The Motorola crackled and I heard Joe’s voice, “Jake, you got your cell on?”

            “I do.”

            ‘I’ll call you in a second.”

            The ring tone on mine sounds like the old rotary phones they had back when I was a kid.

“Whoa! I gotta adjust the volume on this contraption,” I said after the first ring about knocked me out of the Escalade. We’d gotten four of them on a combination federal grant and GM promotion. None of us liked ‘em much. I don’t think Cadillacs, even the SUV variety, and shit kickers were meant for each other. But with tight budgets and a generous fuel allowance, we kept the grousing down to a minimum. Mostly.

            “What’s up, Joseph?”

            “First of all I didn’t want one of these clowns with a scanner listening in. Got a little situation here and the last thing we need is an audience.”

            “Where you at?” He told me. I threw on the strobes but kept the siren off as I made a u-turn and put the coals to it.

___

            It was about June 20th. So even though it was past seven thirty, we weren’t gonna lose the light for another hour and a half. Not in our part of the state. A good quarter of a mile away I could see Joe’s rig with the strobes going like they would if he was making a traffic stop. That’s what I thought it was until I got closer.

            “You keep your goddam traps shut while I’m talking to this deputy. You hear me?” Ronnie Sakes was the one doing the shouting. The ones being shouted at were four Mexican stone masons who were sitting in the back of Roberto Sanchez’s truck. They were looking at their boots and not saying a word. Roberto and Joe were out in front of the truck talking in rapid Spanish that I couldn’t begin to get the gist of. They were paying no mind to Ronnie.

            “Ronnie, settle yourself down,” I said as I walked up between him and the four workers. I could tell from the way he whipped his head around and the shock in his eyes that he hadn’t seen me coming.

            “Jake, these guys almost ran me off the road when I tried to pass ‘em. Scared the living shit out of me. This ain’t fuckin’ Mexico. Bastards need to learn to drive by our rules, if they gonna stay up here, goddam it.”

            “Ronnie,” I said as I gently laid a hand on his shoulder, “I’d like you to do me a favor and take a little stroll down the road for a minute or two. Can you do that for me?”

            “I ‘spose.”

            “I’m obliged.” After he’d lumbered some fifty feet away I walked over to Joe and Roberto.

            “Hey, Jake. Good to see you, ‘though I’d prefer it to be under pleasanter circumstances,” said Roberto as he extended his hand and smiled and rolled his eyes a little. Like Joe, he spoke with just a hint of an accent. I’m always impressed at how easily the two of them switch back and forth between English and their native Spanish. To be honest, it kind of intimidates me.

            “Good to see you, too, Roberto,” I said as I shook his hand. “Let me talk with Joe for a second and then let’s see if we can’t get this thing straightened out.”

            After Joe and I got over on the other side of the road, he started in.

“Ronnie’s had a few. You probably figured that out.”

            “Yep.”

            “We could make him blow in the tube, but I’d rather not.”

            “Okay.”

            “Got another idea.” After he ran it down for me, I hollered at Ronnie to come back. He took his time making his way up to us, but I could tell he’d cooled down.

            “Ronnie, I’m gonna ask Roberto here to introduce you to these four fellas that work for him. Since y’all are in the stone masonry business, we thought it might be a good thing for you to get to know each other.”

            You could have blown Ronnie over with a feather. Roberto looked almost as surprised as Ronnie but covered it up pretty well.

            “Ronnie,” said Roberto, “Sorry we caused you to swerve back there. We’re all pretty tired and shoulda been paying better attention.”

            Looking at the ground Ronnie mumbled, “’S all right. Probably my fault, too. I’m bone tired myself.” 

For the next ten minutes, maybe a little longer, we watched as Roberto graciously introduced each of his workers to Ronnie and got a conversation started among them with enough pauses in between for him to do the translating. For someone driving up on this scene it would have been a sight. Ronnie’s a good six feet three and not an ounce under 260. None of Roberto’s guys was over five six and the heaviest couldn’t have run more than a buck fifty.

            “Maybe it’s just that easy,” I said.

            “Should be.”

            Then we got a call that hauled us out of there before the six of them were even getting warmed up.