He looked at her. “What any Atocha peace officer before me would have done.”
“Oh, Jesus.” Her face wrinkled in disgust. “Don’t give me that peace officer crap. This isn’t the Old West anymore.”
Loren stopped dead in his tracks and looked at her in genuine surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
She gave a little snort of annoyance. Loren started walking again, then turned down the alley leading to the Jeep. “The Old West is still here,” he said. “It’s just down the t-axis. The past hasn’t gone away. It’s—” He searched for a word he’d heard preachers use. “It’s imminent.”
“Don’t give me metaphysics, Loren.”
“Okay.” Anger exploded through him. “I’ll give you something real.” He glared at her. “They shot a member of my family, Sheila. What in God’s name do you want me to do?”
“Go to the police. You run the department, for Christ’s sake. Or will in another hour or so, anyway.”
“I can’t. Someone on the force works for the other side.”
“The FBI, then.”
“The FBI works for the other side, too. And for all I know, the state police and the border patrol and everybody in this town and in the Democratic and Republican parties.”
“That’s crazy! That’s paranoid!” Sheila’s arm-waving was a bit inhibited, Loren noticed, without a pair of glasses in her hand.
Loren opened the door of the Jeep. “Miracles turn things upside down,” he said. “That’s what they’re for. And even if it was a miracle that a scientist can explain, it’s still a person that was killed, and that person had to be here for a reason. So God wanted him to be here, right?”
“You’re not making any sense.”
He got in the car and stared at the wheel between his hands. He felt strangely buoyant. “I guess I’m not,” he said, and found that a smile was tugging at his lips. “I’m going to clean up the town. I’m going to do what God wants me to. He’s backed me into a corner— I can’t trust anybody. Not my family, the church, the government, the people who run the town . . .” He looked at Sheila. “That clear enough?”
“No.”
“Be happy in your ignorance, Sheila.” He started the Jeep, gunned the engine, put it in gear.
He thought of himself in the LINAC, accelerating down the long tunnel, gathering energy, gathering power.
Getting ready to collide.
The sun was nearing the horizon, winding down the day. All the dust and soot in the air had smeared red over the entire western sky, and turned the white mass of the City-County Building a watermelon-pink.
Loren used his key and slipped into the building the back way, up one of the patterned metal fire stairs. He went straight to his office and opened the big walk-in safe.
The odor of marijuana wafted out of the big steel box. Loren found the Ingram Mac-11 that he’d taken off the two Mexicans and dropped it into the satchel he’d just bought in the Hi-Lo store on Central.
There were five loaded magazines: he took those as well. His eyes scanned the shelves for anything else that might be useful, found nothing, and stepped out of the safe and closed it.
He took a pair of field glasses off the shelf and added them to his satchel.
He went to his telephone, pressed the intercom button, then Cipriano’s number.
“Could I see you for a second?” he said. “I’m in my office.”
“I didn’t see you come by.”
“You musta blinked.”
Cipriano was looking restless as he came into Loren’s office. Loren met him at the door. He put a finger to his lips, then led Cipriano down the metal staircase and out the back end of the building. By that time Cipriano was out of patience.
“What the hell’s going on, jefe?”
“I think people may have bugged our offices, okay?”
Cipriano shaded his eyes against the red westering sun. “Well. Guess I got to take it seriously, since you’re my boss again.” He reached into his breast pocket and took out Loren’s star, then handed it to him. “The mayor raised your suspension. But then I guess you heard.”
“No, I hadn’t. I was out of touch.”
Loren got his ID out of his back pocket and pinned the seven-pointed star back in its place, then put the ID away.
“Where’ve you been all afternoon?”
“Let’s go for a drive. Your car. Mine is full of bullets.”
They walked around the building to West Plaza and got in Cipriano’s Fury. Loren put the satchel on his lap. He told Cipriano to head east on 82, out toward the Line.
“I got called into Rickey’s confession,” Cipriano said. “That was something, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. The bastard.”
“What did he do? Just up and confess to you?”
“He’d been playing games for a week. Just hinting around, being smug, confident I couldn’t guess. But when I figured out what he was doing and confronted him, he popped.”
“Jesus. Good work, man.” Cipriano shook his head, then gave Loren a nervous little smile. “I can’t work it how you figure out this stuff.”
The sun bounced red off the rearview mirror. Loren winced and ducked his head. Then he reached into the satchel and pulled out the Mac-11. The little gun looked like a toy in his big hands. Cipriano looked alarmed.
“Where’d you get that?”
“The safe. The way machine guns keep disappearing around here, I figured we better find someplace else to put this.”
“Why not change the combination?”
“Till we change the combination, I mean. Turn left here.”
“Have you slept today?”
“No.”
“You look pretty strung out. Maybe you should get some pills or something, put you out for a while.”
“I don’t feel tired at all.”
“This wind is driving everybody crazy. You know how many arrests we made last night?”
The Fury’s tires sang as they bounced over the cattle guard, and the car swayed as it moved down the overgrown lane that led to the UFO landing field. Tumbleweed poured across the flat mesa like lumps in cream, piled high against the torn chain link fence. The hollows of the land were a corrugated contrast of cool deep violet and hot sunset-pink.
“Park around by the side here.” Loren pointed at the metal-walled work shed.
Cipriano parked on the shady side and turned off the engine. Loren slapped a magazine into the butt of the Mac-11, worked the bolt. Annoyance edged Cipriano’s words.
“Will you stop playing with that damn thing?”
“I want to talk first.”
“About what?”
Loren pointed the gun at Cipriano. His nerves sang like violin strings. “About how you sold me out and set me up for a hit, asshole.”
Cipriano froze for a long second, his jaw fluttering, pupils dilating. Then he summoned will from somewhere.
“Bullshit.” His right hand clenched into a fist.
“Put both hands on the wheel.” Cipriano’s look was stubborn.
Loren felt a sad mental weariness. “Do I have to play a game with you here? After all these years?”
Cipriano put his hands on the wheel. “You damn well better. Pointing a gun at me like that.”
“You were the only person who knew I had an informant in Patience’s organization, and just a couple hours after I told you about him, Patience called out all his men and started a witch-hunt for a traitor. You’ve got the combination to the safe and could have walked right into the building and opened the safe and got the guns out. And you told me that stupid lie about giving the combination to someone you couldn’t remember . . .”
“God damn it, Loren!” Loren watched the veins in Cipriano’s forehead pulse with anger. “Anybody coulda opened that safe!”
Fury poured white-hot from Loren’s heart. He could feel the gun tremble in his hand; he steadied it with the other and forced himself to order his thoughts, line them up in words, speak t
hem.
“I told you, this morning, that I’d solved the murder of John Doe, and I named the five conspirators. I told you I’d make it all public after I got back from duck hunting. What the hell else could have got the killers outside my house before dawn this morning, ready to shoot down the first duck hunter to walk out my door?”
“Shit! Shit!” Cipriano beat fists on the wheel. Loren’s nerves sang warning; his finger twitched on the trigger. Then Cipriano gave a long sigh, the air going out of him, and he sagged behind the wheel.
“I didn’t think they’d kill anyone,” he said. “I didn’t think they’d kill Jerry.”
A scream rose from Loren’s lungs as anger flashed like white phosphorus in his mind, and he knew he had to do something before he just held down the trigger and emptied the magazine, so he started smashing the car seat with his left hand, smashed again and again while he roared. The car jumped with each impact. Cipriano hunched forward, hands white on the wheel.
The phosphorus burned low. Loren gasped for breath and clenched his numbed hand. “What did you think they were going to do?” he asked. “When they asked you to get the guns out of the safe?”
“Bury ’em, maybe.” Cipriano gave a nervous shrug. “I didn’t think they’d be crazy enough to kill someone.” He snarled. “They knew what they were doing, the motherfuckers. The bastards made me an accessory.”
“It take you this long to figure it out?”
“Shit.” Disgustedly.
“Who else knows about this? Did Luis order you to work with Patience?”
Cipriano shook his head. “No. Patience called the other day. After you got suspended. He said he wanted to liaise.”
“Liaise.” Bitterness curled Loren’s tongue.
“He said he thought you were out of control. He just asked me to keep him informed about what you were up to. And—” Cipriano searched for words. “Shit, man. Luis made it clear enough. He didn’t want us messing with ATL. And I didn’t think you had a case against ’em, anyway. Dammit, jefe!” He beat the wheel again, then gave Loren a desperate look. “You were out of control! You’re out of control now! All that wild shit you pulled, what you did to Robbie Cisneros!” He shook his head. “You were way the fuck out on the edge. I couldn’t be a part of that. I had to look after myself.”
Liquid nitrogen chilled Loren’s heart. “You sold me out over Robbie Cisneros? To a bunch of killers?”
“I didn’t think they’d ever killed anybody. I figured that was just another of your crazy ideas. And if you didn’t get stopped somehow, you’d start phoning in more phony tips and trying to bust down doors at ATL. I could see you hauling Jernigan into the bathtub just like you did with Robbie. And I didn’t want to be a part of that, jefe. No way.”
“And you were having too much fun being chief of police, right? Trying out my boots for size?”
“You were on your way out, Loren!” Cipriano’s eyes were imploring. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop you from going down the tubes. What you pulled with that search warrant was too obvious. Once Robbie got a good lawyer, I figured the Wild West days were over.”
“That’s the second time somebody’s told me that today. And it’s not true, is it?”
Cipriano just stared at him.
“Some strangers with a lot of money and a lot of political muscle moved in and tried to take over,” Loren said. “It happens over and over in this state. Except this time it’s not over water or mineral resources or grazing rights. It’s over human fucking life, right?”
“It’s always been over human life!” Cipriano shouted. He banged his hands against the wheel again. “And we’ve always sold it!” He gave Loren a wild-eyed look. Sweat dotted his forehead. “People in this state have never been able to resist. Never! They’re happy to sell their water or timber or whatever— sell their whole livelihood! Sell their communities, sell their neighbors . . . And if they resist, they just get killed— read your fucking history. How many people have died over land grants? How many people died over water rights? There used to be farms around here, a hundred years ago. My great-grandfather was born on one— I’ve seen the old photographs! But the farmers lost their livelihood because the mines wanted their water, and the county government was happy to give it. And now everybody drinks water shipped in from over the county line because of what the miners did to the water table. And who the fuck really cares, anyway?”
Cipriano leaned close. Loren could smell him. “Riga Brothers owned Atocha’s ass for a hundred years, Loren—it’s just been so long that you forget that you got sold out before you were ever fucking born. The only reason nobody in Atocha sold out to ATL was that ATL wasn’t buying! But now—” He pointed a finger at the roof, waved it. “Now they see something here they want, and they’re putting their cash down like everybody else! And now the only difference between those who have and those who don’t is gonna be whether we had anything to sell!”
Loren lunged forward and drove his forearm into Cipriano’s chest. He pinned the man against the far door and shoved the point of the Ingram into the softness of his belly.
“I don’t care if you sell yourself,” he hissed. “That’s your own sorry affair. But you sold Jerry, and that’s my business.”
Cipriano looked into his eyes at close range. “Get Castrejon to give me immunity,” he said, “and I’ll testify to anything you want.”
“I got a better idea.” Loren moved back to his seat. He pointed the Mac-11 at the car’s communication setup.
“Use the cellular phone hookup,” Loren said. “Call Patience and give him a message.”
Cipriano licked his lips. “What are you trying to do?”
“Tell Patience that the men in black have been to see you. Tell him you’re scared, that you’re calling from a secure phone, and you want to meet him here.”
Cipriano stared at him. “The men in black? Are you serious?”
“Just do it.”
Cipriano looked dubious, then shrugged. “You got the gun, jefe.” He picked up the mic, switched the commo rig from radio to the telephone channel, pushed buttons to make his connection.
He knew the number, Loren noticed. He’d been making that call a lot lately.
“Mr. Patience’s office.” The voice of Annette, Patience’s secretary, came out of the commo unit’s speaker.
“Mr. Patience, please. This is Chief Dominguez.”
“Can you hold a minute while I locate him?”
“Yes, I can wait.”
Canned music filled the car. Cipriano waited, the mic half raised.
“Patience here.”
“Bill. I—”
“Where’s Hawn?”
Cipriano licked his lips. Loren looked at Cipriano, mouthed the words “I don’t know.”
“I don’t know.“
“Who’s he talking to?”
“Listen, Bill. I just had a visit from the men in black, and—”
“How many?”
Cipriano stared at the commo set in disbelief. Loren held up three fingers.
“Three,” Cipriano said.
“What did they want?”
“I think we should talk,” Cipriano said.
“Are you calling from a secure phone?”
“Yeah. Yes. A phone booth.”
“Good.”
“I know where we can meet. West of town, out on 82. You know the UFO landing field?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s a shack right by it. Nobody goes there.”
“Right. We’ll all be there in half an hour.”
“Bye.”
“Just hold tight. Don’t move around. I don’t want you exposing yourself.”
“No shit,” Cipriano muttered, giving a baleful glance to the Mac-11. He hung up the mic, then looked up at Loren.
“You got ’em coming to you, jefe. You gonna be waiting here with the force?”
Contempt drew an acid taste down Loren’s tongue. “You haven’t figured it out yet? They’re
coming to kill you.”
Cipriano looked startled. His tongue flickered at his dry lips. “What d’you mean?”
“They’re on the run from the men in black who stole John Doe’s corpse. You’re their vulnerability— the guy outside the circle who might crack. They’ve probably been planning on killing you all along. Plant a bag of pot on you maybe, the one they took from the safe, and make it look like you were dealing.”
Cipriano stared out the car window for a moment, then pressed a hand to his solar plexus. “I feel sick,” he said.
“Get out of the car,” Loren said. “No, wait, give me your gun first. Hold it with two fingers, and toss it to me.”
Cipriano blinked, then did as he was told. Loren put the gun on the floor of the car. “Get out,” he repeated. Cipriano opened his door and climbed numbly out of the car. Loren got out his own door and walked around the car.
Cipriano was staring at the blood-tinged landscape. The hot southern wind ruffled his lank hair, banged a piece of tin on the shack roof. He turned to Loren. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Aren’t you gonna call for backup?”
Loren looked at him. “No,” he said. “I’m just going to take care of this myself.”
He watched while Cipriano worked at this one. “You’re not gonna arrest ’em?” he asked.
Loren just looked at him.
Comprehension flooded Cipriano’s face. “Jesus!” he said. “You’re crazy!”
“If I arrest them,” Loren said, “there’ll just be some deal made. We both know that. Luis’ll try to play both sides against the middle. Before you know it, they’ll all be claiming that Jerry threatened them with one of the shotguns he was carrying and they had to fire in self-defense. Maybe some of them will do time, but only ATL and Luis are gonna win.”
Cipriano’s look was wild. “I’ll be an accessory!”
“It worked for them,” Loren said. “Why not for me?” He gave Cipriano a deliberate smile, baring his teeth. His heart poured tingling readiness into his body. “Unless I got things wrong— unless you were getting ready to confess your role in all this to Castrejon?”
“You can’t do this to me!”
“I’m going to put some cuffs on you and put you over in the arroyo,” Loren said. He felt ready to go twelve rounds with the Champ. “All you gotta do is close your eyes, and in a while it’ll be over. And the two of us— we’ll conduct the investigation the way we want, won’t we?”
Days of Atonement Page 45