by Frank Zafiro
The first thing I saw was Doris Talbott’s small, slender fingers. Long, manicured nails, painted a deep red, caught my eye. The nails on the middle and ring finger were torn and ragged. When the door swung open further, I saw the same red on her lips. The lipstick on her bottom lip was smeared downward toward her chin. A brighter red flared around her left eye.
“Are you all right?” I asked, stepping forward.
Doris held up her hand to stop me. She swallowed. “I’m fine, Carl. Really. Please, just go.”
I shook my head. “I can’t do that, ma’am.”
Her lip trembled. “You have to.”
“Did he hit you?”
Her hand rose reflexively to her eye. She shook her head. “No. I, uh...” Her eyes darted away from mine. “I walked into a door.”
“Into the knob?”
She squinted at me, then winced and touched her eye again. “The knob?”
“Did you walk into the knob?” I repeated.
“No. The, uh, frame. The door frame.”
I stared at her without speaking.
She stared back, blinking. “What?”
“You didn’t walk into a door, Mrs. Talbott.”
“Sure I did.”
“No,” I said, “you didn’t. That injury obviously came from a closed fist. Now why did he hit you?”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “He didn’t,” she whispered.
“Is he here?”
She nodded.
“Where?”
She cleared her throat and wiped away the tears gingerly. “In his den.”
“Drinking?”
Her composure shifted and a sarcastic tone crept into her words. “Oh, yes. He is having himself a drink.”
I moved forward to enter the house. I thought for a moment that she might refuse to let me in, but her automatic good manners took over and she stepped aside. Once I was inside, she closed the door behind me.
“What are you going to do?”
I ignored her question. “Do you want to go somewhere else tonight, Mrs. Talbott?”
“Go somewhere else?” She shook her head. The motion was tentative at first, then stronger. She squared her shoulders, brushed back a lock of her hair and stared me directly in the eye. “No! I won’t be driven from my own home, Carl.”
“It might be safer for you.”
“I’m perfectly safe here.”
I shrugged. The haughty tone I was used to from her had returned. With that, I knew I’d never get her to go to a shelter or even a friend’s house. “Where’s the den?”
She regarded me for a moment. “It isn’t worth it, you know.”
“What isn’t?”
“Going up against Jack. He’ll win. He always does.”
“I’m not going up against anyone,” I lied. “I just want to talk to him about what happened.”
“I told you. I walked into a door.”
“And that’s why you called 911?”
She bit her lip for a moment. “I...was confused.”
“No, you weren’t.”
She didn’t answer me, only regarded me carefully.
“The den,” I said.
She pointed down the hallway to my right.
I turned and strode down the tiled hallway. My boots didn’t click on the tile surface so much as they made a satisfying thud. I took a short flight of stairs up to another hallway. This one opened up into a cavernous, almost museum-like room full of overstuffed furniture. The oil paintings on the wall depicted grand generals, including one of Napoleon on a rearing mount.
Straight ahead, the hallway continued, but my eyes went to the dark mahogany door to my left. Strains of guitar music slipped through the cracked door into the great room.
I gave the door a nudge. The music grew louder as the door swung open. The guitar had a Mexican twang to it, but the tune was classical. Jack Talbott sat in a high-backed leather chair, his eyes closed. He held a glass half-full of amber liquid in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other. Were it not for his sagging jowls and round belly, he’d have the look of an athlete just barely past his prime. His gray-white hair was stylishly combed over to disguise how much it had thinned.
I stepped into the room. Talbott must have heard the sound of my boots on the den’s hardwood floor because he opened his eyes. A moment of surprise registered in them before the veil of arrogance fell back into place.
“Officer Carl Riggins,” he rumbled over the sound of the Mexican guitar. “What’s the occasion?”
I pointed at the stereo. “Can you turn that down?”
Talbott regarded me for moment, then reached for the remote on the table next to him. He pushed a button and the music died abruptly. “I’m surprised,” he said.
“Surprised at what?”
“The music. I would’ve figured you to like it, given the obvious Mexican influence.” He smiled coldly. “But I guess where Mexican is considered, you only like what comes out of the gutter.”
Isabella’s image flashed in my head. A small ball of hate for Jack Talbott burned in my chest. I tried to ignore it. “What’s going on here tonight, Jack?”
He raised the drink to his mouth. The ice cubes clinked as he sipped. “Nothing,” he said when he finished swallowing. “I don’t even know why you’re here, unless you’re looking to buy a new Ford or something.”
“Doris called 911.”
“I’m sure it was a mistake.”
“She’s got an injury. Her eye.”
“Really?” He took another drink. “And how did that happen?”
“You hit her,” I told him.
He smiled. “Is that what my lovely wife told you?”
“She didn’t have to tell me. It’s obvious from the injury.”
“Really?” he said again. “You’re an expert on injuries, are you?”
“Enough of an expert to know she didn’t walk into a door.”
Jack took another slug from his glass, draining it.
“I’m going to have to take you in, Jack,” I told him.
He chuckled and set his empty glass on the table beside him. He clamped the unlit cigar between his teeth and shook his head indulgently. “No, Carl, I don’t think so. I think what you’re going to do is turn your ass around and get the hell out of my house.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Yes, you can.” He patted his pockets for a light. “There’s no problem here. If Doris says she walked into a door, then that’s what happened.”
“You can’t hit your wife, Jack.”
He found his Zippo in his front pocket. “I can do whatever I want. This is my town.” He removed the cigar from his mouth and gave me a hard stare. “Now I’m done playing with you. Get out of my house or I’ll get the Chief down here.”
He put the cigar between his teeth and struck the lighter.
“Don’t light that cigar,” I told him, my voice low.
His eyebrows shot up. “You’re giving me orders now, Carl? In my own house?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. That’s not how it works. Like I told you, this is my to—”
I took two quick steps and whipped my open hand through the air. The blow caught both of his hands at the fingers. The cigar and the lighter flew from his grasp, clattering against the bookcase.
Talbott’s face reddened. Rage settled in his eyes. “You son of a bi—”
I latched onto his wrist with one hand and his elbow with the other. With one swift lever motion, I dumped him out of the chair and face-first onto the hardwood floor. He grunted while I ratcheted the handcuffs onto his wrists.
“What the hell do you think—”
“You’re under arrest for assaulting your spouse,” I told him. “You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney.”
He let loose a string of curses, but it was nothing I hadn’t heard before.
“Let’s go,” I said. I pulled him to his feet.
“You can’t do this to me!” he barked a
t me. He pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. “You are finished!”
“Finished here,” I grunted in agreement and shoved him toward the door.
“I want to see the Chief!”
“You can call him from lockup.”
His eyes flared open at the word, then narrowed again. “Finished!”
I took him by the elbow and walked him out of the study and into the great room. Doris stood by a chair, her eye wide with wonder. “Jack?” she asked, her voice breaking.
“This is your goddamn fault!” he screamed at her.
“Shut up,” I told him and forced him down the hallway.
“Jack?” she called after him.
“You did this, Doris!”
I pushed him face first into the flat adobe styled wall. I flattened my hand against the back of his head, pressing my thumb into his jaw. I found the mastoid and drove the thumb into it. Jack screamed.
“I said to shut up,” I growled into his ear. “Do you understand me?”
He nodded frantically, but as soon as I eased off on the pressure, his eyes filled with venom again. “You’re going to pay for this. You are going to pay like a mother—”
I drove my thumb into his jaw again and he yelped. “Maybe so,” I whispered, “but between now and then, you are going to feel a lot of pain if you don’t stop yelling at her. You got that?”
He nodded again. I released the pressure. His eyes burned with red-hot hate, but he said nothing.
“Jack?” Doris’ wavering voice floated down the hallway. “What do I do?”
“Wait here,” I told her. I swung Jack away from the wall. We marched out the front door. At the Explorer, I searched his pockets and found nothing. I opened the back door and guided him into the seat.
“You’re finished,” Jack told me, his voice low and deadly.
“Yeah, you said that.” I shut the door. The brief blip of a siren caught my attention and a second Explorer pulled to a stop behind mine. Wes Perez hopped out of the driver’s side. His face was etched with concern.
“¿Que pasa, Carl?” he asked, his tone worried.
Much more slowly, John Calhoun stepped out of the passenger side and made his way toward us. His perfectly combed iron gray hair, creased jeans and impeccably white shirt were familiar and gave me an odd comfort.
“I just arrested Jack,” I told them both.
Wes’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Old John’s face remained impassive, but even in the dim light of the driveway, I saw the sheen of sweat on his cheeks and chin.
“What for?” Wes asked.
“He hit Doris.”
Wes muttered a curse and glanced at Jack in the back seat of my rig.
“That what Doris said?” John stared at me from under the brim of his Stetson.
I held his gaze. “That’s what the bruise on her face said.”
John didn’t answer. He pressed his lips together and swallowed.
“You sure this is such a great idea, Carl?” Wes said. “I mean, this is Jack Talbott we’re talking about here.”
“I know. And Jack Talbott hit his wife.”
“Which I gather she’s not saying,” John added.
“He hit her. And he’s going to jail.” I looked from one to the other, shaking my head in amazement. “Why are you two so afraid of him? Why is this whole town so afraid of him? Because he has money? So what.”
Both men were quiet for a second. The ticking sound of their patrol Explorer’s engine cooling mixed with the sound of the cicadas while we all stood in the driveway and waited.
“He’s got more than money,” Wes finally whispered.
“Like what?” I asked.
Wes glanced up at me, his normally warm Mexican features spiked with worry. Before he could answer, yelling and thumping erupted from the rear of my patrol vehicle. Jack’s muffled demands to be un-cuffed and released wafted out to us. The eyes of both men pleaded with me.
“Might be best,” John said. “You could write a report. Let the judge figure on what to do.”
The tickle of anger that had exploded on Jack inside the house had been worming its way back into my chest since the two of them showed up with their worried faces, walking on eggshells. I reined it in before I blasted both of them.
“I’m taking him in,” I said through gritted teeth. “Now do me a favor and stay here with my rig while I finish up this call.”
Without waiting for an answer, I strode to the rear of the Explorer. As soon as I swung open the rear door, Jack’s voice boomed out from the back seat.
“—Wes, you goddamn wetback turncoat! Get me out of these cuffs or your cousins are going back across the Rio Grande! Do you hear me, Wes? You fucking bean-eater! I’ll make sure your primos —”
I removed a camera I kept back there for photographing evidence and slammed the door again. Jack’s voice dropped to a muffled roar. A quick check showed three shots left on the roll of film.
John cleared his throat. “If you’re gonna be a while, Carl, maybe we ought to un-cuff him. Just while we’re waiting on you to—”
“He stays cuffed.” I looked up at John, then over at Wes. “And I swear to God, boys, if I come out and he’s not still cuffed and stuffed, I will gut-shoot all three of you.”
Both men blanched. They knew I didn’t mean it, but they knew I meant business, too. I didn’t wait for their reply. I headed back into the house.
I entered without knocking. I found Doris in the great room, curled up on a small couch and rocking slightly. Tears streaked her face.
“Doris? I’d like to take your picture, if that’s okay.”
She looked up at me. Her eyes no longer held the arrogant denial I’d seen earlier. Instead, she bore the same haunted, fearful look she’d had when she answered the door. She shrugged. “It won’t matter now.”
I snapped an overall shot of her, then zoomed in for two close-ups of her face. Each time, she flinched when the flash flared as brightly as a muzzle blast.
I lowered the camera and thanked her. She stared back at me with a shaken mien.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked in a voice thick from crying.
“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean the law doesn’t apply to him.”
She sniffed and a sad smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. With a shake of her head, she said, “Oh, Carl. You’re such a romantic. One of these days, reality is going to hit you like a runaway semi.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I touched the brim of my hat and left.
Once outside, I saw that Wes and John had moved out of hearing range from my vehicle. They looked like two dogs that were waiting to be whipped for tearing up their master’s drapes.
John watched me approach. “You gonna need us at the station, you figure?”
I shook my head. “Wes’ll be enough. He can drop you at home first, though.”
John nodded in agreement and obvious relief. “All right, then.”
I gave Wes an upward nod. “See you at the station after, all right?”
His eyes darted to John and then back to me. “Sure,” he said with false camaraderie.
I opened the driver’s door to my Explorer and stepped up into the seat. Jack’s verbal harangue washed over me immediately, but I ignored it and dropped the camera on the passenger seat. I turned the ignition, lowered the gear lever into Drive and headed toward the station.
Jack became strangely silent once we reached the station. His stream of threats and insults for the entire ride dried up. It’s a phenomenon I’d seen before. When the previously ambiguous concept of jail suddenly looms as a very concrete reality for the prisoner, it can be a sobering moment for some. I was surprised it affected Jack in that way, though.
I removed his handcuffs, took his belt and his watch away. The thick band was gold and heavy. I put him in a holding cell at the end of the hall. He rubbed his wrists and glared at me, but didn’t say a word. I decided that booking photographs and fingerprints could wa
it. I needed to get the paperwork done before morning came. Besides, I figured he needed to spend a little time sweating.
Molly was waiting for me at my desk when I closed the door to the hallway of jail cells.
“You really arrested him?” She shook her head in wonder. “I thought I’d never see the day that happened.”
“Why?”
She looked at me like I’d asked the most foolish question of the decade. “Because he’s Jack Talbott, that’s why. This is his town.”
“I keep hearing that. And you know what? I don’t get it. I never have. So he’s got some money. He’s just a big fish in a small pond.”
Molly shook her head. “No, Carl, you’re wrong. It’s not just that he’s richer than anyone else in town. Hell, he’s richer than everyone else in town put together. But it’s more than that.”
“Power?”
“Yeah, that, too. But not the kind you’re thinking of. He’s got plenty of that, but that’s not what makes this his town.”
“Then what?”
She eyed me for a moment. Then she said, “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out. You’re a cop. You’ve been here four years. You’ve seen how he is.”
I turned up my palms and spread my arms. “Enlighten me.”
“He has something on everyone in this town. Something on them or something that they want.”
“Everyone? Come on.”
“Everyone,” she insisted.
I thought about it for a moment, remembering his tirade toward Wes when I opened the back of the Explorer.
“He said something to Wes about his cousins.”
She nodded. “Three of Wes’s cousins are illegals. They work on Jack’s cattle ranch.”
“And he holds sending them back to Mexico over Wes’s head,” I finished.
“Exactly,” she said. “That’s the way he works. If he doesn’t have something on you, he finds out what it is you want and strings you along until he does. And if he can’t get anything on you, he just plain runs you out of town.”
“That’s pathetic. It’s loco.”
“It’s Jack,” she said. “And it’s La Sombra.”
“Jack’s town,” I muttered, shaking my head.
“Now you’re starting to understand what you’re up against.”
I took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, he’s not above the law as far as I’m concerned. And he doesn’t own me.”
