Trust Me

by Richard Z. Santos

  “Drunks everywhere, aren’t there?”

  “Yeah, but . . .”

  “Look, pal. You want me to say we’ve got a bunch of alkies?”

  Charles threw his hands into the air. “What is it with you?”

  “I’m worried you’re going to mess up like you did in Delaware.”

  Charles laughed. “Who even are you? No offense but you don’t know shit.”

  “I know this state. I know these people. And I don’t think you’re up for this.”

  “Well, I know you’re here to drive.”

  Mallon stared at him in the mirror until Charles had to blink and pull out his phone. Off to a great start as always. He wanted to call his wife, but it was so late in DC. She would have found a way to charm this guy.

  After a few minutes, the driver tapped a finger against the glass, indicating an unremarkable patch of rock and darkness. “That’s the airport construction site. Mr. Branch will want you out there soon.”

  Charles saw a gate and a few metallic glints but didn’t know what he was looking at. “Who’s Branch?” Charles asked. “I’ve only been in contact with Diana Salazar.”

  Mallon looked in the mirror. “Your house isn’t ready, sir.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I’m just a driver, remember? Mrs. Branch told me it wasn’t ready, so I’m taking you somewhere else.”

  Charles tried to stay agreeable. “Okay, good enough, that’s fine. Mind if I ask where I’m staying?”

  “With Lou Luna, a state trooper. Works security for Mr. Branch, like me. Also a driver. He’s expecting us.”

  Streetlights reappeared on the highway as they passed the Santa Fe County line. With valleys on both sides of the car, Charles began to get a sense of space. He had travelled the political circuit: urban Chicago, suburban Ohio, New England city-states. Electoral-sized bites and small, manageable groups of voters were easy to comprehend, but New Mexico’s empty space—the sheer, insane distance between people and cities—threatened to melt his brain.

  Before Mallon exited, the drunk zoomed past. His headlights were still off and he was driving fast, too fast, weaving his way north.

  They pulled off I-25 and followed a two-lane country road. Charles lost the lights of Santa Fe behind hills. They were moving away from the city. Rocks and dried-out mesquite trees crowded the road. Bluish lights in the distance marked houses trying to make a dent in the darkness. Mallon accelerated around curves. The land on the sides of the road rose and fell, exposing layers of stone. Small, tangled clumps of paddle cactus grew sideways out of the rock and reached for the car. Out here, Charles’ phone had one flickering bar of service.

  “Hey, what is this? I’ll pay for a hotel.”

  “Lou’s is better.”

  A single light appeared. A man in a glass booth wore a military uniform and cradled a machine gun. For a second, Charles thought they were crossing into Mexico. The soldier dropped the gun onto a desk, ran out and lifted a long, yellow metal arm with a sign that read: Stop No Trespassing US Government. The soldier saluted as the car drove through the gate.

  Charles laughed. “Is this a joke?”

  “This is a National Guard base.” Mallon sounded a little too pleased.

  Angular shapes that looked like giant bugs were set in the shadows off the road.

  Helicopters. Charles’ mind reeled.

  “Why am I staying on a military base?”

  “National Guard. This is where Lou lives.”

  “I’m here a few days?”

  The road turned to gravel and they stopped in front of a double-wide trailer, the only building in sight. The car kicked up a cloud of white dust. A yellow bulb cast a weak glow onto three handmade wooden steps leading to the trailer’s door.

  “You’re kidding,” Charles said.

  Mallon got out, loping to the trailer in hunched, angry strides, and slammed his fist against the plastic front door. Charles stayed close to the car. The driveway held a small, dirt-covered Toyota and a black town car identical to Mallon’s. There was no sound other than Mallon’s pounding. There was no wind, and the air smelled cold and empty. The dim glow of Lou’s trailer only brought out the blackness, the way cigarette smoke brings out light.

  “Goddammit, Lou.” Mallon pounded the trailer.

  When Lou opened the door, Mallon pulled him close and whispered. Lou was big, strong, but Mallon towered over him.

  He came back for Charles’ bags and carried them into the trailer.

  Lou stayed in the doorway, looking at Charles with sympathy. “Come in,” he said. “You got a bedroom.”

  The floor near the front door felt thin, as if it might give way if he jumped. Charles could see the entire trailer with a turn of his head. A green suede couch and a massive TV dominated the center. To the left was a small dining area, a kitchen and a closed door. Charles thought about how funny this would all be later. Another story of the road and its indignities. His politico friends would laugh and share their own horror stories. His mother would cringe. It would be hilarious. At some point.

  Lou walked down a short hall to the right. “This is you,” he said.

  Charles followed, surprised that trailers even had hallways. Lou dropped the suitcases on a full-sized bed. A small nightstand and lamp filled most of the remaining space. The room was cold and felt unused.

  Lou put his hands on his hips. “It’s clean.”

  Charles smiled. “It’s fine. Thank you. But . . . the people I’d been speaking with didn’t say anything about staying out here.”

  Lou walked back down the hall. “Yeah? Who you talking to?”

  Charles followed. “Diana Salazar and Jordan Reilly. I’m working on the airport. Is that what you do?”

  Mallon was standing in the far corner, talking into his phone. Lou went to the fridge and pulled out a couple of beers. Charles could not remember the last time he had been so excited for beer so cheap.

  Lou pointed his beer can to the closed door on the other side of the kitchen. “Jordan’s here.” He lowered his voice. “Guess we should be quiet.”

  “Oh.” Charles nodded. “Right, right.”

  Mallon put his phone away. “My ride will be here soon. I’ll wait right here if you don’t mind.”

  “Wherever,” Lou said. “Want a beer? A chair?”

  Mallon shook his head.

  Charles dropped onto the couch. The walls were covered with photos of Lou and a woman skiing, hiking, swimming. The woman’s skin was white, papery, and she had red hair.

  “Is this Jordan?”

  “Sure is,” Lou said. “She loves to do that kind of thing. You know, outdoorsy things?”

  “I always mean to do stuff like that,” Charles said. “But I don’t.”

  “We can show you where to go. My brother lives south of town . . . he really knows the mountains. I’ll connect you two.”

  Charles smiled and nodded. His eyes kept slipping to Mallon near the front door. He noticed Lou do the same. They sipped their beer.

  “So,” Charles said, “you don’t work for Salazar, then? Or do you?”

  Mallon made a noise from his throat. “Told you he’d say something stupid.”

  Charles froze with his beer halfway towards his mouth. Lou raised his eyebrows and scratched the side of his neck. He made quick eye contact with Charles and nodded.

  “I’m a State Trooper, but I’ve been assigned to Mr. Branch. Mallon here also used to be a trooper but came on full time a few years ago.”

  Charles sipped his beer and realized no one knew where he was—not even him.

  “So, I’m the new guy,” Charles said. “And kind of an idiot, evidently. Help me out. What can you give me? At this point, I’ll take anything.”

  Lou laughed. “It’s confusing. Okay, I’m one of Mr. Cody Branch’s security guys. Mallon runs the operation. Big compound, cars, a plane. Sounds impressive, but really I drive Branch around, make him snacks, carry his Louis Vuitton bags. Hell, a few weeks ag
o he made me turn on his shower for him.”

  “Lou, that’s enough.”

  Charles tried not to look at Mallon, but he was standing so still, no fidgeting with a cell phone or shifting back and forth, pure statuary. Charles pulled his eyes away and saw an older, framed photo on the wood paneling. It showed a pair of teenage boys in jean shorts and T-shirts with the sleeves cut off. The thinner one looked like Lou. He held a small rifle on his hip, and both boys glared into the camera. They looked so country, so wild.

  Charles wondered if Lou and Mallon were like these kids, acting tough. Or should he really be scared?

  “So, Branch is helping fund the airport?”

  “Wow, you really don’t know,” Lou said. “Yeah, he funded the campaign for the bonds, your job, Salazar’s job. He’ll fund construction and he’s funding the sun coming up tomorrow.”

  Headlights beamed through the frosted plastic window set in the door.

  “And that’s another one of his cars right now.”

  Mallon opened the door and signaled to the driver. Before leaving, he tossed Charles a set of keys.

  “The town car’s yours while you’re here. Keep it clean. Mr. Branch hates it when his cars get dirty. I hate it when Mr. Branch’s cars get dirty. GPS knows the way to the office. Be there by 9:00 PM.”

  As Mallon turned, Charles yelled, “AM. You meant AM, you said PM.”

  Mallon paused on the front step, nearly filling the entire doorway. Lou stood up and put his hand on the doorknob. Charles felt the beer gurgle in his stomach.

  “See you in the morning,” Lou said to Mallon’s back. “I got this.”

  Mallon walked towards the waiting car without turning around.

  Lou shut the door. “Watch the smart-ass comments.” He leaned back against the door and sipped his beer.

  “Are you scared of that guy?” Charles asked.

  Lou looked down into his can for a moment, chewing on something. Then he locked the door and walked through the kitchen into his bedroom.

  Charles sat alone on the couch and finished his beer. When he turned out the light in his bedroom, the silence was so absolute that he stayed up for twenty more minutes, looking for a white noise app on his phone. He fell asleep before deciding on one.

  WEDNESDAY

  FOUR

  OLIVIA BRANCH HATED ESPAÑOLA. She grew up there but left as soon as possible, and her skin crawled each time she returned. The town still had two distinctions, other than being very easy to leave: the lowrider car was supposedly invented in Española, and it often led the nation in drug overdoses per capita.

  The town also had a little house that had been empty for months. Back when Cody was building his empire a few houses at a time, he had snapped up pockets of real estate across northern New Mexico. Some were on the market now, but many were still empty and waiting for renovation. Olivia was back in town to walk Andrea and her two kids into one of those empty houses. Being married to a rich man did not make Olivia rich, but it did give her access to the properties that her husband owned. This was the third house Olivia had snuck Andrea’s family into.

  “It’s not as glamorous as the house in the mountains,” Olivia said.

  Andrea shook her head. “Oh please, I spent the whole time scared the kids were going to break a window. This is better.”

  “No, it’s really not, but it’s yours as long as you want it.”

  The kids touched the sides of the TV, opened cabinets and rummaged through closets, but they did it quietly, with the subdued energy of kids who’d been evicted three or four times in their lives.

  Andrea and Olivia grew up together and started calling each other “sister” when they were ten. Going on twenty-five years, they were just as close, despite their not sharing a drop of blood between them. With a mom only remembered as a car pulling away and a dad who spent his life drinking and wondering what the hell had happened to him, Olivia had to find family where she could. Yet no amount of bond, familial or otherwise, would diminish her husband’s wrath if he found out what she was doing.

  “I’ve said ‘thank you’ so many times it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

  “No, no, no,” Olivia said, “I can’t do much but I can do this.”

  Andrea’s hair was still growing back but had been stuck in a stubborn phase for a couple months. The treatments were over, for now, but the bills never stopped coming. She ran her fingers through the few inches of growth, curly and soft as a baby’s.

  “I’ve got to get these kids back in school.”

  “I’m sure the lessons you’ve been doing with them have helped.” Andrea shook her head. “My mom was the teacher, not me.”

  Olivia had gone shopping the day before, so the kitchen was already stocked. She helped Andrea unload their few boxes.

  Andrea seemed so tired, but this time Olivia knew it was the moving, the uncertainty, and not the cancer.

  “This is temporary,” Olivia said.

  “You don’t need to remind me.”

  “No, I mean it. This is going to be the last house. I’m really close, really close to finding a way out.”

  “Don’t stay with him for us, girl. Walk away when you need to. We’ll be fine. Wait too long, you won’t get what you want.”

  “We’re all going to get what we need.”

  One of the little girls, Ellie, only five years old, ran by and Olivia scooped her up.

  “All of us,” Olivia said and tickled the girl.

  Ellie squealed with delight and more than a touch of fear.

  “Be careful,” Andrea said. “She’s not used to that.”

  Olivia swung the child down as if she were dropping her.

  “Oh no,” Olivia said and then smiled as she held fast. “Oh no, oh no,” again and again.

  On her way home, Olivia stopped at a gas station with a view of sloping, bare valleys. When she slammed her door, a sound came from the engine block. A clunking piece of metal had fallen from somewhere under the hood and landed with a crunch on the concrete.

  She reached under the car and grabbed a black box, not much bigger than a book of matches. The metal was still warm. Wires snaked out of the top, there was a red LED, and a little switch. She flipped the switch but the LED stayed dark.

  Olivia opened the hood. When she was a kid, back before everything was sealed inside little computers, she had worked on cars with her uncle, but this engine looked impenetrable, like it could navigate the ocean floor. She poked around the edges of the engine block, but the designers had hidden everything away, compartmentalizing and layering the parts. The engine was aesthetically pleasing, clean and one hundred percent useless to her.

  A man in a work cover-all came out of the gas station. Olivia felt his condescension before he said a word.

  “Everything all right there, ma’am?”

  She didn’t look up from the engine. “Everything is just dandy.”

  “You out of gas?”

  Olivia glanced up. “Out of gas?”

  “It happens. Some ladies find themselves pushing that tank a little too far.”

  “And I’m sure you come to their rescue.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Olivia turned and locked eyes with the man long enough for him to fake a cough and turn away. He pulled out a flashlight.

  “So, can I do something?”

  She held out the black box. “This fell out. Maybe an airbag sensor? I’m just wondering where it goes.”

  “Must be a government vehicle, huh?”

  Olivia looked back up at the man.

  “What with the little tracking device,” he said. “GPS.”

  Olivia gripped the black box and forced a smile. “Could you help me reconnect this?”

  Back in Santa Fe, Olivia drove in circles around the Plaza for the better part of an hour. She hoped Cody’s men would spend hours trying to make sense of that route. Maybe the stop in Española would blend in with the other miles on her car that day.

 
; How did the tracking work? Did Cody get a printout of her route every day? Mallon would be the one watching her. He always watched her. She pictured him lurking like a smog cloud in the compound’s guard room—a casita with cold Saltillo tiles, two rooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. Perfect for an old mother-in-law, a sullen teenager or her husband’s increasingly militarized security apparatus. Cody had made millions in the past ten years, but he seemed to enjoy life less and less. Since the airport project started last year, his sullenness had sunk into anger and seclusion.

  Maybe he knew she was on the way out. Olivia had to be careful. A divorce would be easy, but she would have to fight and claw for any kind of settlement.

  Cody and Olivia lived next to the governor’s mansion in a sprawling home in the mountains north of downtown. The house and grounds pooled like a rockslide on a slight clearing and extended up the hill. Parts of the house were higher than others, small flights of stairs leading between rooms and up to a roof deck designed to ensure a better view than the governor’s.

  She refused to acknowledge the slight nods from the security guards. Stay mad or you’ll fold, she told herself. She was going to demand answers, the truth, even an apology.

  Mallon was upstairs, sitting in a chair next to the roof deck. He was always nearby. God forbid Cody’s pet strayed far from his side. Olivia kept her eyes straight ahead, trying not to let her hair stand on end. Mallon looked at his watch and made a mark in his little black notebook.

  Cody was at the edge of the deck in a chaise lounge. The sagging slope of his shoulders and the folds in the back of his sunburned neck made her sad. She had married a bull, but he was aging into a cow.

  “We have to talk,” she said.

  The wind was so strong she thought it might have taken her words away.

  Cody’s hands were folded across his gut—yet another development that was rapidly growing.

  “Shoot.” He sounded half-drunk already.

  Olivia chewed on her words. If she yelled, he would just storm off. If she went soft, he would soothe her but wouldn’t do anything.