Payne watched each man's body language. Cardenas stood stiffly, locked into a two-handed grip. Rutledge appeared relaxed, his limbs loose, even with his right hand hovering above the holstered. 45.
'When you get down to it, Javie, your old man was weak.' Rutledge pinched a nostril and blew out a clot of blood, soiling his mustache. 'If he'd come to me first thing and told me to stay the hell away from your mother, I'd have respected that. But he just let it go on. Then, with everything I own on the table, he melts down.'
'So you killed him? A man who gave you everything. Even his wife.'
'You're goddamn right I killed him! And now that I think about it, you're sure as hell Hector's son and not mine. A gelding's got more balls than either one of you.'
Cardenas's jaw muscles danced and his eyes narrowed.
Now Payne was certain. The chief was going to shoot the old bastard. But there would be three witnesses.
Just what will Cardenas do to us?
Again, Payne glanced toward the ground. Still one knife, one baseball bat. And two men with guns.
NINETY
'At long last,' Cardenas said, 'the real Simeon Rutledge. Rapist and murderer.'
'Ain't asking your forgiveness,' Rutledge said.
'Ain't giving it.'
One of these men was about to die, Marisol knew. The policeman's eyes burned with hatred. But Rutledge seemed defiant, his right hand motionless, his fingers spread, close enough to draw his gun in a split second.
The policeman held his own pistola in both hands. But were his arms trembling? Marisol had the horrible thought that the old man-even with a gun pointed at him-was the one in control. She doubted that the young policeman had ever killed a man. But with Rutledge, there were no doubts. He would neither hesitate before killing nor be remorseful after.
'Do what you got to do, Javie,' Rutledge challenged.
Marisol wrapped her arm around Agustino. She had left Mexico, had come all this way, wanting only one thing, to save her son from harm. She looked toward Payne. Agustino had told her all about the man. He had turned down money-a fortune-to bring Agustino back to her. So decent and courageous. She had never known such a man. Now she sought some gesture from him, some instruction. What can we do to save ourselves?
Without taking his eyes off Rutledge, Cardenas spoke to Marisol in a formal policeman's voice. 'Ms. Perez, do you recognize Mr. Simeon Rutledge?'
'Yes.'
'Is he the man who raped you?'
'Yes, that's the pig.'
Tino spit in Rutledge's direction. 'I'll kill you, old man.'
'No, you won't,' his mother said.
'I will!' The boy squirmed out of her embrace. 'He hurt you, Mami.'
'Quiet, now!' She grabbed his arm.
'Payne, how about you?' the chief asked. 'Is Simeon Rutledge the man who horsewhipped you?'
'You know he is,' Payne answered without hesitation.
'Unhook your gunbelt, Sim, and drop it to the ground,' Cardenas ordered.
Rutledge coughed and a pink bubble of blood formed on his lips. 'Why not try taking it away from me?'
'You resisting arrest, Sim?'
'That's what you want, isn't it? Shoot me down right where your daddy sucked his lungs full of mud. Poetic fucking justice.'
'Last warning.'
'You been holding that sissy gun a long time, Javie. Your arms ain't getting tired, are they?'
Cardenas moved the barrel a bit lower. 'Right in the belly, Sim. Gonna watch your guts spill out.'
'I remember your first wild hog. What'd it take? Three shots? Four?'
'Drop the gunbelt, Sim.'
'Thought you already gave your last warning.'
Marisol tightened her grip on Tino. She did not want him to see this, but did not know how to prevent it.
Rutledge's fingers flexed and seemed to move even closer to his gun. 'You'll get off one shot, for sure. But when you miss, I'll blow a hole right through your chest.'
'Shoot him!' Tino yelled at Cardenas.
Cardenas's eyes flicked toward the boy.
Instantly, Rutledge drew the. 45. Cardenas fired and missed.
Rutledge slapped back the hammer.
Tino tore away from his mother and scooped up the knife. 'I'll kill you, cabron!'
Marisol reached for him, but he dodged her.
Rutledge swung the gun toward the boy just as Marisol stepped between them. She felt a thunderbolt strike her chest, felt her feet fly from the ground, and by the time she landed flat on her back, felt nothing at all.
NINETY-ONE
The day baked with desert heat, the Santa Ana winds pushing the smog out to sea. The San Miguel Cementerio, leaves rustling on its spindly pear trees, was a patch of green in the parched foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains a few miles from Pasadena.
Next to the open grave, three people were squeezed so close together as to seem to have one body. His hair trimmed and brushed back, Tino stood rigidly, a stoic little man in a crisp new suit. He clutched a bouquet of white lilies so tightly that the stems might snap. On one side, Sharon gripped the boy's shoulder. On the other side, Payne, his left arm bandaged, wrapped his right arm around Tino's waist.
A somber altar boy from Saint Phillipe the Apostle swung a silver thurible over the grave, smoke wisping upward before disappearing into the breeze. The air smelled of incense, freshly cut grass, and moist earth. An elderly priest, a Mexican-American man in his sixties with a kindly face and a soft voice, prayed aloud. Payne tried to listen but heard only fragments.
'God's merciful love.'
'Communion of saints.'
'Consolation to the living.'
Payne did not feel consoled. He felt guilty. Again.
He had moved as quickly as he could. When Tino grabbed the knife, Payne snatched the bat from the ground. Then everything happened at once. Rutledge wheeled the gun toward Tino just as Payne swung the bat, and Marisol moved into the line of fire. Rutledge pulled the trigger a split second before the bat crushed his temple with an explosion of bone and blood. The. 45 slug caught Marisol just above the sternum. The half-dozen gunshots Cardenas fired into Rutledge's body were unnecessary, except for the chief's own needs.
Now Payne looked down at Tino, whose lips trembled, but whose eyes remained dry.
'It's okay to cry,' Payne whispered.
The little valiente shook his head.
'Don't hold it in like I did.'
All the while knowing that tears could never wash away the anger or the pain. Thinking that Tino needed someone who understood, someone whose heart had been seared by the same branding iron, Payne squeezed the boy even harder.
The priest sprinkled holy water and asked the angels to carry Marisol to paradise. Tino stepped forward and
