Cactus Heart

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I didn’t know if I would ever tell this story. It was 1999, a strange time, not long after I had returned to Phoenix. Everybody seemed flush, pundits predicted the Dow would reach 36,000, and even deputies day-traded stocks. Health-conscious yuppies smoked fifty-dollar Churchills in plush cigar bars, and the Internet was everywhere. Peralta kept giving me work at the Sheriff’s Office, and I was spending my nights with a young woman named Lindsey. Later, what happened next would seem like a dream, like another man’s life. I would never have gotten into such troubles. But I did. This is how it happened.

Throughout history, the desert has been a place of trial, penance, and hard-won revelation. God lives in the desert. But Satan does, too. In the American West, conquistadors and cowboys were tested, and often broken, by the desert. Its vastness hid no cities of gold. Its implacable heat and drought were hostile to the white man’s crops and cattle. Even as the frontier disappeared, the Sonoran Desert remained a wild and unknown place, the home of strange gods, a waterless world of danger and mystery.

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