“Guess you’ll be glad to get home,” noted Adams.

“You wouldn’t believe how bad,” said Jack sombrely. “I want to go home and give my wife and kid the biggest hug I ever have. I didn’t have time to get into all the details with you yesterday, but after Big Al handcuffed me to a pipe, he had El Pero give me a shot with a cattle prod while asking me some personal questions.”

“Like the names of the guys you work with? Their home addresses, names of their relatives … and your wife and kid’s names?”

“Exactly,” said Jack in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Those are some of the same questions they asked my last partner when they grabbed and tortured him. I told you about him. He ended up quitting because of it.”

“You told me he was tortured. I didn’t know they were going after his family.”

“Yeah, well … they were.”

“That’s … that’s … I mean, you can’t let them get away with that!” said Jack vehemently. “Once that starts happening we’ve all lost. No cop will do their job.”

“Tell that to our friend across the border.”

“Okay. Very few cops will do their job. But you must know what I mean? You’re a street cop. Front line. Not some desk jockey who doesn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand alright. Believe me, I understand,” said Adams.

Jack looked at Adams’s face. Earlier he had thought his friend was simply tired. But there was more to it. His face was haggard and dark sacks of skin hung from eyes which were now twitching. Something more than lack of sleep was troubling him and Jack could see he was trying to decide whether to tell him something.

Jack remained silent, not wanting to press him. If he wants to tell me something, he will. If not, that’s his choice …

And then Adams talked. The words started to spill out of him, picking up speed as he went. “Remember when we had coffee at your hotel the morning after you went to the whore house with Big Al? When I told you I was in deep shit?”

“Yes, but you said you didn’t want to talk about it because we needed to focus on what we were doing.”

Adams took a deep breath and let out a long sigh and said, “Well, I’ll tell you about it now. You know Rafael Guajardo heads the cartel?”

“Yes … and below him are the Carrillo Fuentes brothers.”

“Right, but below them comes three lower bosses, who also happen to be brothers. One of them, a guy by the name of Chico, took part in my partner’s kidnapping.”

Something about the tone of Adams’s voice gave Jack an indication about where the conversation was going.

Jack suddenly understood something. Something that floated in the back of his mind from the first day he met Adams.

This car … Adams is the junior guy, but he always gets the best car …

“I grabbed Chico outside a bar in El Paso and —”

“Man, this is a great car!” exclaimed Jack. “Stereo, air conditioning —”

“I’m trying to tell you something,” said Adams, looking hurt that Jack would interrupt him when he was talking about something so serious.

Jack gestured to his mouth with his fingers and pointed at the air vents on the dash.

Adams frowned and continued, “So I grabbed him and took him about fifty miles out into the desert and —”

“I always wondered why you got the nice car,” said Jack loudly.

“Jack,” pleaded Adams, “I’m trying to —”

“Remember when I commented on it? I know where I come from the bosses scoop the best cars, but you always end up with this one. Wow,” added Jack sarcastically, “you sure are a lucky guy. The bosses must think you’re pretty special.”

Adams stared at Jack as his mind processed the conversation.

Jack made the gesture again of putting his fingers to his lips, as though he was pulling the words out and tossing them into the air vents on the dash.

A look of absolute shock came over Adams’ face when he realized what Jack was telling him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” said Jack, “but I have to take a leak. Mind pulling over?”

Adams looked dumbfounded, but nodded and mumbled, “Me, too,” as he pulled over to the side of the highway.

Once Jack and Adams took a short stroll away from the car, Jack said, “The problem with being a good cop is learning to live with your conscience … especially doing our type of work. You’re always questioning whether or not you’re doing the right thing.”

“Yeah, I agree with you there,” mumbled Adams, still looking dazed.

“Maybe that’s what differentiates a good cop from a bad one. Sometimes we make mistakes and have to learn to live with what we did. That’s the problem with being human.”

“What are you really trying to tell me?” asked Adams.

“Well, to start with, I’m telling you I think you are a hell of a good cop. I’m really going to miss working with you.”

“Thanks,” mumbled Adams, glancing back at the car, wondering if Jack’s fear was simply paranoia.

“You and me think … and act much alike,” continued Jack. “Our job is also filled with secrets. Some secrets if known could get someone killed … or sent to jail. I have done things I felt were morally right, but a court of law would not agree.”

“Like yesterday?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“That pisses me off.”

“What does?” Jack asked.

“Okay, I know five of the bodies they found in Casa Blanca were knocked off by the cartel because they fucked up. Probably means good news for you, because they took the retribution out on them.”

“I’m happy with that. So what’s your point?”

“My point is I thought you and I were friends,” said Adams.

“I think we are.”

“Friends trust each other … but you obviously don’t trust me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“You didn’t see the look we both gave you yesterday in the car when you said some guy killed El Pero?”

“No … guess I was busy consoling Lily,” said Jack, frowning.

“There is no goddamned way any of the cartel guys at Casa Blanca, with the exception of Big Al, would have ever picked a fight with El Pero.”

“We spoke about that last night. Maybe it was someone else’s relative.”

“Bullshit. El Pero was too high up. Even Big Al wouldn’t give him shit in front of the guys. So for you to say somebody argued with El Pero about whose turn it was to rape Lily is absolute crap. Then to say the guy went in and shot him after is ludicrous. At first I was thinking you didn’t want Lily to know … and that makes sense. I presume she didn’t see you or had her eyes closed or something?”

“Do your bosses think its bullshit?” asked Jack, avoiding Adams’s question.

“They’re desk jockeys. They don’t know squat. That’s not the point. Let me finish. Now I learn Big Al was found at the bottom of the shaft with a broken neck and his nose bitten off … there is no fucking way his guys would do that.”

“You sound pissed off about it.”

“Yeah, I’m pissed off!” said Adams. “Not over him being dead. I’m pissed off at you. With everything we have been through, I thought you would trust me enough to tell me the truth.”

“Listen … I’d trust you with my life … but that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you something you don’t need to know just to try and ease my conscience. Sure, sometimes I would like to confide in someone. Maybe get their assurance that whatever I did was the right thing.”

“So why don’t you? I was about to do that with you.”

“And look what might have happened. Does it really matter if someone else agrees or not?” said Jack. “You have your own conscience and have to live with what you did. Confiding in someone might give you temporary relief, but it’s the rest of your life you have to deal with. In the long run, having told someone else will give you one more thing to worry about. It is also a burden for the person you told. Keep in mind what Al Capone once said: ‘Two can keep a secret if one is dead.’”

Adams looked up at the sky, then sighed and looked around at the landscape, avoiding Jack’s intense stare as he thought about what had been said. He then focused his gaze on the Camaro and his face darkened. Without warning, he scooped up a rock and threw it as hard as he could and swore as the rock bounced off the car fender.