The waiter asked what they wanted. "Nothing for me," Scott answered, then added, "Some water, please." The waiter, who was probably the owner, a big man in a white T-shirt stretched nearly to its ripping point, gave Scott a sharp look that said, If you don't want anything, why are you wasting my time and sitting at my table?
"Dos Modelos, por favor," Benny said quickly. Then af-ter the waiter walked back inside, she told Scott, "You wouldn't want to drink the water anyway."
"Were you Mike Cassidy's source?"
"I was his lover."
Embarrassed, Scott cleared his throat. "I didn't know that."
"We didn't take an ad out in the newspaper or anything, but it wasn't much of a secret. He stayed with me a couple of times a week, and about once a month or so I'd go up and spend the weekend with him."
"I didn't know much about Mike's...personal life."
"He was divorced."
"I knew that."
"No, I mean he was divorced when we met," Benny said. "I had nothing to do with whatever happened with his wife."
"I wasn't suggesting-"
"Legally, I'm still married," Benny said. "But my hus-band disappeared five years ago."
"Disappeared how?"
"Los Desaparecidos. The Disappeared. According to the government, more than twenty-six thousand people have disappeared in Mexico since the so-called war on drugs be-gan. My husband was one of them."
"I'm sorry."
The waiter, owner, whatever he was, came back and set two opened bottles of Modelo Especial on the table. Drops of condensation ran down the sides of the bottles.
"Gracias," Scott said as the man walked away.
"You don't speak much Spanish, do you?" Benny said.
"I'm trying to learn."
She raised her bottle. "And we appreciate the effort. Salud."
He raised his bottle and touched hers. They each took a sip. The beer was cold and felt good going down his throat.
"I'm sorry about your agents," she said. "I've lost many colleagues myself."
"Thank you."
"Why are you here?"
"You called me, remember?" Scott said. "Well, not me personally, but I got your message."
"What do you want?"
"To get the people responsible for murdering my agents."
"Including Michael?"
"Of course."
"I could give you the names of all four of the police of-ficers who were there this morning, but it wouldn't help you."
"Why not?"
"They're being transferred tomorrow," Benny said.
"Transferred where?"
"South. Far enough away from the border so you can't come across and get them, like you did with Sergeant Ortiz."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Scott said.
Benny laughed. "Michael told me about you."
"About me?" Scott was surprised.
She nodded.
"What did he say?"
"That you were tough. He called you a..." She snapped her fingers trying to recall something. "What was that word he used...throwdown. Does that make sense?"
"You mean a throwback?"
"Yes, yes, yes. That's it. A throwback. What does that mean?"
"He didn't tell you?"
She smiled. "I want to see if he told me the truth."
"It means somebody who's old school. From a past era. With old-fashioned ways."
"Un anticuado."
"I guess."
Benny smiled again. "He told me the truth, then."
"About me or about everything?"
"No man tells the truth about everything."
Scott's only answer to that was a shrug. Then he asked, "How did you two meet?"
"He tried to sign me up as a CI," she said. "I told him to make love to me instead."
Scott cleared his throat again. "I don't really need to hear all the ins and outs. Oh, shit. I'm sorry. That came out totally wrong."
Benny stared at him with a look of confusion. "I don't understand."
"Nothing. Nothing at all. It was just...an expression, and in this situation it could be...taken out of context."
"Oh," she said, still wearing that same confused look.
Scott took a sip of beer to try to cover his embarrass-ment.
"I'm just messing with you," Benny said, her face break-ing into a big grin. "I get it, in and out...like sex." She laughed. "But you should see your face right now. You're the reddest white man I've ever seen."
Scott had felt the blood rush to his face and knew he was blushing badly.
"Michael was a really good lover," Benny said, a sly grin still on her face.
"Like I said, I don't really need to hear..."
Nodding, she said, "All the ins and outs."
"Right."
"So what do you want to talk about?"
"You tell me," Scott said. Then before she could an-swer, he said, "By the way, how do you know my boss's tel-ephone number?"
"Michael gave it to me. He said if anything ever hap-pened to him and I needed to talk to someone, to call Señor Peterson. Michael said I could trust him."
"But why did you call tonight?"
"Sergeant Ortiz doesn't know anything," Benny said.