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view’s clear. Stand
     off a few paces and keep an eye on Guerrero as he talks to me. Watch for anything
     I might not see.”
    “Gotcha, boss.” Quinn smoothed his hair even though not a strand was out of place,
     couldn’t possibly be out of place, and probably would snap clean off if Clay breathed
     on it too hard. He wasn’t sure he could trust a man who used hair spray, but for now,
     he didn’t have much choice.
    He glanced at the sky, half hoping God would make an appearance and tell him what
     to do with these two, but he didn’t see so much as a single cloud. The three of them
     entered the auto dealership, hot and nearly sun-blind, and the cool air hit Clay like
     a quick slap on both cheeks.
    Guerrero’s salesmen saw them, but didn’t approach, which was fine with Clay. Blalock
     drifted off into the showroom just like he’d been told, and Quinn glanced at Guerrero’s
     glass office and got busy picking his spot.
    Clay headed straight for Guerrero’s door, knocked, and went in when Guerrero looked
     up and gestured to him.
    Guerrero stood, and Clay noted he was dressed all in black, just like the day before,
     except for his red tie. Maybe he was trying to make black silk a trademark.
    Maybe he’d get on good with Hair-spray Boy out in the showroom.
    He slipped the list out of his jeans with his left hand and made himself shake Guerrero’s
     proffered hand with his right.
    “I brought a list of victims who would like to take you up on your rental offer.”
    “Excellent.” Guerrero showed Clay to a leather seat in front of his desk, then sat
     in his rolling wing chair. “I’ll have my men call and make appointments for these
     people.”
    He placed the list on his desk, smoothing out the wrinkles, and he gave Clay his best
     canned smile.
    Clay waited for the other shoe to drop, the casual mention of how much it might cost
     the people for insurance, or fees, or some crap like that. Guys like Guerrero didn’t
     give something for nothing.
    His low opinion must have showed on his face, because Guerrero’s smile slipped away
     and he said, “You have something else on your mind, Sheriff?”
    What the hell. Clay leaned back in his leather chair. Got to start somewhere with everybody in this
     town, him included. “Mr. Guerrero, you and I don’t know each other very well. I’ve
     got files and rumors and a handful of personal impressions—not much to go on.”
    Guerrero folded his hands on his desk. He didn’t look exactly wary, but he wasn’t
     all open-and-friendly, either. “And?”
    “And you don’t strike me as a man who’d waste his time on small-time truck thefts.
     High risk, minimal payoff.”
    Guerrero went silent for a few seconds, studying Clay with unreadable black eyes.
     Clay couldn’t be sure, but he thought the man might be weighing his options, choosing
     his next statement carefully.
    What came out was, “I’m not a thief, Mr. Wayland. I’m a businessman.”
    “So I’ve heard.” Talking points, just like a damned politician. “And so you keep saying
     to anyone who’ll listen.”
    The muscles in Guerrero’s face twitched. Again, he studied Clay like he was trying
     to choose the right words, or figure the right course of action.
    He probably had some kind of deal with my predecessor. Hope he won’t be damned stupid
     enough to approach me with that kind of bullshit.
    Clay kept his expression amiable enough, but let his eyes speak his mind for him.
    “My family has many business interests,” Guerrero said, speaking more slowly than
     usual. “At times, my interests align with theirs, primarily when I have no choice.
     Mostly, I sell cars, Sheriff Wayland.”
    This guy was a true piece of work. Was he trying to say he didn’t want to play ball
     with his brothers, that he didn’t want a share of the Guerrero empire?
    If so, he was lying through his shiny teeth.
    Clay nodded. Whatever. For now, he’d play along. At least he hadn’t started talking bribes