Como Rico wore rubber gloves and a respirator at his job in a cavernous warehouse in south Albuquerque. He filled bag after Zip lock bag with candies, placing them in cardboard boxes. The candies looked harmless enough: fruit-flavored gummies, peppermints, jaw breakers, lollipops, and sweet tart tablets.
But he was always careful to wear protective gear when he handled the product. Repeatedly touching the candies or breathing residual dust could send him into a disabling, drooling stupor or, depending upon batch strength, stop his heart. In that case, Como knew his co-workers wouldn’t bother sending him to the ER. They would simply drop him off to die in the desert somewhere.
Once he finished packing boxes, a driver stacked them inside a twenty-foot rental truck parked by a loading dock out back. Then it was time for the show to hit the road.
Como was never told shipment destinations. What his boss didn’t know was that he could read lips. The day before, he’d seen the man talking on his cell in the office doorway. This truck was headed for Chandler, Arizona, then onto Tucson, near the Catalina Highway on the way toward Mt. Lemmon, and finally to Flagstaff.
In a few days the driver would return for more supply and repeat the routes, delivering more candies to dealers who supplied customers in humble zip codes and wealthy enclaves alike.
Other trucks had loaded up earlier that week and taken off for Los Angeles, Omaha, Philadelphia and Atlanta.
Como’s cell buzzed. He blenched when he saw the number. It was his boss, Joe Tafoya, Sonny Para’s second-in-command. Every time he spoke to Tafoya, Como was petrified. With this guy, you never knew where you stood.
“Hello?”
“Everything on schedule? What’s happening?” Tafoya had another name some whispered behind his back. El brujo, the sorcerer. Those he didn’t like had a way of magically disappearing.
“The truck is about to leave. I’m going to clean up. Anything else you need done?”
Tafoya barked out. “Just do your job. Tomorrow be there at six. No later.”
“Si.” Como knew better than to ask if Sonny Para was still in jail. His shoulders gradually relaxed when the call ended. Tafoya had caught the other candy packer talking on a cell phone outside the warehouse last week, and had ordered him into his BMW sport utility. An hour later, Tafoya was back. Alone. Maybe the worker had simply been fired. Como didn’t think so. He knew better than to ask about him.
***
“We’re here.” Cait turned off the ignition, opened her door and turned to Jack in the passenger seat. She touched his cheek, thankful they had made it safe and sound to her parents’ home in the heart of Zuni.
“That’s pinon burning.” He shifted his casted right arm and sniffed. Smoke drifted up from a rooftop chimney pipe. “Smells nice.”
“The real deal. You’re in for a treat.” Cait was determined to raise Jack’s spirits. His broken arm hurt, but he refused to take prescribed painkillers, insisting he needed to stay alert. But his real suffering was mental, the anguish of survivor’s guilt. He was alive while his partner had been killed.
Wiley wagged his tail and jumped from window to window in the back seat, anxious to get outside. Ink yowled and clawed at the door of his carrier.
Cait reached over and fastened a leash to Wiley’s collar. She climbed out with canine in tow and greeted her dad, waiting on the front porch. Jack retrieved Ink’s cage with his good arm.
Ernie Zapata started toward them. “Keshi. Welcome. I’ll take that case.”
Ana, Cait’s mom, was close behind. “Jack, how’re you feeling?” She reached out cautiously for a hug.
“Stuff happens. I’m glad to see you guys again.” He sounded unsure of himself, as if still in shock over the turmoil of the past few days.
Cait threw an arm around her mom. “Nothing keeps this family from getting together.” She tried hard to mask her own blue mood.
“Can you stay with us a while?” Ana hugged her back.
“I took some time off.” Cait had gotten a leave of absence from her reporting job at the Albuquerque Star. “Not sure when I’m going back.”
“I’m just grateful you’re both here,” Ana gave them a wan smile.
“Hey little sister, Jack.” Cait’s brother Chris hurried out of the house.
“Long time no see.” Cait gave him a hug too. Her brother, who had been a forest ranger in Colorado, had just returned from training back east in order to become a law enforcement ranger. His plan had been to land a new job closer to Zuni and his family.
“Hey, man, here you are in one piece. I’m sorry about what you’ve been through.” Chris touched Jack’s good hand with a fist bump.
“Thanks.” Jack attempted a smile. “So you’re through with the academy?”
“Yeah. I have a job lined up at Saguaro National Park in Tucson. I’m heading down there tomorrow.”
“Good deal.” Jack said. “Tucson’s not that far a drive from here. It’s an interesting city. They have a lot of hiking in all those mountains surrounding the city, especially the Catalinas. And it’s a university town with a lot of things to do.”
Everyone gathered in the living room, where a large window overlooked the back patio area. A spacious garden plot out back was scraggly with the remnants of last summer’s plantings.
Jack parked himself in a corner chair, away from the conversation, a poster child for pessimism.
Cait perched on the arm of his chair and kneaded his good shoulder. “This situation won’t be forever. Our enemies aren’t invincible. It just feels that way.”
Jack grimaced. “That’s the problem. I don’t see a solution. The only thing we had on Para was Jason Gonzalez’ allegation that he threatened him and his family. That claim evaporated when Jason skipped town. Sonny’s got an alibi for the killing of Jason’s parents, and we can’t prove he was involved. Jason said he heard Los Brutos was moving drugs, but he had no specifics. There’s no proof Para had anything to do with killing Connor or putting a bomb in my condo. If I go back, I’m easy prey. You too. So I’m stuck out here, no offense. This place is beautiful and your family is awesome. But every fiber of me wants to go back and nail that creep to the asphalt.”
***
Jack’s cell burred and he checked the screen before answering. The caller was Clark Bush, owner of The Rock Hound in Albuquerque, one of Ernie Zapata’s suppliers for quality turquoise and other gemstones.
While Cait and her family chatted, Jack ducked outside to take the call.
“How’s it going, Clark?” Jack frowned as he listened. “That’s disturbing. Can you send me an email with all the particulars? I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”
When Jack returned, Cait’s mom turned her attention to him. In her early sixties, pale-skinned Ana was an anomaly as a reservation dweller. Her destitute ancestors had emigrated from Ireland during the potato famine, wound up in New Mexico, and managed to strike it rich in a generation, buying and selling land. Her relations in Albuquerque, who measured success in dollars, had never understood why she had married a Zuni jeweler with a modest income.
“How long do you have to wear the cast?” Laugh lines around her eyes and mouth crinkled when she smiled.
“About a month, maybe less. I can’t wait to get rid of it. How’s teaching going?”
“Great. I’m thrilled to be able to deal with students over the internet for most of the sessions. Believe me, it was getting old, living out of a suitcase in Phoenix. Now I just have to go there at the beginning of the semester to meet everyone.” Ana leaned her head on her husband’s shoulder. “And I get to spend more time with this guy.”
“That’s great.” Cait glanced out the back window. “What a garden you had last year. Those tomato plants must have been huge.”
“We had tomatoes, beans and squash coming out of our ears. And lots of peaches and cherries. How’s your neighbor coming along? The one who grows herbs?”
“Glory’s doing fine,” Cait said. “Her business is thriving. She amazes me, in her seventies with so much energy. It must be from keeping active and having a healthy lifestyle.”
“She’s an inspiration,” Ana said.
“I see little goats,” Cait said, glimpsing the occupants of a corral out back. “I’m going to check them out.” She headed outside, the rest of the family following.
Five knee-high critters raced around the enclosure, jumping onto and off a wheel barrel and chasing each other around. “Look at them go.” Cait climbed over the fence and held her hand out to a scampering kid. Seconds later something butted into her rear and shoved her onto her knees.
She spun around as a stout, bearded billy goat bumped her again and started chewing on her sleeve.
“Mephisto, stop that. He’s got such an attitude.” Cait’s mom burst out laughing. Chris, Jack and Ernie had big smiles on their faces.
Cait was happy to see Jack let go, even temporarily, of the sadness weighing him down.
She got to her feet, brushed herself off, and backed out of the pen with Mephisto following closely. “Protective of those little ones, isn’t he?”
“He’s letting you know the corral’s his turf.” Ernie closed the gate and everyone headed back inside.
Cait caught up with Jack and gave him a gentle hip bump. “So who called?”
“Clark Bush. He’s worried about his mom in Tucson. Last time he talked to her, she mentioned a financial advisor who wants her to invest in some kind of high-interest promissory notes. Clark is super-worried about her. At her age, she can’t afford to lose money. He tried getting hold of this advisor, and the guy won’t call him back.”
“What about Tucson police?” Cait asked.
“He called them and the district attorney’s office there. They weren’t sure they could do anything, and he hasn’t heard back from them. It sounds like cops in Arizona are as overworked as they are in New Mexico. He’s worried a swindler has his claws on his mom’s nest egg.”