Tequila Sunset by Sam Hawken Page A

docks on the side. It was surrounded by a high chain-link fence with curling barbed wire on the top and Flip was reminded of Coffield, but only just. Any convict with ambition could scale a fence like that.
    They parked with the other employees and went in. Alfredo took Flip to the main office where they filled out paperwork for most of an hour. At the end Flip got a time card and Alfredo showed himwhere to use it. Then he took Flip to meet his team.
    There were four men assigned to Dock Three. Flip met Frank, Luis and Paul. All of the men were older than him and had the same sturdy look as Alfredo did. Frank showed Flip around their area: where to stand, what to do, when to do it. Their first truck arrived within minutes.
    It was not difficult work and Flip found the rhythm quickly. The trucks rolled up and the driver brought around the manifest. Everything in the truck was unloaded quickly and sorted out into its warehouse area by number. The first truck had bananas, the next jars of tomato sauce. Many of the drivers were Mexican, their trucks and products from Mexico, making the short hop across the border in the early morning hours.
    They worked hard until noon and then it was time for a break. Flip was sore from lifting and even the back support belt he wore could not completely stop the pain in his lower spine. He’d also managed to nick himself with a box cutter, though he wasn’t sure how.
    A shift was nine hours from start to finish and they were done in the afternoon. When the last truck had come and gone, Flip shook hands with his team and they parted ways.
    Alfredo found him. “I talked to Frank,” he said. “He says you did a good job.”
    “I tried.”
    “No, it’s good,” Alfredo said and he clapped Flip on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you. Silvia said you’d be a hard worker and she was right.”
    “I need to make some calls,” Flip said.
    “Sure, sure. Meet me outside when you’re done.”
    Flip waited until Alfredo was gone before he took a folded paper from his pocket and spread it out on top of a stack of Pepsi twelve-packs. He picked out the phone number on his phone and waited for an answer.
    “Parole and Probation,” said a woman on the other end.
    “Yes, can I talk to Mr. Rubio?”
    “Who’s calling?”
    “My name is Felipe Morales. I’m supposed to report to him.”
    “One moment.”
    No one came on for a few minutes and Flip started to think they’d forgotten about him. After a long time a man picked up. “Rubio,” he said.
    “Mr. Rubio, my name is Felipe Morales.”
    “Yes, Mr. Morales, nice to hear from you.”
    “I need to make an appointment to see you.”
    “Yes, you do.”
    “Can we do that now?”
    Rubio paused and Flip heard the click of a keyboard in the background. “How’s Tuesday afternoon sound?”
    “That’s good. I work until four.”
    “The office is open until seven.”
    “Okay, I’ll be there.”
    “Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Morales?”
    Flip hesitated. His mouth ran dry and he checked in both directions. No one was watching. “Actually, there is,” he said.

EIGHTEEN
    C RISTINA WAS LOOKING AT A PICTURE OF Freddie when her desk phone rang. She answered: “Salas.”
    “Uh, yeah,” said the voice on the other end. “I wanted to talk to someone in the gang unit?”
    “You are.”
    Robinson was away from his desk and Cristina looked around for him. He wasn’t in the squad room. She thought maybe he was swiping doughnuts from the box by the coffee machine in the hall. Robinson loved doughnuts.
    “Yeah, okay. My name is Felipe Morales.”
    “Felipe?”
    “That’s right.”
    Cristina scrawled the name on the corner of her desk calendar. “What can I do for you, Felipe?”
    “It’s more what I can do for you. Look, can we meet somewhere?”
    “You’re going to have to be more specific. What can you do for me?”
    “Look, call Lance Harcrow at Coffield Unit. He knows me. Then call me back at this number. You ready