Fourth To Run. Carys Jones
business is there to be done in Mexico?” Buck asked rhetorically as he straightened and prepared to leave, satisfied that he’d learned enough from Betty. “Nothing legal,” he added half to himself as he pulled open the door. The gentle chime of the bell above it made Betty quiver with relief.
Buck stepped out into the sunlight and approached his patrol car, which was parked where Aiden’s vehicle normally was. But on his drive by that morning Buck had noticed that the spot was suspiciously empty.
Still mulling over what he’d learned, Buck started his car and pulled out into the road.
Mexico.
He bounced the location around in his mind numerous times, letting it collect all the memories and associations that it could. As he headed back to the sherriff station, he concluded that no good ever came out of Mexico. Buck couldn’t stop theorizing on what possible reason Aiden Connelly could have to be paying the country an impromptu visit.
*
Aiden took one last look at the crumpled piece of paper he’d been keeping in his pocket before entering San Migeno’s small police station.
Everything within San Migeno seemed tired and run down. Even the blue sign above the police station had faded to the point where it was now a dull shade of grey. A few people idled in the nearby streets, taking long drags on cigarettes and squinting against the burning sun as they passively observed the car which pulled up in the center of town.
Aiden offered a few of them a polite smile in greeting, but they returned the gesture with indifference. Pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead, Aiden entered the police station. He had hoped that once inside the air would be pleasantly chilled but instead the baking heat from outside had penetrated the station’s red brick walls and the ceiling fan which droned above him could do little to combat it.
It had barely been five minutes since Aiden had left his car and he could already feel his T-shirt starting to stick to his back. Inside the police station there was an unmanned desk and a few chairs in what constituted a waiting area. Aiden decided against sitting down as the chairs appeared dilapidated; some missing legs, others with stuffing bulging out of their threadbare upholstery.
A brightly lit vending machine hummed against a far wall and Aiden eyed it longingly. He’d happily forsake the few dollars required just to hold a cool can of soda against his searing cheeks. Instead he pulled himself up to the main desk and pressed down on a rusted bell which he assumed was for visitors.
Almost ten minutes dragged by before someone finally appeared through a door behind the desk. He was a uniformed policeman with skin like leather and deep-set lines woven across his face like the markings of some pirate treasure map.
The man eyed Aiden with mild irritation.
“Hi,” Aiden began uneasily, wishing he had a stronger grasp on the Spanish language. “Hola,” Aiden corrected himself with a nervous smile. The policeman’s face remained as hard as the weathered skin which covered it.
“I’m looking for Javier Santo. I believe he works here.” Aiden emphasized the name as best he could, aware that his other words might not be understood. The policeman sneered as if a bad odor had infiltrated his senses, then he glanced back to the door through which he’d just come.
“Santo!” he roared the name with frightening intensity. Moments later, the door opened and a younger policeman came out. He had short black hair cropped in a trendy style and a deliberate shadow of stubble across his cheeks.
The older policeman pointed at Aiden and then disappeared back through the door.
“Javier Santo?” Aiden asked warily.
“Si,” Javier nodded, his lips twisting as he chewed on gum.
“Hi, um…” Aiden extended his hand across the desk to a bemused Javier. “My name is Aiden Connelly. I’m from America. I was hoping I could talk to you about a friend of mine who was connected to San Migeno.”
Javier eyed Aiden’s hand suspiciously and then reluctantly shook it. His grip was firm and his hand was coarse compared to Aiden’s soft, coddled skin.
“My friend died ten years ago,” Aiden added. Javier’s expression darkened and he snatched his hand back.
“We should not talk here,” Javier kept his voice low, shooting a fearful glance back at the closed door behind him.
“Okay,” Aiden nodded. “Where would you like to go?”
“There is a café round the corner,” Javier told him sharply. “Meet me there in ten minutes.”
*
Aiden sat waiting in the sunshine for Javier. He ordered himself a glass of Coke without ice and sat nursing it. Ten minutes turned into twenty and he was starting to fear that the policeman wouldn’t show. Aiden was considering just going back to his motel when something blocked out the sun, bathing him in pleasant shadow.
Looking up, Aiden saw the uniformed figure of Javier Santo looming over him. He stood for a moment and then sat down across from Aiden. He ordered an iced tea from a nearby waitress and then pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket and proceeded to light one.
“So why are you in San Migeno?” Javier asked, the newly lit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I told you, to find out what happened to a friend of mine.”
“What would I know about something that happened ten years ago?” Javier asked, gesturing wildly with his hands and leaning back in his chair. He was wearing aviator sunglasses which concealed his eyes from Aiden. It was difficult to hazard how old he was but Aiden guessed he was in his mid to late thirties. He was considerably younger than the policeman Aiden had first encountered but he seemed wearied by the world. He held his head high when he walked but his shoulders remained slumped.
“A contact of mine pointed me in your direction,” Aiden explained, cleaning closer to prevent anyone listening in on their conversation. “See, my friend who died, he was connected to the Caulerone brothers and my contact said you’d been investigating them.”
“Ha!” Javier laughed and pulled his cigarette from his mouth.
“What’s so funny?”
With his free hand Javier pushed his sunglasses up onto his head, revealing his dark-brown eyes which were framed by deep, dark circles. But it was the harsh scar which ran clean across his left eye which caught Aiden’s attention. He had not noticed it back at the station but now in the sunlight it was painfully obvious and impossible to ignore.
“No one investigates the Caulerone brothers,” Javier insisted, putting his cigarette back between his lips and taking a swift drag.
“If you value your life, Aiden, wasn’t it? I suggest you don’t say their name again in this town.”
Aiden didn’t understand. Guy had been quite clear during their phone call. Officer Javier Santo, based in San Migeno, was investigating the Caulerone brothers and the cartel they were running out of the town. Guy basically listed Javier as an FBI informant.
“Please,” Aiden pleaded. “I’m not looking to land the brothers in trouble. I just want to know what happened to my friend, why they killed him.”
Javier put a hand up to his left eye and rubbed it wearily.
“Pick a reason.” Javier shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps they didn’t like how he dressed, or maybe he gave one of them a funny look once. The brothers, how you say in American? They kill without conviction.”
Aiden was beginning to despair. He’d come all this way to learn that Justin possibly died because the Caulerone brothers didn’t approve of his leather jacket?
“I just…” Aiden gripped his glass of soda in his hands, needing something to hold on to. “All I need to know is if he was working for them. If he ever came to this town.”
“Sounds