Mendocino Jones in No Place for the Weak at Heart

Let's Hash This Out

Sun streamed through the master bedroom windows that opened onto the deep veranda along the driveway side of the house. Mendocino's head on the pillow, he lay on his side, watching tiny dust particles dancing on the golden ray, and he marveled at the quiet.

Tillie was humming somewhere far away. No cars. No television. No cows or roosters. Not even a fan or wind chimes. Just her voice, small, in the distance.

He dressed and went to join her. She was on the back porch, watering potted plants from a water hose she'd pulled through the screen door. It had one of those nozzles she could turn on or off.

The back door and kitchen windows were open, as always in the mornings. By noon, he'd learned, they'd be closed with the attic fan on. Attic fans didn't work with the humidity east of I-35 but out here, they served well.

"Good morning." He joined her on the porch with a cup of coffee. "My turn to make breakfast."

"You can cook?" She had a suspicious grin as she moved the hose from a big philodendron to a Schefflera.

"I've been a bachelor for a while. I cook or go hungry."

"Okay," she said. "I'm coffeed out. I'll get dressed for the day. I want to try to finish those portraits so I can send them off."

Mendocino prowled through the refrigerator, pulling out makings for breakfast burritos. Bacon was frying as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

Amos rapped on the screened door. "My God, man. Cooking breakfast? You're whipped already." He strode across the porch into the kitchen. "What a wuss."

"Can you cook? Women appreciate it now and then." Mendocino was chopping tomatoes. He glanced over his shoulder at Amos. "Besides, I knew you were there. Heard your truck coming. Plus, the new motion detector chirps on my phone. Pretty cool. Can't sneak up on us." He gestured to the coffee pot. "Help yourself."

"Cameras and motion detectors everywhere, huh." Amos obviously knew where the coffee mugs were. He helped himself.

"Yep. I put one halfway up the drive, one by her studio, and at each door," Mendocino said.

"Where's Tillie?" Amos looked around.

"I told her I'd cook breakfast. I think she's in the shower."

"I've got an idea." Amos began tending the bacon while Mendocino chopped the ingredients. "On the José Does. Take it to the feds."

"I can't stand those guys."

"We're at a dead end," Amos said. "Tell your FBI buds the local cases are missing forensics. Someone tampered with evidence." He raised one brow. "Leave my name out of it." He turned the bacon over in the skillet. "They can find out exactly where those reports went. Feds could end up charging someone with tampering with evidence. Obstruction of justice. Might lead up the food chain."

"Good idea," Mendocino said. "It's crossed my mind to go ahead and tell LaBeouf about Sartain. I mean, I can identify one of the men at Santa Elena Canyon."

"Go for it," Amos said. "It won't be enough, though. You know that."

"Yeah, I know. My word against his. He'll have an alibi."

"Won't hurt to try. Make those white collars earn their living."

"Dude, I like the way you think." Mendocino grinned, his focus on the chopping board. "About Sartain. I don't think he recognized me the other night."

"I don't know how he could. He never got a good look at you in either place. You know, man—I can't run a background on him. I can't run reports I can't justify. Not after the ass-chewing I got. We'll have to track him the old-fashioned way." Amos opened a kitchen cabinet door, grabbing the sugar bowl.

Mendocino stirred the diced vegetables into the eggs using a wooden spoon. Tomatoes, peppers, and onions. Then he added some grated cheese. "I've thought about it. Maybe I could hang out in the pool halls. Ask questions. Who's the best of the best? He can damn sure shoot pool."

Amos had the bacon out of the frying pan. Mendocino took over at the stove, pouring his egg mixture into the skillet. "I remembered something Sartain told the clerk in the gift shop." He glanced over his shoulder at Amos. "By the way—that chick absolutely threw herself at him. Sickening. Anyway, I heard Sartain tell her he was from South Africa. Said he'd worked all over the world. Maybe I could get someone in Dallas to run him."

Amos drained the coffee pot. "You want me to make more?" He held up the carafe.

Mendocino shook his head.

Amos unplugged the coffee pot. "He's a colonel. Makes him ex-military. Sounds like a PMC to me."

Of course. "Why would a private military contractor be in West Texas? Those guys are adrenaline junkies. They crave danger. What are they doing here?" Mendocino scrapped his scrambled eggs from the heavy skillet into a large bowl, glancing at Amos. "You want breakfast? There's plenty."

Amos flicked his brows. "Thought you'd never ask."