by Sarah Black
"Probably,” Diego said, grinning a bit. “They don't believe you speak Spanish, and they want to check out your manners. You're already a big strong boy, a good eater. You know how to get in good with the cooks."
"Your mom's mad at me."
"Yeah. She's mad at the world right now. She has some ideas. Things to do."
Colton raised his eyebrows. “Legal things, you mean? She's going to seek legal redress?"
Diego shrugged. “I haven't been ... keeping up with what she had planned. But that would be my guess. She's an attorney, and she has contacts. She believes in the system."
"What's your great-uncle Manuel say?"
Diego gave him a bitter smile. “He's like you. He thinks justice is best served with lead, out of the barrel of a gun."
"Justice? Maybe not. But ... balance. Deed for deed."
The headache started creeping up the back of Colton's skull, a line of muscle cramps moving down into his shoulders. Diego looked at him carefully and took his plate. “You need to be more careful, Colton. Don't let yourself get dehydrated. Don't push yourself so much. Who are you trying to impress?"
Colton just grinned at him.
"Go on back to the room. I'll be there. I just need to talk to some people."
Chapter Four
Colton got undressed, stood under the cool shower for a long time, hoping Diego would join him. But he didn't come. Finally he dried off, slid naked between the sheets. His head felt hollow, his neck weak somehow, weaker than it needed to be. Maybe from now on, every time he felt afraid, he'd feel it like weakness in his neck. He drifted into sleep, was tangled up and lost in some sad dream when Diego kissed him sweetly on the mouth, slid into bed with him and touched his belly with gentle fingers.
He rolled over. Diego was still wearing the eye patch, black hair falling over his forehead, his skin the rich color of café au lait. “Don't you need to take it off?"
Diego shook his head. “Not yet."
They looked at each other for a long moment, then Diego rolled onto his back with a long sigh.
"You don't have to go, baby.” Colton wasn't a genius, but even a thick-headed cop with dust in his boots could understand that Diego was leaving, he was getting ready to run again. This wasn't Diego's world. The rough desert, Sonora, the outlaw way, that was Colton's world. Somebody torched his life? He'd burn down the fucking world.
But that wasn't Diego's way. Intellectual, brilliant, beautiful, with a powerful family behind him? Diego wasn't going to hang around a dusty border town, waiting for some shit-heel bounty hunter to put him in handcuffs and drag him off to jail. It was unthinkable. But there was more.
"Diego, listen to me. I'm afraid, too."
Diego sat up and pushed the hair back from his face, sighing. “No, you're not."
"Okay, I'm not. But I'm afraid of one thing. That when I wake up in the morning, you'll be gone. And I won't be able to find you, and I won't know if you're..."
"Colton, stop it. I've got to go see a surgeon in Mexico City about my eye. That's all. And I'm too close to the border.” He spit the words out. “And I'm too close to the fucking sheriff of Pima County."
Colton felt helplessness creeping up on him like the tide, could almost taste cold, salty water lapping at his mouth. “I'm afraid for you to go. I won't be looking out for you. I won't be with you. Anything could happen."
"Just leave it."
He started to speak, and Diego put a hand over his mouth. “I said leave it."
Fuck! Colton bit down on one of Diego's fingers. “So what do you want me to do? Pick up your mail? Yeah, go ahead. Give me a dirty look, tough guy."
Diego grinned, clearly against his will, but it didn't last. “Colton, there is something I want you to do for me. But I already asked you. To let it go. To use the system, do this the right way. Not your way, your gray areas. To not do anything that will make things worse, land you in prison, or dead. Because then I'll be alone, and I'll ... never feel safe again. Ever. Colton, please."
Colton felt his face stiffen with disbelief. “Diego..."
"Don't say anything. I can hear it already: ‘No fucking way.’ That's not your way. That's not the cowboy way."
They stared at the ceiling for a bit. Diego wouldn't stay, and trust him to take care of them. He reached down between them, took Diego's hand in his. “I'll never let you go. I don't know what the fuck you're thinking. This has got your head really screwed up, baby."
Diego rolled over, pressed himself against Colton's big body. “Uh-huh. You remember the first night we met? God, my cock was like stainless steel. You were so hot, Colton. So fucking arrogant. You kissed me like you'd been waiting your whole life to kiss me, like you'd been saving it up. You still kiss me like that."
"It's the only way I know to tell you...” And he tugged Diego closer, open mouths and hungry tongues, tender and furious and full of sorrow, telling each other good-bye. Because Colton knew when he woke up in the morning, he'd be alone, and Diego would be gone.
* * * *
Colton stayed in bed until the morning cool had almost burned off, his head on Diego's pillow. When he couldn't stand the quiet another minute, he got up and pulled on yesterday's jeans, threw his dirty underwear in the trash, and walked outside to the courtyard. The old man was there, sitting in the shade, along with one grumpy old woman with thick glasses who was cooking at the outdoor stove and Ramon, who gave Colton a sour look and pointedly looked away.
Manuel tilted the ancient straw Stetson back on his head and waved his coffee cup at Colton. “All the women and ladyboys have gone back to Mexico City. That just leaves the dumb, ugly boys and the old men.” The woman cooking glared at him from across the top of a frying pan full of chorizo.
Colton scratched his bare stomach. “You sound like my granddad.” He went over to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.
"I knew your granddad a long time. I met you before, too, but you don't remember it. When you was just a skinny, dirty little runt running wild with all the other little Mexican boys. It was that paint, remember? That little colt?"
Colton thought back. It was the year he was seven, maybe eight, that he'd found a newborn colt out in the desert, the mother dead from a lightning strike. He'd hid the colt in an old stone ruin, and soon every boy within ten miles knew about the colt and was taking turns feeding it. Nothing stays secret in Sonora, though, and it wasn't long before men started showing up to his granddad's place, trying to put a claim on the mother.
Colton's granddad sent them packing, but the most persistent, a known horse thief and drifter from Sasabe, waited until the old man had gone into town for a bottle of tequila and some company to share it with. When he broke into the ruins to steal the horse, twelve boys armed with shotguns were waiting for him. Colton lifted an old Smith and Wesson horse pistol nearly big as he was and shot the man. He didn't hit anything, but the kick threw him down in the dirt and the man pulled out a knife and the rest of the boys stepped up and raised their shotguns. The horse thief ran.
Colton remembered now the tall, handsome Mexican policeman who had come out the next day, talked to his granddad and admired his colt. He talked to all the boys about shooting horse thieves. He said next time they should capture the thief and tie him up with strong ropes and deliver him to the Mexican police. They had spent years after that practicing, in case the horse thief ever came back. The little colt wasn't anything special as horses went, just a scrubby paint, but Colton had felt the fierce burn and sting of love for the first time, with his face buried in that coarse mane.
"That was you?"
The old man nodded, handed Colton his empty cup. When Colton brought it back full, he sat down next to him, and the shade felt like bliss on his eyes. “Why don't you come back with me? Stay out at the ranch."
Manuel looked at him for a long time. “How come?"
"Place don't seem right without an old man roaming around. Besides, part of that ranch is in Mexico. And you got jurisdiction i
n Mexico, even if you're retired."
Manuel leaned back, hat tipped over his eyes. “You gonna tie him up, haul him into Mexico and turn him over? I don't know if that'll work, Colton."
"Diego wants me to do it legal. Jesus, what a fucking mess that'll be. I got some work to do first. Come stay with me. I can always hold you for ransom, make Diego come back."
"It'll be like ‘The Ransom of Red Chief.'” They were both pleased with the deal, stared off in different directions so they wouldn't catch each other's eyes and start grinning.
Breakfast was a huge pile of potatoes and chorizo, cooked with peppers and onions, grilled until it was nearly black. Colton tried to talk the old woman into coming with them, but she said she was too afraid of America, after what had happened to Diego.
He climbed into Manuel's beat-up Silverado and they made their leisurely way across Sonora to the border. There was a large detachment of the PFP on the Mexican side of the border, cops in fatigues carrying automatic weapons. “Manuel, were you in the Policia Federal Preventiva?"
"No, I retired a couple of years before they merged the services. I was Highway Patrol. This land,” he spread a heavy, gnarled hand out to indicate the desert out the truck window, “this was all my territory, from here across to Nogales. There're a couple of other ranches besides your granddad's that straddle the border."
"You think things have changed down here?"
"Maybe. More people coming across, but there're more people everywhere. The desert, it's too fragile for so much foot traffic. Lots of drugs, all moving north. The North, it's like a hungry dragon, eating all the drugs, eating all the children..."
Colton stared out the window. He understood why the old man thought that way, but he felt a pang of hurt pride. His country, he should be so proud of it. But Manuel was right—greed, hunger, hate—that's what he could see, if he were looking at things truthfully. “Everything seems so turned around. Like the things I thought I could believe in, every one of them is turning out to be wrong. Am I really that fucking naive? I think the only thing I have to count on, to really believe in, is me and Diego. I can't doubt that. But the rest of the world seems like it ... can't be trusted."
Manuel gave him a sharp glance, but didn't say anything else.
Colton was afraid they were going to be hassled at the Lukeville Border Crossing. A young Anglo man in an old Mexican truck, that would smell like a drug smuggler to him, if he was standing watch in his uniform. But the customs and immigration officers were respectful to Manuel and gave the truck a thorough search.
"Those are good boys,” Manuel said, as he put the truck in gear and rolled out of Gringo Pass, heading to Ajo.
Colton grinned at him. “Half those boys were girls! Didn't you notice?"
Manuel nodded, tipped his hat. “Yes, I did. I see a lot more women in uniform, down in the hard places. It's a good idea. Everybody acts a little nicer, you got a woman watching.” Manuel turned and looked at him. “Except maybe you. So what's your plan?"
"There must be others. I'm going to try and find the others. We get legal affidavits, depositions, I can have him arrested. At least removed from office. But that's gonna be slow. I was thinking I could come out. In big, bold rainbow colors. Make a big show of being gay, you know, proud and out. Maybe he'd attack me. I could get it on camera.” He sighed. “Or I could just shoot the fucker in the head, problem solved, leave him out in the wastelands and let the birds pick his bones. That's my favorite solution, quick and easy, but Diego doesn't ... Esmeralda gave me a copy of Diego's deposition. I'll go to the assistant DA with it. Swear I saw him there, too. Or heard him. With two of us, maybe they'll believe it."
Manuel sucked on his teeth, then reached for a toothpick from the ashtray. “You saw him there?"
Colton shook his head. “All I remember is hearing Diego screaming."
"You'd lie, boy? Like that, in a legal way?"
Colton took a toothpick, too, and wondered if they could stop in Ajo so he could get a toothbrush. “I believe Diego, no question. I've never known the sheriff to cross the line, not like this, but I stay away from him, you know? We've never liked each other much, so we just keep our distance. But I've known that mean bastard a long time, and I believe he would cut out Diego's eye. To punish him for being Mexican. Or gay. Or whatever the fuck he wants to hate someone for. So I don't really have any problem with lying. Or I thought I didn't. Because it wouldn't really feel like a lie.” Colton stared out the window, the cactus in Organ Pipe looking almost lush after the Mexican border country, acre after acre of fuzzy cholla, tumbled sandstone, saguaro cactus. “But actually it does seem like a lie and I find myself strangely reluctant."
Manuel grinned at him. “Goddamn, boy! You have to stop and think everything through like this? It's easier you just follow the fucking law!"
"You understand about the gray areas. I know you do."
"Yeah, I do. But here's what you don't understand, Colton. You talk about gray areas? I call them special circumstances. A special circumstance is a bunch of little boys with their granddaddies’ guns, trying to shoot a horse thief. You save your special circumstances. One in a hundred. One in a thousand. Not every one. Not every time. The law is good enough, most of the time. And I think it better be good enough this time, too. Diego thinks you're strong enough to back away, let the law handle this.” He sighed deeply. “I don't know. You've always been one to reach for your guns."
* * * *
The ranch looked like it always did, adobe block buildings needing some patch work, fences with the wire coming loose, dust and cactus and a tire swing in the big palo verde tree. Colton had to make his face tough and stomp off to look at fences to hide his usual reaction. Every time he came back to his land after being away, he wanted to drop to his knees and weep tears of gratitude and promise to never ever leave again.
Maria had died a couple of months after his granddad, but her niece, also Maria, had come to take her place, as if it had all been arranged between them. Colton always thought of her as Maria Goretti. His kindergarten nun had been Sister Maria Goretti, and while his Maria wasn't a nun, she was pretty damn close. She had explained to him early on that she would be bringing people out to the ranch who needed help, young girls with babies, mostly, and that she was doing this for his sake, because it wasn't good for a ranch to be empty of people.
So over the years there had been a string of young, pregnant women, and some of them had stayed. Three little boys were chasing a loose chicken across the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard. A woman was yelling at them from the clothesline, and sheets were drying fast in the wind. The kitchen had a low roof and adobe walls, ristras of chilies and garlic handing from nails in the adobe, and a big pot of pintos on the stove. There was a tiny, birdlike old woman sitting asleep in the rocking chair in the corner of the kitchen Colton had never seen before. She had been crocheting an afghan in bright colors that covered her lap, and the crochet hook had fallen to the floor. Colton picked it up and put it back in her lap, then stirred the pot of beans on the stove.
No beer in the fridge, so he got his bottle of gold tequila and a couple of glasses and joined Manuel in the shade on the bench under the palo verde tree. They drank, watched the boys run the chicken in hysterical circles, and eventually Maria Goretti bustled up to hug him, exclaim over his scar, to report she suspected he would come when he got out of the hospital and they had been waiting for him—where had he been? They had just this minute put clean sheets on his bed so he could rest. She must have spotted Manuel when they got out of the truck, because of course his casita was also ready.
"We're getting crowded, Colton,” she said, striding across the courtyard. “Since Detective Chan brought that boy out here."
"Is Chan here? What boy?"
Maria was pleased to have this news. “Yes, he's here, and he's hasn't left the boy alone, Colton. Drugs. I think the boy has been in some trouble with drugs. That must be how he lost his eye."
* * * *
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Chan was asleep in one of the casitas. Twin beds in a dark room, and a young boy with dyed blond hair, damp with sweat, asleep in the other. He had a scar down through his lid, and a missing eye in the socket. It was old, though, at least a year. The boy had jailyard tattoos and scabs on his skinny arms from shooting junk. And he was Mexican, despite the surfer hair. Colton ducked back out the door.
"Siesta, Colton.” Manuel slung an arm over his shoulder. “Go lie down, give your bossy Maria time to get the girls cooking. I bet she's gonna have more than beans for supper, now El Patron's home."
"That's not me. Otherwise she wouldn't push me around."
"You don't worry about it. We get this fucking mess cleaned up, your ladyboy will come down here, take care of making sure the ranch is running like it should."
Colton look at him, tipped the Stetson back on his head. “Diego know you call him ladyboy?"
"Been calling him that since he was a kid. He used to want to be one of those ballet dancers, you know? He'd put on the little costume and dance around. His mother took him to see some ballet show at Christmas when he was little. When he was about the age you were, when you tried to shoot a horse thief for the first time."
"Last Christmas, we were gonna go into Phoenix and see The Nutcracker. I bet that's what it was. He was so excited, had his tux pressed at the dry cleaners. I didn't even know he had a tux. I wasn't really looking forward to it, tell you the truth. So we had a double homicide, and I couldn't go. He stayed home, too. He never said anything. I was busy with the DBs, and he got busy at the hospital again."
"Guess you better try harder next Christmas, boy."
* * * *
The little plastic oscillating fan was new since the last time he had slept in his bed, but it felt like heaven in the hot room. He would have to thank Maria Goretti.
Ladyboy. Colton grinned to himself, imagining the pained look on Diego's face. Naturally, he loved and respected his great-uncle, but Diego was not a lady and he was not a boy and he did not like labels. He wasn't even a gay man, not to hear him tell it. He was a man and a doctor and those were the only labels he wanted. Fuck the world that wanted to stick a label on him. He defined himself. It only mattered to him, and was no one else's business. He had explained all of this carefully to Colton the second time they spent the night together, when Colton had asked him if he just did men, or if he did women, too.