I told him about the ambush in the desert in which Miguel Rodriguez had been killed and Carlos Rodriguez and Peter wounded.
“I’m thinking maybe that ambush was just as much about getting rid of Rodriguez as it was getting Peter out of the way,” I said. “She eliminates Rodriguez, she can move the product he’s got stockpiled.”
“If she finds it. Big if.” He tugged at his long, gray beard. “That beating you took must mean she’s still gunning for Peter.”
“I think she’s still mighty interested in getting those old claims that are in his name, still banking on big mining coming back to Coronado County. But I’m also thinking more and more that it’s possible she wants to make certain Peter doesn’t file a claim on the mine where Rodriguez has his stockpile. She might even be thinking that maybe Peter’s already stumbled onto the cache of drugs.”
“You say you found Peter. Did he say anything about that drug stash?”
I shook my head. “But Marian doesn’t know that.”
Sylvester pulled at his long beard and thought awhile. “Might be she’ll never find those drugs. Might be Rodriguez didn’t stash nothing in the claims she or Peter filed on. That’s all public land. Anybody could wander in. But there’s plenty of mining was done on private property, legal and illegal. A lot of those workings, just small operations, even I don’t know about.”
I could hear the distant rumble of thunder now and knew that Sylvester and I would have to break up our little war council soon.
“So, somebody tipped off Rodriguez to the rendezvous Peter had with them illegals, and somebody tipped off Marian and White Horse, too,” Sylvester said. “Same person?”
“I don’t know.”
“Got a speculation who that might be?”
“I’m working on it.”
Sylvester said, “We better get our asses off this high ground before that storm hits. Do me a favor. You come up with any answers, you let me know. I got myself a score to settle, too.”
He headed to his own truck. I waited until he was well out of sight, then started down out of the mountains just as the first big drops of rain began to splat against my windshield.
*
I drove to Cadiz in a downpour. With each flash of lightning, the mountains around me jumped out in a blaze of white. I cruised past the church and slowed to a crawl. I had to lower the window to make out the statue through the rain. The ribbon I’d tied was gone and in its place was a different ribbon. I kept going, parked a couple of blocks farther on, then hoofed it back to the church on foot. I was soaking wet, but I didn’t care. The ribbon meant news of Rainy, and I wanted that like a man dying of thirst wants water. I untied the ribbon and used the skeleton key Michelle had given me to open the church door. Inside under the cross on the altar, I found a note. I read simply: SAME TIME. SAME PLACE. They were block letters, but even so I could tell they hadn’t been written in Rainy’s hand. It was Mondragón who’d left the note.
I sat in the first pew, relieved that Rainy was safe, and that Peter was, too. Also Juan and the others who’d walked a thousand miles looking only for freedom from violence and constant fear. I hoped that they’d finally found a permanent sanctuary. But I also felt empty and alone. Self-pity, I knew. I missed Rainy, missed her terribly, missed her smile, her laugh, her touch, her warm, dark eyes, her long braid that fell across my chest when we made love. She was with Mondragón now, a man who’d shared everything with her in exactly the same way I had, and then some, because he’d fathered her children. When you’d given your heart deeply to another person, even if things didn’t work out, did you take your whole heart back? Or did you leave a part of it with the other? I wanted to ask Rainy what she still felt for this man who was movie-star handsome and rich as Croesus and who’d come to the rescue of us all.
A bit of ancient, Native wisdom that has always stood me in good stead: In every human being there are two wolves constantly battling. One is love and the other is fear. The wolf that wins the battle is the one you feed. Always the one you feed.
I was feeding the wolf of fear. I knew that. And I knew that the best way to end this wallowing in doubt and self-pity was action. I called Jamie Sprangers.
“I want to talk,” I said. “But only with you.”
“Where and when?” he said.
“Now. I’m at the parsonage in Cadiz.”
“I’ll be there in ten.”
“Bring beer,” I said.
I walked across the street, unlocked the parsonage, and went inside. The air conditioner was running, and wet as I was, it chilled me. I changed into dry clothing, then took a towel to my dripping hair. I’d just finished when Sprangers knocked on the front door. He’d brought beer, Leinenkugel’s.
He held up the six-pack. “From your neck of the woods, right?”
We sat in the kitchen and drank brew.
“I’ve got a significant dossier on you now, O’Connor,” Sprangers said. “You’ve got some Indian blood in you.”
“Ojibwe,” I said. “One-quarter. My grandmother Dilsey was true-blood Iron Lake Anishinaabe.”
“And your father was a cop. A county sheriff. Died in the line of duty. Is that why you wore a badge?”
Rain channeled down the panes in gray streaks, and the thunder outside was a relentless cannonade.
“Part of the reason,” I said. “But I believe the things he believed, and that’s also part of the reason.”
“My dad was a cop, too. Texas Ranger. Thirty-five years. He’s retired, but ask him and he says retirement feels more like a prison sentence. He’d love to be back in uniform. There’s something about the badge, you know?”
“I know.” I sipped my beer. It was ice cold. Perfect. “Why the Border Patrol?”
“My grandparents are from Chihuahua. Moved to Texas when my mother was a little girl.” He saw me studying his features. “I know. I look as Mexican as you do Indian. But I think you’ll understand this. I’m Border Patrol because I want the people who are trying to get into this country, people like my grandparents, to be treated fairly. I’m not CBP to keep them out. I’m CBP to keep them safe.”
I believed him, trusted him, and it felt good. “That’s all Peter wants, too,” I said.
“I understand. But he’s still tied up with Rodriguez somehow.”
“It’s all a ball of snakes.”
He put his beer bottle down on the kitchen tabletop. “I’m listening.”