Bad Country: A Novel (11 page)

I’m glad to see you haven’t killed him yet, said the man on the lawn mower. He did not indicate whether he was talking to Rodeo or to Rodeo’s dog.

Rodeo exited his truck and walked over to the man. When he leaned in for a quick bro hug he could feel the hard muscles bunched under a layer of fat on just one side of the man’s body and the other side slack as bacon, the effects of a drug-induced stroke many years before. The screeching of the TV inside was muted, a curtain fluttered and a chair scraped in the front room as Mother Dota moved closer to the window to eavesdrop.

How you doing, Tomas?

Still a D-O-T-A, the lawn-mower man said. Denizen-of-Tucson-Arizona. Still handsome and horny as ever. Still upholding the family traditions. He finished off his crotch beer and crushed the can in his good hand, tossed the empty on the ground, turned expertly and pulled a fresh beer out of the cooler strapped on the seat behind him, popped the top and took a long swig.

Just dropped by to see how your mother was, Rodeo said.

Mama had a stroke herself a few months ago. Took her medicine wrong and the doctor said that would be the last time she did that and if she didn’t straighten up and fly right from now on she wouldn’t last the year out. Tomas shook his head. But she still eats fry bread and carne all day, ice cream sandwiches all night and fights like a cat with anybody that tries to take care of her. She won’t let nobody help her, so I quit trying to help her. It’s too much stress.

Where’s your wheelchair at? Rodeo asked.

Got a DUI and Social Services took it back, Tomas said.

You got a DUI in an electric wheelchair?

That’s what I get for living next to the police station.

Where’d you get the lawn mower?

It’s a garden tractor. Henry got it for me at the Salivating Army where he works at now.

Henry’s out? Rodeo was asking about the twin of Tomas, an inept but well known local criminal.

He got out of Florence a few months ago but he don’t do nothing but just go to work every day at the SA Outpost down on Sixth and then he rides a dumbass bicycle all the way out to Holy Hope on Oracle to visit his Miguel, Tomas said. He’s lost forty pounds riding that stupid bicycle to the cemetery every day. But he don’t have nothing else to do except to visit his shot-dead son.

Miguelito’s been passed now, what, almost a year? asked Rodeo.

A year in a couple of weeks, Tomas said. You were living with Miss TaTas over here when it happened, so you remember it good don’t you? Miguelito’s gangbangers spray-painted the whole ’hood after his funeral. If Mama hadn’t come out of the house and Eryn Hage hadn’t fired off her shotgun a few times they would have graffitied every house on the block that buncha greaser beaner cholo pachuco assholes.

Henry still dealing?

That last time was Strike Two for Henry, Tomas said. And you remember he was in when his kid got popped and that hit him hard. So now he just spends all day going to the cemetery being the good dad to Miguelito he should have been when the kid was alive. Henry’s a great dad now that his boy is dead. It’s a sad story, brother. Another sad tale in the annals of Denizens of Tuxson Arizona. We’re just snake bit, that’s what it is. Tomas pulled on his beer and belched loudly. I’m glad I’m not in that shit anymore myself. Tomas held up his beer can. Legal beagle, that’s me. Beeraholico no problemo.

Unless you get caught DUI in your electric wheelchair, Rodeo said.

There is that, thanks to PUTAs—Police-Upchucks-of-Tuxson-Arizona.

Tomas finished the beer, crushed the can, dropped it on the ground and again reached back to snag another.

You need something, brother? he asked. You’re making me nervous.

You know the Rochas? asked Rodeo. Over near Casino del Sol?

Yeah, I know them Rochas, Tomas said. I went to school with one of them at Tucson High back in the day before it was a magnet school for yuppy shitheads. The one my age his name was Alonzo. He married some pretty fat chick who can’t keep her pussy to herself and he’s still out there in that Res ’hood near the Casino. His kid got killed a little while ago too. Little guera girl got hit-n-run. Some asshole ran over a blond child and runned away, can you believe it? And Alonzo’s other kid was shot off the Starr Pass Road bridge in a drive-by. Tomas shook his head again. Fucking degenerates around these days, Rodeo. No law or order anywhere. I blame the Colonialists.

You know any of the rest of the Rochas besides Alonzo?

Yeah, I know one big asshole for sure. Tomas slurped his warm beer. This Alonzo he’s got a cousin who’s a tribal cop. Name of “Monjano,” first name Carlos but they call that one “Caps”’cause he threatens to put a cap in everybody. Used to be a South Tuxson gangbanger and now he’s a Tribe cop if you can believe it. Total hound dog Caps Monjano is. Screws everything on the Res he can get into the back of his patrol car. If you need to know these assholes I can introduce you for a monetary exchange. You know I still got lots of connections from my days when I worked for the Tribe running that halfway house for drunk Indians.

I think I met this Res cop fella Carlos Monjano already, Rodeo said. Big guy, bad attitude?

That’s him. Caps played football on the practice squad at ASU but one of his bitches got a little bit pregnant and then she “fell down” some stairs at the Sun Devils’ stadium and miscarried then Caps he came back here and joined the Tribe cops. Tomas drank his beer again. My friend from AA, Gilbert says all Caps usually does is hangs out at Circle K all day jacking off in the bathroom and eating free burritos.

You know anything about the kid that got killed in the hit-and-run? Rodeo asked. The little guera girl, Farrah?

Yeah. I do know something.

Tomas raised his bushy eyebrows. Rodeo reached for his wallet and pulled out a ten, folded it into Tomas’s shirt pocket.

I heard that little guera girl she might have been this tribal cop’s, this Caps Monjano’s real kid, said Tomas. But you didn’t hear it from me. I think she was some beauty queen or something.

She was in “Little Miss” pageants, Rodeo said. They dyed her hair yellow and put contact lenses in her eyes to make them blue.

Yeah, that’s her, Tomas said. Caps used to carry her around the ’hood when she was dressed up like that. He always said he was the godfather or something supposedly. Tomas tilted his head in a skeptical way. But like I said, Caps Monjano was this little blond girlchild’s actual baby daddy is what I heard.

Not Alonzo?

Not Alonzo Rocha, said Tomas. I don’t think Alonzo has got it up in ten years. So you know Caps Monjano was that little beauty queen’s real baby daddy. And if you ever saw the kid she did looked just like Caps in the face. Tomas shook his head. Them Monjanos is assholes. Caps and his cousin Alonzo and his cousin Xavier they used to beat shit out of everybody when we were at Tucson High. And as bad as Caps Monjano is Xavier Monjano is the actual major criminal asshole in that familia.

Where is this Xavier Monjano?

He ran most of the weed and speed in Bisbee and around there for long time, but then he got ratted out and was supposed to be in Florence on a twenty-to-life but he ran off to Mexico before they could get him.

Was Caps in the drug trade with Xavier?

I could ask Henry, he’d know. But I don’t think Caps has the stones to hang with Xavier. Xavier Monjano is hang you up in the shower and carve you with a chainsaw himself bad. Caps is only push your pregnant girlfriend down the stairs or shoot somebody in a drive-by bad.

Is Caps Monjano on the take?

I think I been talking too much for ten dollars. And I’m thirsty. Tomas tossed his empty on the yard and with his good hand tapped his shirt pocket into which Rodeo slipped another ten.

I think I heard Henry say that Caps the Monjano cop and Xavier the Monjano drug dealer they have probably got some working relationships if you know what I mean. They have lots of very cartel relatives in Chihuahua with real gangster reputations, I do know that, Tomas said. And I actually wouldn’t want to fuck with Caps Monjano or Xavier or any of them Monjano tribe. The Rochas is just losers, but the Monjanos is killers. If that’s what you were thinking of doing create a change of plans.

I’m looking into the death of some distant relative of this Caps Monjano, probably a cousin like everybody is around here, Rodeo said. I wasn’t planning on messing with anybody serious on this one. I got no interest in Xavier if anybody asks.

What relative of Caps? There’s lots of dead Monjanos. Not nearly enough yet though.

This kid is a Rocha not a Monjano. Samuel Rocha. He’s Alonzo Rocha’s son. The older brother of the little guera beauty queen.

Samuel Rocha is the one that got shot in the drive-by and died up under Starr Pass Road bridge? asked Tomas.

Yeah.

I know this kid too, said Tomas. Yeah, Samuel Rocha. Called himself Smoke which is a stupid name for a dope dealer if I ever heard one. Tomas shook his head again. And you know that kid was Alonzo’s real son because he was just as stupid and ugly as Alonzo. Tomas laughed. Them Rochas are all that kind of stupid loser. Men who fall off bridges.

You know anything about Samuel’s death, Tomas?

I heard he got shot in a drive-by and originally fell out in the sand where somebody should have seen him pretty quick. But somebody—probably the shooter—dragged that kid under a rock or under some bushes or something to hide him and then left the stupid kid to bleed out. Which is a very bad way to go, especially in this summer heat. Tomas smiled, showing off an assortment of mismanaged teeth. But it is a dry heat.

Who said the kid was dragged under cover out of sight? asked Rodeo.

Tomas shrugged. Just something I heard from a bum.

Any of your regular bums around?

I hadn’t seen them bums around here lately, said Tomas. The City came in last week or so ago and moved all those mattresses and shit from behind Jerry’s Lee Ho Market and I don’t know where that bunch of bums went after that. Maybe the shelter over near the VA or maybe over to Parade Liquor where they got some places back near the river that are hard to get to and nobody bothers them. Go look around there if you’re looking for some bums these days.

Rodeo nodded. So you think that Rocha kid’s death was a drive-by, Tomas?

What else? Like diabetes ain’t enough for us to worry about now this bunch of gangbanger cholo wannabes is shooting kids in the street and running over little girls, so what else could have killed that Rocha kid but pachuco gang violence?

Was Samuel Rocha ganged up?

I got nothing to do with nobody from the Life anymore now that Henry is out of the trade, I think permanently this time. I hope he is at least because all this fucking drug business is ruining my fair city. Hard to be a Denizen of Tuxson Arizona no more. If a good Mexican like me farts he gets a strike against him and if he farts while he’s high he could get the death penalty in Arizona.

Don’t drink and drive, Tomas.

It’s political, Tomas said. You know how they hate us Mexicans in Arizona. Even the Mexicans hate the Mexicans in Arizona. Good thing we’re also Indian, brother, because even a half-breed Indian is better than a poor Mexican these days in Arizona. Tomas sounded fractious now that his beer buzz needed refreshing. At least us Indians are Native Americans and got papers so the assholes can’t deport us. We should deport all you Anglos and the Tucson Police putas should be first in that line.

Tomas ran out of steam. The street was quiet and still in the afternoon heat as only a fully inhabited street in Tucson could be. Even the noise of the nearby interstate seemed but a distant sleeping beast. Though no workers were on site at that moment, there was obvious construction ongoing across the street where the old grocery store was being strategically dismantled.

What’s up with Jerry’s Lee Ho Market? Rodeo asked.

Turning it into a ecology clinic or some crazy Anglo shit like that. Saving the whales in Tuxson. They don’t tell us or ask us Mexicans nothing of course, just come in and cheat us out of our places for centavos then put some paint on these old shithouses and sell them for a million dollars to a bunch of Anglo assholes.

A mid-1970’s Toyota Land Cruiser with faded original green paint was parked in front of one of the apartments across the avenue. The vintage SUV bore the copper AZ license plates issued to Historic Vehicles over twenty-five years old, an automotive milestone which, considering the pollution generated by the rattletraps and their paltry gas mileage, should not probably have been rewarded.

Somebody living at Eryn Hage’s now? Rodeo asked.

Some professor type is in her end apartment, said Tomas. He’s a archaeology guy at the U he says. Name of Tinley Burke which is a stupid name for a college professor if I ever heard one, Tomas said. He’s related somehow to that Right Wing asshole Randy Miller, the one who wants to be in Congress or President or something. The Professor don’t talk too much. He has some noisy pussy over there sometimes but mostly he keeps to hisself.

Rodeo moved back to his truck, scratched his dog’s ears and pushed him back onto the seat.

Since you’re such a big pussy, I’m glad you’re gone out of this ’hood, brother, said Tomas. But I miss having you as a ride. Nobody sober around here since you left to take me to the liquor store.

Maybe you ought to quit drinking so much, brother.

Maybe you ought to just suck my dick like you know you want to, brother.

Rodeo reached into the cab and retrieved the second six-pack of Milwaukee’s Best and placed it in the tepid water in the cooler on back of the garden tractor.

You’re still one step ahead of everybody aren’t you? Tomas asked.

Or one step behind, said Rodeo. He turned to his truck and spoke over his shoulder. Tell your mother I asked after her, Tomas.

Mama Dota already knows everything you said. And probably knows everything you’re thinking too. Tomas winked. But you know she’s happy you came by to ask after her, Rodeo. For some reason Mama always liked you. I don’t know why since you’re such a big pussy.

Rodeo moved around the truck and got in.