Zia Summer, Rio Grande Fall, Shaman Winter, and Jemez Spring

by Rudolfo Anaya

  Sonny sighed. Times like this he felt like his mother. He should help his brother, maybe just see him more often. His brother was adrift, still hustling, still part of la vida loca, the hard life of the streets in which many from the South Valley struggled for survival.

  Hell, Sonny thought, maybe he’s no more adrift than me. What do I have to show for my life? At least Mando seemed happy. Nothing got him down, and even though car dealing was a hard way to earn a living, he was honest. Mando kept clean. Sure he drank, sometimes too much, but he didn’t do drugs.

  His twin brother had an outgoing personality, people liked him, women liked him. He always enjoyed the company of a nice-looking mamasota. Jeanine was the latest in a long line.

  “Hi, this is Sonny. Let me talk to Mando,” Sonny answered.

  “Sonny,” Jeanine said sweetly. “So pleased to talk to y’all. Mando! It’s Sonny!” she yelled.

  Armando came to the phone. “Hey bro, how’s it going? Need a used car?” He laughed.

  “No, my troca’s running fine. Vamo’ a’lonche.”

  “All right, bro. Dónde?”

  “Jimmy’s Place.”

  “You got it.”

  Sonny called Rita. Yes, she was ready. She had just hired a new cashier who had the lunch shift well in hand. So he picked her up, and they drove to Jimmy’s Coffee House in Barelas. The place was packed as usual. The noonday conversations buzzed with local gossip and the latest mitote in city hall politics. People were interested in the mayor’s race and, of course, the still-unsolved Gloria Dominic murder.

  Jimmy cleared a booth next to the window, and they sipped coffee while they waited for Armando and Jeanine. Sonny told Rita about his visit to Estancia and his meeting with Raven. He didn’t mention his visit to Tamara’s.

  When Armando and Jeanine made their appearance, it was a grand entrance. Armando was, in many ways, the opposite of Sonny. He was a few inches taller, heavier, outgoing. He came in shaking hands with everyone and pressing his business card on people. “Come and see me,” he said, smiling at old friends from the valley. “Mando’s Used Cars. ‘Yo no mando, tú mandas!’—that’s our motto. What you want, I can get for you! We treat you right. Right, Jeanine?”

  And the red-haired Jeanine, whose signature was the tight pants and a tank top that bulged with her big breasts, beamed. “You bet!” Eyes turned to admire the attractive woman.

  Mando greeted Sonny and Rita with warm embraces. “Cómo ’stás, bro. Good to see you. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the prima’s funeral. I was in Amarillo … I felt bad.”

  He gathered Rita in an abrazo. “Rita, you look beautiful as always. Really sorry about Gloria. She was a good woman.”

  “We are sorry,” Jeanine added. “I didn’t know her, but Mando said she was just so beautiful.”

  “This is Jeanine, my lady. At least one good thing came out of my trip to Amarillo.”

  “Hi, Jeanine.” Rita smiled.

  “Rita. That’s a pretty name. So glad to meet y’all.”

  Armando always seemed to wind up with dumb but very sincere women.

  “So I told Jeanine,” Mando continued as they sat, “what’s a nice girl like you doing in a dump like Amarillo? Come to ’Burque with me and I’ll show you a good time.”

  “Yeah, great time.” Jeanine winked. Maybe she wasn’t so dumb after all.

  “Patience, my love.” Mando leaned to her and kissed her cheek. “You wait till Mando’s Cars get going. We’ll be rolling in the dough.” He laughed, looked at the menu, and ordered the biggest combination plate available: enchiladas, tamale, tacos, beans, rice, red chile, and plenty of homemade tortillas hot off the comal.

  “So when is this guy going to marry you?” Mando asked Rita.

  Rita shrugged and replied, “And you?”

  “Ah, Jeanine knows I’m not the marrying kind. But my little brother here needs to settle down.”

  “Little?” Sonny punched his arm. “So how is the used-car business?”

  “Slow,” Armando replied.

  Jimmy came by to say hello. He and Armando were old friends, so he took good care of them.

  Mando greeted the owner warmly. “Ese, Jimmy, cómo estás. You know my family. This is Jeanine, my secretary. Set up your best plates, hermano, we came to eat!”

  “This is a treat.” Jeanine smiled. “We don’t eat out very often.”

  “Used cars aren’t moving, but that’s all going to change. I’m going to do for used cars here in the South Valley what Jimmy here did for tacos. Make them hot, make them sell, eh, Jimmy!” He slapped Jimmy on the back.

  They exchanged pleasantries, then Jimmy moved on with his pot of coffee to serve his other patrons: businessmen and secretaries from downtown, small contractors from along the valley and a few Anglos, all aficionados of the hot, homemade food Jimmy served. The conversations were in Spanish, English, and a blend of both: the Spanglish of the people.

  Their plates were served, and Armando made small talk while they ate, talking about the Amarillo used-car-dealers’ convention and how he and Jeanine met.

  “I was modeling at Amarillo Shorty’s booth,” Jeanine exclaimed. “Shorty had us dress up in practically nothing. Know what I mean. Just little teenie-weenie bikinis.”

  “Us?” Rita asked.

  “Me and Darlene. Darlene’s a manicurist, but she was sleeping with Shorty. His wife found out, and the next she knew, she was fired. We were just trying to earn an honest buck. But it was embarrassing, sashaying around Shorty’s cars in practically our bare asses. When Mando came along, I knew it was love at first sight.”

  “Lust at first sight,” Mando said.

  “It was Shorty’s idea!” She nudged his ribs.

  “Yeah, I know what Shorty had in mind,” Mando teased.

  “Not!” She slapped his wrist.

  Sonny smiled. They clearly got along. But that was Mando’s gift; he got along with everybody. He looked at his brother as he talked, listened to the voice he knew from childhood, felt the wide space that separated them.

  Armando smacked his lips as he scooped up beans and chile with his tortilla. “Not as sabroso as yours, Rita,” he whispered diplomatically, “but good.”

  “You haven’t been to my place in ages,” Rita reminded him.

  “Hey, I don’t get up to the North Valley too often. Too busy setting up the car lot.”

  “What he means,” Jeanine said, “is we got no wheels.”

  Mando grinned sheepishly. “One car’s got a dead battery, one has a flat. I had to borrow a car to get here. But this afternoon, we’ll get the battery charged. Things are looking up, right Jeanine?”

  “You bet,” Jeanine agreed.

  “So, what do you know about Turco?” Sonny asked when they had settled into their food.

  “I ran into him a couple of days ago.”

  “Where?”

  “La Granada. He’s using the place as a hangout.” He leaned across the table and whispered. “What do you want with Turco? Stay away from him, bro. The primo’s bad news.”

  “He went to see Gloria.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Right before she was killed.”

  “That’s what they say.…”

  “I need to know why.”

  “That’s easy. Money. What else?” Armando leaned forward and whispered. “The word on the street says the Mexican mafia had brought a million-dollar dope shipment into the city for Turco to distribute. He sold the dope that came up from Juárez, and he was sitting on half a million bucks, maybe a million. Then he decided to gamble with it.”

  “Vegas?” Sonny asked.

  Armando nodded. “Yeah. He threw a wild party. Charter jet, champagne, took half the city and a few legislators with him. It was a big party. He blew the money!”

  Sonny whistled. “I heard about the dope deal, but I didn’t know he had blown it. That’s a lot of lana.”

  “Damn right it’s a lot of lana! When the mafia came to collect, Turco was bro
ke. His life wasn’t worth a bean taco. So maybe he went to his sister for help.”

  Yeah, Sonny thought. If Turco had double-crossed los mafiosos de Juárez, sold their dope and took their money, they would be out for his ass. So that’s why Turco was on the run, hiding here and there with old friends. But he knew, and everybody knew, that when the mafia came to collect, they did. Their money or Turco’s blood, one or the other. Leroy Brown told Sonny that Turco had showed up at the Dominic house. The long-abandoned brother, the dope dealer, finally shows up begging at his sister’s door. He needs money like he never needed it before, with the Mexican mafia after him. And Gloria had it, or could get it.

  Sonny looked out the window. The peaceful, sluggish traffic of the hot summer midday floated on ripples of dry air. The surface of the barrio was pastel colors bright with sunlight, friendly sounds, and the smiles of the people. Beneath that surface lay the danger. Turco Dominguez was one of those dangers. In the barrios of the South Valley, you had to hustle to make a living. It was the same uptown and in city hall, Sonny knew, just more expensive, and the hustlers there wore three-piece suits.

  Armando wiped the last of the red chile from his plate with the tortilla. “Great stuff.” He smiled. Beads of perspiration lay on his forehead like glistening drops of dew. “Panza llena, corazón contento.”

  “What’s that mean?” Jeanine asked.

  “Honey, it means after a meal like this, we take the afternoon off.” Armando winked.

  “Oh, good.” Jeanine smiled and drew close to him. “I wish I knew how to cook your chile, Mando.”

  “You do pretty well.” Mando grinned. He pushed the bill toward Sonny. “Now maybe we can talk Sonny into investing in the new place I want to buy—”

  “We want to buy,” Jeanine corrected him. Mando laughed.

  “I’m broke, Mando, same as you. If I had any money I’d pay my own rent on time.” Sonny smiled and pulled out his wallet. “But I’ll buy your lunch if you tell me more about Turco.”

  “They have him on the run. There’s a lot of guns from Juárez in the South Valley. The streets aren’t safe, bro. You know Frank wouldn’t let Turco step in his house if he knew about it, much less lend him money. But I think our cuz might have asked the Japanese man. He has money.”

  “Morino might have raised the money?” Sonny asked.

  Armando shrugged. “Ah, Turco talks big. He dropped the man’s name. Said that he almost had it, but the truth is he never got a penny. He came back to the barrio angrier than hell.”

  “Then Gloria was murdered,” Sonny finished.

  Armando shrugged. “These ain’t penny-ante people, bro. There’s high stakes involved, and our prima’s dead. Add dos y dos and the answer is keep your nose clean.”

  Rita nodded in agreement and looked at Sonny. Would he take his brother’s warning?

  Sonny was thinking about Gloria. Turco had come to see his sister. He needed a lot of money to save himself. Dope was involved. But why would Gloria see Turco after all those years?

  “Gotta see Turco,” Sonny said.

  “Por qué?” Armando asked.

  “Why did Gloria even let him in? After all this time.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about Gloria, bro. Sorry she died that way. But seeing Turco is dangerous,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to get caught in a crossfire.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” Sonny said, “but I already am. He still dropping by La Granada?”

  Armando nodded.

  Sonny looked at Rita. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’m going with you,” she said.

  “You two are crazy.”

  Sonny stood and dropped enough money on the check to cover it and the tip. “Adiós, bro. Keep in touch.”

  “I will, bro. Gracias por el lonche. Soon as we get our business going, we’ll call you and take you to the Hyatt.”

  “Oh, that would be scrumptious,” Jeanine said.

  “Hey, we don’t need the Hyatt.” Sonny embraced his brother. “We’ve got Rita’s Cocina.”

  “The next one’s on me.” Rita smiled and embraced both Mando and Jeanine.

  “Oh, you’re so great,” Jeanine said, beaming. “People here are just so great.”

  “Glad you left Amarillo?” Armando laughed and put his arm around her.

  “For sure.”

  “Take care of yourself,” Sonny told his brother.

  “Me? I’m not the one looking for Turco. You take care, bro.”

  They parted with handshakes and promises to see each other at Rita’s.

  “She was nice,” Rita said as Sonny drove her home.

  “Jeanine? Yeah, she fits Mando.”

  “You and Mando are so different, but you do have one thing in common.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Afraid of marriage.”

  Sonny smiled. “Gun-shy. Give us time, give us time.”

  “Oh, I will,” Rita replied, and drew closer to him. “I’m beginning to like you,” she teased.

  “And I’m beginning to like you, mujer.” He smiled.

  “I just don’t like the work you do, especially when it comes to dealing with people like Turco.”

  “Ah, he’s no big deal. Dope dealers like Turco are chickenshits inside. They prey on the weak, play the middleman part, drive around in big cars, wear expensive suits, but they run scared. And Turco’s running scared.”

  “Would Gloria really have given him money?” Rita asked.

  “It does seem hard to imagine, but she was like that, very giving. She gave to charities, gave to every cause. What if Turco shows up, and she hates him for the abuse of the past, but instead of ignoring him, she turns and helps him. I wouldn’t put it past her.”

  “Did she have the money?”

  “Probably not. If she had gotten hold of that much bread, Frank would know.”

  “Morino?”

  “He would really have to be interested to come up with that much money.”

  “And if there was money, Mando said Turco didn’t get it.”

  “Yeah, so now there’s a new motive. Assume Gloria raises the money. Who got it?” Sonny pulled up in front of Rita’s Cocina. “Look, La Granada’s no place—” he began, but Rita interrupted.

  “No place for a lady. We’ve been there before.”

  “Once, and we left when the shooting started.”

  They laughed.

  “I want to go,” she said and kissed him. “So don’t argue. See you tonight.”

  “Adiós.” He smiled and watched her walk into the restaurant.

  Okay, if she insisted, she insisted. What the hell, Turco probably wouldn’t show. They could have a few beers, dance, maybe clear his head. If any trouble started, they’d just leave. And later, back home with Rita, maybe he wouldn’t be—

  He shivered. Damn, he had to get over fear of impotence. It was a passing thing. Tonight would be different.

  When he arrived home, he checked his message machine. One call was from Sears, where he had bought two tires on credit. His account was being turned over to a collection agency unless he called right away. The other was a muffled voice. “Mind your own business. You could get killed, stupid.” The third call was from Tamara Dubronsky.

  “Darling,” she said, “I talked to Mr. Morino. Now call his office again. It shouldn’t be a problem. Call me anytime. Ciao.”

  But as the machine clicked off, Sonny’s mind was elsewhere, still on Gloria, Akira Morino, and Turco. The possibility of a lot of money between them that was now nowhere to be found. Something was finally beginning to click.

  23

  Later that evening Sonny picked up Rita, and they drove to La Granada Bar in the South Valley, one of the liveliest bars along Isleta Boulevard. The cantina was a meeting place for local Chicanos, stray cowboys, Indians from Isleta Pueblo, and the newly arrived Mexican workers who lived in the valley. The bar had the unsavory reputation of having the most homicides committed on or near its premises each year.r />
  “Sure you want to go?” Sonny had asked Rita.

  “You bet,” Rita answered. “Let’s boogie.”

  “You don’t dance at La Granada, you dodge bullets.” Sonny laughed.

  Of course, the reputation of the place was exaggerated. Anyone who went looking for trouble could find it. But those who went to meet friends, have a drink, dance, and have a good time could enjoy themselves without provocation.

  But Turco was a hunted man, and meeting him on his turf was chancy, Sonny thought as they pulled into the glass-littered parking lot. Pickup trucks and late-model cars dotted the lot, but no fancy cars. So Turco wasn’t there, at least not yet. Sonny rolled down the window and breathed the night air, cool with the fragrances of the valley: fields watered, backyard corrals where some of the people kept horses, the rich smell of the cottonwoods giving up their day’s aroma.

  The music from within the bar punctuated the drone of the cicadas in the trees. The drone of the grillos carried a higher, more frantic pitch. Rain was on its way.

  Sonny smiled. Rain would clear the dust that lay over the valley like a thin veil. He told Rita about his visit to Lorenza as they waited to see if Turco would show.

  “She’s good,” Rita said.

  “What if evil brujos were involved in Gloria’s death?” Sonny asked. “What if she was involved with some kind of a blood cult, if she was tangled up with Raven’s bunch?”

  “There is something bad going on in the North Valley.”

  “But what?”

  “It’s like the stories Toto, Concha, and don Eliseo tell.”

  “You really believe their stories about brujos have something to do with Gloria’s death?”

  “It’s there. And it’s powerful. That’s why Lorenza can help.”

  “How?”

  “If the people who killed Gloria are brujos, you have to be prepared.”

  “How?”

  “She knows.”

  “You don’t?”

  “I know herbs, remedies, massage for the man I love, but not the world of the brujos. Lorenza does. She learned her craft from brujos in Mexico.”

  “You mean she didn’t study with the curanderas here?”

  “She did, but most of the old curanderas here used prayers. They didn’t want to mess with real brujeria.”