Seeking Tierra Santa by Michael M. Pacheco (read me like a book txt) 📖

ours," asserted Bingo. "These boys clearly are illegals and the import of drugs brings it within our purview." He looked at Chato. "How long had these boys been here before the Slaves got here?"
Chato shrugged. "I don't know. A half hour, maybe less."
"Did you get their names or where they were from?" asked Landon.
Chato raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right. Don't pull that investigator crap on me, man. I just live here. Besides, they all use fake names anyway."
Bingo tilted his head and stared at Chato. "Sheriff Aguila won't be as kind to you as we are."
The sound of the sirens got louder as someone pulled up to the Casita Blanca. A second engine shut off, clunking distinctly, indicating a diesel.
"How come nobody trusts me?" whined Chato. Something caused him to shake, as if a cold wind had just enveloped him.
"I trust you, Chato," said Bingo. "But there are stories about you. You know, the ones about you sleeping with women in exchange for food and the ones about your illegal drug use."
"I don't do that crap," he said, quickly moving his arms behind his back. "And that thing with the girl, it's not what you think. We were kinda dating, you know?"
Don Emilio's voice could be heard engaged in a heated conversation with a powerful female voice.
"That bitch hates me," said Chato, looking askance toward the front door.
"Don't worry, we'll cover you," said Bingo.
"Okay." Chato took a deep breath. "One called himself Pepe, and the other was Elvis."
"What?" asked Landon. "Are you kiddin' me?"
"No, really," said Chato, putting up his hands. "He said he wanted to fit in with Americans, so that's the name he picked. They were Capitalinos. I could tell from their accent."
Landon looked to his buddy for an explanation.
"The boys were from Mexico City. The people there speak with a unique sing-song voice. You can always tell a Capitalino accent when you hear one."
The sound of a screen door squeaking was followed by footsteps approaching.
"Look, I gotta go now," said Chato, heading back to the front door.
"Chato, wait. I gotta couple more questions," called Bingo.
"Just keep me out of it," answered Chato over his shoulder as he brushed past Sheriff Aguila. He slammed the screen door as he hurried outside.
Sheriff Aguila was a large but attractive woman, built solid and tough, perfect for being a sheriff. She looked at the three border agents and with a slight frown asked, "What the hell's wrong with Chato?"
Bingo smiled and said, "Oh, he's fine." He pointed at the bodies on the floor. "He's just pissed off, 'cause these guys ruined his day."

Chapter 3

In their border patrol training, Landon and Ricki had been briefed about concurrent jurisdiction matters. The usual classroom scenario involved undocumented aliens and contemporaneous criminal conduct, such as transporting drugs or theft of property or food. The instructors called this situation a conflict-of-laws case, where the United States, Mexico, the city of El Paso, and maybe even the border county would vie for control of a particular matter. Landon now realized their book learning was about to be put into practice.
Landon, Ricki, and Bingo all tipped their caps as Sheriff Aguila acknowledged them with a return tip of her cowboy hat. Her turquoise earrings complemented her prominent silver badge. Landon detected a faint scent of lilacs as they stepped aside and let her examine the bodies on the floor.
She bent at the waist and studied the corpses. "They're peasants," she stated with authority. She kicked the sole of the deceased's sandal. "These huaraches are worn by mountain people. Poor guys. Besides money, they probably had no clue what they were getting into." She lifted the sheet off the corpse with the missing eye and almost immediately dropped it. She turned her gaze toward Bingo. "Well, you were here first, but this is a homicide situation. Felonies belong to us. We're gonna take the lead on this."
"I can appreciate that, Sheriff, but just the same, I think we need to work together on this one. We got evidence of illegal border crossing." Bingo looked at Landon and Ricki. "Ain't that right, folks?"
"Yes, sir," answered Landon and Ricki in unison.
"What kinda evidence?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
Bingo avoided her gaze as he sidestepped the question. "If it turns out to be just a drug deal gone sideways, you can have it." He paused and pushed up the brim of his cap. "But I got a feelin' this might be more than that."
"Suit yourself, but I do want to hear your theories. Don't get me wrong. It's not like I don't have enough to do," she said. "We got the coroner outside so we can get these bodies removed and let these people back into their home."
"That's a good idea," said Bingo. "It doesn't look like they had anything to do with this." He looked at the sheriff with a humble grin. "Can you do us a favor, Sheriff?"
"Only if it doesn't involve more paperwork," she answered in a brassy voice.
"It doesn't, not really." Bingo pointed at the corpses with his chin. "When your coroner checks these boys out, I want to know what caused the burns or blisters on their arms. We need to know whether they were infected with some kind of virus."
Her expression turned to one of panic. She took a step back from the bodies. She glanced at her hands and then back at the corpses. "You think we've been exposed to something?"
"Dios mio!" gasped Don Emilio as he stood in the hallway.
Bingo frowned. "I don't know. That's why I'm asking for the exam."
She nodded. "You got it." She turned to go and then paused. She turned back to them and wagged her index finger at the three agents. "I do need a copy of y'all's report."
"You got it," answered the three agents in chorus.
For the next two hours, Don Emilio and his family gave their statements, walked the agents around the premises, and showed them footprints leading from the pigpen to the back door of the house. Bingo spent at least half an hour talking privately with Chato as Landon photographed everything inside and outside the house with the department's digital camera. The two little girls, Flora and Irina, asked him in Spanish whether they could reenter the house. He looked at Ricki. She explained to them as they stood with Doña Maria that they could wait until the gory scene was cleaned up or they could go stay with relatives and come back the next day.
Doña Maria shook her head. "No, señorita. This is our home. We wait for you finish."
By mid-afternoon, the coroner and the bodies were gone. Two men wearing orange jumpsuits and goggles had wiped up the blood from the smooth concrete floor and the splatter on the walls. They removed the bloodied sheets as well as the top blanket from each of the beds. Landon wondered whether anyone would ever miss the two dead boys. Who would tell their families? And what would the orange men do with their bodies? As they left in their white van, Bingo approached Don Emilio.
"Sorry for the long wait. It might smell like disinfectant, but you can go back in now."
Don Emilio and his family hung their heads and reluctantly trudged back into their home, as if fearing the ghosts of the recently departed and maybe viruses too.

* * * * *

The thermometer in the truck read 110 degrees as Bingo drove them back to the station. All three removed their hats and let the cold air evaporate the sweat from their foreheads, leaving a salty residue on their skin. Landon was in the center of the rear seat, and Ricki rode "shotgun," as she put it. Landon leaned forward and tilted his head. He saw the consternation on Bingo's face. "Everything okay? Something we forgot?"
Bingo kept his frozen gaze as he straightened his back. "You know those burn marks on the boys?"
Ricki answered, "Yeah, we saw them. Why?"
"Those weren't your garden-variety burns," he said. "They were from acute radiation poisoning." Then his voice dropped to a lower, more solemn register. "I've seen it before."
"Yeah, right, Bingo. You're just pulling our leg, aren't you?"
The dead air that followed was sobering.
Bingo finally broke the silence. "No, I'm afraid not."
Ricki turned and gave Landon a wide-eyed look. "You think we were contaminated by those dead guys?"
"Oh, no," said Bingo reassuringly. "Whatever gave them the radiation was long gone by the time we got there."
Landon stared at the stripes on the highway as they shot toward him like lethal rays of unknown origin. "It was those backpacks, wasn't it?"
Bingo grinned.
"And you didn't want Sheriff Aguila to know, did you?"
Bingo glanced at each of the rookie agents and then refocused on the road ahead. "I didn't want to say anything until I was sure."
"So now you're sure?" asked Ricki.
"I'd bet my next month's salary on it," he said. "But that's why I asked to have the coroner examine the burns. I wish I was wrong, but I'm not."
"Are you some kind of specialist in radiation or what?" asked Landon.
"Well, you might say that. I'm one of the few people you'll know who's seen the walking ghosts of Trinity Site," said Bingo.
"That's the old missile range, isn't it? The one where the first atomic bomb was detonated." Ricki tapped her temple, as if to aid her memory. "That's a few hundred miles north of here on this side of the Sandia Mountains."
"You have a good memory, Ricki," said Bingo. "Do you know what's on the other side of the mountains?" He looked at one and then the other but only got blank stares. "Indians," he said. "Thousands of them, about twelve to fifteen major tribes and a bunch of smaller ones."
"Is that where you saw the walking ghosts?" asked Landon.
"Yeah, sort of." He glanced at their confused faces and smiled. "Let me explain."
"I come from the Manso tribe in central New Mexico. About five hundred years ago, we were part of the Kiowa tribe. As the Kiowas moved to the west side of the Sandia Mountains, the Manso tribe remained on the eastern side where the salt flats lie. As eastern New Mexico became more populated, the federal government set aside thousands of acres for military purposes, calling it the White Sands Missile Range. My grandfather's small tribe of Mansos was located at the base of the Sandias on the far edge of the missile reservation.
"As my father recalled, the federal government offered my grandparents and the tribe a healthy sum of money to relocate. They refused, citing ancestral ties to the land. High-level officials tried unsuccessfully to scare them, too. They said the detonation of some powerful bombs was certain death for anyone caught in their wake. But still the Mansos remained."
Bingo pulled the truck into the border patrol parking lot and left the engine running with the air conditioner on. "Should I stop and tell you the rest tomorrow?" he teased.
"Are you kidding? Tell the whole story," said Ricki.
"Well, it happened that on August 13, 1945, my mother and father were married in a group ceremony as one of four couples. Custom dictated that the newlyweds spend their first night as husband and wife in complete privacy away from the tribe."
"Kinda like a honeymoon?" asked Landon.
"You might say that. Anyway, our tribe had carved caves in the side of the Sandia Mountains, especially for these types of events. The four couples set