Adrian McKinty - Fifty Grand

“Come on, let’s go outside. It’s not too cold today,” he said. Esteban sat us at a cast-iron table in the sun. It might not have been cold for Colorado in December but I was freezing. My teeth chattered and my hands shook as I sipped the coffee.

“Romanians and Russians,” Esteban said. “I know you wanted to do nanny work, María, but I doubt that’s going to happen. Up here they want European nannies. Most of them are from Eastern Europe. Sheriff Briggs brings them direct from Denver. He’s the silent partner in the local company, Superior Child Minding Services-thinks it’s a big secret, but I know all about it. Dumb fuck. Not as smart as he pretends to be.”

“I see,” I muttered, losing interest now.

“Pays a lot more than housecleaning. They’re always desperate. Last thing the wives and girlfriends want to do when they come here is look after their own kids. The big guns have permanent help but the minor players are always looking. Shit, you can nail ’em for twenty bucks an hour and more. It’s a hell of a racket.”

He examined me for a moment. “No. Forget it. Won’t even try, you don’t even look Russian. And we’re shorthanded as it is.”

Of course I didn’t tell him that I spoke a little Russian.

“Why do they want Russians?” I asked instead.

“They want Eastern Europeans because the wives like bossing white chicks around and the husbands think they can fuck ’em-which, of course, they can. You know, you’re not bad looking, María, I can get you that kind of work if you want. Steady work. We cut in the Sheriff’s Department, but you could be earning four or five hundred a week.”

“I already told you I’m not a whore.”

“Not a whore -a high-class call girl. Do it for a year or two, you’ve got enough saved for a little restaurant or something back in-where you say you were from?”

“Valladolíd in Yucatán.”

“Well, I don’t know if you want to live there, but you could move to the DF. Think about it. Anyway, finish up, enough chitchat, we’re running late.”

We finished our coffee drinks, got into the Range Rover.

Maybe now was the time to ask him about the dent on the front left.

“It’s a really nice car,” I said.

“My pride and joy.”

“What happened to your-”

“Oh, fuck,” Esteban interrupted and hit the brakes. Sheriff Briggs’s shiny black Escalade pulled to a halt next to us. To my surprise I found that my hand was shaking. He wasn’t on Ricky’s list but that man made me nervous.

The Escalade flashed its lights.

“What does he want?” Esteban groaned, turned off the engine, and zipped the window.

Sheriff Briggs and Klein, his skinny, nasty-looking deputy, got out of the Escalade. Unlike yesterday Briggs was in full uniform. Black boots, dark green trousers, green shirt with a gold badge on it, dark green cowboy hat, black leather jacket, nightstick, flashlight, gun. The hat flipped me. Made me think, Mierde, I’m in America .

Briggs leaned into the driver’s-side window of the Range Rover and took off his sunglasses. He stared at Angela and me in the middle seat before turning his attention to Esteban.

“Seem in an awful hurry,” he said.

“I’m running late,” Esteban replied.

“Hmmm,” Sheriff Briggs said, then caught my gaze and smiled.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” I said in English.

“How do you like our little community now that you’ve had some time to adjust?” Briggs asked.

“It’s very beautiful,” I said.

“That it is, that it is,” he replied.

“Excuse me, Sheriff, but I really should get going. As you can imagine, today is not a good day to be understaffed,” Esteban said.

Briggs nodded. “Oh yeah, almost forgot, how many did you lose?” he asked.

“Apparently seven got taken to the detention center in Denver. My lawyer thinks we can get one of them out tonight, Inez-she’s engaged to an American-and there’s another girl, Juanita, who Flora says is pregnant, so we might be able to get her out too. Won’t release any of the men, of course. And that means we’re still shorthanded at the site on Pearl.”

Sheriff Briggs turned to his deputy. “Things are looking bad for our buddy Esteban here,” he said.

“Looks like it, Sheriff,” Klein replied.

“Not enough men to do the job,” Sheriff Briggs went on, still talking to the deputy.

“But Sheriff, didn’t you conquer the town of Subhan in Kuwait with just half a platoon?” Klein said, clearly having heard that particular story a couple of hundred times.

“I surely did, A.J., but it’s well known that half a platoon of United States Marines can do just about anything in this world.”

“Amen to that,” Klein replied.

“Your Mexican, though. Takes a whole army of Mexicans to do the job of a few white men, ain’t that right, Deputy?” Briggs said.

“I believe that you’re speaking the truth,” the deputy responded. “From the halls of Montezuma, as the song says.”

“From the halls of Montezuma indeed,” Sheriff Briggs agreed with a laugh.

Esteban was becoming impatient. “Sheriff Briggs, it is always a pleasure to see you, but today we are very late and some of my clients will need reassur-”

Sheriff Briggs cut him off. “Get out of the car, Esteban.”

“What is this about?”

“Just get out of the car.”

Angela started to undo her seat belt.

“No, no, you two little ladies can sit tight,” Sheriff Briggs said.

Esteban got out of the car. The deputy turned him around and put Esteban’s hands on the roof of the Range Rover.

“Nice monkey suit,” Klein said, and both he and the sheriff laughed.

“Look, what is this about?” Esteban protested.

“Shut the fuck up!” Sheriff Briggs growled and cracked the end of his nightstick into the back of Esteban’s legs.

The sickening crunch of metal on bone.

Esteban ate asphalt.

Sheriff Briggs hit him again, catching him twice more on a defensively raised arm.

“You can’t do this to me, I’m a U.S. citizen,” Esteban pleaded.

“Do what I damn well please in my town,” Sheriff Briggs said, and he kicked Esteban in the legs. “Show him, A.J.”

Klein reached into his pocket and threw a plastic bag that landed on Esteban’s chest.

I sat up in the seat to get a better view.

“What is this?” Esteban groaned.

“That is five-hundred-dollar-an-ounce British Columbian hydro-fucking-ponic quality four-twenty.”

Esteban tried to get up. Klein drew his gun and pointed it at him. I caught Esteban’s eye through the car window. He stared at me. He didn’t look scared and I gave him what I hoped was an encouraging nod.

“Is that what this is about?” Esteban asked.

“Yeah,” Sheriff Briggs said. “That is what this is all about. Our deal was for cocaine from Mexico and you’ve been dealing ice and meth and pot, bringing it in from fucking Canada. Who do you think you are, amigo ? Where do you think you are? Nothing escapes me, Esteban. Nothing. I know everything that goes on in this town. Everything you or anybody else tries to do, I fucking know it. Never forget that.”

Esteban got to his feet and rubbed his forearm.

“Is that why you brought in the INS? To fuck me up?” Esteban asked.

The sheriff spat. “The feds don’t tell us when they’re coming. That’s nothing to do with me.”

Esteban nodded and closed his eyes for a second. Thinking. He opened them again and forced a smile.

“I’ll come clean with you, Sheriff. You’re right about this. It’s an angle. I brought in the first small shipment as a trial. An experiment. I was going to tell you if it worked out.”