Devils And Dust. J.D. Rhoades

for now.”

      “I said, get to fucking WORK!” Blondie bellowed.

      Ruben and Edgar stooped and began to pick.

      

      THE LAWYER’S office was located on the fifteenth floor of a downtown office building. The paneling in the reception area was expensive, the lighting muted. Soft ambient music, which seemed to consist mostly of single notes gently struck and held for a long time, played in the background. The law firm’s name—Daniels, Gower and Delgado—was hanging on the wall in flowing silver and gold script behind the flawlessly beautiful Latina receptionist. The whole effect was one of calm, tranquility, and elegance.

      Jack Keller was spoiling that effect. He stood before the chrome and wood receptionist’s desk, dressed in jeans and the same T-shirt he’d traveled in from Phoenix. It was late afternoon. Neither he nor Angela had slept, and they’d come straight from the airport. Keller had insisted. He’d felt the trail growing colder with each passing hour, and it was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Fatigue etched deep lines in Angela’s face, but Keller felt as alert and energized as if he’d just come off eight hours’ sleep.

      “I’m sorry, sir,” the receptionist said, “but if you don’t have an appointment—”

      “Tell him it’s about Oscar Sanchez,” Keller said.

      “We were here a few weeks ago,” Angela spoke up from behind him.

      The receptionist gave her a professional smile. “Yes, Mrs. Sanchez, I do remember you.” She turned back to Keller, the smile tightening. “But Mr. Delgado is very busy—”

      “Tell him Jack Keller is here.”

      The smile vanished entirely. The receptionist looked at Angela, then at Keller, her face troubled. “Oh,” she said in a small voice. “He said you might come.” She stood up. “Please wait. Have…have a seat.” She exited through a door behind her.

      Keller turned to Angela. “Did you two talk to this guy about me?”

      She shook her head. “No. At least not while I was there. But it was like I said. As we were leaving, Delgado called Oscar back in and closed the door. I wasn’t real happy about that, but it was only a couple of minutes.”

      The receptionist came back out. The professional smile was back in place. “Mr. Delgado can give you a few minutes. This way.”

      Delgado stood up from behind his own huge desk as they entered. The desk was empty except for a gold-and-mahogany pen and pencil set and a single file folder. A picture window behind him gave a view of the buildings all around.

      The lawyer looked to be in his early thirties, younger than Keller expected. He was a small, neat man, impeccably groomed, expensively dressed, and his demeanor was as calm and serene as the office. “Come in,” he said, flashing them a brilliant smile. He extended a hand to Keller. “You must be Jack Keller. I’m Perry Delgado.”

      Keller took the hand. “Jack Keller.”

      Delgado turned to Angela. “And Mrs. Sanchez. So good to see you again.” His eyes didn’t look as happy as his words. She only nodded.

      “Please,” Delgado said, motioning to a pair of leather client chairs before the imposing desk, “have a seat.” They sat.

      “The lady outside said that you might have been expecting to see me,” Keller said.

      Delgado took his own seat. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Keller, but I had rather hoped I wouldn’t. See you, that is.”

      “I get that a lot,” Keller said.

      “That’s what I understand from Mr. Sanchez.”

      “What exactly did he tell you?”

      “Mostly that if you showed up, it meant that he was in some kind of trouble. I assume that’s what’s happened?”

      “He’s disappeared,” Angela said.

      Delgado blew out a long breath. “Well,” was all he said. He picked up the file folder and took a piece of paper out. “Mr. Sanchez signed this when he left. It’s a release allowing me to give any information to you regarding him. If you came looking.”

      “So, you’re covered. You won’t get in any trouble,” Keller said.

      “Not with him, no.”

      “But maybe with some other people?”

      Delgado put the paper down and looked at Keller. “Mr. Sanchez said you could be trusted. Completely. Those were his words. ‘I trust Jack Keller completely. And you can as well.’”

      Keller felt a tightening in his throat. His voice felt strangely hoarse as he said “I’m not a cop. I’m not Immigration. I don’t care about whatever you might be up to. I just want to find my friend.”

      Delgado nodded. He stood up and faced the window. “I couldn’t help him. Not like he wanted. Since he’s married a citizen, maybe…and I stress maybe…I could have gotten him back in, if he’d left and gone back to Colombia to reapply. But that could take a year, maybe more.”

      “He was worried that the boys weren’t safe,” Keller said.

      “Yeah,” said Delgado. “I get that. There’s been an uptick in violence. Kidnappings. Drive-bys with innocent bystanders killed. He was worried, and I don’t blame him. But getting them here, as fast as he wanted? There was no way.”

      “Not legally,” Keller said.

      Delgado turned away from the window. He was smiling. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I would do something illegal. Even to help a man as nice as Mr. Sanchez and,” he inclined his head to where Angela was sitting, “his lovely wife. And his sons who he felt were in so much danger in Colombia.”

      “Surely not,” Keller said. “But.”

      Delgado sighed. “But.” He looked down at the desk for a moment, tapping his fingers absently. In the silence, they could hear the muted sounds of traffic in the streets below. He looked up. “Leave me a number,” he said. “I have to talk to some people first. Tell them what Mr. Sanchez said about talking to you. I’ll encourage them to do that.”

      “I need the information now,” Keller said.

      Delgado looked at him steadily. “I can’t give it to you now. Not without permission.”

      Keller stood up and started toward him. “Jack,” Angela said.

      Delgado didn’t back away. The window left him no place to go. “Mr. Keller,” he said, “all I can do is give you my word that I will do everything in my power to help you. But some of this is out of my hands.”

      Keller stopped. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back.”

      Delgado shrugged. “And maybe you will beat the names out of me, and maybe you won’t. But if you do, they still won’t talk to you. And they will not take kindly to it. These are people, Mr. Keller, who it is better to have as friends than as enemies.”

      Keller stood there, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, the blood pulsing in his temples. He felt his hands curling into fists. He remembered the relaxation exercises Lucas had taught him. He took a deep breath, then another, deliberately uncurling the fingers.

      “How long before you know?” Angela’s voice seemed to come to him from far away.

      “Tomorrow,” Delgado said. “At the latest.”

      She stood up and handed him a card. “Please call at this number,” she said. “It’s my cell.”

      Delgado bowed slightly. “I promise,”