TWENTY-THREEJim spent the rest of the morning cruising the streets of Agua Verde. Cars with out of state license plates passed him, within the speed limit, as they headed towards the Grand Canyon or Las Vegas or California. Locals who weren’t working for the day rode their bicycles or strolled the sidewalks looking in store windows or heading into restaurants for lunch. Some were probably drinking their lunches at Flaming June’s or Jalisco’s Cantina. The half empty trolley clanged its way up and down the main street. On the surface all was peaceful. And boring. He couldn’t do as much as write a traffic citation.
There had been enough action the last few weeks to keep his brain swimming. Jia Wong had been murdered in her store, lying on the floor with a broken neck. The mother of the abuse
