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we revert to tribal warfare. Look at Bosnia, look at Africa, look at L.A. We’re a backwater compared to them. At least our gang members are still loyal to each other. In L.A. the gangs have gotten so big they’re fighting for power on the inside and shooting their own homeboys. The killing goes on and on, but the police have to step in somewhere or the citizens think the streets aren’t safe for them. Too many ricocheting bullets.”
    â€œI hear the murder weapon was a thirty-eight.”
    â€œOh, yeah? Where’d you hear that?” He’d picked up a rubber band and begun fiddling with it.
    I ignored his question and continued with one of mine. “Don’t you think it unusual for a gang slaying to involve a revolver?”
    He shrugged. “Gang members have access to all kinds of guns.”
    â€œI also heard that Juan was killed with one round.”
    â€œSo?” He stretched the rubber band taut between his fingers.
    â€œI guess that means the perp was a good shot.”
    â€œOr got lucky.”
    â€œDid Juan fire, too?”
    â€œNo. He didn’t even get a round off. I hope you’re not considering representing Ron Cade, Neil. His parents have the bucks to pay you well, but he’s a monster, a superpredator. I almost got him last year on breaking and entering, but he slipped away. If you are going to represent him and you’re thinking self-defense, you can forget it.”
    â€œ If prison is no threat, why do you care about locking up Ron Cade?”
    â€œIt would keep him off the streets, and I wouldn’t have to look at his face again for a while. Stay away from that guy, Neil. Trust me, you wouldn’t want to end up on his bad side.”
    â€œYou get on a lot of people’s bad sides, don’t you?” Only last week a gang member attacked a prosecutor in court after receiving a murder conviction. It didn’t help the guy’s case any when sentencing rolled around.
    â€œI look at those punks day after day in the courtroom, but they don’t scare me,” Saia said. “I go home and I sleep very well, thank you. So are you planning on representing Ron Cade?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGood.” He snapped his fingers and the rubber band sprung loose across his desk. “We came that close to nabbing him yesterday,” he told me. “That close.” He placed his thumb and index finger a hair’s width apart. “He passed a unmarked highway patrolman on I-40 doing ninety miles an hour. The patrolman lost him at Tijeras.”
    It’s pretty hard to lose anybody in Tijeras, which is just a dot on the Interstate map. “How did that happen?”
    â€œThe patrolman spun out on the exit ramp.”
    â€œDidn’t he call for backup?”
    â€œYeah, but by the time the backup got there Cade had disappeared into the East Mountains.” The East Mountains, a forested area on the backside of the Sandias, is a place where bodies—alive or dead—often disappear.
    â€œHe keeps showing his face in public taunting us,” Saia continued. “Or the Four O’s. This could be one area where our interests coincide. Here’s a picture taken on his last trip to court.” He dove into the pile on his desk and pulled out a photo. “Nice guy, huh?”
    The suspect, who was being led from the courtroom with his hands in cuffs and his legs in restraints, was snarling like he was getting ready to spit at the camera, his mouth being the only weapon he could still use. “What do you want to do? Wipe the sneer off his face?”
    â€œSomething like that,” Saia said. “I got a witness, I got an impulsive and remorseless suspect, I got a motive. You’re not going to complicate a simple gangbang homicide for me, are you?”
    â€œI hope not.”
    He looked at his watch. “Anything else, Neil? I’ve got a meeting coming up.”
    â€œA meeting or a