“You’re my Syrian cowboy, how’s that?”
“As long as we can have dessert, I’m good with it.”
“Dessert it is.”
***
After they finished and drove to the apartment, Crystal opened the glove compartment and pulled out the false back wall, revealing an oddly shaped cell phone. She called the preset number. When Holland answered, she said, “We’re ready, do you have what we need?”
Holland said, “Yes. The license plates will be delivered tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“The Mister Car Wash on Montwood. Get a full service wash. Do you have more of the catalyst?”
“Working on it tonight. It will be ready.”
“Excellent. Be prompt for the wash tomorrow. Guereca will assist the transfer to you there. Again, do not be late, our time window is small.”
“We’ll be there.” She turned off the cell, replaced it in the hidden compartment and said to Samir, “We need to get the truck washed tomorrow.”
“Which one this time?”
“The one on Montwood. At noon.”
Samir nodded, “Perfect. It’s dirty after today’s ride anyhow.”
***
Mona sat in her chair and thought about the brief conversation she heard between people using burned phones with no id, and on an unauthorized frequency that piggybacked off the area cell towers. She picked up on it out of boredom while clicking through frequencies to see if anything was there. Like leafing through the pages of a book, someone once told her. The FCC wouldn’t find it. Way too short on the conversations for a trace. She left her equipment open on the frequency and was ready to lock on to it if they talked again.
Spenser rose from the floor and put his big head in her lap. She scratched the Great Dane’s ears while she thought. There was the name, Guereca, so that might be something, and the address where it was to happen. Marlowe walked to the other side of her swivel chair and put his huge head on her lap beside Spenser’s, so that they faced in opposite directions. Their heads covered her lap. She loved on both dogs, scratching heads and necks, massaging their big, floppy ears and hugging their heads to her, telling them what good dogs they were. When Spenser and Marlowe were satisfied and lay on the floor beside her chair, Mona picked up her cell phone and dialed Hunter’s number.
***
Acting Sheriff Danny Montoya opened the side drawer on his desk and pulled out the plastic bottle of Mylanta. He glanced out his office door to see who might be watching. No one was around, and his secretary was running errands around Marfa. He turned up the bottle and took a large swallow, then wiped the minty chalk taste off his lips. Nobody’s going to think I’m weak, he thought. This was his big chance to be someone, to be a Sheriff, and in a place where that meant something.
When the drug smugglers from Outlaw Road murdered Sheriff Wayne Rockman on the banks of the Rio Grande, Danny’s life changed. His dream of being something besides a law enforcement desk jockey suddenly aligned with the stars.
His application had been reviewed and accepted while Sheriff Rockman was still alive, and the Sheriff, the legendary West Texas lawman, picked him for the Chief Deputy Sheriff position. The County Commissioners approved it, and he was hired. He had been on the job for a week when those bastards murdered the Sheriff.
The County Commissioners called him in during an emergency session and appointed him as Acting Sheriff. His heart lurched at the news and his knees weakened, but he hid it.
Now thoughts constantly dogged him. Am I good enough? Am I brave enough? He felt as if he was a sham, not a real Sheriff. But he wanted this so bad. More than anything in his life.
And that woman, Hunter Kincaid wasn’t helping at all. In every crime case she was involved in with the S.O., she made him look bad. And now she made it look like he couldn’t even keep his own men safe.
He hadn’t liked Lee Rodriguez, because Lee made him feel like a weak person, and Lee knew everybody and they all liked him. If he just hadn’t run for Sheriff, maybe they could have been friends. But somebody killed him and Hunter Kincaid found the body, not him. Everybody knew it. He felt sure the people secretly blamed him.
Then there was Hunter Kincaid back-talking him at the scene of the missing body, and his deputies hearing it. She infuriated him. And scared him, too. She was another one the people in the county admired. No one admired him. He took another swallow of Mylanta and thought about the upcoming election. There was still time to prove to the voters that he was the man for the job. The thought motivated him. He rose and walked out of the office, ready to do something heroic. And to work the populace for more votes, maybe drive to Presidio and shake a few hands today.
Before leaving Marfa, Danny pulled in for a soda at the Stripes Convenience Store on East San Antonio, just as Hunter exited. She was in her uniform and western hat, wearing Ray Ban aviator sunglasses. Danny felt a flush go through him. She was beautiful and intimidating at the same time. He sat in the sedan with both hands on the steering wheel and didn’t get out. She walked to his car and stood by the front fender. She said, “Are you getting out or what?”
He opened the door, “Yes, don’t block my door.”
Hunter shook her head, but didn’t say anything else until he was out and closed the door. She said, “We need to talk about some things, Sheriff. I think it’s important.”
“Have your Chief call me.”