I got back into the truck and drove on.
In Cadiz, I cruised past the church. The ribbon I’d tied the night before was still there. I headed south out of town and, a few miles later, took the turnoff to Sulfur Springs. As I came over the saddle in the mountains and down onto the desert below, I took careful note of Paradiso, the trailer community that lay north of town, built on a barren stretch of earth with no trees at all. It seemed to me that staying off the grid came at a high cost if it meant living like a reptile baking under a hot sun. I turned off on the Old Douglas Road so that I could take a closer look at Paradiso. I lowered the windows of the pickup, and as I passed the trailer community, I could hear music blasting, something heavy metal. I saw a gathering of motorcycles, and in the shade under a nearby awning, a few bikers in T-shirts lounged in lawn chairs with beer cans in their hands. They eyed me in the way they might a desert snake they couldn’t quite identify.
I turned around and continued to Sulfur Springs. Sylvester’s empty red pickup truck sat in front of Rosa’s Cantina, right alongside what I believed was the only law enforcement vehicle owned by the town of Sulfur Springs. I parked and went inside.
They sat together at the bar, Sylvester, lean and long-bearded, the Arizona Diamondbacks cap crowning his head. Which made me think of Juan and his dream of pitching for the Dodgers. Sanchez sat heavy on his own stool, resting his chunky forearms on the bar top. Each had a beer in front of him and they were staring at the television, where a ball game was in progress. Neither man looked my way when I entered. I sat down next to Sanchez. He turned his head, but not his body, and the swivel of his neck reminded me of an owl eyeing prey.
“O’Connor,” he said. The moment he spoke I knew absolutely he’d been at the parsonage the night I’d been beaten. “You look like hell. What happened?”
“Ran into a door,” I said.
“A door with a good left hook looks like to me.” He barked a laugh.
Sylvester didn’t seem to notice my arrival at all. His eyes stayed riveted to the television screen.
Sierra came from the kitchen and stepped behind the bar. “You’re getting to be a regular. What’ll you have?”
“I’ll have whatever the chief here is having.”
“One Corona coming up.”
“And a cheeseburger,” I said.
“Can do.”
When the beer was in front of me, I took a sip and asked, “Who’s winning?”
“Giants,” Sanchez said. “Our bullpen sucks today. Any luck finding that young man you’ve been looking for?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
Sanchez nodded, gave it a few seconds, then said, “That so? How’d you manage it?”
“I told you when we first met that I’m a private investigator. I’m good at what I do.”
“Where is he?”
“Safe,” I said. “By the way, Chief, you know anything about an organization called White Horse?”
“Heard of ’em, sure.”
“I understand they have a big following in Paradiso.”
“What’s your source?”
“I also heard drugs are being run out of there.”
“Whoever told you that, mister, doesn’t know his ass from nuthin’.”
“Because you’d know if that was true.”
“Damn right.”
“But if it was true, what would that mean?”
“I told you it’s bullshit.”
“Seems to me that would mean one of two things. Either you’re really a terrible cop. Or you’re just looking the other way.”
He turned slowly on his stool until the whole bulk of his body confronted me.
“You want to speak plainly?”
“I thought I was plain enough.”
“You know that door you ran into? You’re just about to run into it again, mister.”
Sierra came from the kitchen and took quick stock of the dynamic going down at her bar. “Guys,” she said. “If you’ve got something to settle, how about you settle it outside.”
“I’ve got nothing to settle,” I said.
Sanchez gave me the kind of stare he must have given kids he caught drinking beer underage. “You go spreading accusations, O’Connor, you’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m already in trouble, Chief. But I’m not there alone. I intend to take White Horse down. You might want to pass that along to your friends in Paradiso.”
He spoke like a man whose jaw had been wired shut. “I’m going to leave, because like Sierra said, this should be taken outside. O’Connor, next time I see you on the streets of Sulfur Springs, I’m going to arrest your ass.”
“What for?”
“I’ll have something. And by the time you come out of my jail, you’ll think walking into a door was a picnic.”
He stood up, squared his shoulders, and strolled out of Rosa’s Cantina, affecting the kind of swagger he must have seen in a dozen John Wayne westerns. I followed after him to the door and watched him cross the street and enter the office of Marian Brown.
When I returned to the bar, Sierra said, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“You ever hunt quail?” I said. “You’ve got to flush them before you can shoot them.”
She shook her head. “Let me see about that cheeseburger.” She vanished back into the kitchen.
“True?” Sylvester said without looking at me.
“All of it,” I said.
“You found him and he’s safe?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
Sierra brought my cheeseburger, and I watched the Diamondbacks lose as I ate, and Sylvester and I exchanged not another word.
When I left the cantina, Sanchez’s cruiser was gone. I crossed the street to Marian Brown’s real estate office. It was dark inside and the door was locked. On the glass of her big front window were taped photographs of the properties she represented, along with descriptions and prices. Judging from the listings, there was a good deal of land available for purchase in Coronado County. I wondered what was motivating the sellers. The war along the border? Or maybe they were just worn down from fighting the desert to scrape out a living. I stepped back into the street and scanned the sky, looking for a drone. I had no idea how high those things actually flew. If Sprangers decided to put one on me again, I didn’t know if I’d be able to spot it. The truth was that I didn’t trust him. Not yet. Was there anybody in that county I trusted completely?
I remembered that I hadn’t returned Michelle Abbott’s call. I turned my cell phone on and punched in her number.
“I tried to call earlier,” she said when she answered. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re doing all right.”
“I’ve been better,” I said.
“Any word on Rainy?”
Although she might have been the one person I could trust, I knew that telling her anything could put her in danger.
“Nothing yet,” I said.
“Peter?”
“Same,” I said.
“I don’t know if this is important, but I heard something today that you might want to know.”
“What’s that?”
“A member of my congregation in Sulfur Springs is the housekeeper for Marian Brown. Marian is the town mayor, and she also operates a real estate business.”