Devils and Dust (5 page)

“I don’t know,” Diego admitted. “But I think they’re crazy.”

“We have to get out of here,” Edgar said. He was beginning to look panicked.

“How?” Ruben said. “They have guns.”

“And the fence is electrified,” Diego said. “They told me a man killed himself a couple of weeks ago. Ran and threw himself on the fence. This may not be a real prison, but they’ve sure set it up like one.”

There was a commotion at the end of the room. Two men had come in, their machine guns held loosely at their sides. One of them was the blond man from the truck. The other was tall, skinny, and dark-complected, with what looked like a permanent five-o’clock shadow on his slack jaw and an unruly shock of dark hair shot through with streaks of gray that he didn’t look old enough to have. He dangled a toothpick loosely in one corner of his mouth.

“Okay,
muchachos
,” Blondie said. “Time to start earnin’ your keep. Line up.”

Slowly, the men and boys shuffled into line. Blondie noticed Ruben. “Can you work?” he demanded.

Standing up had made Ruben feel shaky and nauseated, but there was something in the question that told him what his answer needed to be. He nodded.

“Good,” Blondie said, “because we follow the Bible rule here. ‘If any would not work, neither should he eat.’ You may want to let the rest of your
amigos
know about that.”

Ruben thought of asking what Bible verse covered hitting people in the back of the head with gun butts, but he held his tongue.

They were marched out of the barracks, down the dirt path in front of the buildings, and through a wire gate. The land outside was dead flat, with lines of trees forming a wall all around, at least a mile away. Fields began a hundred feet or so from the wire—beans close in, corn and tobacco farther away. Prodded by the voices of the guards, they trudged down the dirt road between the fields until they were ordered to stop. A large farm truck rumbled up then pulled to a stop in a cloud of dust, which made the men cough and wave their hands in an effort to keep the choking stuff out of their eyes and noses. “Get the baskets out of the truck,” Blondie ordered. He gestured with his gun, and a couple of the men climbed up into the truck. The swarthy man with the toothpick still hadn’t spoken. The men started tossing large wicker baskets out. “Everybody get one,” Blondie ordered. The men on the ground looked at each other in confusion.

“Come on, damn it,” Blondie fumed. “You wetbacks came here to pick beans, didn’t you?” He bent down, picked up a basket, and thrust it at an older man in a flannel shirt. “Well, get your fucking basket and pick some fucking beans. It ain’t fucking
siesta
time.” The man took the basket, looking daggers at Blondie, who apparently didn’t like the look. He grabbed the old man by the shoulder and shoved him toward the field. The man stumbled, turned as if to protest, and found himself looking down the barrel of Blondie’s gun. “Go ahead,” Blondie said. “Somebody always gets made the first example of. Might as well be you,
amigo.
” The man turned back and walked into the field. Without looking at anyone, he bent down and began pulling the beans off the low stalks. Gradually, the others followed. Ruben and Edgar ended up side by side, next to the first man.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Edgar said. “I don’t know how—”

“Look for the ones that are this color,” the man said. He held up a fat seedpod, bright green. “Those are ripe. The others, leave for now.”

“I said, get to fucking WORK!” Blondie bellowed.

Ruben and Edgar stooped and began to pick.

T
HE LAWYER’S
office was located on the fifteenth floor of a downtown office building. The paneling in the reception area was expensive, the lighting muted. Soft ambient music, which seemed to consist mostly of single notes gently struck and held for a long time, played in the background. The law firm’s name—Daniels, Gower and Delgado—was hanging on the wall in flowing silver and gold script behind the flawlessly beautiful Latina receptionist. The whole effect was one of calm, tranquility, and elegance.

Jack Keller was spoiling that effect. He stood before the chrome and wood receptionist’s desk, dressed in jeans and the same T-shirt he’d traveled in from Phoenix. It was late afternoon. Neither he nor Angela had slept, and they’d come straight from the airport. Keller had insisted. He’d felt the trail growing colder with each passing hour, and it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Fatigue etched deep lines in Angela’s face, but Keller felt as alert and energized as if he’d just come off eight hours’ sleep.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said, “but if you don’t have an appointment—”

“Tell him it’s about Oscar Sanchez,” Keller said.

“We were here a few weeks ago,” Angela spoke up from behind him.

The receptionist gave her a professional smile. “Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, I do remember you.” She turned back to Keller, the smile tightening. “But Mr. Delgado is very busy—”

“Tell him Jack Keller is here.”

The smile vanished entirely. The receptionist looked at Angela, then at Keller, her face troubled. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “He said you might come.” She stood up. “Please wait. Have…have a seat.” She exited through a door behind her.

Keller turned to Angela. “Did you two talk to this guy about me?”

She shook her head. “No. At least not while I was there. But it was like I said. As we were leaving, Delgado called Oscar back in and closed the door. I wasn’t real happy about that, but it was only a couple of minutes.”

The receptionist came back out. The professional smile was back in place. “Mr. Delgado can give you a few minutes. This way.”

Delgado stood up from behind his own huge desk as they entered. The desk was empty except for a gold-and-mahogany pen and pencil set and a single file folder. A picture window behind him gave a view of the buildings all around.

The lawyer looked to be in his early thirties, younger than Keller expected. He was a small, neat man, impeccably groomed, expensively dressed, and his demeanor was as calm and serene as the office. “Come in,” he said, flashing them a brilliant smile. He extended a hand to Keller. “You must be Jack Keller. I’m Perry Delgado.”

Keller took the hand. “Jack Keller.”

Delgado turned to Angela. “And Mrs. Sanchez. So good to see you again.” His eyes didn’t look as happy as his words. She only nodded.

“Please,” Delgado said, motioning to a pair of leather client chairs before the imposing desk, “have a seat.” They sat.

“The lady outside said that you might have been expecting to see me,” Keller said.

Delgado took his own seat. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Keller, but I had rather hoped I wouldn’t. See you, that is.”

“I get that a lot,” Keller said.

“That’s what I understand from Mr. Sanchez.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“Mostly that if you showed up, it meant that he was in some kind of trouble. I assume that’s what’s happened?”

“He’s disappeared,” Angela said.

Delgado blew out a long breath. “Well,” was all he said. He picked up the file folder and took a piece of paper out. “Mr. Sanchez signed this when he left. It’s a release allowing me to give any information to you regarding him. If you came looking.”

“So, you’re covered. You won’t get in any trouble,” Keller said.

“Not with him, no.”

“But maybe with some other people?”

Delgado put the paper down and looked at Keller. “Mr. Sanchez said you could be trusted. Completely. Those were his words. ‘I trust Jack Keller completely. And you can as well.’”

Keller felt a tightening in his throat. His voice felt strangely hoarse as he said “I’m not a cop. I’m not Immigration. I don’t care about whatever you might be up to. I just want to find my friend.”

Delgado nodded. He stood up and faced the window. “I couldn’t help him. Not like he wanted. Since he’s married a citizen, maybe…and I stress maybe…I could have gotten him back in, if he’d left and gone back to Colombia to reapply. But that could take a year, maybe more.”

“He was worried that the boys weren’t safe,” Keller said.

“Yeah,” said Delgado. “I get that. There’s been an uptick in violence. Kidnappings. Drive-bys with innocent bystanders killed. He was worried, and I don’t blame him. But getting them here, as fast as he wanted? There was no way.”

“Not legally,” Keller said.

Delgado turned away from the window. He was smiling. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I would do something illegal. Even to help a man as nice as Mr. Sanchez and,” he inclined his head to where Angela was sitting, “his lovely wife. And his sons who he felt were in so much danger in Colombia.”

“Surely not,” Keller said. “But.”

Delgado sighed. “But.” He looked down at the desk for a moment, tapping his fingers absently. In the silence, they could hear the muted sounds of traffic in the streets below. He looked up. “Leave me a number,” he said. “I have to talk to some people first. Tell them what Mr. Sanchez said about talking to you. I’ll encourage them to do that.”

“I need the information now,” Keller said.

Delgado looked at him steadily. “I can’t give it to you now. Not without permission.”

Keller stood up and started toward him. “Jack,” Angela said.

Delgado didn’t back away. The window left him no place to go. “Mr. Keller,” he said, “all I can do is give you my word that I will do everything in my power to help you. But some of this is out of my hands.”

Keller stopped. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back.”

Delgado shrugged. “And maybe you will beat the names out of me, and maybe you won’t. But if you do, they still won’t talk to you. And they will not take kindly to it. These are people, Mr. Keller, who it is better to have as friends than as enemies.”

Keller stood there, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, the blood pulsing in his temples. He felt his hands curling into fists. He remembered the relaxation exercises Lucas had taught him. He took a deep breath, then another, deliberately uncurling the fingers.

“How long before you know?” Angela’s voice seemed to come to him from far away.

“Tomorrow,” Delgado said. “At the latest.”

She stood up and handed him a card. “Please call at this number,” she said. “It’s my cell.”

Delgado bowed slightly. “I promise,” he said, “I’ll get back with you as soon as I hear. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

“Come on, Jack,” she said, “Let’s go.”

A
S THEY
waited for the elevator, Angela stole furtive glances at Keller. He seemed outwardly calm, in contrast to how he’d looked when the lawyer had implied he might not be able or willing to help them. She’d seen the tightening of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the telltale signs of the rage in him fighting its way to the surface. For a moment, she’d been afraid he was actually going to try and beat the information he’d wanted out of Delgado. Then he’d brought it under control. But she wondered if he’d be able to do it the next time. She wondered what she’d awakened when she’d brought him out of the desert.

The elevator arrived, and they stepped in together. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “it may be tomorrow before we know anything from Delgado. We should probably get some rest.”

“Yeah,” Keller said. “But I need to make a stop first.” He glanced at her, then gave her a longer look. His voice softened. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine,” she said, but she felt the weight of the long and sleepless hours on her. Her legs ached, and her eyes felt raw, red, and full of sand.

“Lucas should have found us a hotel by now,” Keller said. “Call him. Then you go rest.”

“What are you going to do?” she said.

“I may need some things,” he said.

“Like guns.”

“You heard Delgado,” Keller said. “We may be dealing with some pretty sketchy people soon. I want to be…” He stopped as he saw the look on her face. “What?”

She shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “I want you to go home, Jack. Back to that bar, and that job, and that nice girl who’s falling in love with you. Go be boring. And be happy.”

The elevator had reached the ground floor. The doors opened onto the lobby, all glass and concrete and well-tended plants. Neither of them moved. “What the hell brought that on?”

“The way you reacted when that lawyer looked like he was trying to stonewall us. The look on your face when you talked about arming yourself so you could go deal with, as you put it, ‘sketchy people.’”

“And how was that?”

The door started to close. Angela stepped out, with Keller following. They stood in the lobby of the office building, the flow of people parting around them in their way to the elevators. “Jack, tell me how you feel. Right now.”

He smiled. “Now you sound like Lucas.”

“I’m serious. Tell me.”

“I feel fine, Angela.”

“Just fine?” His brow furrowed for a moment.
He’s so beautiful.
The sudden feeling pierced Angela like a dart.

“I feel good,” he said. “I feel…great.”

“You’re as alive as I’ve seen you since you walked into that bar,” she said wearily, “because you’re hunting again.”