“Get me to a doctor,” he insisted. “My arm is killing me.”
“It could be worse,” Mondragón said. “I could be killing you.”
I explained to them all what had gone down at the Jezebel Mine. When I finished, Rodriguez spit on the floor. “Cabrón. He deserved to die.”
“You see?” Mondragón said to Rainy with great satisfaction. “Trust no one but your own flesh and blood.”
Rainy’s response was a glare as cold as steel in winter.
“What do we do with him?” Peter asked, nodding toward Rodriguez.
“Let me go,” Rodriguez said. “I can talk to my father, explain things. I am all he has now. I am the one he’ll trust.”
“Let’s talk outside,” I said to the others.
The sun had settled on the tops of the Coronados in the west. We stood with our shadows long across the ground, all of us except Jocko, who sat on the porch steps, looking beat.
“If we turn him over to Sprangers and Carlson, it won’t take much for them to break him,” I said. “He’ll tell them everything about the shootings at the El Dorado.”
“You sound like that’s not a good thing,” Rainy said.
“It means Sylvester gets dragged into things officially. You never know about the legal system. Even when you think you’ve got a slam dunk, it can be unpredictable.”
“Whatever they charge his son with, Rodriguez will buy his freedom, querida,” Mondragón said. “The jury, the judge, the prosecuting attorney, someone will have their price and Rodriguez will pay it. And Sylvester and your precious Cork are the only witnesses. Carlos Rodriguez would never let them live to testify. He’s crude and cruel. I can guarantee they wouldn’t die quickly. Or alone. I don’t really care about Cork, but you, Rainy, I would worry about greatly. And you,” he said to Peter.
“If we return Joaquin to his father, he can explain things,” Peter said. “Once Carlos Rodriguez knows the whole truth, he might see things differently.”
“Maybe.” Mondragón glanced toward the ranch house. “I trust Joaquin like I would trust a scorpion. Me, I’d just kill him, leave his body in the desert for the vultures, then I would kill Carlos Rodriguez and his whole family.”
“We’re not going to do that,” Rainy said.
He gave a simple nod in acquiescence. “I can guarantee that no matter what his simpering son says, if Carlos Rodriguez wants revenge, Carlos Rodriguez will seek revenge. And he won’t stop until we’re all dead. Or he is.”
Rainy said, “I think we should turn Joaquin over to the authorities, let them deal with him and with Carlos Rodriguez.”
I looked at Mondragón and he looked at me, and I could tell that a rarity had occurred. We were in agreement.
“That creates more problems than it solves, Rainy,” I said. “Things could get really mucked up, legally. A good defense lawyer might be able to twist everything around to make us the bad guys. And, who knows, maybe Gilberto is right. A judge or jury or prosecuting attorney could be bought.”
“You certainly have great faith in the legal system,” she said.
“This is Coronado County,” I reminded her. “I have no faith in how anything operates here.”
“So what do you suggest?”
“If I were a different man, I’d agree with Gilberto, that Joaquin and the whole Rodriguez family end up vulture food.”
“Gracias,” Mondragón said.
“But all things considered, I think the best course is to return Joaquin to his father, as we’d initially planned. We take the chance that it will end our involvement in this whole affair. We go back home and put Coronado County behind us forever.”
Mondragón said, “There are problems with this, but fewer than with our other options. Who knows? Maybe there is a little something human even in Carlos Rodriguez, and returning his son to him will appeal to that. After all, Peter didn’t kill Miguel and he will have helped Joaquin return home.”
“All right,” Rainy finally said but clearly not with a full heart.
Peter nodded his agreement.
“Jocko?” I said. “You’re the one who’s got to live here, a stone’s throw from the border and Las Calaveras. What do you say?”
He considered, then replied, “I say live and let live whenever possible. But always sleep with a rifle handy.”
“Let’s go deliver the verdict,” I said.
When we told Joaquin Rodriguez our decision, he didn’t thank us. He said, as if we’d finally come to our senses, “A wise choice.”
Mondragón bent to him, put his face inches from the young man’s, and spoke quietly in Spanish in a voice as threatening and venomous as I’d ever heard a man speak. At the end, he said, “Lo entiendes, cabrón?”
I could see Joaquin Rodriguez struggle to maintain his composure, but his eyes, which had become huge, white pools of abject fear, gave him away. He managed a nod.
“I will drive you to Nogales,” Mondragón said, speaking in English for my benefit, I figured. “Your father’s people can pick you up there.”
“Gracias,” the young man said softly.
Mondragón turned to Rainy. “Will you be here when I return? I would like a few moments alone with you before we say good-bye.”
“I’ll wait,” Rainy promised.
“And you?” he said to Peter.
“I’m taking Jocko to the hospital, but I’ll come back.”
We helped Joaquin Rodriguez, still bound with duct tape and making pained noises whenever we jarred his injured arm, into the SUV. Mondragón kissed Rainy, “Hasta luego, querida. You will always be the love of my life.”
It was the kind of thing a player might say to any woman. But I knew Rainy, and she wasn’t just any woman.
Mondragón gave his son an embrace, then he turned to me. “I don’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual,” I assured him.
“But I believe my wife and my son are safe in your keeping. Thank you.”
He reached out, and I took his hand. Then he got into the SUV and drove off toward Nogales.
Peter sat beside Jocko on the porch steps. “Well, partner, you ready to have the doctors look you over?”
“They already did. Not excited about going back.”
“I’d feel better if they monitored you a little longer. And if I take you back, we can check on Frank. I know we’re both worried about him. I’m sure he’d be grateful to see a couple of familiar faces.”
That seemed to convince him, and Jocko rose slowly. He stood before Rainy and me, pulled himself up straight and tall. “Been a pleasure to ride with you, Cork. And, Rainy, I can honestly say, I’ve never met a finer woman.”
She hugged him and kissed his cheek, and I shook his hand.
“You okay to drive with that leg of yours?” I asked Peter.
“Pain sometimes cleanses the spirit,” he said and grinned at his mother. “I’ll be fine.”
Rainy said, “There’s something I want to give you, Peter.”
She stepped inside the ranch house and came out with a photograph, which she handed to her son.
Peter stared at the picture a long time, and I couldn’t read his face. Then he shook his head. “The ones you don’t save, their faces stay with you forever.”