people in one block than you’d stumble across in Prairie in a whole lifetime.
When Dixon arrived at the bustling cafe at the southeast corner of Duval and Greene streets, there were a couple of Harleys parked out front and he could hear some pretty good music coming from inside. Looked like a place where a man could duck out of the rain and get a decent cheeseburger.
He liked the name, Sloppy Joe’s, and he quickly stepped inside. He looked for someplace to hang his wet oilskin but didn’t see one. Dusters didn’t seem to have caught on down here. Of course, the only horses he’d seen in town were busted-down mares pulling a bright pink surrey with yellow fringe on the top.
It was still pretty early by Key West standards and luckily there was an empty table right over in the corner. It was way in the back so he figured it would be nice and quiet. He caught a pretty waitress’s eye and she nodded “okay”, so he went on over there and sat down. There was a fella on stage dressed pretty much the same way he was, jeans and boots. He was singing a Jerry Jeff Walker song. The busty red-headed waitress came right over and handed him the menu.
“What’ll it be, stranger?” she said, with a cute smile.
Her name tag announced she was Savannah. He ordered something called the Ernie Burger, rare. “Who’s Ernie?” he asked Savannah, “The owner?” And she’d looked at him like he was kidding, which of course he wasn’t. She suggested something called Conch Fritters as a go-along and he said, sure, that sounded good too. And a cold Corona with a chilled glass would be nice. Savannah winked at him, told him she liked his hat, and disappeared into the crowd.
So there he was, minding his own business, sipping his beer and listening to Jerry Jeff’s Hill Country Rain, when the stranger in the rumpled white suit from the hotel lobby came over and asked could he sit down.
“Don’t see why not,” he said, and the man sat.
“Sheriff Franklin W.Dixon?”
“Yep.”
“Eduardo Zamora,” he said, and stuck his hand across the table, thin gold bracelets dangling from his thin wrist. A big pair of black sunglasses stuck out of his breast pocket and a black tie was tied loosely around his neck. His teeth were very white under his black moustache. His smile was big but not very believable. Franklin looked down at his shoes. Black and shiny, all right.
He shook his hand and said, “What can I do for you, Mr. Zamora?”
“Here is my card, senor. I am a stringer for a chain of Mexican newspapers as you can see. Los Reformos. I’ve got my press pass, too if you’d like to see it. My credentials.”
“Like to know what you want,” Franklin said, turning the card over in his hand, reading it. He somersaulted it through his fingers before he slid it back across the table. He’d noticed a phone number written in pencil on the back. He’d heard of the Mexican newspaper chain. A big one and not particularly partial to American interests. Backed the Communist candidate for president in the last election. Supported Chavez, too.
“What do you want, Mr. Zamora?”
“A story, of course, I’m a reporter. We’ll be hearing from you tomorrow, Sheriff? I saw you listed as one of the Texas Border Sheriffs’ Coalition members who will speak, I believe?”
“I’ll speak my piece if they have time for me.”
Zamora got out a thin spiral notebook and held a stubby pencil poised above the page. “What our readers would like to know is, what do you intend to say to attendees at Secretary de los Reyes’s Latin American conference?”
“You’ve got your press pass, Mr. Zamora. You’ll find out tomorrow afternoon.”
“I’d like to get a scoop, senor.”
“You’re at the Green Pelican Hotel, aren’t you? Saw you in the lobby a while back.”
“You have me confused with someone else. I was here when you walked in, Sheriff, remember?”
Franklin decided to let it go.
“Listen, I don’t want to take too much of your time. But, it will come as no surprise to learn that people in my country are very unhappy about this security public relations meeting. Feelings in my country are running very high. Still, some responsible journalists, like myself, we are trying to present this American conference to our readers in a fair and balanced way. Our readers would be very interested to hear the personal view of the situation from a Texas sheriff who sees it up close.”
“Which struggle is that?”
“The struggle against injustice, senor! The struggle for a humane solution to the pain and suffering. An end to our poor honest people risking death just to find a minimum-wage job to support their families.”
“I’m not a politician, Mr. Zamora. I’m a lawman. Your citizens are breaking the law. Day in, day out. And your government is encouraging them to do it. Tell your readers to fix their country instead of breaking mine.”
“But this is not true! My government would never—”
Dixon stared at the man until he looked away.
“A borderline ain’t nothin’ but a law drawn in the sand,” Dixon said. “I’m sworn to uphold that law, however fragile it may be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think my supper’s about ready.”
The man in the white suit made no move to get up.
“Yes, yes, of course. But, Sheriff, there are stories circulating here in Key West that you plan to show a video shot on the Rio Grande. A very explosive video. Any truth to that?”
“What did you say?”
“A video? Shot recently along the border?”
Franklin just looked at him. There were only two possibilities. One, June had told a lot of folks what she’d seen before she’d called him. Or, two, this hombre had a friend working the Green Pelican switchboard. He favored the latter.
“How’d you hear about that?”
“I have a job to do, too, senor.”
“Get up bright and early and see for yourself.”
“Your speech is not until the afternoon.”
I might move it up some.”
“Senor. I am here to offer a very substantial sum of money for this video. My paper has authorized me to offer you fifty thousand U.S. dollars for the film. I have the money. Here. Waiting for you in a safe deposit box at the Key West Bank on Whitehead Street.”
“Who do you really work for, Mr. Zamora?”
“I told you this already. Los Reformos.”
“You’ve got the wrong man. Mr. Zamora. I’m sure you fellas are pretty much used to buying whatever it is you want. But attempting to bribe a law enforcement officer is a serious crime in this country. I think you ought to stand up and walk out now and let me eat my supper in peace.”
Savannah had arrived with his food. She put it down in front of him and Franklin began to eat immediately. He was hungry. “Uno mas Papa Dobles?” Savannah asked the Mexican.
“He’s not staying,” Dixon said.
“Si, uno mas,” Zamora said, with a big smile at the waitress. Savannah looked at the sheriff and he nodded, okay, bring him another. It’d be nice to end this without a fuss.
“Listen to me, Mr. Zamora,” Dixon said, trying to keep his voice low. “My cheeseburger’s getting cold. Now, I don’t know who you people are or what you think you’re doing. But I want you to know one thing. I’m not for sale. At any price.”
“Sheriff, there’s no need to get excited. We’re both businessmen. I can see you were disappointed with my original number. Perhaps it was a bit underwhelming. Let me make my offer more realistic. I am prepared to pay a hundred thousand dollars for this video. Okay? Cash.”
“You got something in your ears?”
“I’m sorry. Still no good, huh? Maybe you have decided to sleep on this offer. Good. I have written my mobile number on the back of the card. If you change your mind before the conference, please give me a call. I wish you good night. Buenas noches, senor.”
“Mr. Zamora,” Franklin said, dismissing him without looking up. He picked up his burger and took a bite. It was good.
