Frye and Mendez are moving through a busy, urban part of Juarez, speculating on the significance of the four people the killer named on the phone. Two were supposedly in real estate, and the other two oil and farming. "Bullshit, it was drugs," Frye insists, probably talking about Karl Millwright. Mendez says they don't know that, but Frye says they do, this close to the border. Good, print that and see what happens. Just then they happen to come across a rapidly escalating verbal confrontation on the sidewalk. Frye looks like he's going to try to calm them down, but lucky for him neither of the two men take notice of him. Instead, one of them draws a gun and shoots the other square in the forehead, then walks away. As pedestrians scatter screaming, Frye collapses backward in horror against a fruit stand, staring at the freshly dead man on the sidewalk in a messy puddle of brain-blood. Mendez rushes back and hauls Frye to his feet, dragging him away. "Come on, it's dangerous!" It certainly was for someone.
That evening, Mendez has apparently brought Frye to her family's place, which is stereotypically crowded and cluttered. It's filled with young women and children, the noise of a telenovela, and the smells of an impending dinner. Probably Mexican. In Spanish, Mendez introduces Fyre to her mom, saying, "We work together." She sits down at her computer, saying she needs to quickly file a story about someone getting shot in Obreras. That should be lacking in details. Frye begs Senora Medez for some beer or tequila, and picks his way through the crowd to the tiny dinner table, stammering about the shooting and how they couldn't get back across the bridge. "And then Adriana said that we could…" The end of his sentence is cut off by the mom-provided beer which he immediately sticks into his beerhole.
Mendez's mom asks if Frye is her boyfriend, and they both deny it. "I'm single, shit," says one of Mendez's sisters or cousins, and several of them agree. "Hey, can you guys stop throwing your pussies at my coworker?" Mendez barks over her laptop. Her mom gives Frye a bottle of tequila and a glass to go with the beer, and Frye tells the table at large, "You can throw whatever you want at me." He drinks to throwing with the aplomb of a man who is accustomed to drinking to just about anything.
Cross is pasting crime scene photos up on a board at the station, and Wade confesses to her and Ruiz, "I just Google-searched 'dialectics,' I still don't know what it means." I'm glad to say that the first page of Google results does not return any references to The Bridge. Yet. Cross gives a succinct explanation: "Poles. Two sides. America, Mexico. Legal, illegal." Cross, Ruiz, nobody adds. Ruiz says that there's no obvious connection between the four names the killer rattled off and the case. "They're all rich, American, and they're white," Cross says. Wade wonders how Judge Gates fits in. "And Maria's the opposite," Cross says. Has everyone completely forgotten about Cristina Fuentes?