But Thalia couldn’t believe she’d accepted the offer—the man’s or Carmelita’s. What was the guy’s name? John? Maybe John.
Jesus. At least he looked clean. Maybe he hadn’t given her anything.
She desperately wanted a shower, but she was already in danger of being late for work. She felt nauseous, hung-over and dizzy. But not like any of the rare hangovers she had suffered before. She felt drugged. Had John … ? er, Tom … ? put something in her drink?
Thalia dressed and phoned her mother from downstairs. Her mother promised to see that Thalia’s daughter, Evelia, would get to school on time. Thalia cringed again, thinking of the tone of bitter disapproval in her mother’s voice. It was gratuitous—Thalia was already disgusted with herself … angry enough for both of them.
She let herself out of the apartment and then realized she left her car at the club where she’d met John … Tom … Ron?
Cursing, Thalia dialed for a cab.
Her cell phone died just as the dispatcher picked up.
Damn it!
She started walking toward the bus stop three blocks distant, already anticipating the hell she’d catch from her boss. Dreading the grief she’d get from her mother. She cursed the burning ache between her legs as she walked in the muggy morning heat.
Goddamn him! Goddamn John … Tom … Ron … Shawn!
That was his name. Shawn!
And Thalia knew that she knew his face from somewhere, if he could just place it. She saw a coin box for newspapers when she reached the corner and the bus stop. She indulged a hunch and dug out a couple of quarters and bought a copy of the New Austin Recorder. She flipped through the paper until she hit the editorial page. There he was—blond and blandly good-looking. Smiling at her from the little picture that ran each week with his column. Shawn O’Hara.
Thalia folded the paper so she could look at the picture while she sat on the bus. She looked down the road, but saw no sign of the bus.
The streets were still dead; just a lonely red pickup truck approaching slowly from a distance.
THEN
Thalia met her husband at a work-sponsored picnic. Both worked in a hospital serving the greater Dayton area. Thalia was employed as a cook in the hospital’s cafeteria. Rafael was a parking lot attendant.
Sofia Gómez wasn’t pleased by the relationship; she’d hoped her daughter would find a white man. The fact that Rafael’s family was also originally from Southern Mexico didn’t endear him to Sofia as Thalia had hoped.
Despite her mother’s misgivings, Thalia and Rafael were married six months after their first date. They were expectant parents three months after that. In between those two landmarks, the hospital where they worked was bought out by an HMO that promptly shut it down for cynical tax purposes.
Thalia, Rafael and Sofia moved on to Horton County, where Rafael found work at a propane plant.
Their baby, Evelia, was born in a hospital other than the one where her parents had met—a sentimental letdown for the first-time mother and father. Their wedding too, had been a bittersweet experience, particularly for Thalia. Throughout the ceremony, the bride couldn’t keep from thinking of the family who should be there sharing the day with her: her grandparents, her dead father, Francisco … her surviving but now distant brother and sister. Another parking lot attendant gave the bride away.
All her dead.
Standing there in church, Thalia vowed to herself that her own child would never know such loss.
EIGHT
Tell arrived twenty minutes early for lunch, thinking he’d squeeze in some paperwork while he waited for Sheriff Hawk, but Able was already sitting there in a big wrap-around booth, holding court with a bunch of codgers who were laughing and slapping the tabletop at some joke. Tell was pretty sure the half-overheard punch line involved the word “tits.”
Able spotted the New Austin chief of police approaching and said, “Duty calls, boys!”
The old men dispersed quickly and Tell took a seat. The peace officers shook hands across the Formica-top table.
“You doin’ okay, Chief?”
“Yeah,” Tell said, feeling ashamed. “Sorry about last night. Sorry you saw me that way.”
“Like I said at the scene, you had good reason. That’s all we’ll say on that subject ever again, ’cept, have you seen the daily paper?”
“No.”
Able smiled. “That EMT you rightly clocked has been suspended. Fire chief may not be far behind. Paper’s editorial is calling for sweeping reforms. Fucking newspaper’s honchos insisting all Horton County civil servants be given mandatory Spanish language instruction. There’s a photograph too. Guess we’ll have to wait and see how the weekly newspaper treats it all. With Shawn, hell, it could go either way.”
Able passed Tell a copy of the daily newspaper. The Mexican woman was photographed holding her surviving toddler daughter to her chest, crying as she was comforted by Tell and Able. Able said, “We two at least come off as sympathetic. Not that that matters. But, of course, we both know it matters.”
Tell nodded and smiled faintly as the waitress brought him a plastic glass of water with a lemon wedge. She tossed a paper-wrapped plastic straw in front of Tell. Able Hawk was working on a piping hot cup of black coffee.
“Sure was a pretty girl you were with last night, Chief,” Able said.
Tell shook his head, tearing the top off the straw wrapper. “She’s Shawn O’Hara’s girlfriend. Or so I gathered. Her folks own the restaurant. She was just being hospitable while she waited for Shawn to get there.”
“But she is attractive.”
“She is certainly that.”
“Sorry for touching a nerve last night, my friend. I am so sorry for your loss, Tell. God knows, I know what that’s like. But I should have known better than to stupidly raise the issue of your family in that setting and that company. Particularly when it’s so damned raw. Jesus H. Christ, less than a year …”
Tell nodded. “I’ll confess that I’ve been researching you since last night, Able. Read some archived articles from the Recorder’s Web site. So I know that you know plenty about loss yourself. You know what it’s like—losing your wife and your child, almost all at once.”
That set Able back, but he covered it well enough. He said, “So maybe we’re sorry kindred, Lyon.”
Tell said, “We sure seem to share the same flavor of loss.”
Able nodded. “Suspect that bloody business with your family impelled you to leave the Border Patrol and try to get distance from all that Mexican shit by comin’ up here,” Able said, talking fast before Tell could get his back up or maybe interrupt. “But surely you see, Tell, just looking around here now that you’ve arrived, and after last night, that even out here in the sticks of Ohio now-a-days, the goddamn border is nearly every-fucking-where.”
“Too true, in every sense, I guess,” Tell said.
“What do you think about this wall they want to build along the border?”
“I think they better have the illegals build it before they kick them out,” Tell said. “Only way that damned wall will be anything like affordable.”
Able laughed and rummaged through the open briefcase on the bench next to him and pulled out a yellow envelope. He tossed it on the table between them. “The copies of fake operator’s licenses and Social Security cards you requested,” Able said. “These are your copies to keep, Tell. And there are a couple of originals in there from some of the illegal ones we’ve already sent back across the border. You can keep those too—to help train your folks.”
“Really appreciate it,” Tell said. He slipped them out of the envelope and gave them a quick look. “Hell, Able, these aren’t even that good.”
“Nah, but that makes it easier for us, right? We deserve to catch a break, standing against this wicked tide like we are.”
“On that note, I hear the ACLU is after your tail in a big way,” Tell said. “You actually get any compensation back from the federal governmen
t yet for all the bills you sent them for your jail costs?”
Able smiled. “Nah. Hell no. Lawyers tell me I’m on solid ground with that gambit, but they also say my successor’s successor will likely be the one to cash that fuckin’ check. It’s really about principle, though. And it’s gotten me muy regional press. I expect my neighbors to the south and east will soon follow suit. Here’s my dream. I’d like to get all eighty-eight county sheriffs on board, and I don’t think it’s much a reach I’ll see that happen before long. Well, except maybe in goddamn Cleveland. That fucking shithole is full of Democrats who look at these hordes of undocumented Mexicans and scent votes. Traitorous assholes.”
Tell let that conversational strand peter out. He said, “I wanted to give you a heads-up, Able, because I know there’s some money coming Horton County’s way for the interim service, but I’m wanting to take my force around the clock before the New Year.”
“Good,” Able said. “Good. I do mean that, Tell—better for all of us. A town the size of New Austin should be served by a full-time police force. I don’t mind losing the fill-in stipend.”
That was a load off—the hurdle Tell had guessed might be the hardest to clear.
The waitress came to take Tell’s order. Able recommended the meatloaf and mashed potatoes with a side of buttered green beans. Sounded like 1960s-style food at twenty-first century prices. But Tell bit his lip and went along. As she moved to leave, Able Hawk said to the waitress, “Hey, where’s Thalia? She’s not come down ill has she?”
“She ain’t called in,” Betty said, “and Lou’s fit to be tied. May fire her when she shows up. But it ain’t like Thale. I’m worried. Tried to call her on my own during my cigarette break, but …”
Able nodded. “’Spect it’s just car trouble or something. That jalopy of hers … ?”
Tell asked, “Thalia? She another waitress?”
“Yeah, real sweet girl … single mother, don’t you know,” Able said. “One of my—our—increasingly rare legals. Her husband died in a propane tank explosion time back. The fireball blew out half the windows in Horton County. She and her daughter live with her mother and younger cousin now. Suspect the cousin’s another illegal, but I’ve givin’ her a pass because of Thalia and all the trouble she’s had of late. I try to help her out, quiet-like, where I can.”
“You mentioned overlap,” Tell said. “You and my predecessor working on anything together that we need to reevaluate or discuss?”
“No, not at all like we should have been,” Able said. “The polite way to describe the former New Austin police chief would be ‘maverick.’ But a realist like you or me would term the cocksucker who preceded you a turf-conscience prick a hell of a lot more interested in self-advancement and job security than law enforcement. He was a weak-chinned coward.”
“But you scored some big arrests in my town recently, Sheriff,” Tell said. “The prostitution bust a few weeks back. A cockfighting ring. And I get the sense from reading my boys’ duty reports that you’re maybe working on something involving meth my way too.”
“Jesus, you’re sharp, Tell. Regarding the hookers and the birds, you’ll notice I waited until New Austin was between chiefs to move on those messes, so as not to step on toes. And the meth traffic in Horton County, you’re right, it’s centered in New Austin. Out in your rural south end, but radiating out all over Horton County and beyond. I expect news maybe before week’s end on that front. My folks did the heavy lifting and took the risks, but I’m happy to have your crew, and you, come along and share credit. For the sake of the media, we’ll make it look like a long-term, joint operation if you’re okay with that.”
“Sounds great to me … sounds like a gift,” Tell said. “And why would you do that?”
Able waved a hand. “It ain’t an act of charity on my part, or indication I’m fucking Santa Claus, Tell. I’d do it to inspire some of the other police chiefs around Horton County to cooperate more with the sheriff’s department. Stakes are too high for this balkanization and ‘little kingdoms’ crap that’s currently too much the damned norm.”
“Then let’s do that,” Tell said.
The old lawman smiled broadly. “Great. We will. And you’re a real important symbol to me going along, Tell. I mean with your Border Patrol background and all.”
Tell rubbed the back of his neck. He said softly, “Suppose that’s so.”
Able sipped his coffee, then said, “Anything else I can do for you, Chief?”
Tell shrugged his shoulders. “Possibly something I haven’t thought of yet. Frankly, I’m still finding my feet, Able. And my bench isn’t that deep. I’ve got some solid people, but …”
“But no stars,” Able said. “You’ve got no strong right hand, right? No consigliere?”
“Not so far as I’ve detected yet,” Tell said.
“Wish to Christ I could boast that my bench was deeper than yours in that sense,” Able said. “But it so ain’t. Sadly, I can’t yet clone myself.” Able sat back and smiled. “So, us lacking strong lieutenants, you and me, I guess we’ll just have to content ourselves with the knowledge we have one another’s backs, am I right, Tell?”
“Looks as though it’s apt to be that way, Able.” Tell paused. “You really listening to Spanish language tapes?”
“Really am,” Able said. “For all the good it’s doing me. I’m beginning by learning how to curse in Spanish.” He raised his hand. “No, don’t smile like that—I’m serious. If I can curse a blue streak in their own language, it cuts through a lot. I’ve concluded it’s the most useful Spanish for a gringo cop.”
* * *
Tell’s ass was getting sore. He’d been sitting in the goddamn booth too long.
Able Hawk had no sooner hauled up his bulk and left after a firm handshake than a haggard and hung-over Shawn O’Hara shambled in and parked his skinny butt in Able’s seat.
The reporter had plunked a tape recorder down on the tabletop between them. Then he’d broken out a long and slender notebook, and set off on a disjointed and rambling series of questions that veered between sophomoric, intrusive, and, in the case of the murder of Tell’s wife and child, insulting—even provocative. Or Tell thought so.
Tell bit his lip and gave straight answers to matters involving his vision for the force, his priorities and his policing techniques. He indulged a few questions about his individual views on border security and immigration issues. He issued several “no comments” regarding his personal life, and, when Shawn stubbornly pushed a little too far, Tell said, “You ask me one more question about my wife and child and I’m going to shove that pen up your ass, sonny.”
That had flustered Shawn—made him flinch. But then the reporter had dug his hole deeper trying to change tack and justify his intrusiveness. “You know, Chief, I just figured that you being relations to Chris Lyon and all, you’d know and understand that we reporters—”
But Tell had swiftly stepped back into Shawn for invoking his “notorious” cousin’s name. “Chris was the journalist, not me. But since you raise the subject of Chris, maybe the only man who has less regard for sloppy and intrusive reporters than me, is my cousin. I suspect he’d have some definite opinions about you, if this is always the way you go about your job.”
After that exchange, Shawn had fallen back to mundane questions about staffing levels, budgets and reorganizational issues. Tell fielded those questions tersely, but professionally.
Tell checked his watch. The interview had already dragged on twenty minutes longer than he had intended to allot. He said, “I’ve got to end this, Shawn. It’s early days yet and I’m still scrambling to make up for the gap between me and the last chief.”
“Sure,” Shawn said coolly. “Thanks for your time. And sorry I hit so many no-go areas.”
Tell looked at him a time. He shook his head and stuck out his hand. “It’s early days for us too, Shawn,” Tell said. “Let’s neither of us take today as some hint of conversations to come.”
Miguel and Candelario were playing catch at the back of the New Austin Kid’s Association ball diamonds. Several organized games played by white kids were underway, so the boys had settled on the unmowed field behind the diamonds.
It had rained for at least an hour total nearly every day for a week, and that had set to bloom something that Candelario, only six months out of Mexico, had no resistance against.
The boy fresh from Sinaloa sneezed, just as Miguel let fling. Candelario brought his glove up to his screwed-up face, doubling over with the ferocity of his sneeze.
The ball flew high over Candelario’s head.
The boy wiped his nose with the back of his arm, sniffled, pivoted, then set heel down the hill to a copse of evergreens to fetch the baseball—a lost ball they had found behind a dugout three days earlier. The boys had had a fistfight over who got to keep it in their home. Their gloves were cast-offs the boys had found in the dugouts and repaired with duct tape and shoelaces.
As he ran down the hill, Candelario kept his eye on the baseball, watching it part the high grass as it rolled swiftly on. The ball bumped up against something pink at the base of a thicket of trees—something Candelario at first mistook for a rock of some kind.
The boy reached for the ball and saw pink toes.
His gaze trailed up the leg and he saw hair in an unfamiliar place—curly short black hair that was matted with blood.
Candelario began screaming, running back up the hill, pointing behind himself, yelling in Spanish all the way back up to Miguel.
THEN
Thalia had known what had happened the moment she saw the rising, swelling fireball through the front windows of the diner.
The propane plant was too far away for the blast’s concussion to break the windows of the diner, but she was unsteadied—Thalia felt the ground tremble even at three miles’ distance.
Her husband had told Thalia about the dangers of a plant explosion—a catastrophe that could be triggered by something as small as a bit of static electricity from fabrics brushing together. He told her how devastating it could be for those at the scene of the explosion, as well as for those within a mile or so radius—the danger of the imploding windows and flying glass. He told her that those outside and close by might suffer perforated eardrums from the blast’s concussion.
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