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of the Criminal Investigations Bureau, at least not
where anyone else could hear it.
―That was something there, wasn't it?‖ Bobby said.
    ―Something, ok,‖ Juan agreed. ―I guess big-shots fight amongst theirselves just like everybody else. We better radio in.‖
Gutierrez turned the key in the ignition, and nothing happened. The solenoid on the starter didn't even click.
―Yeah,‖ Gutierrez said. ―But first we better find somebody with some jumper cables. This battery's dead as old Bud.‖ Bobby‘s own remark annoyed him. He didn‘t think himself as callous as that. He started turning off switches. ―Damn, Troy left everything on. Light bar, headlights, radio. No wonder the battery died.‖
Neither of the other two State Police officers at the trading post had jumper cables. Few officers carried them because they might be obliged to use them. Starting stalled cars wasn‘t considered State Police work. Using the radio to call for Bud‘s tow truck was police work. One of the senior officers found a set of cables behind the seat in the cab of Bud‘s little red wrecker and in short-order Gutierrez and Posey had McGee's unit back up and running.
―Don't shut her off when you get on up the road there, rookie,‖ the officer said as he tossed the cables into the back of the wrecker. ―I do believe old Bud‘s out of business and you'd play hell findin‘ a sober Indian around here, let alone one with a pair of jumper cables.‖
Posey didn't respond. Didn't react. The young Indian wasn't used to racial ridicule but rookie State Police officers, as another matter of tradition, didn't take issue with senior patrolmen on any subject.
    Gutierrez drove slowly into the bar's dirt driveway. Posey took note of license numbers on three cars and two pickups parked up close to the one story adobe building. The officers parked and went in. They left the patrol car‘s engine running and the doors locked. Posey had his key. Neither wanted to face the embarrassment of losing a State Police unit to thieves. That kind of thing ruined careers.
    The saloon might have been old and quaint or it might have just been allowed to grow old looking at an early age. Sawdust covered the floor's oiled wood planks and neon beer signs and imitation brass light fixtures styled after coal oil lamps provided barely adequate light. The room reeked of cigarette smoke, stale beer, urine and Pinesol. A dark little man wearing a white shirt with arm garters stood behind the bar and four women occupied bar stools.
    ― Buenas tardes , officers,‖ the man said as he removed a long, brown, cigarillo from his mouth. ―What can I do for you?‖
―You hear about what happened at Bud Rice's place?‖ Bobby said it earnestly.
    ―No. Did something happen.‖ The man's face was somber. ―Well, Bud Rice got....‖
The women at the bar all laughed and the little man smiled. ―So you know,‖ Bobby said, not at all amused. ―Ok. That's why
we're here. ¿Cómo se llama? ‖
    ― Mi nombre es Frank Fernandez. I own this bar, and this is mi esposa , Delfina.‖ He nodded his head toward an attractive woman seated near him at the end of the bar. ―But I don't know how we could help you out.‖
    Posey wrote down the names of the other women at the bar. ―Maybe,‖ Gutierrez said, ―you could tell us if there was any strangers around here earlier tonight, say about seven o'clock. Seventhirty. Something like that. Anything unusual. Stuff like that.‖
―No. Quiet night for a Saturday. Hunting season, you know.‖
―Yeah. I know. No strangers around here, huh?‖
―I don't know. I was in and out. Doing chores. Feeding my goats. You see anyone, Delfina?‖
―I don't know. What did he look like?‖
―A gringo ," Bobby said. ―Had on a black jacket. A tattoo or something on his belly, but you probably wouldn't know nothing about that. Maybe driving a light colored car. That sound right, Juan?‖
Posey nodded.
―He sounds like the White guy that married Darlene