“If it was Carlos Rodriguez or one of his family, I have no idea why they tried to kill us,” Rainy replied. “I don’t know what my son might have to do with that. I only want to find him and make sure he’s all right.”
The mayor of Sulfur Springs studied my wife, and I was pretty sure she wasn’t convinced. “What brought you here?”
“Peter called me. He said he was in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“He didn’t say.”
“I’ve heard that your son has struggled with drug addiction.”
“He’s clean now.”
“But he probably knows the people around here who deal.”
“He came for treatment at the Goodman Center. Before that, he was in Tucson. A student there. And before that, he was a Marine. I don’t know why he’d have any information about drug dealers here.”
“The people who get treatment at Goodman are usually wealthy, or their families are. Are you wealthy?”
“What’s your point?” I asked.
“Just trying to get the lay of the land, Cork. I’d like to understand all the elements at work here.”
“What’s your interest in Rainy’s son?”
“I’d like to help you find him.”
“Out of the goodness of your heart?”
“We lost one of our citizens to a car bomb a few months back. I’m sure he was killed by the same people who targeted you. The Rodriguezes.”
“We heard that citizen of yours was involved in White Horse,” I said.
“I can’t say one way or the other about that.”
“Why did the Rodriguezes want him dead?”
“Maybe for the same reason they seem to want you dead. And that’s what I’d like to know. The why of it.”
“Because you’re mayor of Sulfur Springs and you worry about your constituents?”
“What happens in Sulfur Springs, in all of Coronado County, is my business. When I spit, I hit Mexico. If the cartel wanted to decimate this town, they could do it in a heartbeat. What’s to stop them? That fence?”
“So it’s up to you? And maybe White Horse?”
“I’ve got nothing to do with White Horse. I don’t know anyone who does. But I do hear things, so I might be able to help you find your son.”
“How?” Rainy asked.
“I’ll put the word out to watch for him, or for any sign of him.”
“Sheriff Carlson said he’d do the same thing,” I told her. “And your Officer Sanchez.”
“Nobody who knows anything talks to anyone associated with legal authority here. God alone knows who’s in the pockets of the cartels.”
“So you’re the one we should trust?” I said.
“Best to trust no one. But if you want to be sure you’re not whispering into the ear of the cartel, I’m the one to talk to. You have my number. And you know how to find me now.”
We stood to leave.
“Tell me something, Marian,” I said. “Do you sell a lot of real estate in Coronado County?”
“It’s not a bad place if you want to get away from the rat race.”
“And if you don’t mind getting poor people shoved up your ass?”
Which didn’t seem to faze her at all. She smiled and said, “Good day.”
On the street outside, Rainy said, “Another someone who says trust no one but me.”
“A familiar refrain in this county. Hungry?”
“Breakfast was a long time ago. I suppose we should eat.”
We walked up the street to Rosa’s Cantina. The rocking chair in front was empty now. When we stepped inside, the place seemed empty, too.
“Anybody home?” I called.
The young woman who’d served us the day before came from the kitchen, and her surprise at seeing us was obvious.
“Can we get a bite to eat?” I asked.
“No problem. Have a seat. Something to drink?”
“I’ll have a Tecate.”
“Iced tea,” Rainy said. “If you have some.”
“Be right back.”
We sat and she brought our drinks.
“Kind of surprised to see you folks. Most people who aren’t local stumble in here once and I never see them again.”
“We didn’t exactly stumble,” I said.
“Menus?”
“I’ll have the same thing I had yesterday.”
“That’d be the enchilada stack.” She glanced at Rainy. “Smothered burrito again?”
“Why not?” Rainy said. “You have a good memory.”
“About food and drink anyway.” She vanished into the kitchen.
When we were alone, Rainy said, “This town gives me the creeps.”
“This whole county gives me the creeps. It’s just like everyone keeps saying, a war zone. But the casualties are kept out of sight.”
Rainy stared out the window at the empty street. “Maybe like Agent Sprangers said, they’re dead in the desert and good luck finding them.”
“That’s not Peter,” I said.
She took my hand. “That’s not Peter.”
When the food came, our waitress said, “What brings you folks back to our lovely little burg?”
“We just met with your mayor,” I said.
“Marian? Real piece of work, that one. Notice her jewelry? When she dies, I’m betting she’ll be buried with all of it. That and her Lexus. Pretty much owns Sulfur Springs. A lot of ranch country around here, too. And some old mine holdings. Her family goes way back.”
“So she told us. What about you?” I asked.
“When I’m not minding the bar, I take photographs. I like to think of myself as an artist. I’ve got some pieces showing in a gallery up in Tucson.”
Rainy said, “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“Nothing to hide. Go right ahead.”
“You’re Hispanic?”
“Mexican on my mother’s side. From Chihuahua. My father’s Italian.”
“How is it in Coronado County for someone with Mexican blood?”
“The more Mexican you look, or Indian for that matter, the harder it is.” She gave Rainy a frank look. “Native?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been stopped yet? By Border Patrol or cops?”
“Yes,” Rainy said.
“But you were with him, right?” She nodded at me. “So I’m guessing it wasn’t so bad.”
“They can’t stop everyone who looks Hispanic.”
“They can try. There are things you do and don’t do in Coronado County if you look like us. Learn what they are and you’re fine. You just blend in then.”
“How is it here in Sulfur Springs?” I asked.
“Sulfur Creek divides this town. Have you been south of the creek yet?”
“No.”
“Go south of the creek. You’ll see.”
“What will we find?”
“The maids, the cooks, the service people for Cadiz, the hired hands for the ranches and the vineyards. People doing the jobs white folks don’t want to do for the pay that’s being offered. It’s a nice little community south of the creek. The housing’s not so great maybe, but it’s affordable. You’ll hear Spanish more than English. And good luck ever catching Britney Spears coming out of a boom box. Folks north of Sulfur Creek call it Gallina Town.”
“Gallina? Chicken Town?” Rainy said.
“If you go, you’ll see why.” She smiled at me. “Don’t worry that you’re the only white faces there. Being white south of Sulfur Creek is a whole lot safer than being Mexican north of the border.”
“What about White Horse?” I asked. “Do they cause any trouble here?”
The change in her demeanor was almost imperceptible. “I don’t know anything about them.”
“How about the Rodriguezes?”
“Lots of Rodriguezes in southern Arizona. You folks enjoy your food.”