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girl. Apparently Matt drove his old man’s pickup into town, and then he and Toby linked up at the pizza place. It was Toby’s idea to talk Jessie into cruising around with them.”
    “So Toby’s sweet on Jessie,” I said. “What’d he take his mother’s car for? Dumping the girlfriend in the backseat while the guys ride up front is what passes for a date these days?”
    Torrez shrugged. “Sosimo’s pickup is so full of junk that three people can’t fit in the cab. And it stinks. He chews tobacco, and about half the time he doesn’t get it in the cup.”
    “Well, one or another of them will show up eventually,” I said. “The next question to ask Toby, as soon as the doctors cut his lips loose from his teeth, is why he let Matt drive.”
    “Probably because Toby doesn’t have a license yet,” Torrez said. “I haven’t checked, but I think he just turned fifteen. If I remember right, Matt’s going on nineteen. I don’t remember for sure.”
    “For all your relatives, you’d need a directory,” I said. “And I don’t guess that it’s too hard to find someone who’s willing to sell a kid a few six-packs without a background check.” I scanned the interior of the little car with the flashlight again, catching the glint of three open beer cans but no mother lode. “And it doesn’t look like they succeeded in buying anything from Victor Sanchez, either.”
    We heard a truck approaching, and as it slowed the undersheriff reached into the Expedition and turned on the red lights for a pulse or two so that the tow-truck driver would know where to pull off into the trees.
    In less than five minutes, Stubby Lopez had hooked up to the remains of the Nissan, and with that out of the way, I slid into 310 and started it up. It ran just fine, and since the bodywork hadn’t crushed into the wheel or tire, I saw no point in towing the car back.
    “I’d be happy to make a second trip,” Stubby said hopefully.
    “Not necessary,” I said. “But let me go on ahead of you, just in case.” I could have just stayed where I was, content to enjoy a second installment of pretending I was a wart on the side of the mountain, but the mood had been spoiled.
    I drove back to Posadas without incident and parked the battered 310 over behind the gas pumps. Both Torrez and Pasquale would be off duty just as soon as they cleaned up their paperwork. Jackie Taber was the only deputy scheduled for the midnight-to-eight slot that particular day. On a quiet November Saturday morning, one deputy would be adequate.
    September and October had been so slow that all of us had started to look at a routine speeding ticket as excitement. Bob Torrez had even managed to find the time to erect a handful of campaign signs around the county. That was the extent of his efforts.
    More than once I had suggested a couple of radio spots, or maybe a newspaper ad or two—or an appearance at the local Rotary Club luncheon. Each time, he shook his head and grimaced. Maybe he was right. Maybe no one was going to vote for Leona Spears, his only opponent. If all of Torrez’s relatives voted for him, the election would be a landslide.
    I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn’t that Robert Torrez didn’t want the sheriff’s job. He did—he’d spent the better part of fifteen years with the department, and he had his own ideas about how a tiny, broke county could finance the modern computer age of law enforcement. He just didn’t have any patience with the politics that went with it.
    After the sudden shot of adrenaline while having my car assaulted, I wasn’t the least bit tired when I walked into my office shortly after midnight. My desk was clear of projects. I knew that if I went home, I’d sit up and read most of the night, and I didn’t want to do that, either. If I remained in my office, odds were good that someone would want to talk to me, and I wasn’t in the mood to play father-confessor. Those were generally the only