The Territory (Josie Gray Mysteries #1)(24)
Josie wondered how long Artemis could hold off that kind of power. People outside the strip joining the border states of Mexico and the United States failed to realize how dangerous the situation had become. United States citizens were living next to a country facing anarchy.
The next block over was a street of small homes behind two stone pillars and a wrought iron gate with a sentry posted, dressed in a police-style uniform with an automatic weapon slung over his shoulder. Run-down brick and stucco homes lined both sides of the street, many sitting empty, none of them cared for as they were just a year ago. Sergio pointed to a home just beyond the front gate with a shrine to the Virgin Mary in a front yard that was roughly a fifty-foot-square patch of dirt. Dozens of candles burned in windows that faced the road.
“A bajador. He stops the runners in the desert and steals their money.” He looked to Josie. “Pirates, you call them?”
She nodded.
“The good news is the routes change. Once a new route is discovered, the bajadores camp out. They steal guns, drugs, money. They extort money from Mexicans trying to cross the border. Life means nothing to these men. Most of those killings are never reported. Crime on crime we don’t even attempt to—” He gripped the steering wheel angrily with both hands. “We put out fires.”
*
Josie and Marta drove back to Artemis in silence that night. It had been a depressing evening: one that confirmed fears rather than relieved them. Josie knew prosecuting crimes over international borders was mired in paperwork, frustration, and pools of money her own department didn’t have. Over the past year, as the border violence increased, the trust among the two cities’ law enforcement agencies had deteriorated. Both countries found the other’s legal system lacking. Mexico blamed the American lust for drugs and lack of gun laws, and the U.S. blamed Mexico’s corrupt government and loss of control on the drug cartels. The blame was somewhere in the middle, so in a strange way, it made sense that the problems had collected and festered like an open wound in the hundred-mile strip of middle ground the locals called the Territory.
*
When Josie and Marta left for Mexico, Otto called Hack Bloster and Paul Fallow and asked them to meet him at the station. He’d decided to interview them together to get a feel for the dynamics of the Gunners before calling in its other members.
Fallow arrived first, still wearing his white doctor’s coat over a pink polo shirt and khaki pants. His expression was grim but composed, less frantic than he had appeared at Red’s place the day before. Waiting by the front desk, they discussed the slight chance of much-needed rain for the following day.
When Bloster walked in, in his brown sheriff’s department uniform, the still air changed perceptibly, as if an electric current emanated from his body. Fallow made eye contact, and Bloster’s back hunched up like a snarling dog’s. Otto wondered if he had made a mistake calling them in together.
Gesturing toward the office upstairs, Otto walked beside Fallow, and they followed two steps behind Bloster up the dimly lit stairs. Otto glanced over and saw Fallow’s eyes trained on the holstered gun hanging down Bloster’s side, tapping his thigh with each step.
They took seats around the oak conference table located at the front of the office. Fallow slipped into a seat across the table from Bloster and drew himself up like a rabbit trying to avoid notice. Bloster pulled a chair out, took his time adjusting his gun belt, and sat back in his chair with his legs apart. He took up a space that two average-sized men could have fit in. Otto thought he had the look of a man ready to explode at the slightest provocation. He had worked accidents and crime scenes with Bloster through the years and disapproved of his braggadocio. He was the kind of officer who liked to appear in charge of an investigation in front of victims, but who tried to slough off the actual paperwork and questioning to another officer.
Otto got started: “Here’s the situation. We’ve got a body, stolen guns, and a boatload of motives. Problem is, almost no leads. Since you fellas knew him better than anyone, I need you to help me fill in some gaps.”
Fallow nodded. Bloster didn’t move.
“What kind of fights go on between members?”
Fallow shrugged.
“Come on. A bunch of men talking guns and politics? I know there’re disagreements.”
Fallow shrugged again. Bloster’s nostrils flared, and Otto thought he might be getting somewhere.
“All right. Hack, we’ll start with you. You’re the vice president of the Gunners?”
Bloster tipped his head back slightly to acknowledge the question.
“Why don’t you start with your relationship with Red,” Otto said.
“My relationship?” he responded, as if the question were perverse.
“Did you think Red made a good president? Did you get along with him? That kind of thing.”
“When you sign the book as a Gunner, you sign it for life. You commit to a way of life. To upholding our Second Amendment rights. We’re not about getting along with each other. We’re about taking care of this country, our women and children.” Bloster glared at Fallow, who refused to look back and instead sipped at his coffee.
“Did you like Red as a person?” Otto asked.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
Otto sighed, already tired of Bloster’s tactics. He was a cop and knew exactly what the question had to do with the investigation. “Red’s dead. I need to find out who wanted him that way. I do that by asking a lot of questions to a lot of people. So, tell me. Did you like Red?”