She looked like she might run for it, despite her impassive expression, but she said, “Fine. You’ll be paying for my return trip afterward, though.”
“There’s probably a landline out at the springs,” Maines said, stepping to one side and gesturing toward the car. “You can call your folks from there.”
She didn’t move. “I’m staying at the Waru now. Room 717.”
“That’s a nice hotel,” Maines said. “Nice enough to have a working telephone.”
Rachael put her turquoise-ringed hands on her hips. “Look, I didn’t know they hadn’t gotten my text until just now. What’s the matter with you?”
“Overdeveloped sense of responsibility,” he said.
She stared at him, hard, and he stood back, extending a gallant arm toward his Crown Vic. She turned her stare on me, then sighed and came along quietly.
CHAPTER 12
The Waru was nice enough, considering it was just a ’60s-era motel with some modernist icing slathered over the top of it. Two stories with a veranda on the second, the rooms all opening to the parking lot. The lobby had a couple of big circular windows and some nice ironwork railings.
I took a seat in the cafe while Maines and Rachael went over to the front desk. I didn’t want her getting away with anything, but I wasn’t anxious to nail myself to the cross, either. I’d be able to tell from here whether or not my wanted status came to light during the phone call. Not that I had any plans for what to do if it did. It wasn’t like I could outrun Maines, but at least I’d have a little head start if I tried.
They only made one call, and Maines didn’t look in my direction while they did it. After Rachael hung up, the two of them headed back my way, Maines checking his watch.
“It’s almost four,” he said. “If we leave now we’ll have to stop again halfway home.” He watched Rachael adjust her bone-and-turquoise necklace. “Let’s go get your stuff and get you checked out. You’ll have to stay with us out at the springs.”
“No way,” she said. “I’m not spending another night at that dive. No air conditioning, no TV. Forget it. Just pick me up in the morning.”
He fixed her with a tolerant look. “I have been told I look stupid.”
“Listen, Maines,” I cut in, seeing my chance. “I’d like to hang out down here for a while, take some vacation time and catch up with Hector.” His upper lip twitched, as if he were about to respond, but I kept talking. “Why don’t you give me a lift back to the springs, pick up your stuff, and then you two can come back and stay here tonight. I’ll hook up with Hector when he comes out for the meeting you guys had scheduled this evening.”
Maines pressed his thin lips together, thinking it over, then waved us toward the car. Rachael grabbed her purse off the bed and flounced out ahead of us, along the hotel veranda.
“You’re not giving her much rope,” I said quietly to him as we followed a few lengths behind. “What’s up?”
“Not sure,” he replied, eyes narrowed in Rachael’s direction. “Something, though.”
That settled my stomach a little. He wouldn’t be turning his back on her.
“Listen,” I muttered for good measure as we descended the concrete stairs, “be careful, will you? I’m getting the same vibe off her.”
“I got a throwdown piece in the car,” Maines said. “Don’t you worry about me.”
Satisfied that his guard was sufficiently activated, I watched Rachael get into the Crown Vic. She wasn’t tall, and she had an OK figure: not fat, not thin, but nothing wrong with it. If she’d had her lap-band done at the same time as her face, it had been in place for at least a couple of months. I wished that Maines had gotten a full-length picture of her so that I could see what she’d looked like before. The radar was telling me that something was off about this whole plastic-surgery story.
Nobody said much on the drive out to the springs, which was fine with me. The closer we got, the tenser I felt, worried that something would go haywire at the last minute.
It was just after sundown when we turned off the washboard dirt road and pulled up outside the office. Maines and I got out and walked a few feet from the car.
“Hope you can talk him into it,” Maines said. I gave him a quizzical look, and he explained, “It’s no kind of life for Hector down here. He needs to come back home.”
“Leave it to me,” I said. If I worked it right, Maines would never see either one of us again.
“If you can’t, gimme a call and I’ll wire you some bus money.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t.
He hesitated, looking off toward the canyon. After a minute, he said, “Thanks for your help on this. Appreciate it.”
He held out a hand and I shook it. A weird urge to hug him bubbled up, surprising me. The thought was mildly obscene, as if I’d caught myself thinking lewd things about a sibling.
CHAPTER 13
After Maines and Rachael left I realized that I’d been so focused on getting them on the road that I’d forgotten to eat. Wishing I’d thought of it in Ojinaga, I took a stroll around to see what might be available on-site, but beyond the six cabins climbing the hill behind me there was nothing but craggy brown rock.
While I stood there considering my options, a monk came out of the office. It wasn’t the same guy who’d checked us in yesterday—this one was a wiry Caucasian—but he wore the same shaved head and red and yellow robes. He looked about my age, with dark stubble on his pale scalp and bright brown eyes that were wide and forward-looking, like an owl’s. He walked with his head thrust forward, and had a curiously reluctant posture that made him seem as if he’d shrunk away from the touch of his clothes.
“I don’t suppose there’s a diner or anything within walking distance,” I said to him.
He smiled, showing some crooked teeth, and took a bench against the adobe wall, producing a paper sack from one sleeve. He gestured for me to join him, opening the sack.
The radar tweaked. There was something slightly off-putting about him, despite the outfit. It didn’t read lethal, though, so I sat down.
“Valley peaches,” he said, pulling one out of the bag. It was about the size of a large walnut. He cut around its seam with a small pocketknife, then twisted it apart and offered me the half without the pit in it. “They’re really good this year.”
I took the tiny half peach and sat down. “I thought you guys renounced worldly stuff like enjoying your food.”
“Oh, you’ve studied Buddhism?”
I laughed and shook my head, popping the fruit in my mouth. It had an unexpectedly rich, sweet flavor. “Wow, these are good.”
He brought out a large puck of soft white cheese and another half-dozen peaches. “You can’t learn detachment if there’s nothing around that tempts you.”
His gaze crawled toward me but didn’t make it all the way. He offered me a slice of cheese on the end of his knife. “Now, try that.”
As he reached forward, the sleeve of his robe fell away from his forearm, revealing a faded indigo tattoo. It was a watch with no hands, encircling his arm just above the wrist.
So that was it. I took a steadying breath and said, “Which prison were you in?”
His owl eyes flashed all the way up to my face this time, clear and intent. He didn’t say anything.
The radar was awake, but not screaming the paint down. “It looks older than ten, so you’ve been out awhile,” I ventured. “Must not have been too serious.”
“I got this in Austin, years ago,” the monk said. Then he did an odd thing: He shut up.
His pupils were still dilated, so I knew it wasn’t because I was wrong, but I was clearly not working with an amateur. Most people, challenged like that, will be unable to resist their own anxiety. They’ll keep talking, or get up and walk around, or do something else to try and draw you off.
I put the cheese in my mouth while I thought about what to say next. It was smooth, creamy, and slightly salty—the perfect counterpoint to the juicy peach.
I chewed thoughtfully, letting the silence lengthen out.
“I drove a car,” the monk said, just as I was about ready to give up on it. “A woman died. She was Mexican, in the U.S. illegally. The guys I ran with in those days didn’t care for that.”
My neck went tense and the radar ramped up a notch. The monk was still looking at me with that strigine intensity, so I dared not sneak another peek at his tattoo to see if it might be covering a swastika or shamrock.
He offered me another tiny half peach and I took it, weighing the odds of him being Aryan Brotherhood. I knew the Texas bunch was viewed with scorn by the original California founders, but that didn’t mean that a word in their shell-like ears regarding my location would go amiss. Even if he was an ex, he might have old friends.
He gestured at the cottage behind him. “These guys have a prison-outreach program. By the time I got out, I was ready to make up for what I’d done.”
A distant mechanical clatter had been drawing nearer while we ate, and now a vintage motorcycle appeared from around the corner of the office, Hector astride.
Grateful for the timely distraction, I watched him dismount and take off his helmet, observing, “Of course it’s a Norton.”
“Hey, Finn,” he said to my dining companion, slapping the dust off his clothes. Then, to me, “Not the same year. This one’s a ’65.”
“Good thing. You’d go broke keeping a ’39 running.”
“Not the way I do it,” he grinned. The wrinkles around his nose and eyes had grown deeper, but that smile was still a hit. “Where’s Maines? I been trying to call him all day.”
I wasn’t ready to spill my long-range plan yet, so I just said, “He’s in Ojinaga. His cell’s on the fritz.”
Hector nodded, wiping his face with a faded red bandanna and eyeing the peaches settled in their paper-bag nest on the bench. Finn saw the look and passed him a couple.
“You been for a soak yet?” Hector asked me, biting into one of the tiny fruits.
I was about as hot as I wanted to get, but I didn’t want to do any more talking to the monk until I’d given my radar time to sort him out. I got up, thanked Finn for the snack, and headed for the bathhouses with Hector.
CHAPTER 14
“What’s that guy’s story?” I asked Hector as we crunched along the gravel path.
“Finn? What do you mean?”
“If he’s on the up and up, I’m Mata Hari.”
Hector laughed, and I got a glimpse of that lazy irreverence that had been part of what originally endeared him to me. “You say that like you’re not dangerously close.”
“He’s been in prison,” I said, “and apparently used to hang out with some guys who didn’t like Mexicans.”
Hector’s gait hitched. “Seriously?”
“He says he’s a changed man now that he’s hooked up with these Buddhists, but I’d sure like to see the paperwork on that.”
“I bet you would,” Hector muttered, searching my face, probably for signs of panic. He should have known better, but I liked the fact that he cared enough to look.
We walked a few more yards in silence, then he blew out his breath and said, “Meh, I buy it, actually. I bring my people through here all the time. If Finn was a racist, I’d have seen evidence of it by now.”
“You didn’t know he was an ex-con,” I pointed out.
“He doesn’t know I’m Bolivian,” Hector returned. “That kind of stuff is easy to hide. It’s not so easy to fake consistently ethical behavior over time. He’s been hands-on with most of my clients at one time or another, and never done anything to make me worry even a little bit.”
“Hands-on?” I said, curious.
Hector nodded. “My people will sometimes stay over, here at the springs, while I bring up a relative or wait for border patrol to clear out.”
“Oh, well!” I said, finally seeing the bones beneath the skin. “Of course he wouldn’t do anything to threaten the profit margin.”
We’d reached the bathhouses, and Hector stopped at the first one, his long brows dropping low across his eyes. “They don’t pay, Julia. I wouldn’t bring ’em here if they had to.”
“Well, these guys have got to be making something off your clients,” I said. “People don’t take that kind of risk for free, I don’t care how spiritual their motives are.”
“Man, capitalism’s really done a number on you, hasn’t it?”
I scowled at him and he knocked softly on my forehead. “Hello? Remember me? The pinko idealist?”
“Trust me,” I said. “Somebody, somewhere, is making some money on your people.”
“Yeah. Me,” Hector replied, with a chuckle. “And the only reason I ain’t in debtor’s prison is because Mike sends me a check every month, and I get two pesos on the dollar.”
“I’d still like to check Finn out next time I’m near a computer,” I said. “What’s his last name?”
“Dunno. Don’t even know his first one, really. I call him Finn because he told me his family was from there, once.”
Finland’s not exactly a small town, so the odds of the monk having a connection to my father were slim to none. Still, the thought did materialize.
“These guys all give up their names when they join, and get a Tibetan one,” Hector was saying. “I can’t remember what his is. Not that I could pronounce it anyway.”
I pulled the bathhouse door open and stepped in. Except for the tin roof, it was all stone inside, carved out like a cave. A low bench ran along one side, and a tub about the size of a twin bed was sunk into the floor. This had a rough brass spigot coming out of the wall above it. I twisted the single handle, which started a steaming gush of hot water. It had a distinct odor—not unpleasant, but odd.
I turned to continue grilling Hector, but he wasn’t there.
“What the hell?” I muttered, going back over to the door. He was heading toward the next bathhouse.
“Get in here,” I said. “What’s the matter with you?”
Hector made a U-turn and came back, his lazy grin lighting up. “Just trying not to act like an entitled asshole.”
He ducked in and sat down on the bench. I got undressed and into the tub, but he stayed where he was, keeping his clothes on. I caught my breath as I hit the water. The heat was almost intolerable.
Hector passed a hand across his stomach. “Listen, some things have changed since the last time you saw me.”
A shot of fear grabbed at my solar plexus. “You want me to close my eyes?” I cracked, to distract myself.
Hector continued looking at me, thinking. I could see that he didn’t really want to tell me. That usually makes me want to know more, but he hadn’t even kissed me yet. Just one more hour, the worst part of me begged the universe. Just let me have one more hour of the fantasy that all of this is going to work out.
Hector seemed to pick up on my reluctance to hear what he had to say, and got up to strip down. As he walked over to the tub, nude, I wondered why that particular arrangement of parts made my heart turn over the way it did. If it was just sex, why the spasm in my chest, in addition to the one lower down?
“Listen,” I said after the carnal festivities were over, trying to prolong my willful ignorance, “I’m thinking of retiring to Mexico.”
Hector was lying back in the tub with his eyes closed and a blissful expression on his face. The hot water did seem to have some sort of relaxing quality above and beyond a soak at home; it took him a minute to grok me. “What, you mean, right now?”
“I don’t really have any reason to go back to Azula, and WITSEC finally came through with my money. I’m kind of loaded.”
“What about your house? And the bar? Mike can’t run the place on his own.”
I sank farther into the hot water, giving the wet tin ceiling an annoyed look. The radar poked at me, but I was getting irritated with its insistence on jumping into the middle of everything I did. I slapped it away and said, “You walked away from all of it. Why can’t I?”
“Maybe you don’t remember my friends, the CIA,” Hector said, his eyes stern under their long brows.
“If they really wanted you, why didn’t they come after me when you and Maines split? The feds knew you and I were fraternizing. If you’ll remember, they kind of put me up to it, without my knowledge.”
“Don’t ask me to explain the logic of the U.S. government,” Hector sighed. “For all I know, they’re watching you right now, fixing to pick me up as soon as I make a noise.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Jesus.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled up, and he floated over to me, slipping his wet arms under mine. “You see the risks I take for you?”
He was trying to distract me. I fought it for a few minutes, but it wasn’t any good—when he got up next to me like that, skin to skin, I always went completely stupid. As his hands slid down my back and pulled my legs around his hips, I wondered if he knew that, but my blood was rushing up hot and fast again, wiping out the brain’s warning about men you can’t say “no” to.
CHAPTER 15
The sky outside the high window above the bed was just starting to lighten. I turned over and examined Hector’s sleeping face. The weight loss had dried him up a little, but he was still beautiful. Not for the first time, I wondered if I would take the risks I had for a less attractive man. Beauty makes people do strange things.
Somewhere in his unconscious, Hector must have felt me watching him, because he stirred and opened his eyes. He looked happy to see me and slightly puzzled about where he was. Then he noticed the pale light in the room.
“What time is it?”
I shrugged, and he sat up, grabbing his jeans off the floor. “Which room is Maines in?”
“This one,” I said. Hector frowned at me over his shoulder, and I explained, “He stayed in Ojinaga last night. We closed our case yesterday, and he’s heading back to Azula this morning.”
“Closed your case?” Hector said, turning to face me. “What do you mean?”
South of Nowhere: A Mystery Page 6