Tequila Sunset

by Sam Hawken

  “Azteca. One of theirs,” Matías said.

  “They say he’s been out here three days.”

  “Three days? He’s right by the roadside. Anyone could see him.”

  Felix shrugged. “I guess no one thought it was worth reporting until now.”

  “I can’t say that’s it really worth our time, either,” Matías said. “So the Aztecas from the American side lose one of theirs in Juárez. It’s happened before a hundred times. Two hundred times.”

  “This one was under indictment in El Paso,” Felix said. “Come on with me.”

  They went to Felix’s car, which squatted hot and black under the sun. Felix brought out a thick folder full of papers from the passenger seat and pulled out a thin sheet of fax paper. He handed it to Matías.

  “Emilio Esperanza, out on bail,” Felix said. “They put a warrant out on him when he didn’t show up for his court date and faxed us just in case he crossed the border. Looks like he did, but I’m thinking maybe he didn’t go willingly.”

  “They killed one of their own.”

  “Like you said, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “So why bring me in?”

  “You’re in tight with the Americans on the Azteca thing. I thought maybe there might be a connection.”

  Matías touched Felix on the arm and smiled. “There may be. May I keep this?”

  “Sure. You need the stiff for anything?”

  “No.”

  Matías went back to his car. On the lot the technicians were coming for the body with a black, rubberized canvas bag. Behind the wheel he started the engine and turned on the air conditioning to chase off the heat. His jacket was too heavy for standing out in the sun.

  He called a number in El Paso. The face of Emilio Esperanza stared out at him from the fax paper, obviously a booking photo. There was nothing of that face left on the corpse.

  The phone was answered. “McPeek.”

  “Jamie, it’s Matías.”

  “Matías. I was going to call you.”

  “I have a body here,” Matías said. “I’d like to find out where it came from.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  SEVENTEEN

  ENOUGH TIME HAD PASSED THAT FLIP HAD begun to think things were improving between himself and Alfredo. For one, they had started eating lunch together again, though their conversations were very short and to the point. For another, Alfredo put on the radio when they drove to and from the warehouse, which was better than the stony silence of their drives before.

  When Flip had been sick from seeing Emilio killed and stayed up all night, he almost thought Alfredo was going to ask him what was wrong, but he hadn’t and they went to work as usual. Alfredo didn’t even reprimand him when he made a mistake that day and almost crushed one of his workmate’s hands.

  Alfredo hadn’t said anything about what transpired between them to Flip’s mother, and for that Flip was glad. He was also glad when Alfredo took his mother out for dinners and dancing because she always seemed lighter and brighter the following day, as if illuminated from the inside. Never in his life had he seen his mother that way. When Flip and Alfredo treated Flip’s mother to a Mother’s Day meal, she was overjoyed.

  Now they sat opposite each other at one of the picnic tables, Flip eating cold cucumber soup his mother had made, Alfredo with a sandwich. Not much had passed between them that day.

  “Payday today,” Alfredo said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you going to do with your money?”

  “Same as always,” said Flip. “Save some. Take Graciela out.”

  “You like that girl a lot, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  Alfredo nodded sagely and tore off another bite of sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully and then he said, “Flip, I want you to know something about me and your mother. It’s important.”

  Flip waited.

  “I was going to let your mother tell you when it was done, but I wanted you to know first so it wasn’t a surprise.”

  “What?”

  Alfredo put his sandwich down and fixed Flip with his gaze. “I’m going to ask your mother to marry me. This weekend.”

  Flip blinked. He heard the words, but they weren’t connecting to something real that he could grasp. “Married?” he said.

  “Yes. We’ve been seeing each other three years and I think it’s time I did the right thing. I’m not going to ask if it’s all right with you. I just want to know that you understand what I’m doing and why.”

  “No,” Flip said. “I mean, yeah. I get it. You waited long enough, right?”

  “That’s right,” Alfredo said firmly.

  “Does that mean you’d be moving into our house?”

  “That’s up to Silvia, but if that’s what she wants, then I will.”

  “Well, that’s okay.”

  “You can stay,” Alfredo said. “Until you’ve saved up enough for a place of your own. I know you want to find some work away from here. Maybe that will come through.”

  “Congratulations, I guess,” Flip said.

  “Don’t say anything to your mother. And when she tells you, act surprised.”

  “I will.”

  “Okay.”

  Alfredo fell silent again and they finished their lunches. Flip went back to work. On that afternoon they got two trucks with the red and orange markings, the kind José had pointed out to him. One was loaded with jars of jalapeños, the other with boxes filled with corn meal. Flip wondered what the ones carrying dope would have in them. He tried to put it from his mind. José had not asked again, and Flip did not want to remind him.

  The day ended and Flip met Alfredo down by the truck. Alfredo put on Tejano music and rolled his window down to let the wind in. Flip did the same. He almost smiled.

  Flip didn’t see the car slot in behind them, or even notice it was there until they came to a stop in front of his mother’s house. There was the sound of slamming car doors from behind the truck and Flip caught movement in the side mirror.

  Alfredo’s door was wrenched open and two young men – kids, from Flip’s point of view – dragged the man out of the truck. They started beating him before he was even clear of the cab. He went down quickly.

  “No!” Flip cried and flung his door open. He rounded the nose of the truck, but two more bodies intercepted him and pushed him back. There were four around Alfredo, kicking and stomping him, and the worst part of it was their silence; they didn’t shout or taunt Alfredo at all.

  Flip fought to get away from the two boys holding him. He put his elbow hard into the side of one and wrenched free of the grip on his arm. They grabbed him again and put their weight on him and Flip felt himself being pulled down to the hot asphalt. He yelled Alfredo’s name. “Help! Help!” he shouted.

  The front door of the house opened and Flip’s mother burst out. She was halfway down the walk when she started shrieking their names, Alfredo’s and Flip’s. One of the boys holding Flip down straightened up as if to go after her and Flip grabbed for the boy’s crotch. He got a kick in the head. Blood hit the blacktop.

  “Mamá, get back in the house!” Flip yelled.

  “I’m calling the police!” his mother shouted back and she went for the front door.

  Flip couldn’t catch a glimpse of Alfredo. The boys were all over him. He tried to get a purchase on the street with his shoes and push out of the hold he was in, but it was no good.

  He gathered his strength for another try when suddenly the whole crowd of boys backed off. Flip collapsed onto his face as they let him go, and saw Alfredo through a forest of moving legs. The man wasn’t moving and his face was washed with red.

  “Alfredo!” Flip crawled to Alfredo’s side. He was still breathing. Flip cradled the man’s bloody head in his hands. “No, no, no, no,” he said. “Alfredo.”

  EIGHTEEN

  THE LOBBY OF THE UNIVERSITY MEDICAL Center was oddly quiet when Cristina and Robinson stopped there to
wait for Agent McPeek. An elderly woman in a wheelchair sat near the front doors, attended by a much younger lady who could have been her granddaughter. The only sound was the occasional click of footsteps, the soft ringing of a phone from time to time and the whoosh of electric doors opening and closing as people entered or left.

  A row of chairs fixed together between a pair of broad-leafed, green plants provided a good view of the entrance and Cristina and Robinson sat there. It was fairly early in the morning. Bright sunlight shafted through the glass entryway and glared off the polished floors.

  McPeek arrived fifteen minutes later, carrying a briefcase and dressed in another dark suit. Cristina waved her over.

  “Have you been in to see him?” McPeek asked.

  “Not yet. We’re not even sure the doctor will give us the okay. She turned us away last night.”

  “Let’s not wait to find out.”

  Alfredo Rodriguez was on an upper floor and all three of them had to show their IDs before the nurse would even summon the doctor. Cristina saw it was the same doctor who’d forbidden them access to Rodriguez the evening before. “Hello, Dr. Capra,” Cristina said. “We’re back.”

  Dr. Capra was a small woman with tense features and she looked at each of them with the same sharp expression. “Mr. Rodriguez is better this morning. I can allow you a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.”

  The doctor led them down a side hallway to a room with an open door. Inside was a single bed, no doubles here, partly shielded from the bright window by a drawn curtain. Alfredo Rodriguez was there.

  Cristina knew from her last visit the extent of the damage: the broken arm and ribs, the head trauma, the smashed fingers. Looking at Rodriguez now she thought he looked terribly diminished, as though his insides had been drained away. His skin was sallow.

  One eye was uncovered. Cristina saw it dart toward them as they entered.

  “Mr. Rodriguez,” Cristina said. “Do you remember me? I’m Detective Salas. This is my partner, Detective Robinson. And this is Special Agent Jamie McPeek of the FBI. How are you?”

  Only part of Rodriguez’s mouth was free to move. The jaw, Dr. Capra said, had been dislocated. Rodriguez was clear enough: “Go away.”

  Robinson stepped forward. “Mr. Rodriguez, we’re here to help. We already know who did this to you. We just have to hear it from your lips.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  Now it was McPeek’s turn: “Mr. Rodriguez, like the detectives say, I’m from the FBI. I want you to know that we’re involved in an aggressive operation against the same gang that attacked you. We can move forward without your testimony or your assistance, but it adds to the weight of the prosecution if you give us both.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Everything in our power.”

  Rodriguez’s eye flashed and Cristina thought she saw some new attentiveness in his sour mien. “There was no one to help me before.”

  “We’re here now,” Cristina put in. “Just give us a chance to help you help yourself.”

  The man was quiet for a while, and if his eye hadn’t stayed open, Cristina would have thought he’d gone to sleep. Then he said, “It was that bastard Flip. Felipe Morales. Him and his gang buddies.”

  “You’re saying Morales was involved in the beating?” Cristina asked. “He called it in?”

  “He was there. He was in on it.”

  Cristina spared a glance toward Robinson. Robinson quirked an eyebrow.

  “Who’s Felipe Morales?” McPeek asked.

  “Mr. Rodriguez’s employee,” Robinson said quickly. “He’s involved with the Aztecas.”

  “How involved are we talking about?”

  “Let’s hold off on that for now,” Cristina said. She turned to Rodriguez. “Mr. Rodriguez, we think this beating was retaliation from José Martinez because you turned him down. I personally think he’s still going to try and get your help with what he has planned.”

  “I wouldn’t help that hijo de puta for any amount of money!” Rodriguez exclaimed, and then he stiffened and fell back into himself. He was still in pain, despite what the doctor was giving him.

  “If you help him, you’re helping us,” McPeek said. “It’s evidence we can use against him. We’ll put him away for a long time.”

  “And Flip, too?”

  McPeek looked confused. “Felipe Morales,” Cristina explained.

  “If he’s a part of it, then yes,” McPeek said.

  Now Rodriguez did close his eye and Cristina feared he was drifting, but he opened it again and said, “If it will get them all…”

  “It will.”

  “I can’t do anything now.”

  “Wait until you’re better,” Cristina said. “They’ll come to you and we’ll be ready.”

  Dr. Capra appeared at the door. “That’s enough for now,” she said. “If you’ll step out, Mr. Rodriguez can get some rest.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rodriguez,” Cristina said, and then she followed Robinson and McPeek out of the room. Dr. Capra closed the door.

  “When will he be released?” Robinson asked the doctor.

  “We’ll hold him another day, but then he can go home.”

  “How long will it take him to heal?” Cristina asked.

  “Six weeks. Eight at the most. He avoided serious internal damage and he managed to escape with just a concussion. He was very lucky.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” McPeek said. “We’ll go now.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Cristina said.

  “Good-bye.”

  They left the floor and went down to the lobby. Cristina could sense questions bubbling up inside of McPeek. Before they reached the door, McPeek boiled over. “Who is this Felipe Morales?”

  “He’s our informant,” Cristina said. “Very close to José. Rodriguez is dating Flip’s mother. When José originally brought his offer to Rodriguez, he did it through Flip.”

  “When were you planning on sharing this information with me?” McPeek asked.

  “When we knew we had something,” Robinson said.

  “Flip’s the one who gave us Emilio Esperanza,” Cristina said.

  “Emilio Esperanza. One of José’s carnales?”

  “Right.”

  “Emilio was found shot to death in Juárez a few days ago.”

  Cristina hesitated. Then she said, “We know.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Our informant was… aware of the killing.”

  McPeek’s face crossed up and she put a hand on her hip. “You’re not giving up very much to the group,” she said. “This operation is supposed to be about sharing information among all the involved agencies so we can work together. I want to meet this informant of yours.”

  “We promised him we’d keep him from being exposed,” Cristina said. “That includes to other members of the operation.”

  “I know his name and where he works now. It wouldn’t be that difficult to get the rest. Arrange for a meeting.”

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “No, you’ll do what you’re told,” McPeek said sharply.

  Cristina was silent. There was something simmering inside of her now and she did not want to give it voice.

  Robinson spoke instead: “We’ll work it out.”

  “Good.”

  Without saying good-bye, McPeek turned on her heel and went out through the automatic doors into the sun. Cristina remained where she was, flexing and unflexing her fingers slowly, chewing the inside of her cheek.

  Robinson turned to her. “We can’t fight the power,” he said.

  “I don’t want Flip out of our control.”

  “We may not have that choice.”

  NINETEEN

  FLIP’S MOTHER LEFT THE HOUSE EARLY TO visit Alfredo in the hospital. She asked if Flip wanted to come, but he begged off and called in sick to work, too. Clayton, Alfredo’s second in command, said he understood and told Flip to take as much time as he nee
ded.

  A long shower did nothing to relieve his tension and Flip lay on his bed naked with a towel around his waist until he felt he would bore a hole in the ceiling with his eyes. He called Graciela once, left a message, and then called again an hour later. This time she answered.

  “It’s me,” Flip said.

  “Flip! I heard what happened. Are you okay?”

  “How did you hear?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s all over. They even had it on the news.”

  “They came out of nowhere,” Flip said. He touched the scab on his forehead. “I couldn’t do nothing.”

  “How is Alfredo?”

  “Mamá says he’s going to be all right. They busted him up good, though.”

  “It was José?” Graciela asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen, I’ll cut classes today and come see you. You’re at home?”

  “I am.”

  “Don’t go nowhere.”

  Flip put his phone on the stand by the bed and sat very still. Inside he was in constant motion, but his body did not react. He supposed that was how he was able to lie to the people who trusted him and betray their confidences without giving himself away; he was blank.

  Eventually he got dressed and took himself to the kitchen. He dragged together the makings of a sandwich and stood at the window looking out over the back yard while he ate it. Part of him was waiting for José to call, but then he knew José didn’t have to call, because his message was sent and already received. This was true of Flip and Alfredo both.

  He wasn’t sure what to do with himself and he was already contemplating an empty afternoon with silence and stillness for company when there was a knock on the door. Graciela waited on the step. Flip hugged her and kissed her and smelled the delicate floral scent of her perfume.

  “You don’t look so good, baby,” Graciela said when she saw him better.

  “It’s the lights in here,” Flip said.

  “No, you really look bad. And your head!”

  “It’s nothing.”

  Flip sat on the couch and Graciela came with him, her arm around his waist and her hands on his body. He was taken with the sudden urge to shake her off, but he was glad she was here and he wouldn’t do that.