The Territory: A Novel (20 page)

“I’m not sure you realize the type of men you’ve got nosing around your place out here,” Josie said.

Winning picked at a piece of tape on her doorframe. “They shot my neighbor in the head, broke into my trailer, and laid his dead body on my couch. I get it.”

*   *   *

Josie and Otto took a complete description of the cars; then they drove down the lane to Red’s house. After a quick sweep, they found nothing out of place. “Maybe word’s out the guns are gone,” Otto said.

While Otto drove them back to the department, Josie caught up with cell phone messages and made routine follow-up calls. As they reached Artemis, she discovered Sheriff Martínez was at the courthouse, guarding a witness in court for the next week. She asked to meet him on the park bench outside for a few minutes.

Otto pulled in front of the police department, and as she reached for her door handle Otto said, “Hang on.” He cleared his throat and turned in his seat to face her. “You know I don’t like to give you advice.”

Josie smiled. “You just feel compelled.”

“Exactly. I just don’t think you take into account your personal well-being. Sometimes I don’t think you’re much better than that Winning lady.”

“Come on, Otto. Just give it to me.”

He smoothed his hand over his head to tame his flyaway hair. “You need to watch what you tell the sheriff. You don’t know that he and Bloster weren’t both in cahoots with Red and the Mexicans.”

She shrugged. “I’ve thought of that. I don’t believe it to be true, but your point is taken.”

“Our fine mayor would love to see you hang from a tall branch, and I’d hate to see this give him the opportunity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Otto pointed over his shoulder to the sheriff, now walking across the grass in front of the courthouse toward the park bench. “If he and Bloster are cooking the books with the county, who’s to say he wouldn’t sell you down the river to deflect attention?”

“There’s nothing to sell—I haven’t done anything!”

Otto blew air out in frustration. “You aren’t listening to me. Don’t give me this crap about living a good life and not having anything to worry about. You’re not that naïve. I don’t care if they’re cops or not; they’re human. Odds are, if they’re in trouble, they’ll do whatever it takes to get out of it.”

*   *   *

Martínez reclined back on the bench with his legs spread apart, slouched somewhat, appearing tired and angry to Josie. She sat beside him, but he said nothing.

“You need to know, straight up, if Bloster reaches for his gun in response to an altercation with me again, he is liable to catch a bullet.”

Martínez still said nothing, just stared at his hands folded in his lap.

Josie wasn’t sure where to take the conversation, so added, “I won’t let that son of a bitch intimidate me with his fists or his gun.”

“I think I’m screwed, Josie.”

The flat tone of his voice raised the hair on her arms.

“I gave Bloster too much power. I couldn’t keep up with the paperwork, and the bills and receipts. Running that jail takes up all my time, and I can’t keep up with the department issues. I figured, Bloster’s such a pain in the ass, he’s always got complaints filed on him for his rough conduct, I’ll just bury him in paperwork.” He turned to face Josie. “That guy’s got a business degree from Texas State. He’s not the dumb jock he portrays himself to be. He was supposed to run his dad’s trucking business, but he wanted something more physical.”

“How bad is it?”

“He took over department expenditures in December. I’ve gone back to check, and he’s been submitting false invoices since January. They’ve gotten more absurd each month.”

“Didn’t you see the expense report? Or, if not you, what about the commissioners? Didn’t they question things?”

“I never submit an expenditure report. I know your office does. Sheriff’s department never has, though. Since I’ve been in office, all I do is a monthly report. I write a one-page summary of profit and expense, and I show them a basic revenue report.”

She smiled grimly and looked at the row of businesses across the street, wondering if the double standard would ever be lifted. “Otto used to do the same, but Moss requested the detailed expenditure report from me. He’s never asked you for one?”

He shook his head.

“You got no worries. You’re a man. Commissioners? Mayor? Come on, Martínez. You can good-old-boy your way through this.”

Martínez nodded once to acknowledge her remark and then looked away.

Josie regretted her words instantly. Martínez had never played her sex against her, and he deserved the same respect.

“I’m sorry, Roy. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He ignored her apology and looked out across the courtyard, his expression distant. “I found receipts for several guns the department supposedly purchased from Red. There was a receipt for a contractor that doesn’t exist, doing five thousand dollars’ worth of repairs on the jail that never happened.” Martínez looked at the ground. “I found mileage claims for Bloster driving from Texas to Florida. Two of them. He’s filched twenty thousand dollars over the past six months alone.”

“Where’s the money coming from?” she asked.

“Homeland Security Grant. The description on the mileage claim said he went to pick up equipment for the department.”

“Get the paperwork together, and I’ll take it to Dillon Reese. He’s discreet. Maybe we can take care of Bloster without making a community spectacle. The commissioners won’t want to admit this to anyone any more than you do.”

Josie stood and saw Manny step outside from his motel office and wave to her. She made arrangements with Martínez to gather all his paperwork together for Dillon by the next morning and walked across the street leaving him sitting there, staring off at nothing.

*   *   *

Manny was standing behind the counter bent over a ledger when she walked in the front door. Josie could tell by his meek smile that something was wrong.

“What’s up, Manny?”

“I hate like anything to ask you this, but your mother left this morning without a word. She just slipped a letter under the office door. Dropped her key in my drop box. I was up and in here by seven, so she must have left at the crack of dawn.” He frowned and slid her a piece of notepaper, with the words
MANNY’S MOTEL
in green block letters printed across the top. Under that, she recognized her mother’s neatly slanted cursive.

Dear Manny,

Thank you for a sweet time. Sorry I had to miss you this morning. Places to go—people to see. Josie owes me for the bill. Just ask her to settle up with you. You take care.

Much Love,
Beverly

Josie felt her face flush and tried to keep the surprise from showing. She reached into her back uniform pocket for her money clip and pulled out her Visa card.

He held his hand up. “If you didn’t know about this, then you don’t owe me a dime.”

“I’m happy to pay the bill.” She slid the credit card across the counter and stared as her mother’s signature on the note she’d written to Manny.
Much Love.

*   *   *

Josie turned the radio off and rolled the windows down to listen to the wind whip the sand and grit around the floor of her jeep. She had developed a taste for bourbon on bad days, a taste that she knew was not healthy mentally or physically, but she could already imagine it sliding down her throat and heating up her belly. Some days she craved the burn more than human conversation or touch.

But at home, she bypassed the bottle of bourbon in the kitchen cabinet and changed into shorts, a T-shirt, and lightweight hiking boots and set off walking behind her house toward Dell’s. The bitter smell of the sun baking the earth and trees, and the sprawling view of the brown and white Hereford cattle roaming the field made it one of her favorite places on earth.

Dell lived in a small cedar-planked house at the foot of the mountains overlooking his cattle. He got by on what he referred to as common sense rules for living. He didn’t believe in charity. People either provided for themselves or they perished. “We didn’t need Darwin to explain survival of the fittest. Spend a week in the desert, and you’ll see it quick enough.”

She found Dell’s banged-up green pickup truck parked in front of the horse barn, and while it signaled he was home, he could be nearly anywhere except inside the four walls of his house.

Josie found him behind the barn with a massive cigar hanging out of his mouth, bare chested, his cowboy hat cocked back at a forty-five degree slant. He wore dusty cowboy boots and cutoff jean shorts that revealed his bowlegs. A shotgun hung from a tool belt. The tip of the shotgun almost touched the dirt as Dell bent at the waist, peering into a hole in the ground.

Dell waved as Josie walked toward him. “Go slow. Don’t want to wake them till I’m ready.”

Josie pointed to a mason jar filled with a translucent yellowish liquid that she recognized as gasoline sitting beside Dell. “You think you ought to put the lid on that?” she asked.

Dell pulled his hat down to shield his browned faced from the sun. “You think I’m going to blow my damn self up pouring fuel with a lit cigar?”

Josie smiled. “What’s up?”

“Damn rattlers killed another calf yesterday. Found her dead in the creek. Bit in the head. Probably grazing and stuck her head down to sniff out something moving in the grass and the rattler got her. I never seen them so bad as this year. It’s like the lack of rain has dried up their holes and made them crazy.” He pointed to Josie’s feet. “Take your boots off.”

Josie gave him a wary look.

“Take your damned boots off, you pansy. I won’t light up the hole until you got them back on.”

Josie did as instructed, trusting Dell over common sense.

He pointed to a patch of dirt several feet from the hole. “Walk quiet and stand right there.”

Josie did so, and a shiver ran the length of her body. She could feel a slight vibration under her feet.

“You’re standing on top of a whole colony of rattlesnakes roiling around under your bare feet.”

Dell laughed at the look on her face.

“I’ve seen them get to be five feet or better.” He pointed at the hole, lowering his voice. “They all come out of that hole, and you’ll be a dead woman in five minutes. Might be a hundred snakes or better in that den.”

Josie cursed Dell, shoved her feet in her socks and boots, and walked backwards with a wary eye on the hole.

He told her to move back another thirty feet and stubbed his cigar out. He stuck a three-foot-long PVC pipe into the hole with a funnel on the top and dumped the gas down the pipe. He pulled up the pipe and backed up ten feet, hollering that the sons of bitches were madder than hell. Josie wished she’d had a camera to catch the joy on the man’s face. He grabbed his shotgun from his tool belt and trained it toward the hole. As snakes twisted out of the hole, Dell blasted a dozen shells, reloading like an infantryman.

A half hour later, they sat at a picnic table behind the cabin, looking at the twenty-five rattles he had cut off the dead snakes and cleaned up with the garden hose. While Josie checked out the bounty, Dell poured himself a glass of dark sun tea and brought Josie a beer. A reformed alcoholic, Dell wouldn’t allow the hard stuff on his property, but he kept the beer cold for Josie.

“We’ll make you a dream catcher out of those rattlers. I’ll show you how to stretch the sinew from a deer to make the web.”

Josie smiled and slipped the bottom of her T-shirt over the beer cap and twisted. Life was so uncomplicated with Dell. She would have fallen for him years ago if he hadn’t been forty years older. The man was a lifelong bachelor with seemingly no desire for intimacy.

“I saw that accountant’s car parked down at your place the other night. That a good thing?” he asked.

“It’s good.”

“How come he’s been gone so long, then?”

She sipped at her beer to consider the question and settled on the short version. “Something about my heart being in a box. I think I’m missing some key relationship gene. Things that everyone else understands make no sense to me.”

“Well, I got a whole list of things wrong with me, but by god, I’m a good judge of character. And I know for a fact that you got a heart of gold, and if that accountant so much as thinks of breaking that heart of yours, he’ll have to answer to me.”

TEN

At 11:30
P.M
. Friday night, Marta Cruz sat on the hood of her car swatting at mosquitoes. The air was damp by the river, full of life, teeming with bugs and bats, and she could smell the rank odor of decay. She preferred the dry, scorched smell of sand and rock and wind that surrounded her small adobe house in town. When Marta was a child, her mother had forbidden her and her siblings from playing in the dirty water of the river, and as she had gotten older, her mother’s superstitions took root. The river was not a place for clean, decent people. Her mother said loose girls and boys who were up to no good hung out there, away from the lights of respectable homes. Down by the river was where the no-gooders partied in shanties, stayed up all hours, and earned their money through vice. Marta had never seen the sights her mother described, but the stories instilled in her a strange paranoia about the Rio. She wasn’t happy about spending the night along its banks.

She had arrived two hours prior and backed her car into a thicket of scrub, then pulled additional cover around the front of her car. Border Patrol had scouted out her position and agreed it would work. She was watching the intersection where Josie had seen the lookout car the night before from the watchtower, and waiting for any activity across the river on the Mexican side. Jimmy Dare and Tim Sanchez, another Border Patrol agent, had ATVs camouflaged and parked along the banks closer to the area where Josie had seen the exchange. Like Jimmy, Sanchez was a well-built agent who obviously took pride in his physical condition. Both agents were average height with short dark hair and muscular builds. Sanchez was bulkier, though, and obviously worked out heavily at the gym, almost to the point where Marta wondered if he supplemented with steroids. His biceps stretched the fabric on his uniform sleeves, and his chest was like a rock.