Bad Country: A Novel (28 page)

Rodeo closed his eyes for a moment then opened them again. The gun was no longer trained on him. Ronald Rocha had turned away from him and was looking at the desert.

Did it feel good, friend? To kill a man with your bare hands?

It was just something I did, Ronald.

Something you had to do.

No, just something I did.

Do you have regrets about that? asked Ronald. That revenge?

No, Rodeo said. I beat to death a serial killer and I have no regrets about that, Ronald. Rodeo paused. But my lack of remorse does not mean that I did the right thing.

Ronald moved and stood on the edge of the cliff with the big rifle propped on his thin hip and stared out toward Mexico which was but one hard day’s walk away for a strong man.

You know anything about this place? Ronald kept his back to Rodeo.

Back in the day it was a lookout vantage. What used to be some Western Apache tribe, maybe the Chiricahua would put a couple of braves up here to watch out for raiding parties coming up from the south and send up smoke signals if they saw somebody coming to attack their tribe.

You think they loved each other up here, those Indian braves?

May be, Ronald, said Rodeo. It’s lonely up here and no witnesses to speak of.

Ronald Rocha continued to look out over the desert. Yes, he said. It is lonely up here. He held his face up to the sun and spread his arms wide at the blueblister sky. If Rodeo could have moved himself enough he could have pushed the man right off the cliff but he could not move himself enough.

But it’s still good to feel the sun warming your skin, isn’t it, friend? asked Ronald Rocha.

Some days that’s good enough, Ronald, said Rodeo.

Ronald Rocha lowered his arms and his rifle and turned to face his captive.

I am leaving now and leaving you alive, friend, he said. For the moment.

I appreciate that, Ronald.

But you know now that I am always with you, friend. You are always going to know this about me. Forever. Because that is the worst torture to any man. That I am in his mind forever.

Yes, Ronald. I’m always going to know this about you.

All right then. You perform your professional task now, friend. And when you have made the discovery I desire then you return here and put a piece of paper in this provision box of yours and on that piece of paper is going to be the name of the person responsible for the death of my Sammy. And I will give you three days to do this. To present me with the accurate and correct object of my revenge. Or seventy-two hours from now I start killing Innocents.

Ronald stuck a hand in a pocket of his desert camo pants, extracted a cheap pocketknife and tossed it onto the dirt near Rodeo’s feet. He went back to the metal provisions box and lifted it open with the toe of his GI desert boot and looked over the provisions there and let the lid of the trunk fall back down.

You got anymore Fritos, friend? he asked.

In the pack, Rodeo said. The one you made me throw off the cliff, Ronald.

I’ll go get them then, Ronald said.

*   *   *

Rodeo drove to Twin Arrows but there were too many cars and motorcycles in the parking lot and one that looked like an unmarked police car, so he kept driving until he reached the Boulder Turn-Out where he parked. He was dressed in clean Wranglers and a fresh starched shirt but his hands were still shaking visibly. His wrists oozed blood into the cuffs of his shirt and his face was flushed and swelling. He held a bag of melting frozen okra to the bridge of his nose and had his fourth beer wedged between his legs. He stared through the cracked and dirty windshield at a triangular cloud moving like a flatiron pressing the sheet of the sky.

He dialed 2ARRWS.

I’m taking care of business for a change and making some money, said Luis. So be in a hurry, brother. What’s going on? Where you at? People been asking around about you.

I’m around about. And I got a question for you, Luis.

That’s a change of pace.

How would you flush out somebody you think did a drive-by?

What you got going on?

While I’m doing the job for the old lady Katherine Rocha you set me up with, I met this homeless guy who saw a certain car in the area of Starr Pass Road bridge where Samuel Rocha probably got shot in a drive-by. I followed a lead and found the car in Bisbee and it’s connected up to a Res cop named Carlos Monjano who might be the biological father of Samuel’s little sister, a child named Farrah.

I think I know this guy some, Luis said. Caps Monjano, he goes to sweat lodge sometimes. Macho guy? Big? Frown face?

That’s him. And he’s the real father of the little girl that got killed in the hit-and-run back in the spring around Cinco de Mayo time.

So you were thinking it was Ronald that killed Samuel Rocha, but that’s not what you’re thinking now?

No. Ronald did not do it.

What convinced you of that?

A long story I don’t have time to tell.

That’s a lot of work for a day’s pay, brother.

Sometimes it’s like that in my business, Rodeo said. Sometimes it goes the other way.

So what are you thinking now, brother?

I am thinking that from one perspective it might look like Samuel killed his own little sister, Farrah, in the hit-and-run back in early May, Rodeo said.

Why you think so?

Because he lived just a couple of blocks from the accident site. The car he usually drove had a front end repair and full body paint job up in Bisbee the day or so after little Farrah was killed. And right after little Farrah gets killed her big brother starts attending sweat lodge to purge his spirit.

Did the kid really hit-and-run his own little sister?

A witness I found says no. A girlfriend of his named Rose, a waitress at the Kettle on Starr Pass Road, says Samuel couldn’t have done it because he was with her at the time of Farrah’s death.

What are you saying then, brother?

I’m saying that if a person only knew these three things about Samuel and this situation—Samuel’s home location nearby Farrah’s house, the front end damage to his car that gets repairs started the very day after Farrah is killed and that Samuel is acting guilty in sweat lodge—and you didn’t find this witness, the waitress from the Kettle, then it would be logical to conclude that Samuel is guilty of the hit-and-run that killed his little sister Farrah Katherine Rocha. And if you are looking to revenge her death then Samuel would be your target.

So you think this tribal cop, Caps Monjano, he would want to revenge the little girl’s death?

Yes. I think the biological father of Farrah, Carlos Monjano, found out that the big brother of his daughter Farrah, Samuel Rocha, had brought an old Buick LeSabre into a body shop in Bisbee to have the front end repaired and get a total cover paint job. Then I think this cop Monjano found out that Samuel had started going to sweat lodge for healing right after his little sister was killed. You said Caps Monjano goes to sweat sometimes, so he would know who’s showing up and praying and what they are praying about. Monjano just didn’t find Rose—like I did—to alibi Samuel. So when he did the math on this problem he didn’t have all the figures. Without Rose, Samuel looks good for the hit-and-run, so Caps Monjano borrows his gangster cousin’s lowrider from Bisbee, drives to Tucson and cruises where he knows Samuel usually is, drives by, pops him and the kid falls off the bridge.

Or he gets a gangster friend to do it for him.

I think Caps would do it himself, Rodeo said. He pushed a pregnant girlfriend of his down the stairs at Sun Devil stadium, so I don’t think he’d have much trouble stalking a kid and taking a pot shot at him in a drive-by on a near-empty road.

Call Hot Tips about Monjano then and sic Police on him. See if the asshole runs for it. Luis said this without hesitation. You got coverage that way and if it rolls the right way you might get some reward money to use to pay me back some of the money you owe me and then I can be your friend again. And this way won’t involve no gun-n-ammo show which you know I oppose on principle after my experiences in Vietnam that cost me forty percent of my fingers and half of my peace of mind.

You’re confirming what I think, said Rodeo.

That’s what friends are for, brother, said Luis.

*   *   *

Rodeo drove down Agua Seco Road and onto the interstate and headed toward Tucson until he parked at a 69 Truckers’ Stop. Rodeo left his old pickup between two other beat-up trucks, traded his straw Stetson for a greasy gimme cap with a bill so rolled it was almost a tube and put on a pair of wraparound sunglasses to hide his bruises. He entered the store and walked directly to the restroom where he locked himself in a stall for ten minutes and took a huge shit. He then exited the men’s room and sidled up to the banks of pay phones near the truckers’ pay showers, wiped some coins clean on his shirttail, fed them by their edges into the pay phone and dialed the Tohono O’odham Police Department.

I need to leave an important message for Officer Carlos “Caps” Monjano. Rodeo said this in a low voice before the dispatcher could begin her introductory spiel.

Speak up, please. May I have your name?

Just make sure this is being recorded … Rodeo waited a count of three and then said in a rush … Tell Carlos Monjano that there was a witness on the Santa Cruz River bridge who saw him shoot Samuel Rocha from a green Impala with copper Arizona historical vehicle plates, HTX8. And tell him that Ronald Rocha, the uncle of the deceased is going to kill him, kill Carlos “Caps” Monjano as soon as possible to revenge Samuel’s death. This information will also be going to all statewide and federal law enforcement agencies, so make sure Monjano understands that.

Rodeo hung up and wiped his prints from the phone with his shirttail as casually as he could. He returned to his truck and drove another five miles to another large truck stop and performed the same routine but this time calling the Anonymous Tips Hotline for Southern Arizona.

He listened to an electronic voice and then pressed the buttons on the phone that represented the option with the most anonymity and that offered payment for information leading to the arrest and conviction of any at-large felon. He memorized the code provided him by the system and then spoke clearly into a receiver that would automatically scramble his voice so it could not ever be identified or used as evidence in any court of law.

A Tohono O’odham Police Officer named Carlos Monjano shot Samuel Rocha on the Santa Cruz River bridge, Rodeo said. Monjano was driving a green Chevrolet Impala and that car is parked at C-23 Auto Body and Paint Shop in Bisbee. The license plate is a historical vehicle copper and the number is HTX8. Officer Monjano may or may not have acted alone. Monjano shot Samuel Rocha because he thought Samuel Rocha had killed his cousin’s child, a little girl named Farrah Katherine Rocha in a hit-and-run on May 3 of this year. But that child, Farrah Katherine Rocha is actually the biological child of Carlos Monjano. DNA tests will prove this. The DNA of Carlos Monjano will be on file with the Tohono O’odham Police Department.

Rodeo hung up and wiped the phone, returned to his truck and dialed Summer Skye’s cell phone number on his own cell phone.

My dog still alive?

He’s eating bacon and drinking Jameson as we speak or I’d let you talk to him, Summer said.

After all these years together, me and that dog have got nothing to talk about anymore, Doc.

*   *   *

Rodeo parked in front of the apartment that Tinley Burke had rented from Eryn Hage. The yellow crime scene tape was gone but someone had spray-painted DOA on the door. Rodeo called the TPD, identified himself and asked to speak with Detective Haynes.

What can I do for you, Mr. Garnet?

You can tell me where you’re at on the Tinley Burke case, Rodeo said.

Because?

Because I’m working for Tinley Burke’s sister, Sisely Burke Miller, whose husband is Judge Randy Miller, who might be a Congressman soon or governor one day and who has had dinner with all the important people in this great state of Arizona including your chief, said Rodeo. And I doubt there’s anything to keep under wraps anyway that would kill you to tell me.

There was a short silence on the Tucson Police Department end of the line. Let me call you back, Garnet.

You got my number?

I got everybody’s number now, said Detective Haynes.

Rodeo hung up and then just sat his truck. Weaving down the avenue away from the Dota house and heading in the direction of Midtown Liquors was Tomas on his lawn tractor. Otherwise Convent street was quiet as a nun.

Rodeo massaged his temples until the cell phone buzzed in his shirt pocket.

Preliminary autopsy reports on Burke indicate a drug overdose exacerbated by over-consumption of alcohol was responsible for his death, said Officer Haynes. You need anything else?

You know what killed him specifically?

Probably a bad mixocology as I had earlier suggested, the cop said. ME says maybe a big dose of oxycodone tipped the scale since oxy seemed to be the only thing in Dr. Burke that he didn’t have a scrip for. Throw something strong like that into your regular drug regimen and it can kill you even if you been working your routine ’scrip mix safely for a while.

Know where Burke got the oxy? Rodeo asked.

No, we don’t. Do you, Garnet?

No idea, Rodeo said.

Now is there anything else I can do for you and the powers-that-be?

When can I get into Tinley Burke’s apartment? asked Rodeo.

Why do you need to be in there?

Because that’s what Sisely Miller wants me to do. Get into her brother’s place and give it a thorough search.

A thorough search for what?

That would be my client’s business, said Rodeo. My client is Mrs. Judge Randy Miller.

I get it, said Detective Haynes. No need to be subtle. But Miller’s people indicated that there was no problem with a ruling of accidental-by-overdose of prescription medicine on the brother-in-law.

There’s not any problem with an OD by prescription drugs for Tinley Burke, Rodeo said. And I’m not investigating Professor Burke’s death anyway, so that’s no trouble for you and me. Sisely Burke Judge Miller just wants me to do something personal I’d rather not discuss.