July turned into August and the little New Mexico town sweltered in the heat as the temperature rose daily to the hundred degree mark. A lull settled over activity as everyone waited hopefully for the weather to break. Late on Wednesday, August tenth, clouds rolled in, built up over the mountains and rain swept through the canyons and across the land to drench the dusty streets.
Deputy Dale Jackson watched it course down the windows of the squad car, flow into the gutter to be carried to the arroyo, then on to the Rio Grande and down to the Gulf of Mexico. Relieved as he was to see the rain, it gave him a sense of isolation, of being left behind and for a brief minute he was uncertain. Was he in the proper place? Should he have stayed in Santa Fe? Was he doing the right thing with his life? He brushed these thoughts away. At midnight he drove back to the Sheriff’s Office, his shift over.
***
Agnes Peralta, the matronly, brown-haired night secretary, waited to close up and go home. She had on new shoes and her feet hurt. She assembled papers as Dale sauntered in and she noticed how handsome a young man he was, tall and muscular, raindrops on his wide shoulders. She was glad to see him and have the night’s work done with. “Hi, Dale,” she said. “How about this rain?”
“Good stuff, Agnes,” he answered. “Any messages for me?”
She stood up from the desk and got her purse. “Uh-uh. It’s been quiet tonight,” she remarked. “The heat has slowed things down but it will be jumping again once people get some moisture in their bones. Anything to report?”
He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Dale was always courteous and she appreciated it. “Okay,” she said.
***
Agnes locked up and Dale saw her along the sidewalk. She sprinted for her car and heaved herself in. With a wave to him, he watched as she drove away. It was odd that folks waited anxiously for rain, then acted like a drop or two would melt them like sugar.
He got in his car and headed out Main Street toward home. At Apache, he was cut off by a speeding car and was instantly angry. He took out after them, noting the number on the Texas plate, a yellow Ford with a dented left rear fender. He wished he was in the squad car so he could turn on the lights and siren and scare the hell out of the fool. At the next corner, Dale pulled in front of the Ford and got out, rose to his full height and walked back there, his hand on his pistol butt. He never knew what might happen.
He made a circular motion with his other hand and the window slowly lowered. A woman was driving, young, black hair, dark eyes, fear in her face.
He leaned down. “Going mighty fast, ma’am,” he said. “You nearly hit me back there.”
She said nothing. He saw the rear seat was empty and looked back at her. “Let me see your license and registration, please.”
She rummaged in her purse, then in the glove compartment and handed him those. Dale read them. Texas again. She was Elena Chavez, born 1989, no restrictions, about to expire. Registration was okay.
He gave them back to her. “Your have your insurance card?” he asked.
She handed him a ragged piece of paper, also about to expire. He read it and handed it back. “Have you been drinking, Miss?” he asked.
“No, I haven’t,” she said, her sultry, smoky voice inviting.
Practiced, he decided, and regarded her suspiciously. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. “You’re headed for trouble if you don’t slow down.”
Now she smiled. “I was lost.”
He doubted that. “Are you living around here?”
“On Second Street,” she replied. “In the apartments.”
Dale wanted to be done with this. “Well, can you make it the three blocks without tearing up the road?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll let it go this time, but if I catch you racing around town again, you’re gonna face a big ticket. And get your paperwork in order, those documents are about to expire.”
Her voice curled around him. “I’m sorry, Officer.”
He looked at her for another moment. White blouse cut low, lush breasts. “Okay,” he said.
He walked back to his car, shook the rain off his hat and got in. He turned the corner and she sped away in the other direction.
Damn, he thought, an outlaw! He had the impulse to chase after her and drag her off to jail. He saw his hands on her, those frightened eyes, her dark hair tumbling. He went on home. He would not forget Elena Chavez. She would turn up again and he would be on guard.
***
The second encounter came sooner than he thought. The next day he went to the Market to get food and there she was, staring at the produce. He got what he wanted and lingered around the canned goods, studying her. She wore big sunglasses and ridiculous red shoes, the heels dangerously high. She had a small waist and a round bottom that looked as if he could slide right in and be at ease. Her skirt was very short and he could see the curve of her thighs. Texas trash, he judged, and fancied he could taste her, salty, an olive oil fragrance, spices on her skin.
She saw him and looked quickly away again. Dale walked to the checkout and put down his things. The owner greeted him cheerfully. “Hi, Dale. Is that all?”
“Yes, it is,” he said. “How are you, Phil?”
Phil rang it up. “Gettin’ along. Glad to see that rain, makes everything seem new. Ten dollars and twenty cents.”
Dale handed him his card and glanced around to see that she was standing right behind him. They looked at each other.
Phil presented the receipt. “Here you are, Dale,” he said. “Just sign.”
He signed and walked out. On the sidewalk, he paused at the stand, and looked at the newspaper headlines. She strolled out, juggling a six pack of drinks and a sack.
It was against his better judgment to speak to her, but he did. “Hi,” he said. She walked past him. He followed. “Need a hand?” he asked.
She didn’t look at him. “No.”
He wondered why he was doing this. But he was unaccountably suspicious of her. “Well, drive slowly,” he said. “Where’s your car?”
She walked on. Not too encouraged, he took a few more steps after her. “I wouldn’t mind helping,” he said, keeping his voice cordial. “I’m a public servant.”
She turned to him, her expression scornful. “Go catch some criminals, Mr. Policeman. Don’t you have other things to do? Ride around in unmarked cars, for instance?”
He tried to appear friendly. “It was my car, I was off duty,” he said.
She shifted the groceries in her arm, studying him. “Then why did you stop me?”
“Because you were exceeding.... You know why I stopped you, Miss Chavez,” he said.
She turned away. “Don’t be remembering my name,” she said, and teetered on down the sidewalk on those crazy shoes.
Okay, he mused, get lost again. It was nothing to him. He watched the sway of her hips, then got in his car and drove home. But she stuck in his mind.
Dale did not see local women. He had a few interesting girls in Santa Fe and that’s where he spent his free time. Getting into anything in the town was bad for his image. Talk would pick up and undermine his authority. Sheriff Valdez, his boss and personal hero, might object. When he was with the Santa Fe Police, he had known that they didn’t care if he had six women, just as long as he got the job done. He liked it better here, in the small town where folks knew and respected him. Most of them, anyway. Not Elena Chavez. Likely she didn’t respect anyone.
***
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