Another Man's Moccasins

Saizarbitoria continued to study me as Marie pushed the door open with a tray that I assumed was lunch. “What about the quarters?”

We’d been warned against tiring him, so I plucked my hat from my bent knee, put it back on my head, and stood. “I asked Ned about that. He said that they would bring the girls in, some of them as young as ten, and lock them in a manufacturing building that had been cordoned off into little twelve-by-twelve rooms. Then they were...” I glanced at Marie. “Trained—and told they owed Trung Sisters twenty thousand dollars apiece for their transportation to the U.S. and that they would work off the debt and be released. They were given twenty dollars a week in quarters, so that they could eat and drink from the vending machines in the building.”

The Basquo let out a long slow breath.

Vic handed the rest of the report to me as she and Lucian stood. “What happens to Ngo now? ”

“The people from INS picked her up about an hour ago and flew her back to Los Angeles under a Temporary Protected Status. Under the Victims of Trafficking and Violence Protection Act, it looks like she’s going to be granted a T-Visa and citizenship through adoption.”

Saizarbitoria watched as his pregnant wife rolled a stand and tray table over to his bed and removed the stainless covering from his lunch—it looked ghastly. No wonder he was trying to bribe all of us into bringing him food from the Busy Bee. “Adopted by who?”

I stuffed the thick file under my arm. “If I were a betting man, I’d say the sheriff of Los Angeles County has two daughters and is about to acquire a third.” I smiled at Marie as she seated herself as comfortably as she could in the corner chair and gestured for the staff to follow me as I crossed and opened the door. “We’ll leave you to your lunch and your wife.” I smiled at her again. “When, exactly, are you due?”

She rested her hands on the sides of her stomach. “November. ”

I ushered Vic and Lucian out—the old sheriff was having lunch with Isaac Bloomfield, but the rest of us were on our own. I began closing the door behind me.

"Hey, boss?”

I stopped and leaned back in. "Yep?”

Santiago looked down at the boiled meat, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was contemplating. "I...” He stopped, looked up, and then started to say something again.

“Don’t worry about it, Sancho.”

Vic rolled down the window of her eight-year-old unit in the parking lot of Durant Memorial. “I guess that leaves only one more mystery.”

I opened the door of my truck and watched as Henry moved the bags of groceries to the center and climbed in on the other side; Dog was asleep in the back. “Not really. Mai Kim had given birth to Ngo Loi’s grandmother three years before I ever got to Tan Son Nhut.”

“I guess you’re off the hook.” She flared the canine tooth at me and started her truck. “You’re fast, but not that fast.” She slipped the vehicle into gear. “You do remember that you have a debate tonight.”

I pulled out my pocket watch and checked the time. “Yep, but that should be over by eight.”

"So?”

I tucked my watch back in my pocket and considered the fact that I was about to ask my deputy out on a date in front of Henry. It was enough to curdle my fortitude, but I figured it was time to get the thing out in the open. “I was wondering...?”

She didn’t say anything.

I glanced back at the Cheyenne Nation, who continued to watch us. “Henry has to tend bar and Cady and Michael have plans, since he’s leaving tomorrow, so I was thinking...”

She studied me. I thought I should say something else, but then she started to speak and I stopped. “I’m washing my hair.”

I stood there looking at her drive away, her vehicle barking the rear tires as she turned out of the parking lot. I tried to figure out what I’d done wrong. I knew I was out of practice, but the response seemed a little abrupt. I started the Bullet and put my seat belt on. Henry sat there without saying a word; Dog didn’t speak either. “What?”

He turned his head to look out the windshield. “Nothing.”

"What?”

I watched as he tried not to smile. “Just a small piece of advice.” He turned and looked at me again. “Next time, try not to make it sound like you have nothing better to do.”

Tan Son Nhut, Vietnam: 1968

I didn’t have anything better to do, so I figured I might as well get drunk.