High White Sun Page 21

Harp saw that Danny caught Amé’s eyes in the rearview mirror, before focusing again on the road ahead. “I’m positive. Some days, he and Jesse are practically at each other’s throats. Jesse is pushing me for guns and Earl for money so he and Flowers can wage their little race war. Everyone is on edge, anxious how things will play out once Flowers arrives. And it’s more than that . . . I know it sounds crazy because I’m living it, but Earl trusts me more than anyone else. He’s had me casing Murfee both of these times I’ve been up here, drawing him maps and stuff.” Danny reached into his jeans with one hand and pulled out a sheet of paper, folded into a tight square, and gave it over to Harp.

  Harp turned it around a couple of times to orient himself to the drawing. It was a map Danny had drawn of the town, and he handed it back behind him to Amé.

  “Looks like one of those army maps or something. Maybe you should have been an architect or a city planner. You know, you could have just used Google Maps or whatever. I’m old and even I know that.”

  That brought a reluctant smile to Danny. “Yeah, but you aren’t prison old, you haven’t been locked up for more than two decades. He barely trusts that stuff and thinks everyone is monitoring it. Checking out Murfee is the main reason he’s had me babysitting Jess and T-Bob, it’s why I’m here. He’s always on the phone, too, but he can’t be talking to that FBI agent all the time. There’s got to be something else . . .”

  “Even if there is, what’s your plan, Danny? What happens now? Are you going to play detective all by yourself?”

  “I don’t know what’s going to happen when Flowers arrives, and I know even less what Earl’s got planned for Murfee, but right now, I’m the only person in place to see or stop any of it. And some of those down in Killing are just kids. They don’t have any fucking idea what they’re doing or what they’ve gotten themselves into.”

  “There’s an argument here that you don’t know, either. You went there to confront this man, kill him, and now you’re talking about saving—”

  Danny shook his head. “Not him, never him.”

  Amé spoke up quietly from the back, where she was still holding the map. “But you don’t hate him, either. Not as much as you thought you did. Not enough to finish what you started.”

  “No . . . I still do . . . I don’t think I can explain it. I’ve had my chances. Plenty of them. One minute I think I have it all clear in my head, and then I get afraid I’ve got it all wrong. Fuck, he saved my life . . .” He didn’t say anything more about that, and he didn’t have to say what it meant, as his hands stayed tight on the wheel, holding on to it like he was trying to hold on to all those years of hating the man he’d always believed had killed his father, but now maybe he wasn’t so sure. “As bad as he is, it’s not even Earl I’m worried about. It’s Jesse. Earl is dangerous, but Jesse’s out of control. You’re investigating that Terlingua murder, right? He came back that night from the Wikiup with blood on his shirt. He burned it.”

  “Goddamn,” Harp said, although he didn’t feel as vindicated as he thought he would. “But it doesn’t matter, none of it. It’s not your concern. We’ll handle it.” Harp motioned to Amé. “We’re still the law around here. You? You’re just making our fucking job harder, almost as bad as one of them.” Harp didn’t mean it, not a word of it. It hurt him to say it, and the look that it left on Danny Ford’s face, like he’d been struck, didn’t make him feel any better. But he needed the boy’s attention. He wanted him angry enough to see clearly.

  “Fuck you,” Danny said. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for you or her to get involved in any of this, or with me.”

  “No, you’re right, instead you just drug it all kicking and screaming to our front door.” Harp pointed to a free space on the curb. “Pull over here for a second. We’re almost done.” Harp reached into his pocket and took out the badge that Dyer had given Chris, who in turn had given it to him. He held it up where Danny could see it, right in front of his eyes. “This is for you, to remind you.”

  Danny kept his hands on the car’s wheel, not letting go. “Remind me of what? I still have one. My father’s, from his funeral.”

  Harp bounced Danny’s former badge in his hand, watching it catch sunlight. “Sooner or later, FBI Special Agent Nichols is going to tell Earl who you are, and you’re going to end up buried in that desert. He’s got everything invested in that murderous bastard and not a goddamn thing invested in you. Your daddy’s badge isn’t going to save you, but this one”—he raised his hand—“just might. You want to shoot Earl because of your daddy and be done with it? Do it today and walk away. I won’t stop you and I’m not sure I’d even try hard to talk you out of it. Otherwise, you need to let that go. And you think you can save those folks down there? Not this way, Danny, not when you can’t even save yourself. But if you want to be a full-time cop again and help us with the Terlingua case, and work with us to figure out what Earl is so fixated on here in Murfee, then take this badge right now and come with us. Dyer will give you your job back. This lone undercover bullshit, though, without any help or support? That is just going to get you dead.”

  Amé leaned forward, put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “And it’s too late now, Danny. We are involved. Escúchame, I’ve been down this path, I know what I’m talking about. Ben makes it sound like if it’s blood you want, just revenge, that it’s easy and that you can do it and walk away. But he’s wrong. You don’t leave it behind. Blood demands blood. Sangre exige sangre. The price is high and you end up paying it forever. Puedo verlo. It stains you. This FBI agent isn’t going to have to tell Earl who you are, because he’s going to see it himself soon, or Jesse will. You are in danger, and you’re putting in danger the very people you say you want to help.”

  Harp had no clear idea what Amé was talking about, but whatever it was, it was having a deeper effect on Danny than anything he’d said. Maybe it was the words, or the way she’d said them. Maybe it was just her, but for the first time since getting in the car he thought Danny was really listening.

  He was hearing them.

  “Blood in, blood out. That’s an ABT saying, something I’ve heard Earl repeat a hundred times,” Danny said. “You only leave the Family when you’re dead.”

  “Sangre exige sangre. Not so different, Danny Ford.”

  Harp’s phone buzzed, interrupting them all. It was Chris texting him he was done with the Earls. Their time was up. Harp pulled out an old Certs wrapper with his cell number already written on it and put it on the dashboard.

  “That’s my number. Call it if you change your mind. We’ve said our piece and did what we told Dyer we would do. Our sheriff risked a lot on your behalf. Don’t let it be a waste.”

  Amé had torn off an edge of the map she was still holding, and put her number down on it as well. She pushed the small scrap into Danny’s hand before Harp could stop her. “Just in case.”

  Danny looked down at it, and then through the windshield. “Reception is shitty down there, and it’s hard for me to talk. Near impossible sometimes, but I have a Boost phone with some minutes left . . .” He trailed off, but then, unasked, started reciting his own number so Amé could write it down. “I appreciate what you’re doing. Just a little bit more time, then it will all be over.”

  Harp opened the car door, letting in a heavy blast of heat that hit them all like a hammer. As he got out, he realized where Danny had parked.

  Jesse is pushing . . . Earl for money . . .

  “Goddamn, I think I know what Earl’s up to.”

  “What? What is it?” Danny asked.

  “Amé, hand me up that map before you give it back to Danny.” When she did, he turned it around, and put a finger on a spot. “Your daddy was investigating Earl for a bank robbery, right? That’s what started all this?”

  “That’s what I was told. In Roscoe, small-town stuff. A Star Texas bank.”

  “And Earl’s had y
ou casing our small town, checking it all out?”

  “Yeah.”

  Harp handed the map to Danny, tapping at one of the hand-drawn buildings. Then he looked back over his shoulder, staring past some stunted lemon trees to a pale marble building.

  Goddamn.

  Both Danny and Amé saw what Harp had pointed out on the map, and then followed the older man’s gaze across the street.

  The Big Bend Federal bank.

  22

  It’s déjà vu. I’ve been here before.

  But this time, we’re not going to drive around aimlessly for two hours. This time, Jesse knows exactly where he wants to go.

  He’s not even mad when he gets in the car, not throwing sparks like he was last time. Instead, he’s silent from the start, still, and that’s somehow a lot worse. Now I’m the one humming like a high-tension wire as he sits where Deputy Harper was only moments before.

  Jesse keeps rubbing his jaw, his cheek, as if the swab they did was still there, lingering.

  I turn on the radio, wanting something to fill that silence between us other than my sudden nerves, which I know Jesse can see, most likely feel, right there on his own skin. He watches me long and hard for a while, and tells me to cut that fucking radio out, before asking T-Bob if he feels like a drink.

  Jesse spits into the floorboard. “See, that shit left a bad taste in my mouth. What say we have Danny here drive us over to that place, Earlys? That’s what old Joyce was talking about. We can each get us a cold one before we get on the road. I’m buying.”

  In the backseat, T-Bob’s head bobs up and down, eager, although a part of him knows better. That smarter part of him hesitates, but his voice sounds far away. “I dunno, Jess, your daddy told me he’d have a big ole bottle of Texas Crown waitin’ for me back at the ranch as long as I didn’t fuck this up.”

  I agree with T-Bob. “Earl said for us all to come right back.”

  Jesse glares down his uncle, but directs his fury at me. This is all about me. “He also told you to be waiting for us, but you was just pulling up when we walked out. So what were you doing?”

  “A truck blocked my sight. I went around the block a bit.”

  Jesse turns as if he’s going to search for the mysterious truck, but we’re already too far down Main Street, backtracking toward the bank, where I left the two deputies on the corner. “Here’s what I say to that . . . fuck the both of you. You two just gonna play house niggers now for JW? I said I wanted a cold one, and that’s what we’re gonna do.” He hits me hard in the same shoulder Deputy Reynosa touched as she talked to me, but he doesn’t have half the strength she did. “He told you to drive me, so you go ahead and be a good nigger and do just that.” I feel his eyes cut me but I keep my own straight ahead. “And if you don’t want to, soldier boy, we can put your ass out here and I’ll take the wheel. Maybe you can hitch a ride back with that truck you was going on about.” He leans in close, so close I feel his breath on my face.

  I hear his heartbeat.

  “And that’d be just fine with me, Hero, just about goddamn fine with me. Some might say long damn overdue at this point. You better start making yourself more useful than playing cards with my daddy.”

  I don’t answer. I don’t give him the satisfaction.

  I just drive.

  23

  Mel guessed who he was the minute he walked in, in his T-shirt and tattoos. There were three of them, but he was the leader. One of the ones Chris talked about . . . those men holed up in Killing. He was good-looking in a rough, uncut way, reminding her of all the wildcatters she knew growing up, but it was hard to look past the ink that went all the way to his throat. That was what most defined him; that colored him in and made him whole.

  She wondered if you erased all that ink if there would be anyone at all underneath it, or maybe you’d only find a little boy, and his tattoos were like playing dress-up in his daddy’s suit and tie.

  He stopped at the old Rowe CD jukebox in the corner and slipped in a quarter, and the sound of Whiskey Myers’s “Headstone” followed him as he walked up to the bar, smiling right at her, while the other two found a table near the door.

  The place was near empty this time of day, the sudden music too loud, with just Javier Cruz holding down one end of the bar, flipping through yesterday’s paper and drinking a Lone Star and a coffee. She’d come in early to fill out Tammy Landgraf’s hours, so Tammy could take her mom to an oncologist in Nathan for some tests. Normally, Mel would still be at home, getting ready to come to work. She’d been about to call Chris to see how his day was going and maybe see about grabbing lunch together when the men walked in.

  The smiling one slapped his hand on the bar. “Goddamn, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I don’t know which is nicer, you standing there looking good, or the three cold Pearls you’re gonna set up for us.”

  “Flattery gets you nowhere around here,” she laughed, keeping it light while fishing in the big cooler behind the bar for the beers.

  “I dunno about that. I’ve found flattery gets me just about everything, everywhere.” He draped himself on a stool, leaning forward to look over and down the front of her jeans. “Yep, damn fine. I could also use two fingers of whiskey for my uncle back there, lady’s choice.”

  She slid the beers over, trailing ice. “My choice is going to be expensive, cowboy.”

  He laughed, but like his smile, it didn’t quite hit his eyes, falling somewhere just south of them. “Well, I reckon a woman like you, it would be. Hooked up with a famous sheriff and all, I bet your tastes run fine.”

  At the mention of Chris, she realized that Javy Cruz wasn’t turning the paper’s pages anymore. Instead, he was looking down the bar at the other man, his snow-white hair gleaming under Earlys’ always-on Christmas lights. Cruz was even older than Ben Harper, but decades of ranch work and the cattle auction had kept him similarly thin. A couple of years ago he might not have come into the bar, but after Chris was elected sheriff, now he did all the time. He owned about six hundred acres right on the edge of the national park, and out-of-state hunters paid him well to be their guide. He knew his land better than his own well-worn hands.

  The man also noticed Cruz staring at him, and returned the look twice as hard. “Keep your eyes in your head, old man, this don’t concern you.” He spun back to Mel. “My name is Jesse.”

  Mel folded her arms. “I figured. And is that your idea of flattery, Jesse? Anyway, you heard about me and Sheriff Cherry, and I’ve heard a little about you, too. I guess that makes us even.”

  Jesse popped his Pearl open and took a long, loud drink. “No, I don’t reckon it does, not at all.”

  One of the other men who had walked in with Jesse came up to the bar. He was around Jesse’s age, with cropped hair, and good-looking, too; better-looking even, by a fair bit. If Jesse Earl reminded her of the men working the oil rigs, this one reminded her of some of the boys from college. If she had to guess, this was Danny Ford, but she wasn’t completely sure.

  And if Jesse was flaunting his tattoos to be someone he wasn’t, the other man also looked like he was just borrowing another man’s skin, too—pretending to be something he wasn’t, saying and doing things he’d never be quite comfortable with. She’d seen that look before with Chris, and knew it all too well. At a glance the two men in front of her were similar in so many ways, but her intuition told her they were nothing alike.

  “Thank you for the beers, ma’am. We’ll finish these up and be on our way.”

  “I’m still waitin’ for T-Bob’s whiskey,” Jesse said, standing firm.

  “Why, that’s right, you are.” She reached back to all the bottles lined up tall and straight behind her, pulling down Balcones Brimstone. She poured a full glass of the dark liquid, reflecting red, like she’d poured real flame into the highball, and pushed it to Jesse.

  “You said lady’s choice.”<
br />
  “Damn right I did, and too damn nice to waste on my shitheel of an uncle over there.” Jesse took it up and swallowed it back. “Goddamn, that’s fine. Hot.”

  She put the bottle back up high and started wiping down the bar. Javy Cruz raised a finger to her, just an inch. “The beers are on Mr. Cruz down there, and the whiskey is on the house.” Then she took out a couple of wadded bills from her jeans and slipped them into the big pickle jar they used for tips. “And the tip’s on me.”

  Jesse looked into the bottom of his empty glass before putting the highball down hard and loud. “My money ain’t good here? You gonna take that fuckin’ beaner’s money and not mine?” Jesse thumbed down to the other end of the bar in the direction of Cruz.

  “It’s not that. You just can’t afford anything in here, cowboy. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “Goddamn . . .” Jesse rose from his bar stool. “I don’t have to take that mouth from you.”

  The other one, the one she thought . . . hoped . . . was Danny Ford, put a firm hand on Jesse’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Jesse. The lady’s being nice, and we need to go.”

  “Danny’s right . . . that is enough. You’re done.” The voice came loud from the front door, louder over the music, where Ben Harper was standing, backlit, with Amé Reynosa at his shoulder. His gun was pointed at the head of the uncle, T-Bob, who had his shaking hands raised.

  Amé’s gun was out, too, aimed toward the floor.

  “Shit, Ben, it’s okay . . . we’re fine here,” Mel said, trying to restore sanity and grab hold of a moment that had slipped through her fingers. She’d provoked Jesse, at least a little bit, and she didn’t want him getting shot because of it.

  Jesse took another drink of his beer, left his can on the bar, and pointed at Ben. “What, you gonna shoot my uncle ’cause I gave this bitch here some attitude? What the fuck sort of hick town is this?”

  Ben shrugged, and then carefully and slowly re-aimed the gun at Jesse, while Amé focused hers on T-Bob. They moved together as if they’d practiced it. “I guess the sort that doesn’t take kindly to a prick like you giving anyone attitude. You call that woman a name again and I’ll knock it out of your mouth.” His hard glance took in the two other men. “All of you. You want to test that, push me?”