Tess had to laugh. Rick's ferocity about the smallest topics seemed to her an excellent harbinger for someone who might end up protecting Crow's life, given Texas's mania for the death penalty. "Are you always so adamant about everything?"
"Always. If you can't know your own mind, what can you know?"
Tess had no answer. But a corollary occurred to her: If you could know your own heart, would you then know everything?
Chapter 15
Tess was jumping rope in her room on the next morning when the pounding started. She assumed it was the hooker next door, who couldn't sleep through her hopping. Even with the carpet muffling her slow double-bounce jumps-she was much too tired to jump proper pepper-style, like a boxer- La Casita did seem to shake a little each time she landed. Too bad. After all, Tess had slept through her noises last night, which were much louder and less rhythmic than rope-skipping. But as she continued jumping, she realized the pounding was coming through the door, not the wall. She had a guest.
"Some guard dog," said Rick Trejo, using his soft leather briefcase to shield his double-breasted suit-Armani, or a darn good copy-from Esskay's affections. "You ready for our meeting?"
"Where's Crow?"
"He's a loose cannon, and I don't need the hassle of shuttling artillery around San Antonio. Besides, it's my understanding you're not his favorite person right now."
There was a question in Rick Trejo's eyes, one she didn't want to answer. "I wasn't expecting you for another hour."
"I moved things up. I was going to eat breakfast first, but it's better to talk to this guy on an empty stomach."
"Give me five minutes to get ready."
In six minutes, she was out of the shower, in fresh clothes, and plaiting her wet hair. Rick Trejo, who seemed to have a talent for making himself at home in the world, had removed his jacket and was stretched out on the bed with Esskay. They were watching the local news segment that came at the end of each thirty-minute chunk of the national news.
"Fatuous," he declared. "If it bleeds it leads, indeed. The dip in the homicide rate has sure been hard on local news here. We're seeing a lot more car crashes and freak accident footage. Is your news this bad?"
"As a point of local pride, I would have to pit Baltimore's television news against any major market for sheer awfulness."
Rick tried to change the channel, only to find that the television set had no other channels.
"Nice place," he said. "I can see you're accustomed to traveling in style. Oh well, Channel 5 is good enough. The important thing is, Guzman played fair. He didn't leak the fact that Crow had been questioned to the Eagle or the television stations."
"How could he? Crow wasn't charged. I used to work for a newspaper. We never would have identified someone unless he had been charged or named in a warrant."
"You don't know the San Antonio Eagle, querida. They have ways with punctuation. When in doubt, just put a question mark at the end of the headline. ‘Is there a killer cop in San Antonio?' ‘Is the mayor's marriage falling apart?' Sometimes, they get so carried away, they ask questions where simple statements of fact will do. ‘Is Governor George W. Bush elected easily to a second term?'"
"Was there?"
"What, a George W. Bush? Believe me, he's all too real."
"No, a killer cop."
"In fact, there was, a long time ago. He's dead now, killed by his partner, who was then acquitted. And the mayor's marriage was falling apart, but he put it back together again, just like Humpty Dumpty. So maybe the reason the Eagle doesn't get sued is because it asks the right questions." He glanced at his watch. Not a Rolex, but it might as well have been. Its gold casing was no wider than a dime. Funny, how small had become a status symbol in some things. Tess bet Rick Trejo had a cell phone the size of a credit card. "Let's go. Although I don't know why I'm in such a hurry. It's not like he's going anywhere. But the earlier in the day we talk to him, the less stoned he'll be."
"Sounds like a classy guy, this ex-client of yours."
"Sweetheart, you don't know the half of it."
As Rick Trejo's car headed west along Commerce Street, Tess was quickly disabused of any notion that she had begun to get her bearings in San Antonio. The trip had been familiar for a few blocks-she recognized downtown, caught a glimpse of the police station where she had spent Sunday morning-but then they passed under a freeway, and it was as if they had entered a different city. A different country, really, with signs in Spanish and rundown bungalows painted in once-bright Southwestern colors, now faded from the harsh sun.
"Welcome to the barrio," Rick said. His Spanish always sounded faintly ironic, as if he were mocking himself. Or mocking others' ideas about him.
"It's not so bad," said an ever-competitive Tess. "Baltimore's slums are much worse."
Trejo smiled. "Actually, some parts of the west side are very nice. I grew up on this side of town, my parents still live here, in as nice a neighborhood as you could ask for. But I'll let you walk through the Alazan-Apache Courts at midnight, see how ‘not bad' you think it is."
He headed south, then west, south again-she could tell only because his dash had a built-in compass, as well as an inside-outside themometer-and finally stopped the car in a small business district. There was a group of men hanging on the corner, and a little chorus of hisses went up when Tess got out of the car. She hissed back at them, which was met with a great whoop of delight.
"Ignore them," Rick said, rounding the corner. "They're harmless. Just day workers waiting for someone to come by with a job for them."
"But it's so rude," Tess said.
"Yeah, well, after we talk to this guy, you'll be begging for that kind of rudeness."
They walked up a shady street, to a house where a shirtless man sat on the steps of the front porch, drinking a beer. The house and garden were well-tended but shabby, usually the signs of an older woman living alone. Yet here was this seemingly able-bodied man who could have made the small repairs it needed.
"A little early for a beer, Al," Rick said.
"And good morning to you, abogado. You come all the way over here just to see what I'm having for breakfast?"
He was small, with narrow shoulders and a thin, sly face. Tess watched his dark eyes shift, saw his gaze follow a group of children walking down the street. He held his tongue between his teeth, in the unselfconscious style of a little boy concentrating on a task.
"Stop it, Al," Rick said.
"It's legal to look, isn't it? I know, I know-the priest says it's a sin to even think it, but the judge's law is different from the church's law. The judge lets you think all sorts of things, as long as you don't do them. The priest lets you do things, as long as you confess to them. Is this your girlfriend? She's a little big for my taste. I like them flatter-chested. But you know that."
"This is Tess Monaghan, who's working on a case with me. Tess, this is Alberto Rojas, a former client."
"Nice to meet you."
To Tess's relief, Rojas didn't offer his hand. Although he looked clean enough, he had a too-sweet smell, as if he had to douse himself in cologne and deodorant soap to mask a terminally sour body odor.
Trejo put one shiny loafer on the lowest porch step, but didn't come any closer to his one-time client. "How long you've been out of Huntsville, Al?"
"You should know." His words came out wet and soft, as if there was too much moisture in his mean little mouth. "You was my lawyer, for all the good it did me. My mama paid you all that money, and for what? I still went to prison."