Sunland: A Novel

7

• • 61 • • Several nights later, Danni Zepeda bounced away from the hotel bar double-fisting two mojitos. Pulverized mint floated amid the ice. I watched her hips—hips squeezed into worn, tight-fitting blue jeans. Her biceps spoke of money spent on personal training. And I liked women who knew how to wear jeans. I’d tried buying the drinks, but Danni, being Danni, provided for others . She set the glasses on the table next to a wandering jew, its deep green leaves a lavender color on the bottom. She fell into a chair and fanned herself dramatically with a brochure she’d snagged from the lobby. Even at night, the temperature had yet to drop. “I thought we were due for a cool spell,” Danni said. “It’s hotter than this time last year. This is July misery.” “That’s the reason my clients moved,” I said. “Mild winters and blistering summers. Desert is good on the bones.” She tucked a cocktail straw behind an ear, and together we watched a blond woman with a pulled-back face descend into the outdoor pool. Around the pool were similar women: toned, golden, fake-lipped, and hidden behind glossy magazines. It was so hot only bikinis were necessary. There was a medical convention at the hotel, Danni informed me. “Varicose veins,” she said. “The experts in varicose veins have gathered.” She tossed the brochure on the table. The words “Endo Venous Laser Treatment” overlaid a picture of tight, firm buttocks. “So, these are the doctors’ wives,” I said. “No, these are the doctors.” She sipped her drink. “But that’s not why you’re here.” Yesterday I woke up to see an F-150 parked on the street outside the casita. A white F-150 truck. That’s the reason I was here. I must have stared out the window for hours. Finished three cups of coffee, anxiously read the newspaper, tromped up and down the antelope-papered hallway. Finally I went out and knocked on the truck’s tinted window. There was no one inside. I felt the hood for heat. It was cold. It was the same truck as before, with the same stupid airbrushed biplane on the tailgate. Worrying about Nana—and the business—was enough for me to handle. I was not interested in adding more worry. But an F-150 parked outside the casita did worry me. And what Amelia told me about Los Toros in Nogales worried me. And the panic button really went off whenever I perused the latest news out of Mexico. Mexico always seemed to be on the verge of economic turnaround or full-scale war. That madness could easily spill over the border and monkey-wrench my only source of income. 7 • • 62 • • “Jesus, I need to get away from this job,” I said. “And now this character, this guy in the truck. I’m in trouble.” “Here we go,” Danni said. “You said the same thing three months ago. You thought police had sniffed you out. You’re overly cautious. Paranoid.” “Police did stop me. I got a ticket, didn’t I?” I said. “Faulty brake light,” she said and crushed ice between her molars. “Relax, soldier. Nobody pays attention to pharmaceuticals. We move a different class of drug.” “You also mentioned people.” “People, sometimes, sure. Depends on pay. I don’t move anyone. If I’m going to assume that risk, I need a sizable paycheck.” “How large is that paycheck?” “Why? You interested?” “I do have bills.” I sipped my drink, scanning the bar for men wearing white Stetsons. A column of feathery smoke rose from an ashtray on an outdoor table. Wind dispersed it. I didn’t like talking about the business because talking about the business made me think about the downsides. Police, men driving white trucks, et cetera. I braced myself and eagerly waited for the impact of the gin. “I’m being watched,” I said. “Someone is following me. A man put a dent in my car door. Took pictures of me. Now he’s parking outside the casita.” “Like I told you,” Danni said, “I placed a phone call. My journalist friend knows about these border things. Sip your drink. Like I said, relax.” A stranger in a double-breasted suit strolled into the lounge, pulled out a stool, spun, and stretched his arms out on the bar. He eyeballed the pool area, the veranda, and the lounge. I could tell he was a...