“Bumpy?”

“Ah, Mr. Elder, you flatter me,” Angel laughed. “Though to be precise, Bumpy Johnson, while a hero of Harlem of the twenties, was eventually convicted of drug dealing multiple times later in his life. I have little patience for drugs myself, especially since I am Mexican. I am a legal resident of Arizona and a naturalized citizen of this country, of course, but in my heart and soul I am Mexican and hate with every fiber of my being what drugs have done to my culture.”

Camilla thought about that for a moment then nodded. “Okay, fine. Go on.”

Angel took a drink. “Very well, Ms. Leon. As you are of no doubt well aware, there are significant numbers of undocumented Mexicans throughout the southwest. Many have been here for decades and are good members of society, they work hard. However, while they contribute, they are not afforded the protections of society.

“A man’s house is robbed, and he thinks he may even know who did it. But he has no papers, what is he to do about it? An undocumented maid is raped, who can she go to for help? The police? Who can any of them go to for justice, since they are denied it from the country in which they work and pour their money and sweat and blood into? Who can they go to for help when they need it?”

“You,” Slick said.

“Yes. Me. Sometimes I mediate between parties with grievances, sometimes I do more and sometimes there is nothing that I can do. But I am the man these people come to in times of injustice. I do what I can, which inside the community of the undocumented can be considerable, but outside the community, not so much. I am, after all, still considered an immigrant in the eyes of the, ah …
natives
 … of this land. It was not my ambition, this small role I play, but when destiny rings, only the foolish ignore the call.”

Angel poured another drink into his glass. “Which brings us to Pedro Garcia and his good friend Sergio.”

“You knew Pedro?”

“No, Pedro was not the kind of man to be found in one of my establishments. I know of him only because of the crime he is accused of committing. I have no idea who killed Roger Carlson. I do not spend much time in this county, my interests span this state and the next, after all. Sergio knows of my reputation and reached out to me, we spoke briefly on the phone. He was scared, with what happened to his friend, and for other reasons. It was well known he was Pedro’s only confidant, next to the priest. Very well known.

“Did you know that Sergio was supposed to be at the diner with Pedro when he was arrested? He overslept and just missed being arrested himself. Once he heard, he hid out for as long as he could, trying to arrange for passage back to Mexico. Sadly, I was too late to help him with that.”

Slick thought about that, thought about how Ted had just ordered the arrest of the two men with Pedro in the diner without hesitation.

“What did Sergio say?”

“Two very important things. Firstly, Roger Carlson was murdered at midnight on Friday night, with Pedro’s work shovel, which was left on the scene, yes?”

“Yes. And Pedro was home alone, with no one who could verify—”

“Except that he wasn’t, Ms. Leon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“He wasn’t home, that’s what Sergio told me. Pedro was not at home.”

“But that doesn’t get him off, in fact, that means he had the opportunity—”

“Where was he?” Slick asked. “Why wasn’t he home?”

“Why is any man … not at home … on a Friday night?” Angel asked.

Camilla glanced at Slick, confused. Slick got it and nodded.

“A woman.”

“Yes, of course.”

Camilla sat up straighter. “But Pedro was religious, he didn’t drink, didn’t fool around—”

“All true,” Angel said. “But even the pious are not immune to falling in love. Even priests have been known to do so. Sometimes even with a woman.”

“Pedro was in love and meeting with her that night,” Slick said. “Which means we have someone who can vouch for his whereabouts. Do you know who she is?”

“I have no idea, nor did Sergio. He just knew his friend was in love, deeply in love for the first time in his life, and that’s why Sergio was sick to his soul for what had happened and the role that he played in it.”

“Role? What role?” Camilla asked.

“Oh no. He didn’t,” Slick said.

“Yes, I’m afraid he did.”

“What are you two talking about?”

Slick stared at Angel, working it out in his mind. “Sergio snagged Pedro’s shovel for whoever it was that killed Roger. It had always bothered me, if someone set him up, they had to get his shovel to use and plant at the scene. Sergio supplied the shovel. That’s what he told you.”

“Is this true?” Camilla asked. “Sergio told you this?”

Angel just smiled. “The pious go to the priest when they need to unburden their souls. The rest go to their bartender. Yes. He needed money and someone offered him a few quick dollars just to procure his roommate’s shovel. He didn’t ask why and he was devastated when he found out what had been done with it.”

“And whoever it was had planned for him to be arrested at the same time as Pedro,” Slick said. “He wouldn’t have been in any position to say anything once he was in jail.”

“True, if he even survived his arrest.”

“Who paid him to get the shovel?” Camilla asked.

“He did not say, nor do I have a clue as to who it was. He was sobbing when we spoke on the phone. We were to meet today, when I arrived back in town, and I’d hoped to find out more as I arranged to get him back to Mexico. But it was not to be, I am sorry to say. Policemen found him and you know how that ended up.”

“Hold on, that’s the second time you’ve made that claim and I want to know more. How do you know it was two men in uniform who picked him up?” Camilla asked.

“I know it the way I know anything, through my network.”

“Did someone SEE them take Sergio, are they willing to go on record—”