Day of the Dead

by R. Allen Chappell

  “Well, I’ll just be damned,” Charlie couldn’t believe it. “Who’d a thought Robert Ashki would go out like this.”

  “Oh, and one other thing, Charlie. Tribal’s missing file folder…they found it behind the truck seat. Apparently, it was behind some sort of panel, or more likely it was hidden there. It looked like someone may have searched the truck after the accident, but it was dark, and they missed it. I figured you’d want to know.” The connection faded but Bob’s last statement was clear enough. “I’m guessing there are people relieved to hear Ashki’s dead.” He paused before going on, “Maybe you’d know someone with a reason to take him out?”

  Charlie couldn’t deny Ashki’s death might make more than one person happy. “There’s several people who’d fall into that second category Bob, you’d be surprised how many. There are, for sure, some who will sleep better tonight knowing he’s gone.” Privately, Charlie was thinking that would be about everyone involved in the Ashki case, including his co-conspirators. “There will be few tears shed over Robert Ashki’s death.”

  “That’s about how we had it figured, Charlie.” The agent sounded serious when he added, “Having too many suspects almost makes an investigation tougher than having too few.”

  Charlie waited for the agent to comment further, and when he didn’t, thought he might as well bring up another question. “So, Bob, does this mean you won’t be needing me on this one?” Charlie sounded almost disappointed, even to himself, and he hurried to correct that impression, “What I mean to say is, Bob…it’s not a problem…not a problem at all.”

  On the other end Agent Freeman smiled, it wasn’t the first time a reluctant recruit was finally convinced to help them, only to be disappointed when he found he might not be needed after all. It happened more often than one might think, especially with people leading less than exciting lives. Bob Freeman being unaware Charlie was not one of those people, continued, “I’ll let you know when I hear something further. I’ll see that Fred Smith is briefed as well, but he’s probably been notified—the ball has most likely fallen into his court by now.” The agent didn’t hesitate to clarify his position. “Charlie, I’m not saying we won’t still need you at some point.” The agent wanted that door left open. “We would, of course, welcome your input on what’s going on up there.” The agent then closed the conversation with, “By the way, Charlie, none of this is restricted information; the State Patrol released most of it to Albuquerque media sources hours ago. It’ll be all over the news up there tonight…Ashki being who he was.”

  Charlie barely hung up the phone, when it rang again. This might be Sue calling from town…was what he thought, but it wasn’t his wife. It was Thomas Begay, and the investigator could instantly tell from his friend’s tone the news wasn’t going to be good.

  “The old man’s come up missing, Charlie, we can’t find him…pretty much looked everywhere, and nothing.” There was more concern in Thomas’s voice than Charlie had heard in a long while; Thomas was not ordinarily one to show his feelings.

  “He’s not out with the sheep, is he?” It was a silly question and Charlie immediately regretted asking it.

  “No, Charlie, the kids have the sheep today. Paul left sometime after they did. We noticed pretty quick when he didn’t come in for his morning coffee, but we didn’t think it was a big deal until he still hadn’t shown up an hour later.” The emotion came through as Thomas found it necessary to clear his throat before going on. “I have to admit it’s starting to worry me. This isn’t the first time he’s taken off like this—without letting anyone know where he’s going—but never for this length of time. We checked with the neighbors and none of them have seen hide nor hair of him.”

  Charlie, unable to come up with anything he thought helpful could only offer, “Well at least we can rule out Robert Ashki being in the mix. I just got a call from the DEA in Albuquerque that Ashki’s body was found in a wrecked truck south of Cuba. I’m still waiting to hear what actually happened down there.”

  Now it was Thomas Begay’s turn to be surprised. “Robert Ashki… Dead? When was that? My Uncle Johnny’s wife, Marissa, called just last night from their chapter house. When I asked about Ashki, she said, John ran into Robert’s brother a day or so ago. The brother told him Robert caught a ride up there a few days ago, and borrowed his truck. He said Robert told him he had to make a trip to Albuquerque to look into some legal business. Something to do with a lawsuit he was pursuing. His brother couldn’t seem to remember what it was all about.”

  “Well, your Uncle John will probably hear about Ashki pretty quick; it’s supposed to be all over the state and local news by noon.” Charlie couldn’t imagine living so far out you had to drive most of an hour, back and forth, just to make a phone call, a transistor radio the only dependable source of news from the outside world.

  Thomas didn’t say anything for a while; Charlie waited, letting him think it through. Thomas’s mind sometimes ground to a halt when trying to think about two things at once.

  Finally, it occurred to Charlie to ask, “Have you thought about getting Harley Ponyboy over there to see if he can get a lead on what direction Paul may have taken?”

  “I thought about it but decided not just yet. Paul may have just walked down to the highway and hitched a ride into town. You know how he is, he don’t want to be a bother to no one. He can’t drive himself anymore—says his eyes aren’t good enough even in the daytime.”

  “Well, I’ll call Sue and let her know he’s gone missing. She has the kids in town today for a birthday party. I’ll have her keep an eye out for him. Shiprock’s not so big he can avoid her for long if he’s there—she’ll be seeing a lot of people today and I expect someone will know something.” He chuckled, “These days, it seems like Sue knows just about everyone in town.”

  Thomas laughed, too, “Between her and Lucy, I bet they do know everyone.”

  Charlie thought a moment before asking, “Have you already called your nephew? Billy might be able to come up with something.”

  “I did call Billy a while ago, when I couldn’t get you on the phone; he said he’d have Officer Sosi watch for him on the highway coming into town. Hastiin has that stretch on his patrol route today and will keep his eyes peeled.”

  “I’m sure Billy will be poking around, too; he likes Paul. That old man will turn up soon, I’d bet on it.”

  The Fuse

  Tressa snapped her fingers in front of Abe’s nose. “Are you listening to me, Burro?” Her alcoholic indulgence of the night before had left her short-fused, and should Abe’s lack of attention be any indicator, with somewhat less authority than she’d previously enjoyed. She was afraid Abe might have been doing some thinking on his own and that was not good…not good at all. Little Abe was better at doing, than he was thinking, and though not slow-witted, or without talent, he still was at his best when supervised. “Everything has been arranged, Abraham.” Tressa spoke in a low but forceful voice, hoping to make plain her recovered powers. Abraham, hearing the harshness in her words, paid more attention and finally decided Tressa was indeed back.

  Little Abe listened carefully now as she outlined what was required of him. He thought it surprisingly little considering the scope of the proposed venture. Apparently, he would not have to do any actual killing now—she would see that Carlos and Hector were taken care of—but he would have a critical role in what came after. This suited Little Abe just fine, he was still somewhat leery of doing a killing in a country flaunting the death penalty. Not that he was incapable of such a thing should it become necessary, he was pretty sure he could do it if it came right down to it.

  Still, Abe had to admit, even he had his limits. He’d heard it said the prisons in this country were downright pleasant when compared to their Mexican counterparts—death penalty excepted. Some of those so condemned, might well have been found innocent, had they the advantage of modern investigative techniques. Without them, however, a few poor souls were executed, only
to be cleared posthumously. It seemed, from what he’d heard, a particular problem in regard to minorities.

  In any case, it was what it was. He had always deemed it part of the risk a person took when he allowed himself to be caught in the first place. He’d tried not to think any further than that. Now, he had a different view of things, as his old father in Sinaloa liked to put it, “It depends whose head is on the block.”

  Tressa was adamant, “It’s all very simple, Abraham, and I have already set the wheels in motion. When Carlos and the old man have their supper tonight those little chilies they are so fond of will be loaded with something that will knock them out. It takes a while, but it should work. They won’t give us any trouble.”

  “Knock them out?” This was not the plan! The plan was to kill them, prevent retaliation, and satisfy Tressa’s lust for revenge.

  “Yes, Abe, we are going to take them with us—make it look like a robbery and kidnapping. Smart. No? There will be nothing left behind to make things more difficult.”

  “Take them with us?” No, this was not the plan…it was nowhere near the plan. This was something entirely different and Little Abe had a good idea where it came from. That man who came to Tressa’s window…he was the one who put this in her head.

  She looked askance at the young man and lowered one eyelid as she smiled. “You can drive a pickup, can’t you, Abraham?”

  Little Abe drew himself to his full height and put on his most disdainful face. “Well, of course, I can drive a pickup, Tressa. Do you think everyone in Sinaloa still rides around on donkeys?”

  Tressa smiled her show of confidence. “Of course not, Abraham, it’s just that getting out of here without attracting attention will be very important. The driving rules are a little different from Mexico. It’s not like we can bribe our way out of trouble with a little mordida here and there.” All the while, Tressa was thinking, No, everything must go exactly right if this new plan is to work, and you, Little Abe, had better be able to carry out your part.”

  Little Abe was somewhat taken aback as Tressa endeavored to explain the new plan in detail. If there were to be no killings, how risky can this be? Despite his growing doubts Abe thought it a bit early to consider jumping ship, which could prove even more dangerous.

  When the two of them crept down the hall to the old man’s office, each with a little satchel containing their few belongings, Tressa stood aside as Little Abe grasped the knob and opened the door just a crack. Peering in from this limited vantage he could make out very little in the light of the small desk lamp. One thing he could see quite clearly, however, were the bags of money sitting in the middle of the desk. Giving Tressa a confused look, he beckoned her closer and opened the door a bit wider for her to see. Abe stood looking in bewilderment at the empty office, Tressa, on the other hand, didn’t seem entirely surprised. Inching into the room, the pair still could see no sign of Carlos or old Hector Espinosa, but the side door to the office was ajar and standing in the dim opening was the tall Mexican who had visited Tressa in the night. The two of them stood stock-still, leaving only the stranger undaunted. Silently, the man pointed to the tied and silent forms of Carlos and Hector Espinosa lying at his feet. He motioned for Little Abe to come help him with the squirming bundles.

  Abraham immediately looked to Tressa, but she, after exchanging a quick glance with the stranger, motioned Abe forward.

  So far not one word had been spoken and even as the two men dragged Carlos Espinosa from the room, the only sound was of Tressa hurrying to the desk to gather up the moneybags, which she stuffed in her satchel. Then already turned to the door, she stopped and hesitated for just a split second, before returning to the desk. Everyone knew Hector kept a pistol there. He would often leave the top drawer partially open, the weapon in plain view. When someone was called to his office he wanted it known he meant business, and that he wouldn’t hesitate to take action should it be required. Tressa quickly removed the automatic pistol, and tucking it in her waistband, smoothed the apron over it.

  In the parking area behind the office, Tressa watched as the stranger and Little Abe loaded the two trussed-up forms into the camper of Hector’s pickup, spreading a tarp over and around them as an added precaution. Only then did the tall Mexicano look her way and nod as she moved to the door he held for her.

  Little Abe, now on the passenger side of the truck, opened his own door and got in thinking he had been right all along; Tressa had more to do with the intruder than she let on. Obviously the two had put their heads together on this. But who was this man and why was he helping them in so dangerous an undertaking? That was the question. Abe was even more puzzled that the man had, apparently, even left them the money.

  The first thing Tressa said, as she settled herself between the two men in the front seat, was, “Abraham, this is Chewy Mariano, old Sancho’s son…he is here to help us.” She knew this wouldn’t clear things up for Little Abe but felt it quite enough for the present.

  Abraham, leaning forward a bit that he might see past Tressa, acknowledged the man with a cautious lift of his chin and couldn’t help thinking, Chewy? Why does there always have to be a “Chewy?” The driver didn’t acknowledge him, or offer the courtesy of looking his way, concentrating instead on the deserted back road. It was now three in the morning and with just a few hours until daylight, Little Abe was growing anxious. His hand strayed to the door handle as he considered jumping each time they slowed for a corner. Even to Abe, who had a certain amount of experience with such goings on, the entire thing seemed surreal. The thought flashed through his mind, he might be trapped in a bad dream—a nightmare. Whatever it was, it wasn’t going away and was headed downhill fast. At this point he could only hope for a quick and painless end. At last, getting a grip on himself, he turned to Tressa and whispered in her ear, “I thought you said I could drive?”

  Tressa, like Chewy, kept her eyes on the road and didn’t answer right away, but when she did it was so harshly put as to offer little consolation. “You’ll get to drive, Abraham, don’t you worry about that,” and then after a moment and even more sharply, “You’ll soon have all the driving you can handle.”

  The truck swerved onto an isolated gravel road running south out of town and in only a few minutes the driver grunted to himself, doused the headlights, and leaving only the parking lights to guide them, turned abruptly onto a dirt road. Tressa caught her breath as she grabbed for the dash. Obviously, Chewy was familiar with where he was going and proved it by twisting his way through a small grove of cottonwoods hiding a ramshackle little clapboard house. The only sign of habitation was a tired old Ford pickup, sitting as though abandoned, in the front yard. Abe thought he caught a fleeting glint of another vehicle hidden behind the house. Chewy turned off the parking lights before shutting down the engine; the silence, cloaked as it was in near total darkness, was suffocating.

  No one dared speak as the door swung open and old Sancho Mariano, nearly indiscernible in the light of a small lantern, studied them from behind a double barrel shotgun. Nearly a minute passed before the old man, apparently satisfied, moved the light in a prearranged signal. Only then did his son open the truck door and step out.

  “Hola Papa,” Chewy called softly on his way to the porch, then, still glancing back at the truck, walked slowly up to his father and with hat in hand spoke privately with the old man.

  Tressa watched from the comparative safety of her seat and didn’t move to get out. Little Abe, one hand already on the door handle, took this as a sign, and he, too, was reluctant to open his door. He was thinking it might be better to wait for some signal from Tressa. She might be only second in command now, but still, she knew more than he did.

  After a while, old Sancho, raising the lantern higher, beckoned from the porch, but indicated with one finger that only Tressa was to come forward. She immediately got out of the truck telling Little Abe to stay put, then picked her way through the darkness wearing a strained smile.

 
The old man handed his shotgun and lantern to his son and met the woman with a fatherly hug, saying, “Ahh…Mija, what you have endured these last months. It’s beyond me how you got through it all…but here you are still alive and on your way back home.” His smile turned to a look of dismay and caught her off guard, “I heard only yesterday you were in line for a most unpleasant time with those people and thought I should send Chewy right away to see what could be done. We’ve had plans for the Espinosas for some time and figured we might as well join forces.” He looked past her to the truck. “We will do everything we can for you…along with your little friend, también.”

  Tressa could only sob on the old man’s shoulder as she mumbled a blessing for his compassion and understanding. “But for you, Señor, I should already be dead or a murderess or worse.”

  Little Abe, listening at the truck’s open window, wondered to himself how one could possibly be worse than dead or a murderess, but knew if there were a way, Tressa would know about it.

  In the dim glow of the lantern the three now looked toward the truck and lowered their voices, forcing Little Abe to strain his ears, yet try as he might, he could no longer make any sense of what they were saying. In another few minutes he saw Tressa being handed some small something, and watched as she gave the old man a final embrace. With only a wave for Chewy, the woman made her way back to the truck.

  “Bring our things, Abraham; we are going in the other truck.” She waved a hand at Sancho Mariano’s disreputable old pickup. “He says no one will be looking for it, and in a few hours Hector’s truck will be on every lawman’s list.”