Bad Country: A Novel (17 page)

I think Ronald he likes to kill things all ways, said Luis.

So you thought maybe this fella Ronald maybe might have killed the kid, so you wanted me to dig around and find out if your powwow compadre was murdering people who knew about what he was planning, people like Samuel. So you set me up to work for Mrs. Rocha. That’s why the old woman is not even interested in this investigation, because you’re the one that’s interested in pursuing it. How about that scenario, Luis?

The way you put it it’s hard to figure out how much of that scenario is right, Luis said.

I don’t need an exact percentage Luis. Just give me a guesstimate, said Rodeo.

Only a little bit right, Luis said. The old Rocha woman and her clans are some distant way related to Silk and one of her thousand clans and I seen this dead kid … Luis paused. I just saw Sam around some so yeah, I wondered. But the old woman she called out here about you, Rodeo, Luis said. Second Wife she got the feeling talking to the old woman that the old woman she just wanted to get you in her hire for some reason but I don’t know the reason.

Luis paused. Rodeo said nothing.

I didn’t see the real harm, brother. I just thought working for the old Rocha woman might work out as a day or two wage for you and get me a little of the money you owe me back in the till. Things are tight at The Store just like they are everywhere else, you know. I carry your credit every month and it doesn’t add up for me lately.

You didn’t think I would find anything, said Rodeo. You thought I would just make a few calls, collect my day’s rate and that would be that. That’s what you thought.

I didn’t think you would find something new since the TPD didn’t find nothing, said Luis. I should have known better knowing you. But now that you’re getting closer to Ronald I’m not sure about this whole deal.

What’s the old woman’s motivation in this, Luis?

You know what they say about motivations, brother. You can’t never tell about them sometimes. Pigs and dogs behave for food but horses and humans have minds of their own.

But Katherine Rocha called about me specific?

The old woman she called around looking for you specific.

Why me?

I guess she knew about you from when you were a kid or something, said Luis. I don’t know. She knows your people anyway and she finds Silk. Then when Second Wife she talks to me about it I realize like I said that I know this Rocha kid a little too from the hunt that time in the Whites, said Luis. And more lately from Black Mountain.

Samuel was at sweat lodge? asked Rodeo.

Yeah, he was coming to sweat for a little while. I remember because this kid he blacked out one night after only three stones or so and we had to pass him around the circle hand to hand to get him out the right way and Ronald followed the kid out of the lodge even though Ronald he could take twenty stones and not break a sweat. And that’s the last time I saw either Ronald or the kid.

When was this? asked Rodeo.

Back in the late spring or early summer.

Rodeo considered the information. Before or after Cinco de Mayo time?

After probably, said Luis. Why?

Samuel’s little sister, Farrah, was killed on May third.

Pues?

So this little girl gets killed in a hit-and-run and then the little girl’s brother starts going to sweat lodge to clean up his spirit, so maybe the kid ran over his own sister, Rodeo said.

Luis said nothing.

What’s the logical problem with this scenario, Luis?

The problem with this problem is not the logic of it, brother, said Luis. It’s that people ain’t logical. And this problem it’s not your problem. And Ronald Rocha might be involved with it.

So?

So it’s some types of people you don’t want to have problems with or even have problems around and Ronald is one of those types, said Luis.

What’s his reputation? asked Rodeo.

He was some sort of sniper who also did interrogations in the Gulf War maybe, said Luis. Totally dedicated. A hard guy with skills. Randy Miller was his CO and Randy Miller is a hard guy too, I heard. And they are both “special.”

How are they special?

Butt buddies special.

Randy Miller is married, said Rodeo. He was a County Judge and a State Senator. He’s running for Congress from Seventh District. He’s got kids, I heard.

Lots of special guys are married with kids, brother. Especially when they are political. Where you been all your life?

Rodeo digested this new information.

I know you won’t come home just on my say-so, brother, said Luis. And I know you don’t want to quit on a thing until it’s done to your own satisfaction. But I also know you will quit on something when the logic goes bad against you.

I try to be wise about such, Luis.

Then be wise in this situation, little brother. Be very wise on this one.

I’m well armed and alert at all times, Luis, said Rodeo.

Rodeo hung up without saying good-bye as the young waitress Rodeo was waiting for walked out the front door of the Kettle like her crazy hair was on fire.

*   *   *

Rodeo held out a hand a few feet in front of the waitress to slow her down.

Rose?

The young woman stopped suddenly on the sidewalk outside the restaurant and looked down at the name tag on her polyester outfit which read E
VELYN
and then looked Rodeo over from head to foot and shook her head aggressively. Rodeo lowered his arm.

Rose’s not my real name, the young woman said. The jewelry in her ear and her nose twinkled in the harsh glare of the sun. Sweat watered the rose tattoos on her forearms and wrists. And I don’t do that kind of work anymore.

What kind of work is that? Rodeo asked.

The young woman ignored the question.

I just quit this fucking place too, the young woman said. She threw a bad finger over a shoulder at the Kettle though no one seemed to be paying any attention to her from inside the restaurant.

Waiting tables is a bitch, Rodeo said.

The waitress shrugged at him.

What’s your other work? Rodeo asked.

She ignored this question again and asked one of her own. How did you find me?

Internet.

I can’t get that fucking “RoseRite” site off the Web, she said. A guy made it for me and now it seems like I’m stuck with it for the rest of my life.

Did Samuel Rocha make it for you? asked Rodeo.

Rose squinted her eyes which were pretty but unnaturally bright blue as manmade jewels.

That kid wasn’t smart enough to do something like that, she said. He didn’t even have a computer or a smart phone, can you believe that? She smiled very slightly and looked up at her interrogator. How do … did you know Sam? she asked.

I didn’t know him, Rodeo said. Not while he was alive anyway. Maybe I’m getting to know him now that he’s dead.

I don’t know what that means, Rose said.

Rodeo showed his ID and explained his business in broad terms. The young woman examined his credentials and listened intently.

Can we go someplace, Rodeo Grace Garnet? she asked. It’s roasting out here.

Back inside the Kettle? Rodeo suggested.

No. I hate that fucking place and it hates me, the young woman said. She folded her arms across her chest. I didn’t actually quit yet, but I try to quit it every fucking day. She inclined her head toward another restaurant, a Waffle House attached to a Howard Johnson’s across the street. The pair walked in silence across Starr Pass Road and entered the restaurant and took a booth by a window. Rodeo ordered coffee and a slice of pie from a harried waitress who smacked her chewing gum like she was punishing it.

What kinda pie you want, honey? the waitress asked. She wore no name tag and seemed to be in a big hurry. We got all kinds a pie.

Anything will do, said Rodeo.

Anything-will-do means apple, the waitress said. So a coffee and a slice a apple pie for the gentleman. And for the lady? The waitress glared at the girl in her Kettle uniform.

Just water.

Right. Just water for the lady. The waitress moved off in a huff.

I hate this fucking town, Rose said.

Why do you stay here? asked Rodeo.

Because of the Gem Show, you know. The young woman held up her tattooed wrist from which dangled an extravagant bracelet. I’m a jeweler, so I stay in Tucson so I can be around my business.

Rodeo nodded. During the winter the Tucson Gem and Mineral Show attracted tens of thousands of buyers and sellers of precious and semiprecious gemstones and minerals from around the world and a host of jewelry makers, wholesale buyers and retailers and a lot of hustlers as well.

The jewelry I saw on your Web site looked pretty … Rodeo searched for a word. He chose one he had heard recently. Special.

Thanks. The woman adjusted the bracelet on her wrist. I do have a special talent, I guess. People tell me I do at least.

Special talent usually demonstrates itself without much advertisement, Rodeo said.

The young woman looked again at her own jewelry and then looked out the plate glass window until Rodeo’s coffee and pie arrived but with no water for either patron. The girl pulled a water bottle out of her sling bag, took a long tug.

Well, what can I tell you, Rodeo Grace Garnet, Private Investigator?

I guess we could start with your real name. He nodded at her name tag.

Evelyn, she said. I am Evelyn Dolores Handy. Kind of rolls off the tongue doesn’t it?

It could in the right circumstances, Rodeo said.

The young woman stared out the window. Call me Rose, I guess. Everybody does.

Rodeo waited for a moment until the young woman turned back toward him.

How’d you find me? she asked. The cops never did.

Should they have found you, Rose? The cops?

The young woman shrugged at her interrogator again.

I was going through Samuel’s paperback book collection, Rodeo said. And the word Rose was in a margin here and there. Your Web site address, RoseRite.com, turned up too.

Along with some hearts and flowers probably, Rose said. When she turned and squinted at Rodeo her eyes slitted like a snake’s. Little Sam had a total crush on me.

But a crush not reciprocated? asked Rodeo.

Not at all reciprocated, said Rose. She turned her head coquettishly. How old do you think I am?

Twenty-six. Twenty-seven.

Her face fell. Well, Sam was nineteen, the woman said. He was an okay kid, but no thank you.

You like older men? asked Rodeo.

I don’t like men at all, said Rose.

Rodeo waited for a minute before he spoke again.

And Samuel? Did he like older men?

Sam liked whoever paid attention to him I think, Rose said. His parents never did. He did not exist to them. They lived only for that Little Miss Pageant Doll they called a daughter.

Farrah?

Yeah, Rose said. Can you believe it? Little Mexican kid called Farrah. The waitress shook her head. They dyed her hair and gave her contacts to make her eyes blue. Five fucking years old.

I guess your hair is naturally pink and your eyes are naturally blue, said Rodeo. The young woman blushed. Rodeo shifted the conversation.

Did you know anyone that Samuel hung out with?

We didn’t hang with the same crowd, Rose said. My friends are college kids or Downtowners mostly. Fine Arts people, hippy people, Fourth Avenue people, you know.

Patchouli and dreadlocks, Kierkegaard and world music types?

Rose frowned. I guess so, if you want to stereotype.

Is a cliché the same as a stereotype? Rodeo asked.

Rose shrugged as if she understood the distinction.

But you wouldn’t really hang with some kid like Samuel, right?

Little Sam …

His name was Samuel Esau Rocha, said Rodeo.

Whatever, Rose said. She stared at Rodeo.

Rodeo played the contest until the young woman turned to the window again.

Sam didn’t really hang with anybody I know, Rose said.

Who did he hang with then?

He sold dope to little middle school brats and the high school rats but he was not even cool enough for any of them and so he hated them and he hated Nerds and he hated Goths and he hated Chollos and … Rose stared at Rodeo. Sam hated Redneck Indian Cowboys from the Res the most.

I been called a lot worse, Rodeo said. He sipped his coffee. Go on, Rose.

And he hated his family, especially his grandmother. That bitchwitch.

That’s a lot of hating, Rodeo said.

But he wasn’t even a serious hater, you know. He was just … He was just sort of nothing, you know?

I don’t know much about Samuel, Rose, but by his poetry and what people say about him, said Rodeo. And now he’s dead. That’s why you need to tell me about him.

He wasn’t any kind of person, said Rose. The woman seemed frustrated. He had no real identity. He was sort of like a generic dispossessed teenager. Not ugly but not really that cute except for those huge dark eyes of his. Not smart but not retarded. Rose paused. He wasn’t even serious about not being serious, you know what I mean?

Not really, said Rodeo.

Well, like he didn’t even care that much about dope or destruction or pulling down the hegemony. Sam didn’t stand for anything or even do anything.

Samuel liked to read and write poetry, go to concerts, Rodeo said. Samuel liked you, Rose.

A lot of people like me. Rose folded her arms under her breasts to make them bigger. I have tits. A lot of people appreciate a good set of tits, didn’t you know that, cowboy?

Rodeo sipped his coffee and looked into his cup. I do know that, Rose.

Well then.

But you didn’t like Samuel? Rodeo asked.

He only read dumb kid shit like Harry Potter or crazy conspiracy books. And he only went to concerts to fit in. He would go to anything at the Rialto if there would be some crowd he could pretend to be with. And he went out because he hated staying home with that old bitchwitch of a grandmother he seemed chained to.

Rodeo nodded slightly to encourage the young woman to continue.

You found his books, so I guess you searched his room or something? Rose asked.