“Laundering money through the real estate woman?” Mondragón said. “Small potatoes, comparatively speaking.”
“You mean compared to the vast millions your own family has invested in the States?” I said.
“Exactly,” he replied, unfazed by my tone. “So, probably there’s more going on. I have certain sources here that I can tap for information. I’ll get them on it.”
“The authorities are going to pick her up,” I told him. “They may be able to sweat that out of her.”
“I could have my people do the same,” he said.
“No, Berto,” Rainy said in a voice hard and cold, so different from the tone I usually heard her speak in. “I can only imagine how your people would get the information.”
“All right, querida.”
“We can’t use the church for notes anymore,” I told them.
“Your phone? Do you believe it’s safe?” Mondragón asked.
“At this point, about as safe as anything else, I’d guess.”
“Leave it on, and we’ll communicate that way. But sparingly. Keep an eye to your back in case you’re tracked.”
I looked at Peter. “You need to think hard about which of the Desert Angels betrayed you.”
He shook his head. “I trust them all or I would never have brought them in.”
“I’ve told you again and again,” Mondragón said, as if speaking to a recalcitrant child. “Trust no one except family.”
“A poor mantra, Berto,” Rainy said.
“But clearly true.” He held out his hands toward his son. “Peter wouldn’t be in this fix if he’d listened to me.”
Peter said something to Mondragón in Spanish that I didn’t understand. Rainy laughed, and when she saw that I was confused, translated for me. “He told his father that he got all his trust genes from me, and thank God for that.”
Mondragón was not amused. “You need to be very careful, Peter, or you could get us all killed.”
Which, I had to admit, could well be true.
From far away rose the whine of a siren. Although it didn’t seem to be coming in our direction, Mondragón said, “We need to leave. When I know something, I’ll contact you, O’Connor. I expect the same from you.”
“Of course.” I turned to Rainy and took her in my arms once more. “Vaya con Dios, love.”
She whispered in my ear, “Wherever you are, there I am also.”
CHAPTER 34
* * *
In a pinch, it doesn’t take much to be happy. Rainy and Peter and little Juan and the others were all safe. That pretty much did it for me. I walked down the mesa under the rise of a moon nearing half full, feeling relieved and remarkably hopeful and, yes, happy. In the words of Frost, there were still miles to go before I slept, but for a change I was feeling equal to the task.
Before I reached the parsonage, my cell phone rang. Frank Harris.
“Sorry to disturb you so late, Cork, but Jocko’s having some difficulty. Things aren’t looking so good. He’d like to talk to you.”
When I arrived at the hospital, Harris was waiting for me outside Jocko’s room. He shook my hand. “Thanks for coming. Jocko’s been struggling for the past few hours. But I have a sense it’s not so much about the beating he took as it is his worry over Peter.”
“I think I can give him some good news on that front.”
“Thank God.” He signaled me to follow him inside.
Jocko was a big man, but his ordeal seemed to have taken a lot out of him, and lying on that hospital bed, he looked shrunken, hollowed.
“Jocko,” Frank said quietly. “Cork O’Connor’s here.”
The old man’s eyes opened slowly and took a moment to focus. He acknowledged me with a faint smile.
“How’re you doing?” I asked.
“Not so good.” He spoke barely above a whisper. “Think I may have flown my last plane.”
“You’ll fly again, Jocko,” Harris said.
“Not up to you or me anymore, Frankie.” He leveled his eyes on me. “I need to know if Peter’s okay.”
“He’s okay.”
“You found him?”
“I found him.”
“And he’s all right?”
“He’s limping a little, but he’s fine.”
“The folks he was supposed to guide out of that desert?”
“Safe,” I said and then explained about the ambush and what had happened after. “I’m pretty sure the mayor of Sulfur Springs is involved in all this, and the cop there, too. Mike Sanchez. The authorities are going to pick them up. I think there’s a good chance they’ll crack.”
“I’d love to be the one to question them,” Jocko said. “Wouldn’t ask gentle, if you know what I mean.”
“You just take care of getting yourself better.”
“Feels like a big weight’s been lifted off me.” He slid an arm from beneath the sheets and reached out to shake my hand. His grip was surprisingly firm. “Thanks.”
“Right back at you, Jocko. You and that biplane of yours have helped save a lot of desperate people. Get well, pardner. There are still lives to be saved.”
He smiled, drew back his hand, and let his eyes drift closed. Frank signaled me to follow him into the hallway.
“Is it true about Marian?” he asked.
“I know for sure she was there when I got this.” I pointed toward the ugly cut across my cheek, the legacy of Royal Diggs’s silver skull ring. “Everything else is speculation but based on good evidence.”
“Marian Brown,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “We’ve dealt with her in all the land transactions for our vineyards. I always knew she was a shrewd businesswoman, but this?”
“Why do you grow grapes?” I asked.
He seemed surprised by the question. “I enjoy it.”
“Is it about the money?”
“It’s nicer to make a profit than not,” he said.
“But it’s not really about the money.”
“No.”
“With someone like Marian Brown, it’s all about the money. I’ve seen it before. The promise of wealth, great wealth especially, can twist a person into something barely human.”
“Just like Rodriguez,” he said, as if it were the name of evil itself.
“Just like Rodriguez,” I echoed with the same distaste. “Where’s Jayne?”
“This is all too much for her. She was afraid that if she came, she might have to watch Jocko die. But, honestly, that weight Jocko says you took off him, I think it’ll make a huge difference. Look, I understand that you can’t give away everything, but I hope you’ll keep us apprised of what’s going on.”
“As much as I can,” I said.
“And when you see Peter, tell him how glad we are that he’s okay.”
“I’ll do that.” I glanced back through the doorway at Jocko, asleep on his bed. “Thanks for taking this watch.”
“Couldn’t leave him all alone, could I?”
We shook hands and I left him to his vigil.
*
I didn’t sleep long that night, but I slept well, and I woke feeling hopeful. Until Sprangers called.
“Marian Brown’s dead,” he said without preamble.
I was having coffee at the kitchen table of the parsonage. The sun was shining in the window where the bullet had come through that wounded Royal Diggs. The shadow of the ragged edges of the hole in the pane lay on the tabletop, looking like the sharp, gray teeth of a wolf.