St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

grabbed his jacket and camera, and hurried out.
    “Bar brawl?” Dan asked idly.
    “Cockfight. The sheriff busted Armando again.”
    “Sandoval?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I thought he was in the joint for running dope.”
    “That’s his older brother. His mama assures everyone that Armando is a good boy, goes to mass every day and twice on Sundays, yada yada yada.”
    “Is he dirty?” Dan asked.
    “Oh yeah. Never make it stick, though. The hispanos were here a long time before you Yankees, and the border is a joke played by mother nature on Uncle Sam. If the sheriff gets within ten miles of the Sandoval clan’s dope operations, bells go off from here to the poppy fields of Mexico.” Gus yawned and rubbed his face with one hand. “Every so often they throw the sheriff a bone and get caught with fighting cocks. Big honking deal.”
    “Sounds like the same old same old.”
    “Nothing changes but the names of the players.” Gus grinned suddenly. “I love it.”
    Dan hesitated, then asked, “Don’t you ever get tired?”
    “Of what?”
    “Crooks being crooks. Cops being cops. A big dumb mutt chasing its own dumb butt.”
    “Nope.”
    “But you don’t print even half of what you know. Doesn’t that get to you? Don’t you want to grab people and shake them and say, ‘ Look around you, fool. Everything you think is true is a lie. ’”
    Gus’s dark eyes widened. “No, I can’t say as I do.”
    Dan shook his head.
    “Look,” Gus said calmly. “There’s print news about elections and drunks and governments and traffic lights and cockfights. Then there’s what everybody knows about everybody else, the kind of stuff that’s better kept out of print. And sometimes there are the kind of secrets that only one or two people know, the kind people kill over. I don’t look for those kinds of secrets. Neither does anyone else with half a brain.”
    “What do you do when public and private knowledge intersect?”
    “That’s when I don’t like my job, because that’s when people I know are getting hurt.”
    Dan shook his head again. “The Sandoval clan is running drugs for one of Mexico’s highest elected officials, pimping for underage Mexican prostitutes who may or may not have agreed to their new career, and selling babies as a sideline. The Quintrells have used public office to get rich at the cost of people who are poor or simply unaware—BLM land leases, national forest leases, land swaps with the government to make the family land more valuable, employing illegals, legislative favors for their—”
    “Tell me something I don’t know,” Gus interrupted. “Hell, tell me something everybody doesn’t know. Have you ever heard of a big politician who left office poorer than when he went in?”
    “Why isn’t that in your newspaper?”
    “My newspaper? In my dreams. Guess who owns the newspaper now?”
    “The Quintrells?”
    “God, no. That would be too obvious. A good friend of a rich donor who—”
    “Never mind,” Dan said over his brother’s words. “I can fill in the blanks. Only happy Quintrell news makes print.”
    Gus shrugged. “You think it’s any different with any other paper anywhere in the world? All papers have an editorial page. Daily news stories that contradict that editorial view don’t get published or else they’re put way in the back with the personals.” He yawned. “Stories that polish the editorial viewpoint get good play above the fold on the front page. Human nature, that’s all. No conspiracy or secret handshakes necessary.”
    Dan grabbed a doughnut and bit into it like it was an enemy. He knew all about editorials and human nature and the denial of the elephant under the electoral rug.
    “None of this is news to you,” Gus said, “so why the snarl?”
    Dan shrugged and chewed. “Sometimes I get a gutful, that’s all.”
    “You came back from wherever you went with a permanent gutful.”
    “There was plenty to eat.”
    “And you still don’t want to talk about it.”
    “Why bother? Nobody wants to know.”
    “I do.”
    Dan dusted off his hands. “No you don’t. Not really. No one does. And I don’t blame them. I wish I didn’t know.” He wiped his hands on his jeans. “So, does Lila have the flu?”
    Gus swallowed the change of subject along with the bitter coffee. “Seems to. It’s going through the kids one at a time.”
    “The joys of parenthood. Have you and Marti had the bug?”
    “So far so good.” He grinned slyly.