The Coyote

I came across the chief’s cruiser by accident. He was turning onto the main drag from the north as I was coming in from the east. I followed him all the way to the station and pulled into the gravel lot beside him. He sat in his car, staring at me through the window for several long moments with an expression I couldn’t interpret on his face. It took me a minute to realize he was waiting for the dust to settle so he didn’t get a big mouthful of grit. By the time we got out of our cars, a filthy skein had settled on my windshield that I was more than grateful not to have in my lungs. It made me wonder how much had already accumulated in there over just the last twenty-four hours. I tried not to think about the fact that people died in sandstorms not from being pelted by grains or buried under dunes, but by drowning. Technically, asphyxiation by sand. As an Air Force brat, I learned all sorts of interesting trivia that would probably never do me much good as a game show contestant. Unsurprisingly, most of it seemed to have something to do with strange and unique ways to die. I guess when you’re in the business of killing, it pays to learn a little about the craft.

Heat stroke, for example, is a nasty way to go, especially considering you remain cognizant of your ultimate fate the entire time. In a nutshell, your body sweats to lower your internal body temperature in essentially the same ma

The distance from my car to the front door of the station was only fifteen feet, but all of those thoughts went through my head during the walk. I didn’t care if the water came out of the tap orange with rust, I was going to drink the hell out of it at the first opportunity. Maybe I could spontaneously evolve some sort of hump to contain a little extra while I was at it.

The expression on my face must have been common around these parts, because I could definitely tell Antone was enjoying a good smirk at my expense.

Deciphering that expression wasn’t a victory to write home about, but it was a small victory nonetheless.

“You look thirsty enough to drink piss,” he said. “There’s a water cooler in the back office.”

I looked squarely at him and tried to divine exactly what he meant by that, what he knew. And just like that I was back to square one.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “So we refill the container from the tap, but at least it’s cold. Do you have any idea how much it costs to get a Deep Rock delivery all the way out here?”

“Surely any driver would be thrilled to make the trip, if only for the scenery.”

I ducked into the office and filled one of the plastic cups stacked on the desk by the cooler. The others had names scribbled on them in black marker. Apparently, these weren’t designated single-use. Or maybe Louis and Olivia just really liked their cups. The tank made a blurping sound as it filled the cup. I pounded the first one and took the second back out with me.

“Looks like you enjoyed some of the scenery last night yourself.” Antone was leaning over one of the desks with his back to me, but I could hear the smile in his voice. I glanced down. My pants looked like they’d been attacked by some great quilled creature. Loose threads dangled from a hundred different puckers in the fabric and there were several small tears through which you could see the scabs on my skin.

“Let me guess...you found another one of our friend’s smiley faces, am I right?” He peered back at me with one eyebrow cocked. “I assume my phone number must have slipped your mind. It’s kind of hard to remember, what with one nine and two ones and all.”

“Your powers of observation are impressive. You must have a great mind for details.”

He stepped away from the desk, which apparently belonged to my eco-friendly, water-drinking pal Officer Louis Abispo. I guess when your entire existence is predicated upon land that’s been hotly contested for centuries, it pays to head off any potential confusion. Even the fax machine had Louis’s name on it. The curled fax Antone had just torn off the heat printer didn’t. It had a lot of blurry words and a series of photographs of the canyon wall at which I had been staring in person only a few hours ago.

“We have an arrangement with Ajo Station,” he said.

“And here I thought you’d tapped into some mystical shamanistic powers.”

I watched the anger flare in his eyes. Just a quick spark, but it was something. I figured a dig at his heritage would expose the chink in his armor. That infuriating smirk was back on his face a heartbeat later.

“Let’s take a ride,” he said. “There’s something I want to show you.”

FOURTEEN

Don’t let anyone tell you I can’t adapt on the fly. I learned from yesterday’s mistakes. After taking a few minutes to change into a pair of jeans and hiking boots, I do

“Turn right up here,” Antone said. He was sitting in the seat beside me with his eyes closed, seemingly perfectly at peace with the world. His jowls jiggled as the car jounced from the pink asphalt onto the gravel road. “Now just keep going straight.”

We were heading due south with the mountains lording over us to the left. I could see Baboquivari Peak at the furthest extent of my vision to the southeast and thought about that mischievous creator god of ours leading the Hohokam up from the underworld. I imagined crawling through dark tu