“No. Please.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a seat.”
She closed the door behind him and pointed to the couch. She saw the detective take in the room with a couple of quick sweeping glances.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Sure.”
“I could make coffee. Or I’ve got some wine.”
“Wine sounds great.”
The detective sat on the couch as Maura hurried into the kitchen. She returned with two glasses and a bottle of pinot noir from somewhere in Oregon.
“Sorry, this is all I’ve got.”
The detective smiled at her.
“That’s a good bottle.”
She was surprised.
“You like wine?”
“It’s sort of a passion of mine.”
Maura shrugged.
“I thought cops drank beer.”
“We usually do.”
She expertly uncorked the bottle and poured him a glass.
“Thanks.”
She watched as he spun the wine around to aerate it and then took a small slurpy sip, allowing the wine to dance on his tongue.
“Nice.”
“It’s one of my favorites.”
The detective inhaled deeply.
“It’s a little young still. If you like this you should really try the wines from the Loire Valley.”
“I love French wines.”
“Then I know just the place. Care to have dinner tonight?”
This took Maura by surprise. She’d planned to go to her yoga class and try and get centered, work her anger out. But the wine was warming her up, making her feel soft and happy. Why not go out with the detective? Fall off the horse and get right back in the saddle. Besides, he hadn’t cringed or mocked her or laughed nervously when she told him what she did. He was different.
“I’d love to, but…”
“But what?”
“I forgot your name.”
“Don.”
Maura sipped her wine and smiled at him.
“Don.”
Martin’s jaw hurt. His face burned with embarrassment. He wanted to scream. He wanted to throw something. But he couldn’t. He knew enough from being around Esteban that a man just sucks it up. You get punched, it’s not supposed to bother you. You just shrug, say “No chingues,” and move on. These stupid fucking cowboys. They were never going to move into the legit business world if they hung on to those macho attitudes. Martin wondered why Esteban didn’t stick up for him. He could’ve killed Bob right then and there.
And Bob? What was he thinking? Martin had been instrumental in saving his life and as his reward he got sucker punched. That’s not right.
The more Martin thought about it, the angrier he got. Here he was working to keep his boss out of jail and some fucking delivery boy alive, and what do they do? They laugh at him. They abuse him.
The car pulled into the driveway of the safe house. Norberto turned and saw that Martin was conscious.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Bob looked over at Martin.
“Sorry, man. I just lost it for a second.”
Martin shot Bob his toughest glare.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
Bob nodded.
“Cool.”
Martin saw Esteban and Amado chuckling as they climbed out of the car. Bob and Norberto dragged the fat tattooed guy in the tracksuit out of the back and carried him into the house. Martin noticed one of the neighbors, a churchgoing middle school principal who was always friendly, walking his golden retriever. Esteban saw the neighbor too.
“How are you?”
“Good.”
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“It’s a fine day.”
The neighbor watched as Norberto and Bob dragged the fat guy through the front door.
“Is your friend all right?”
Esteban looked at Martin before turning back to the neighbor with a shrug.
“Tequila.”
The neighbor nodded. He had heard about the powerful effects of distilled agave.
“You’ve got to be careful with that stuff.”
Esteban couldn’t have agreed more.
“To be sure.”
Martin stepped forward.
“Did you like the papayas we sent?”
“Oh, yes, thank you very much. They were very good. In fact I was telling my wife that I wish we could grow papayas in our backyard.”
Esteban laughed.
“Then you would put me out of business, amigo.”
The neighbor chuckled.
“Oh, I doubt that.”
Suddenly, the golden retriever got a scent of something and started growling and tugging at his leash. The neighbor bent down and scratched the dog’s ears.
“What is it, boy? What have you got?”
The dog was pulling for all he was worth. The neighbor yanked back on the leash.
“Whoa, there, Frankie.”
The dog began dragging the neighbor toward the car. Esteban looked over and noticed that the top had come off the cooler in the trunk, exposing Amado’s arm.
The dog barked.
“Martin. Keep the lid on the meat.”
Martin slammed the lid on the cooler and quickly hustled it inside the house. The neighbor tried to calm his dog. He looked up at Esteban apologetically.
“I just fed him, but I guess he’s still hungry.”
“Steaks. We’re barbecuing later.”
Maura sat across the table and listened while Don told her how he became a detective. It was a simple, straightforward story, but she was captivated. He looked rugged and handsome in the flickering candlelight. Not a movie star, but a well-respected character actor. That’s why she found him attractive, he had character. A cop who knew more about wine and food than anyone she’d ever met. A cop who seemed to understand her, who didn’t judge her. She couldn’t help it, she found herself attracted to him.
The waiter filled her glass with wine that seemed to glow like a big fat ruby.
“What do you think?”
“This is yummy.”
“The French. I don’t know how they do it.”
“Have you ever been to France?”
Don shook his head.
“No. But someday I want to live there.”
“Me, too.”
Don leaned forward conspiratorially.
“To be honest, I’m afraid to go. I don’t speak a word of French.”
Maura smiled at him.
“I do.”
Esteban sat on the couch with his feet on the coffee table. He was tired. Beat. He needed a nap. Chingao. These fucking people.
Martin came in and deposited a fresh margarita in front of him.
“Gracias, Martin.”
Martin sat down on the chair across from him.
“I’m having second thoughts about this Bob guy.”
“Roberto?”
“Yes. Roberto, Bob, whatever the fuck you want to call him.”
Esteban sipped his drink. It was good. Sharp, sweet, and warm as it flowed through his body.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know if we can trust him.”
This sudden change of heart sent off alarm bells inside of Esteban. He knew that Martin was mad because he’d gotten coldcocked, but to stab Roberto in the back so soon made Esteban think that Martin was some kind of rata. If he turns on Roberto, how long before he turns on me?
“Why do you say that?”
Martin shrugged.
“Just a feeling I get.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Martin reacted.
“Why would you say that? I’m not afraid of him. Why would I be afraid of him?”
Esteban sipped his drink.
“Just asking.”
Esteban liked putting Martin on the spot. He liked watching the smart-ass gringo squirm.
“What do you suggest?”
“Kill him.”
Esteban looked flatly at Martin.