by CB McKenzie
The pain will stop if you’re straight with me and there probably won’t be much damage, Rodeo said. Otherwise I break your thumb and you pay the hospital bill and lose six weeks of work.
The mechanic’s face was sheened with sweat. All I know is that maybe this kid that brought in the old Buick was related to the Monjanos, he said. But I wouldn’t know how, mister. Serious. I wouldn’t know how he was related even if he was. I swear that to you, mister.
You don’t have to swear to me, buddy, said Rodeo. But you do need to make sure to tell the Indian cop—Carlos Monjano, the one they call Caps—that Rodeo Grace Garnet saw that shiny green Impala on Starr Pass Road the day Samuel Rocha got shot. Can you remember those three names and keep them together?
Caps Monjano … the mechanic said. He gulped air as tears slid down his pale face. Samuel Rocha … Rodeo Garnet …
Rodeo let go of his fierce grip gently, pulled a calling card from his wallet and placed it on the bar with a ten-dollar bill.
Just convey that message, buddy.
The mechanic rubbed at his sore thumb and wiped at the sweat on his face. They told me in school they always killed the messenger first thing.
Well, like you said, buddy, you didn’t do too good in school did you? said Rodeo. So if I was you I wouldn’t worry too much about those old school lessons.
The mechanic nodded and looked at his damaged hand as if it were a new addition to his body.
I work on necks too, buddy, Rodeo said. Tell Caps Monjano that if you feel like it.
The mechanic shook his head as he watched Rodeo leave. I ain’t telling anybody a word more than I have to ever again, he said.
* * *
It was full dark when Rodeo stopped at a pay phone at a Circle K on the outskirts of Tucson and thumbed in some quarters. He found the number stored for the Tohono O’odham Reservation Police in his cell phone and dialed it on the pay phone. He covered the speaker with the front of his shirt and tried to flush out Carlos “Caps” Monjano as the killer of Samuel Rocha.
I’d like to speak with Officer Carlos Monjano, the one they call Caps. He said this in his regular voice but rushed it.
Officer Monjano is not available, sir. How can someone else help you?
Just tell Caps Monjano I’m interested in his cousin’s ride, that Impala over in Bisbee that I just found out about. Tell him I saw that green car going over the Santa Cruz River bridge at Starr Pass Road a couple of months ago and it looked like a good car for a drive-by.
* * *
Rodeo skipped the motel lobby when he arrived at the Arizona Motel and went right to #116 where he called Magpies Pizza on the house phone and ordered a large, plain cheese. He turned on the AC full blast. He took a lukewarm shower, got naked in bed and pulled the thinnest sheet in the world over himself. The room phone rang.
Rodeo, my friend, said the motel manager. I need to have some words with you.
Don’t hassle me for money right now, Abi, and don’t make me remind you of what you owe me for finding your sister’s cousin’s son, said Rodeo.
Yes yes, Rodeo, said the motel manager. My family and I are aware continually of all that you have done to keep some Indian Indians safe in Tucson. But I was just wondering if you cared to watch some pornographic movies this evening with me? I just received my new Pornflix Blu-ray DVDs which when watched are supposed to be better than actual sexual relations.
You ever think about having sex with an actual person other than yourself, Abi?
I think of nothing else, my friend.
Well, no thanks on the pornfest, Abi. But thanks for asking. I am just going to watch the news and I got a Magpies incoming, said Rodeo.
Do you want me to pay for your pizza when it is arriving?
Sure Abi. Put it on my tab and bring it over when it gets here. If I’m asleep don’t wake me up and just put the pizza on the table near the door.
Rodeo dialed Summer Skye’s cell phone but got shunted to voice mail and then disconnected. He dialed Tucson Famous Pets and Aquarium Design Center, but got a message machine. He left a message for his dog.
Hang in there, he said. We’ll be on the road again and flush again soon.
* * *
Rodeo fell asleep during the first bit of KGUN ten o’clock news on a TV chained to a metal rack mounted on an eroding wall. The whole enterprise seemed ready to collapse under the slightest pressure.
… Randy Miller was running for U.S. Congress on the Tea Party ticket. A major battle between the Sinaloa marijuana growers’ cartel and rival enforcement gangs from Tamaulipas had left downtown Nogales, Mexico with major property damage, two civilians, two Narcos and two Federales dead. Tombstone vigilantes had constructed their own surveillance aircraft to patrol AMexican borders, said aircraft piloted by monkeys released from Arizona State University biomed studies under pressure from PETA. Another murder in Los Jarros County had been discovered on Agua Seco Road. The Tucson Unified School District was under fire from a coalition of evangelical Christians for sponsoring “unchristian” events like yoga and field trips to see the Dalai Lama. At the insistence of his third wife the basketball coach of the University of Arizona was having a second brain scan …
* * *
Rodeo woke up with his hands bound to the headboard of the bed with a pair of his own disposable handcuffs. Sirena stood over him pulling apart the snaps on her cowgirl shirt. The woman reeked of alcohol and looked fit to kill.
Who let you in the room?
Your boy Abi the Sheik let me in, Sirena said. And I paid the Magpies delivery boy for your pizza. And now I’m going to make you come in my mouth and then you will you spank me for being such a bad, bad girl …
* * *
The image of the TV was blurred but the sound still blared.
Rodeo struggled up through layers of sleep and saw a jumble of beer cans and one-shot liquor bottles, cold pizza, ripped stockings and underwear and a hash pipe. He rubbed his head in his hands as he stumbled into the shower as the TV droned on. When he was as clean as he could get and standing naked and barefoot in the motel room, he heard the news clearly.
“Ray Molina, longtime sheriff of Los Jarros County, Arizona is dead by gunshot wounds suffered…”
* * *
Rodeo noted the time on his phone as he punched out 2ARRWS. It was almost ten a.m. He poured four BC powders into a half-full Coca-Cola can and drank the concoction down.
It’s fresh news to me too, brother. Luis said this without preamble. Rodeo put the phone on speaker mode, sat down on the bed and tried to get his clothes back on.
Where did it happen?
They found Apache Ray dead under the overpass, said Luis. Where that other one was. They think he was shot there.
What was the cause of death?
Two guesses and the first one don’t count.
Shotgun, said Rodeo. Front or back?
Full frontal, Luis said. It was a mess they said.
Any leads?
Deputy Buenjose was by here this morning about seven, said Luis. Asking all kinds of shit.
Who found him?
The bread truck guy he found Ray at about five. Sheriff was killed last night probably between twelve and one Buenjose told me.
Who was on dispatch last night?
Deputy Pal Real was doing dispatch last night till midnight then it went on automatic. Just before midnight somebody called in a suspicious activity under the interstate overpass and Pal Real he put it over to Ray and I guess Ray he went out there to see about it hisself since they are so shorthanded at County Sheriff.
Ray went out there alone? asked Rodeo
You know how Ray gets when he acts Apache.
Did the sheriff manage to call in from the scene?
He called in to say it was nothing there, Luis said. So must have been an ambush.
Why didn’t Pal Real call Ray back, Luis? Why didn’t anybody know Ray was MIA?
Pal Real was at the end of his shift and he didn’t take the
call too serious I guess since Ray had called in from the scene and said it was nothing. Or said it was nothing he couldn’t handle.
There’s a big difference between “nothing” and “nothing you can’t handle,” Luis.
You know how Ray was, brother. Ready, fire, aim. That’s the way Ray always was.
I remember how Ray was, said Rodeo.
The men were silent for a few seconds.
I know you sideways liked each other, brother, said Luis. So for your sake I’m sorry to hear about Ray getting it like this.
Somebody ambushed him, Rodeo said. After Ray made the call back in to Pal Real.
Likely, said Luis.
So whoever killed Ray probably knew how he was and how he worked and how Los Jarros County Sheriff’s Dispatch works.
Or doesn’t work, said Luis.
Rodeo said nothing.
Police were looking for Sirena Rae, brother, said Luis.
Rodeo still said nothing.
You in this someway, Rodeo? Luis asked. Think plain, brother. It’s me now, but it will be Police soon.
No. I’m not involved in this, Luis. Rodeo paused. Unless I’m Sirena’s alibi. I was with her last night about the time Ray was probably killed.
That might not be a good thing for you, Luis said.
I can’t see any of this being very good for me, Rodeo said. But Sirena and I were here not there.
You got witnesses?
Abichiek and probably the pizza delivery man.
That’s convenient, said Luis.
Yes, said Rodeo. It is, isn’t it, Luis?
* * *
Rodeo called Summer Skye.
Is my dog okay?
He’s doing good, Summer said. I brought him home with me last night he was doing so good.
I tried to call last night but just got voice mail on your cell and message at the store.
The store phone redirects to my cell, Summer said. So he heard your message. Then he started whining, so I had to give him some Jameson.
You’re not keeping him to be your drinking buddy, said Rodeo. And you shouldn’t be trying to improve his tastes.
I’m not. Summer laughed slightly. He’s a good dog and all. But he really stinks and Hudson does not like dogs especially old stinky ones.
When can I pick him up?
For his sake give it another day or two. You all right?
Rodeo examined the scratches and abrasions Sirena had inflicted on him the night before. He looked at the TV screen where flashed the face of the dead sheriff of Los Jarros County.
I’m not good, he said. But I could be worse.
* * *
Rodeo was sitting in the truck drinking another analgesic and Coca-Cola cocktail when his cell phone buzzed.
Mr. Garnet? Rodeo Grace Garnet?
I am Rodeo Grace Garnet.
My name is Sisely Miller, Mr. Garnet. I’m Judge Randy Miller’s wife and I need some help.
Rodeo started his truck. What can I do for you, Mrs. Miller?
I need your professional help. About my brother.
Who is your brother?
His name is Tinley Burke.
Rodeo switched off the pickup’s engine.
I know your brother, Mrs. Miller. Slightly at least. He was a professor of mine at the U. Rodeo omitted his taxiing Burke from BoonDocks to Eryn Hage’s place on Convent Street the night before the last. What about Professor Burke, Mrs. Miller?
He’s dead.
Rodeo sat back against the bench seat of his truck.
I’m sorry for your troubles, Mrs. Miller. What happened?
It’s not important, the woman said.
Excuse me, Mrs. Miller?
I mean … The woman stopped. Rodeo could hear the familiar rattle of ice cubes in a drink. He’s dead, Sisely Miller said. And it’s terrible. The ice rattled again. But that’s not what I am calling you about.
How can I help you, Mrs. Miller?
I need something found.
You need to slow down and explain the situation to me, Mrs. Miller.
Where should I start?
Just start at a good spot and go until you’re finished.
All right. The woman sounded flustered, but she found a starting point and started talking. My brother and I had an appointment last evening. We were to meet for dinner at eight o’clock at the Riverpark Inn. He’s never late and seldom misses appointments but he did last night. He did not respond to phone calls and I was worried, so this morning I went by his apartment. He didn’t answer the door, so his landlord let me in and we found him dead and now I need some help, the woman said. Can you help me?
You called the police?
Yes, of course. In fact we called immediately. They are at his apartment right now.
How did you get my name and number, Mrs. Miller?
My husband, Judge Randy Miller contacted someone he knows in the Tucson Police Department. Someone he knew from a statewide committee or something like that. Overhill? Overdale?
Clint Overman? Rodeo asked.
That’s right, she said. Detective Overman.
Is there some question about your brother’s death you think I can answer that the police can’t, Mrs. Miller? I don’t know anything about it. What happened?
I guess he overdosed accidentally on prescription medication, the woman said. Actually my husband, Judge Miller, assures me that it will be ruled an “accidental overdose.”
It’s probably too soon to say that, isn’t it, Mrs. Miller?
My husband usually knows these things. The woman’s voice sounded matter-of-fact.
What do you need me for then, Mrs. Miller?
I want you to find something. The woman hesitated. It’s not a police matter. It’s a private matter. I want you to find something of his for me. Something my brother had. Something he made. Can you just come see me? she asked. I can’t do this over the phone. Meet me in the restaurant at the Riverpark Inn in about twenty minutes, she said. The woman hung up before Rodeo could agree or disagree.
* * *
Rodeo called Clint Overman at home.
You know what time it is? the TPD detective asked.
It’s ten-thirty in the morning, Clint. Why aren’t you at work?
I’m not at work. The man said this as if he were unsure of where he was. His voice was slurred.
I just need some information on Tinley Burke, Clint.
Who?
Tinley Burke. He’s the brother-in-law of Randy Miller, Judge Junior of “The Millers,” the Tea Party fella running for Congress.
I know who he is, said Overman. The cop’s voice was belligerent. Me and good ol’ Randy sat on some bullshit “stop crime or else” committee the current harebrained governor cooked up for the right-wing constituency to preserve Family Values. Overman hiccupped. Which I have no more since I have no family no more. Rodeo heard the crack of a beer can opening. Why you calling me about Family Values at this time of the morning?
Apparently Judge Miller called you for a referral for a private investigator and you referred me.
Oh yeah. Just a while ago. Randy called me looking for a PI, so I threw you the bone, Garnet. The detective’s words tumbled together. So now you owe me and we’re even and you can fuck off forever.
* * *
Rodeo drove to Convent Street and parked in front of the Dota house across the street from Tinley Burke’s last known address. Tomas’s riding lawnmower was gone but the ground was littered with empty beer cans. Rodeo watched the curtains rustle in the front room of the house then turned to look at Eryn Hage’s place. There were several police cars, marked and unmarked, and an ambulance parked in the vicinity. A man in a sharkskin suit and bolo tie detached himself from the small crowd around Burke’s front door and approached Rodeo. Rodeo nodded through his open window, pulled out his fat wallet, slid out his PI license and handed it over. The man examined it closely and then returned the investigator’s license and stuck out his hand.
Jethro Haynes. D
etective, TPD.
As the men shook hands the policeman looked closely at Rodeo’s red and raw wrist. He leaned forward slightly to sneak a look into the cab of Rodeo’s truck, then pulled out his leatherbound notepad and goldplated pen.
What brings you here, Mr. Garnet?
The wife of Judge Randy Miller is trying to hire me to look into something for her about her brother. Rodeo inclined his hat toward the busy apartment.
She tell you where he lived?
Yes.
What do you know about this? the detective asked.
I know he’s dead, said Rodeo.
The Millers don’t think you can investigate Tinley Burke’s death alongside TPD? The cop sounded skeptical. Because that is not going to happen. Not even for Judge Miller.
No. It would be a property reclamation job of work for me as I understand it. Something’s lost Mrs. Miller wants found. But I hadn’t met with her yet, so I wouldn’t know what she wants found that’s lost.
The detective took a few notes.
Are you otherwise acquainted with Tinley Burke?
Not especially, Rodeo said. Professor Burke was an old teacher of mine at the U.
What would you say if I said a witness has you on this scene night before last, with Mr. Burke?
Rodeo looked toward the Dota house to his right and watched a curtain slide back into place. He turned back to the policeman. I’d say Mama Dota doesn’t miss much, so that does not surprise me.
Are you familiar with this ’hood?
This is a home ’hood for me, Rodeo said. I grew up around here and lived here somewhat last year.
So what were you doing here with Burke night before last? Partying?
I drove him home from BoonDocks.
Why’s that?
He was intoxicated.
Were you intoxicated as well?
Not to speak of.
But you came back here from the bar to party with him to get drunk? And anyone else in this party?
I drove him home, got him in the house and left.
You performed a Samaritan’s deed then?
He was drunk and asked me for a ride and since here is not too out of my way back to where I’m staying right now I gave him the ride.
Where are you staying?