While Cross is wondering what that's about, Wade comes up to introduce himself. Cross hands Wade the file, tattling, "His name is on the file for Christina Fuentes, but he didn't investigate at all." "Well, now he gets a second chance," Hank says diplomatically. He informs them that the Sherriff's office found the judge's car, and Cross grabs her coat. "I guess she's driving," Ruiz observes to Hank, who advises, "Buckle up, amigo." That probably applies to more than just the car ride.
Cut to the Crossmobile tearing down the road, much faster than it did before the sun came up. Ruiz isn't thrilled with the choice of music on her radio, which turns out to technically not be a choice. "Tape's stuck," she says, and smacks his hand away when he reaches forward to try to free it. After an awkward pause, Cross explains, "The truck is my sister's. She died." Ruiz tries to start another conversation, looking at a silver horse-head necklace hanging from the rearview mirror next to the dream catcher. "So you like horses?" he ventures. "No," Cross says.
She has her own subject to broach, asking whether Ruiz took any money from Charlotte, the woman on the bridge. He denies it without heat, but she presses, "They say you're all corrupt. Mexican police, you all take bribes?" Obviously not; didn't she ever see Traffic? "Not all of us," says Ruiz, who apparently did. He says the cartels threaten everyone and it's sometimes easier for some to look the other way. "For a price, of course," he adds. "They give you money so you won't do the police work?" Cross asks. Ruiz puts it a little more eloquently: "They tell you, plata o plomo. Take our silver or take our lead." "So you just let the girls die?" Cross presses. Ruiz says he does his best. "You should try harder," she insists. "Of course I should," he drawls with exaggerated patience. Good thing he buckled up.
Charlotte is driven onto her ranch in the back of an SUV. The ranch foreman, Cesar, greets her with hat in hand and his sympathies, and says he told the rest of the staff the news about her husband. "Good, because I don't want to be disturbed," she says. She retires to her bedroom and mopes there for a bit while Dry Cooder mutters another slow ballad on the soundtrack. She dumps out the plastic bag of her husband's personal effects that she brought back from the hospital, which include not only an iPhone but a second, much cheaper and probably illicit, cell phone that she can't unlock. After a few tries she returns to the iPhone, but then the second phone buzzes. The display reads only "Blocked Number." "Bueno? Carl?" asks a female voice. "Who is this?" Charlotte demands, and hears the click of someone hanging up. The international language of BUSTED.