Page 30 of Ransom
"That Castillo ate at Rex's place before he died. That we need to go look at the wall."
I nodded.
"Y'all got any beef with Rawlins?"
He looked at me. His eyes held mine a full second longer than he'd held them yesterday on any horse on any ridge. "You'll have to ask Rafe about that."
"Reckon I will when we get back."
"You know Rex owns half the county, right?" he said. "Sheriff, mayor, three county commissioners. Walk in there asking questions, you better be ready for what comes back."
I pulled the passenger door open and climbed in. The notebook in my back pocket pressed against the seat.
"Then I guess we'll find out," I said.
The restaurant had agift shop.
Racks of t-shirts lined the walls with slogans like "I Survived the Billy Burrito" and "Wanted: Dead or Alive." Billy the Kid bobbleheads sat next to overpriced hot sauce bottles shaped like revolvers. The whole place smelled like fryer grease and a candle somebody at corporate had decided was the smell of the Old West. Cinnamon, maybe. Cinnamon and a war crime.
I'd eaten here once before. Dolano had dragged the whole crew through one night on the way back from a job in Hatch, half of us still wearing what we'd worn for the work, and ordered burritos for the table like he was buying a round of drinks. The burritos were terrible then. They were going to be terrible now. Some things in this state never changed, and Rex Rawlins's commitment to feeding tourists food that wouldn't taste right to a tourist was one of them.
Winston stopped beside a rack of shot glasses and picked one up. "Jesse James. Classic."
"We're not here to shop," I said.
"We're also not here to look suspicious. Act natural."
I walked toward the back where a blonde in a plastic cowboy hat stood behind a hostess podium. Her name tag said CASSIDY in rhinestones.
"Welcome to Bonney Ranch!" She said it like she was announcing the second coming. "Y'all here for the show or just the trough?"
They actually called it the trough.
I am going to die in this restaurant, I thought, and the last thing I will hear before I go is the word trough.
I opened my mouth to say we were just here for dinner.
"Two tickets," Winston said from behind me. "Front row. Best in the house."
I turned around and glared at him.
He grinned at me, easy as Sunday, and I understood that Winston Valverde really did think this was a date.
Cassidy led us through double doors into an arena-style dining room packed with people. Winston's hand settled on the small of my back as we crossed through and stayed there.
The center was a dirt arena ringed by tables with red-and-white checkered tablecloths. Fake wooden storefronts formed a backdrop along the far wall. It looked like somebody had vomited the entire state of Texas into a warehouse and charged admission, and the people of Sierra County had lined up around the block to watch.
She sat us front row at the arena's edge and bounced away.
Winston picked up his menu, still smiling like this was the best night of his life. Under the tablecloth, his knee found mine and stayed there. He didn't acknowledge it, so neither did I.
I grabbed my own menu and held it up between us, blocking my face from the rest of the room.
"Did you like sucking my dick that much?" I asked, quiet enough that only he could hear.
Winston looked up over the top of his menu. The smile didn't fade. "As I recall, you had no complaints."
Heat crawled up the back of my neck. "This isn't. We're not."
