Read Online Bad Country: A Novel by CB McKenzie - Free Book Online Page A

little white spikes. R EST I N P EACE— F ARRAH K ATHERINE R OCHA was printed in Gothic script above the dates of the child’s birth and death. The child had lived less than six years. This mass-produced copy of a studio photograph was a souvenir handed out at Farrah’s funeral. The funeral home was C ARILLO’S, which was the same as Samuel’s.
    That’s a granddaughter of yours, Mrs. Rocha? Rodeo asked.
    The old woman lowered her chin to her chest.
    Is Farrah related to Samuel?
    Sister.
    Did Farrah and Samuel have other siblings?
    Katherine Rocha shook her head.
    You’ve had a lot of troubles, Mrs. Rocha.
    This should be Indian Country. By rights it should be. The woman said this as if it explained something in the world, maybe everything to her. But instead it’s mostly Mexicans who want everything and Anglos who own everything. The woman shrugged and shook her head in scarcely controlled anger. My husband was Mexican. And he made me have all those kids but never had any money or talents for them or me either.
    Rodeo had spent much of his early life on San Xavier Reservation and was Native-American, Mexican-American and Irish-American, so he understood this common domestic dilemma.
    Can I trust you? The woman said this abruptly, as if it had just occurred to her.
    Rodeo presented his regular sales pitch to a reluctant client.
    Mrs. Rocha, hiring a private investigator is something of a trust issue in general. There’s just no way around that. But you pay me, so I am a professional. And because I am a professional you can trust me to do my work. I investigate to the best of my abilities and then I report to you honestly what I find out. It’s just a business deal. Rodeo tried to smile in a winning way but his teeth had always been bad.
    The woman took a seat at the kitchen table and looked into her coffee cup as if divining in the dregs of nondairy creamer floating in Folgers some portent.
    So you will tell me everything you find out? she asked.
    You can have it that way if you want it that way, Mrs. Rocha. Or if you think I might find out something you really don’t want to know and you don’t want me to tell you about it, then I won’t tell you about it. Unless it’s something to do with Law Enforcement, then you have that option. Rodeo paused. The woman just stared into her coffee cup. Like I said, Mrs. Rocha, some people just hire me because they feel like it’s the right thing to do. And often it is. Because an objective investigation into a suspicious death demonstrates respect for the dead by trying to find out what killed them.
    But you can’t just turn your ideas over to the police, can you?
    Honestly, Mrs. Rocha, there’s not much likelihood that I’ll find anything the police didn’t find anyway. Not in the short period of time you could probably hire me for.
    I don’t want the police involved, she said.
    Rodeo rubbed the back of his neck and tried to keep the frustration out of his voice. Within common sense and the law of the land, I do what you want me to do, Mrs. Rocha, for as long as you got three hundred a day plus expenses.
    A day, the woman said.
    Rodeo sighed very quietly. We’ll just need to fill in a contract and sign it then, Mrs. Rocha. You can get a witness if you want. A relative or somebody.
    There’s nobody, the old woman said.
    Rodeo filled in a standard contract and under “services contracted” wrote “Investigate death of Samuel Rocha for one day and relay information accumulated to Mrs. Katherine Rocha.” Rodeo put a Bic pen on the kitchen table beside the contract. His new client attempted to read the contract but was obviously losing focus. Rodeo guided her pen to the signature line and she signed in a shaky hand. Rodeo folded the contract into his pocket and slid a sheet of clean note paper in front of her.
    If you would give me the full name and address of Samuel’s parents that would help me get started, Rodeo said.
    The old woman scratched violently on the paper