Tim Green - Above The Law

At Kenna's request, Jose had left the whole mess intact and moved his personal base of operations to the bedroom, where clothes and paperwork made up a soup of dishevelment. The gang clothes came off and went into the pile in the corner by the window. He sniffed the air, thinking the smell came from the clothes, but realizing the culprit lurked somewhere out in the little galley kitchen. He found his regular jeans on the bed and tucked in his T-shirt, wondering at the extra flesh that had been accumulating around his middle.

Desperate fingers plumbed the fat for the washboard within. In his mind, he did a simple calculation of the doughnuts and beer he could cut out to bring it back. He swung the bedroom door to a close, stood sideways, and sucked it in. After a determined nod, he replaced the cutoff flannel with the last garment hanging in his tiny closet, a loose-fitting white dress shirt that in his respectable years had always been teamed up with a blazer and tie. For shoes, he simply laced up the Timberland boots he'd worn open-tongued in the barrio.

Sitting on the bed, he dialed information for the Wilmer Police Department. While he didn't speak to Gage, the chief's secretary told him if he could get there before five-thirty, the chief would be able to see him. On the way out, Jose emptied the garbage to remove the bad smell. While Kenna never minded the clutter, he didn't want her to spend her visits in squalor.

Because of traffic, the drive to Wilmer took nearly forty-five minutes. Gage was in the office, and after twenty minutes he appeared in the lobby with a frown as big as his head. He extended a hand and Jose shook it, matching his grip and then weakening the way a dog will roll to its back in order not to fight, until Gage's lips evened out.

"Wayson says you're okay," Gage said, studying Jose carefully as if he still wasn't sure, "otherwise you'd be shit out of luck."

"I understand you met my lovely client," Jose said, shaking his head in the knowing way of good old boys.

Gage continued to study him. Jose held the chief's gaze, aware that the success of his trip hung in the balance. Finally, the enormous cop snorted and turned without speaking. Jose followed the chief back into his office as though he'd been politely invited.

"I got a redheaded bitch for a sister-in-law," Gage said, sitting back in his chair, taking up his bayonet paperweight and throwing his big boots onto the desk. "One's enough."

"I hear you," Jose said, eager to prove they were of the same mind. "She's not fun, but she's plugged into a lot of those society people, pretty much my pipeline for work. So, when she asked me to come down here and look into this guy's death, what could I say? I spoke to Wayson. He said all good things about you, and I figured we could work together on this one. You know what I mean?"

Gage smiled, pointed his bayonet, and said, "I always called you guys PTs instead of PIs. Peeping Toms. Must make a hell of a pot of money to stop being a cop for that."

"Right," Jose said, forcing a smile. "Anyway, I don't want to bother you any, but she's got this Mex girl raising her skirts."

"You look half Mex yourself," Gage said, using the point on his teeth.

"Dad's family came over in 1821," Jose said without missing a beat. "So he said he figured he'd get a little leeway."

"And you do," Gage said with a magnanimous wave of the blade. "Not too many Texans who don't have a Mex up their family tree somewhere. What do you wanna do? She'll get the goddamn report anyway. Not quick, but she'll get it."

"Nothing really," Jose said. "Maybe take me out to where it happened so I can say I was there, saw it, and the whole thing couldn't have been nothing but an accident."

"And that'll make her happy?" Gage said, his face giving nothing away.

"She's a lawyer," Jose said. "I'm a cop-or I was. She'll be happy."

"You can even take her the report," Gage said, swinging his feet off the desk and rising up. "Let her know it's all Momma's cooking. Save me a stamp."

Gage took a folder from the top of his pile and handed it over to Jose, who took it, half-rolled it, and swatted it against his leg as he got up, too.

"Let's go," Gage said, taking his hat off the antler of a dead deer mounted on the wall and fixing it on his head. "We'll have you home for dinner."

ISODORA WORE A WHITE COTTON SHIFT, HER OWN CLOTHES. She held Paquita tight, rocking her back and forth as she stood on the tarmac waiting in the long line of Mexicans boarding the unmarked gray plane. When she saw Casey, her face lit up and she angled her little girl's face so Casey could see her.

"She's beautiful," Casey said.

"Thank you so much, Miss Casey," Isodora said.

"I feel like I didn't do anything," Casey said.

"I have her. That's all I need."

"What will you do in Monterrey? Do you have family there?"

"No, but Maria gave me some money," Isodora said. "I'll find something. I heard a man talking about a new soap factory outside the city. Maybe I can get work."

"Who'll watch Paquita?"

A worried look crossed Isodora's face and she shook her head, signaling that she hadn't thought that far.

"I want you to sign this for me, Isodora," Casey said, handing her the fax and a pen. "I'm not giving up. When you get to a place, I want you to call me. Call collect."

Casey took the signed release back and handed Isodora a card that she examined, then tucked into the small bag hanging from her shoulder.

"You won't forget?" Casey said.

"Will you?" Isodora asked.

One of the ICE agents yelled something and they turned to see the tail of the line disappearing up the metal steps.

"No," Casey said, and watched her go.

Despite her law clinic's steady downward spiral in property value and the embarrassing condition of her car, Casey had been able to hang on to the one luxury that mattered. When she first came to Dallas, she'd purchased a condo out in Las Colinas, across from the Omni Hotel. Beyond the grass and the tree-lined sidewalks, two long buildings with brick storefronts snuggled up to the canal that ran between them. Brick pavers and wrought-iron balconies jutting from the expensive condos above gave Casey the feeling of Venice the moment she saw the place.

The refuge of the six-story buildings blocked out the sound of the passing freeway and allowed the songs of mockingbirds, blue jays, and house finches and the occasional complaint of a mallard down on the water to float in through the curtains, waking Casey just before sunrise. She had purchased the spacious two-bedroom unit with cash, opting out of a mortgage so she'd always have a place to call her own.

Because of the fine hotel just across the wide boulevard, the small, almost secret neighborhood had more good and different restaurants than it deserved, including a Japanese steak house, a fine Italian restaurant with black-tie waiters, a small sports bar, a French bistro on the canal, and a Lone Star Texas chili joint, as well as the unusually good food at the Omni.

By the time she returned from the airport through the rush-hour traffic, Casey was ready for the chili joint and a couple of cold bottles of Budweiser. She showered, put on a V-neck T-shirt and jeans, and headed out the back door. Hers was one of the few units to have a small private stairway leading out onto the canal. As she left, she gave the door to her condo a half-hearted shove closed. She followed the brick sidewalk under a walking bridge, then rounded a corner, entering a wide alleyway that led to the restaurant.

Noise from the chili joint washed over her. The place was jammed, but the hostess recognized her and led her to a corner table not too far from the open doors where luckier diners sat out on the patio under red and white umbrellas. On the opposite side of the room, a long-haired blond cowboy with a drooping mustache strummed away on an acoustic guitar. When he looked up and noticed Casey, he crooned "Tequila Sunrise" without taking his deep blue eyes off of her. She couldn't help smiling, but it was to herself, not him. She dialed Jose, hoping to catch him and invite him for a drink, but got no answer.