Damned If I Do (14 page)

“I suppose.”

“Where did you find that?” Lem asked.

“Top shelf, closet.”

Lem went to the closet and pulled a shoe box down from the same shelf, uncovered it. “Howdy, boys.” He tilted the container toward Fragua so he could have a look at the stack of bills. Lem counted them out. “Two hundred sixty-three dollars and this little stash here.” He held up the small vial of white powder to the light through the window. He unscrewed the cap, dipped his finger, took a taste. “Yep.” He sighed. “And this. What do you think it is?”

Fragua looked at the plastic bag that Lem dangled in his face. “Looks like some little animal’s heart.”

“That’s what it looks like to me, too. What was this kid? A devil worshipper or something?” He sat on the bed next to his partner. “Listen, I’m just a dumb cowboy. This is too much for me.”

“And I just want to be on a stream somewhere.”

“Are you scared?”

“You bet.”

Lem heard crying on the other side of the door. He opened the door and startled Rosa Marotta. He stepped into the hallway with her and closed the door so she wouldn’t see any of the things they had found. In the living room he could see the paramedics still tending to the mother.

“It’s okay, Rosa,” he said, touching her hair. “We really want to help. Will you help, too?”

The girl looked at him.

“Was your brother acting strange?”

She nodded.

“How so?”

She sucked in her sobbing. “He would sing in his room, strange things I didn’t understand.” She looked to see that her mother was still on the sofa. “The way he looked at me sometimes scared me.”

“Did he have any friends?”

“A guy named Emilio. They spent a lot of time together.”

“You know his last name?”

Rosa shook her head, then straightened at the sound of the paramedics leaving.

“Is his name Vilas?” Lem asked quickly.

Rosa shrugged, looking toward the living room.

“Thank you, Rosa.”

Fragua came out of the bedroom in time to see Rosa walking toward her mother. He was carrying the notebook and the shoe box and he put them into Lem’s hands. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Marotta and you get these outside.”

Lem nodded and walked behind him to the living room.

Mrs. Marotta was standing, hugging her daughter. Fragua went to her and put his hand on her back. “Are you all right now, Mrs. Marotta?” he asked.

She nodded. She was still crying a little.

Fragua continued to console her with phrases that to Lem grew more and more empty for their repetition. Lem said nothing to her and walked out to stand beneath a sky that had again turned gray. He stood by the car and waited for the other officer. He looked at the field across the road. To live with such beauty, he thought. You really didn’t need money if you could see land like this, just open your door and have it be there. About fifty yards away he spotted a coyote lurking in the brush.

“Are you ready to go?” Fragua asked from behind him, waking him.

They got into the car. “Rosa told me that José spent a lot of time with somebody named Emilio.”

Lem finished turning the car around in the narrow road. “That would be convenient, wouldn’t it? Seems likely, too. I tell you what, you go talk to Mr. Marotta and I’ll go track down Emilio.”

Lem drove to the little duplex on Carson Road that was supposed to be the home of Emilio Vilas, but no one answered his knock. He knocked on the door of the other unit and a robed, middle-aged woman with bright red hair responded, rubbing her eyes, annoyed.

“I’m looking for Emilio Vilas,” Lem said.

“Well, he doesn’t live
here,”
she said.

“Sorry to disturb you, ma’am. Do you know Emilio?”

“He lives next door, but I don’t know him. I’ve got enough trouble.”

“Trouble?”

She looked at the deputy as if he were stupid. “Men are trouble.”

“So, you wouldn’t have any idea where he is.”

“No, I wouldn’t. Try a bar. He’s a damn alcoholic.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She didn’t say anything, just slammed her door.

Lem decided to take the woman’s advice and check the nearby bars. He drove by one, kicking himself because he hadn’t thought to ask what Emilio’s car looked like. He entered three taverns and asked if anyone had seen the kid. He received little cooperation. Luckily, he had a vague memory of Emilio’s face and in the third dive he saw him. Emilio panicked and made a dash for the back door. Lem gave chase, leaping over a chair, squeezing through stacked crates in front of the rear exit to get outside only to see Emilio’s heels and elbows speeding down the alley. The kid hit a patch of ice and slid into several garbage cans, screamed, and grabbed his leg. He looked back at the deputy trotting toward him, but didn’t get up.

Lem stood over the young man. “How you doing?” He thought it was a funny thing to say.

Emilio just looked at him.

“Broken?”

“No, I just twisted it. What you want with me, man?”

Lem sat, straddling an upset garbage can. “You hear about José?”

“Yeah, he’s dead. What’s that got to do with me?”

“You were pals, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He continued to rub his leg.

A mouse or a small rat bolted from the garbage and across Lem’s feet and he let loose with a short scream. So much for the macho front. He looked up and down the cold, empty alley. “What do you know about José’s body?”

“I don’t know nothing about his body. What do you mean, ‘what do I know about his body?’”

“His body’s gone, stolen right out of the funeral home.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You work there, don’t you?”

“Sure, but, man, I didn’t have nothing to do with José’s body.”

“So, you knew about it?”

“Of course I knew about it. I work there.” He stopped rubbing his leg and looked toward where the alley opened onto Norte Drive.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Nobody.”

“Do you have any idea how they got into Fonda’s?”

Emilio shook his head.

“Can you walk?”

Emilio pulled himself up and tested his leg, nodded.

“Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee,” Lem said.

“I need to be going.” He tossed another quick glance toward Norte.

“No, I really want to buy you a cup of coffee.” Lem looked at his eyes. “It’s the least I can do.” He stood and righted the can, put the lid on it. “Come on.” He supported the man.

Emilio snatched his arm free of the deputy’s help. Lem walked him back into the tavern where they sat in a dimly lit booth. He called for the bartender to bring them a couple cups of coffee.

“So, what kind of stuff was José into?” Lem asked.

“How would I know?”

The bartender brought the coffee and gave Emilio a hard stare.

“What’s his problem?” Emilio asked, watching the man return to the bar.

“Cops are bad for business.” Lem blew at his coffee. “Tell me about José. Tell me about his cocaine deal.”

“What deal? José tooted a little now and then. Big fucking deal.”

“Listen, kid, you can cut the tough stuff. I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to find José so his mama can put him in the ground and feel okay. Hear what I’m saying?”

“José didn’t have no deal.”

“All right. What about the devil shit he was into?”

Emilio shook his head nervously. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The guy kept a rat’s heart in a Baggie. He was into something funny. Listen, you were his friend, so tell me what you know.”

“We were friends. We scored some dope together, got high, got drunk, but I don’t know what he was into, man. Honest. He was acting real strange the last few months. I really didn’t see him that much.”

Lem nodded, starting to believe him. “What do you think of your boss?”

“Mr. Fonda? He’s weird as shit, but he’s okay. You don’t have to worry about him. Listen, José’s mother is going to be all right. Don’t sweat it. She’s not … you know what I mean?”

Everything suddenly fell into place. The Marottas were not about to let some state pathologist desecrate the body of their son. “I know what you mean,” Lem said. “Fonda’s weird?”

“The way he acts. I don’t know. He’s cold like he’s dead or something.” Emilio hadn’t touched his coffee. Now, he sat looking down at the cup.

“You don’t drink coffee?”

“Don’t need it.”

“What was José doing up on Plata Ridge?”

“I don’t know.”

“If he wasn’t hanging out with you, then who was he hanging out with? Do you know who they were?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know nothing. I didn’t see him a lot lately, okay?”

“Okay.” Lem looked at Emilio over the rim of his cup as he finished his coffee. “If you think of anything, give me a call.”

Emilio nodded.

Fragua was eating piñon nuts like crazy, cracking and chewing, and brushing the spent shells off his lap onto the floor of Lem’s truck. Lem looked at him and then at the mess.

“You’re going to clean that up, aren’t you?” Lem asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Clean what up?”

“The shells.”

“This is natural waste, bio-stuff. No need to clean these up. They’ll break down naturally and contribute to the ecosystem, which is your car.” Fragua laughed and sucked at some food that had become caught between his teeth. He looked out the window and yawned. “I love the early morning.”

“Does Mary like to get up early, too?”

“Can’t stand it. She’s a night person. Stays up all hours puttering around the house and watching television. She gets up just after me, though. I don’t know how she does it. She must get four hours of sleep, five tops.”

“I need eight,” Lem said.

“Me, too.” Fragua studied Lem for a moment. “You want to talk about yesterday?”

“Not really. I do have something to tell you. I talked to Emilio last night.”

“Yeah?”

“I found out something about José Marotta’s body.”

“Don’t tell me,” Fragua said. “If you know, that’s fine and let’s keep it that way.”

“You knew,” Lem said.

Fragua looked out the passenger-side window.

“How’d you know?”

“I’m not sure. I guess the Marottas didn’t convince me. Mr. Marotta was too upset and Mrs. Marotta wasn’t upset enough. She didn’t really faint. Hell, I don’t know, but I knew they had him.”

“Enough said on the matter.”

Lem pulled off the highway and onto the dirt road that led to Garapata Mesa. His truck bounced wildly along the wagon-rutted lane even though he was driving slowly.

Afraid of the Dark

An unusual morning rain had come through and left the ground just barely wet. Austin cantered around the arena and was pleased to not breathe in the familiar dust. He ran along the north rail and practiced rollbacks. His mule was getting the hang of it, but still he was a mule and wanted to think about everything before he did it. Austin considered the fact that he had to be smarter than his animal. Apparently, spending most of the hours of most of his days working his equine friends hadn’t made him that smart. It had made him broke and divorced, but not smart. Sarah said as she left, “You go out on trails all right, but what you really love is riding around in circles.” She said that and drove away in a Chevy with a weak battery to the house of another man.

“Damn if that ain’t the horsiest-looking mule I ever saw,” Dwight Twins said from the gate. He had one of his small, sneakered feet set up on the bottom rail.

Austin turned the mule and let him walk toward the man. “How long have you been there?”

“Couple minutes. Long enough to pronounce that the fastest mule in the county. Does he go where you want him to?”

“On occasion.” Austin leaned forward to rub the animal’s big red neck. “I’m thinking of trying him at steer wrestling in the little rodeo.”

“I thought he was scared of cows.”

“It’s true he doesn’t like them that much, but he’s not afraid of them anymore.”

“Well, good luck.” Dwight spat onto the ground, his way of indicating his own sarcasm.

“I was wondering if you’d come be my hazer.”

“Can’t. Gotta drive up to Pueblo and pick up a horse for Delores Rainey. Get Dougie to do it for you.”

Austin laughed. “Dougie couldn’t haze a steer straight if he ran a cable through his mouth and out his ass.”

“Anyway,” Dwight said, “you should ride up to Colorado with me instead of killing yourself down here. You don’t need no rodeo to prove that mule.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Delores wants me to pick up her little brother in Trinidad on the way back.”

“I didn’t know she had a brother.”

“Me neither. I guess he’s a fuckup.”

“There’re a few of those around.” Austin swung his right leg over the mule’s neck and slid off the saddle.

“So, what do you say? Pass up a mouth full of dirt and a broken collar bone for a long boring drive and stale, predictable conversation?”

“When you put it that way.” Austin loosened the girth and scratched the mule’s belly. “Delores must be eighty. How old is this little brother?”

“I don’t know. Seventy? I don’t know. His name is Myron, but she calls him Yeahbutt.”

Austin looked at Dwight.

“She told me he always has to have the last word, so he’s always saying, ‘Yeah, but.’”