Illegal

SEVENTY-THREE

Javier Cardenas watched the surreal scene alongside the trailer.

Way to go, Jimmy Payne. You plan to kill a man, and instead you pay him.

Cardenas pictured the Mossberg shotgun he'd just won. Could feel the smooth walnut stock, could see the polished silver receiver with the gold inlay.

He would wait until morning to tell Simeon to deliver the gun. It would take a few hours more to determine if Jimmy Payne kept his promise to get the hell out of town.

Cardenas waited until Payne drove off, leaving Garcia kneeling in front of the trailer, staring after him. Probably wondering what the hell just happened.

Cardenas thought he knew.

Some men can kill. Some can't. Simple as that.

Cardenas had seen it in Payne's eyes. Not a softness exactly. But a weakness by another name.

Humanity.

Payne cared for his fellow man. Especially for those in worse shape than himself. How else to explain taking to the road in pursuit of the Mexican boy's mother? Payne could have been killed in Hellhole Canyon. Still, he drove on to Rutledge, a place even more dangerous.

Hey, Uncle Sim. You whiffed. You spent more time with Payne than I did, but you completely misjudged him.

Simeon was getting old. Losing his edge, getting careless. That's what Whitehurst had meant with his little parable about rats who can't vomit. No wonder Simeon got himself indicted. The investigation posed major problems for Cardenas, too. The records and bank accounts of Rutledge Ranch and Farms, Inc., were fair game for a U.S. Attorney. Cardenas knew his name would crop up in places where no police chief's ought to be.

If Simeon takes a fall, he'll take me with him.

For years, Cardenas had known about the stash houses, the human trafficking, the thousands of undocumented workers who'd come through Kings County, thanks to Rutledge livery. Cardenas also knew about the Hot Springs Gentleman's Club, a place that had been off-limits to him as a young man.

"You stay away from that pussy ranch, Javie. It ain't for you."

There were other evils Simeon never talked about and Cardenas chose to ignore. He knew that Simeon could be kind and generous one day and ornery and violent the next. When the old man talked about burying bodies along levees and orchards, it was neither a boast nor a threat. It was reality.

So, get the hell out of town, Jimmy Payne, or Simeon will add your carcass to the compost heap.

Murder seemed so much easier to get away with than the vices that left paper trails. Another thought came to Cardenas as he eased his cruiser out of its hiding spot and onto the dirt road. The government might offer a deal to a police chief with an excellent memory for times, places, and amounts of money. Maybe he could get immunity for flipping.

No, I couldn't do that. I could no more testify against Tio Sim than I could turn the shotgun on him.

Cardenas clicked his iPod back on, found the Desperado soundtrack again, and slowly drove away, listening to Tito amp; Tarantula wailing "Strange Face of Love."