Day of the Dead

by R. Allen Chappell

  Abe looked back over his shoulder and attempted to see through the camper shell’s sliding glass. “What about these two pendejos in the camper?” He said this with a twist of his chin to indicate their two captives. “I can’t see them very well, pero I think one of them is making a little squeak…or something...”

  “Never mind about them, Abraham. I’m guessing they’ll soon be making a big squeak. Chewy and his father have something special in mind for those two—something far beyond what I was considering.” She threw a glance at the porch and then indicated with a thumb that Abe should get moving. “I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

  Little Abe was speechless that anyone might contrive a more horrific end for the Espinosas than those so often described by Tressa. It would have to be something well beyond his personal experience, and being from Sinaloa, his experience was nothing to be sneezed at. He gathered their satchels and followed her to the other truck. He soon realized he had seen this old Ford parked outside Espinosa’s bar, where it often drew laughter from the kitchen help, a few declaring even they would never be seen in such a wreck. Little Abe could not help having reservations. As far as he was concerned this pickup truck—as a getaway vehicle—posed serious problems.

  He and Tressa stood on opposite sides of the truck, peering cautiously through the cab at each other. He knew Tressa was looking back at him in the darkness but was unable to tell by her face what she might be thinking. Abe opened the door and stowed their bags behind the seat, settling himself under the wheel. “I don’ know, Tressa, maybe we would be better off taking Hector’s truck…you know, just take a chance we won’t be stopped by the policia. That other truck is only five or six years old and runs pretty good as far as I could tell. This old cabron is older than me…maybe a lot older than me.”

  “Just start the truck, Abraham. The old man said we would be better off with it. He said he wouldn’t mind having it back someday if we make it to Mexico…that has to say something for it I think.”

  “Ah, si, what he may be saying is we’ll be lucky to make it to Mexico in such as this.” Abraham sighed heavily, shook his head, and put the key in the ignition. When the truck rumbled to life, a strange little smile crossed his face. “This is not your regular old abuelo’s truck, is it, Tressa? He listened a moment to the powerful eight-cylinder engine burbling under the hood. “No, Tressa, this truck has been messed with, I think.” He put the four-speed in gear, and as he flicked on the parking lights, the dash lit up to reveal instruments he’d seen only in car magazines. He tapped the accelerator a few times and listened as the engine snorted, then snarled. Little Abe grinned over at Tressa, “With a little luck, we might make it after all.”

  The woman leaned over and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you like it, Abraham. Try not to wreck it—Chewy said he would kill you if you did.”

  Abraham turned with a grim little smile, “Well, he will have to catch me first, and that’s not likely with this truck.”

  It took a few minutes for Little Abe to work his way back through the cottonwood trees, but once out on the main road he headed south. Both he and Tressa felt a wave of relief wash over them, but for Abraham, it didn’t last long.

  The Plant

  Charlie Yazzie looked up from his desk to see the new receptionist wending her way back to his office. He frowned as the girl tapped at the windowed door. “Come on in,” he called. Gwen, her name is Gwen…he reminded himself, and watched her fumble with the knob as she juggled a handful of papers.

  “Sorry, Mr. Yazzie, the intercom’s out again. And the phones won’t transfer either. This new system is crap.”

  Charlie shook his head and nodded. He remembered now, she was a Bitter Water Clan girl, some distant clan relation of Harley Ponyboy, or so he claimed. Her mother had been office manager when Charlie first applied for the job at Legal Services. He was right out of university then and thought he knew everything. It had taken a while to be disabused of that notion. It seemed like a long time ago now…and it was.

  “A couple of these messages were on the recorder and looked like they might be important.” Gwen shuffled through the weekend stack and put several on his desk. “The repair guy is on his way from Farmington to fix the phone system.” She stood there as though waiting for some hint she had done the right thing by taking charge all on her own.

  Charlie tilted his head. “That’s good. Gwen, it sounds like you have everything under control this morning. Thanks.”

  The girl smiled imperceptibly as she backed through the door. She was still smiling as she went about distributing the rest of the messages. Charlie had made her day.

  One message was from the phone company’s system support people and he pushed it aside. The second said simply:

  8:00 a.m.

  “I am on my way to pick up my husband and his belongings. I will be there sometime this afternoon. I’ll call. “

  Tressa Tarango

  Charlie had to read the note twice before it hit him, and when it did he felt a rush of feelings he couldn’t have anticipated. His mind was still filled with it when he picked up the third and last message. He unfolded the paper and began reading Gwen’s neat script, he already had the feeling it might be a game changer.

  8:35 a.m.

  Things are heating up…too much happening to leave on the machine. Your phone’s not picking up. I’ll try to catch you at your office at nine this morning. Bob

  Charlie looked at the clock, ten till nine—Bob Freeman wouldn’t be late. He swiveled his chair to look out the window. This could get interesting...

  The sky was darkening toward Pastora Peak and though he couldn’t see the mountain from here, he knew that was where the low-pressure system would be forming up for an end run toward Teec Nos Pos. The low bank of clouds would already be over Tsaili. The many ruins under the rim of Canyon de Chelly would be dreary and cold, but no rain would find them there. People would be keeping their sheep home this morning until they figured out what the weather would do. Feed was expensive this year and those sheep might well miss their breakfast.

  …Unusual direction for a storm this time of year... Charlie was still thinking of sheep when he saw Bob’s sedan pull into the back lot below his window. He watched as the DEA Agent opened his car door, studied the parking lot as though he might be on the lookout for someone, and then glanced up at Charlie’s office window before heading for the back entrance. Bob wasn’t wearing a hat and as the wind gusted around the building his hair caught up in it, and for just an instant, in spite of the suit, he looked like a wild man.

  Charlie was smiling as he turned back toward the reception area. The phone guy was already busy at Gwen’s desk but looking a little puzzled as he listened to the receptionist explain her theory of what was wrong with the system. The Tribal Investigator watched as the two silently pantomimed their conversation. The repairman, frowning, nodding in all the appropriate places, shrugged finally and dug into his bag of instruments and tools.

  Agent Freeman happened to approach Gwen from her blind side and the girl jumped a little as he tapped her on the shoulder. Charlie was still grinning as he met the agent at the door and shook hands before pulling the door shut behind them. The investigator pushed a seat closer to his desk then picked his way around to settle in his own chair. He reached down and unplugged the intercom, just as he’d seen Fred Smith do in the FBI office. He thought this a security measure he might do well to emulate. Who knew when the apparatus might suddenly turn itself on?

  Neither man spoke for a moment. Bob opened a leather portfolio to remove a sheaf of papers, which he spread on the desk in front of him. He looked up at the Tribal Investigator, and cut right to the chase. “They fingered our guy up at Espinosas’ in Colorado.” The agent’s voice remained calm, as though to minimize the gravity of what was to come.

  Apparently, the DEA doesn’t spend much time crying over informants in trouble. The thought occurred to Charlie along with the unsettling revelation i
t could be a forewarning of what he might expect in a similar situation.

  Bob answered before Charlie even asked the question. “Oh, he finally turned up this morning. Left for dead in a storage shed behind Hector’s bar. A passing stray dog jumped the fence and was digging and barking at the door. That’s what attracted our agents when they went to question employees.” There was a hint of sympathy when he said, “Our guy had taken quite a beating. He’s a big tough bastard though, and it looks like he’s going to come through it all right.” He pulled out a photo of the former enforcer taken just as he was found. Charlie glanced sideways at the picture and winced.

  “He told our people he was nearly certain Tressa Tarango and Abraham Garza were on the Espinosas’ hit list and might well be dead already. We still haven’t been able to find what’s become of them. Hector and his nephew, Carlos, as of this morning, are on the list of missing persons as well. The bouncer’s cousin, a bartender there at the restaurant, told us he hadn’t seen the Espinosas since late Saturday night, just before closing. He thought Abraham Garza and the Tarango woman must have disappeared about the same time. So far, there’s still no trace of any of them.”

  Charlie could only imagine what effect this was having on the carefully laid plans of the DEA. He shook his head, offering a look he hoped might convey some understanding of what was at stake. The agent nodded and went on. “We don’t know if the Espinosas have abducted Garza and Tarango…or if they made a run for it, in which case Hector and Carlos may be out tracking them down. None of the other employees would say anything…too scared.” The agent almost smiled. “On the bright side, with a little help from his cousin, we do think we can flip the bartender. The man knows a lot about the operation and is already looking for a hole to hide in. Maybe we can turn him or maybe not, we’ll see. Either way, when our guy is out of the hospital he’ll be in witness protection. He might be there a long time before we get this case back together.” Bob fidgeted in his chair thinking he might have overstepped in divulging even this much.

  “What’s your main objective here, Bob?” Charlie wasn’t sure what the DEA were most interested in—Hector Espinosa or…

  “Abraham Garza’s our main concern. If we lose him, we lose any leverage we might have with his old man. Everything hinges on Abraham Senior coming around. He’s one of the few weak links we’ve been able to come up with down there.” Agent Freeman had made inferences to this probability in previous talks, but the investigator now had, for the first time, a better picture of what the DEA was up against.

  The agent pushed back in his chair and rubbed his jaw with the knuckles of one hand; he hadn’t shaved in several days and, to Charlie’s mind, was actually beginning to look more like a DEA agent was supposed to.

  Charlie could see Freeman might make a good undercover guy—should he let his hair grow and lose the suit.

  Bob ran his fingers through his thinning hair and grinned, “Right now, word out of Sinaloa is the Espinosa family has a recovery team on the way to Colorado—specialists, supposedly some of the best in the business or at least in Mexico.”

  “Recovery team for what?” Charlie was thinking this might mean it was all over for Tressa Tarango.

  “Money, Drugs, even people. Who knows? Hector Espinosa was known to stockpile large quantities of product, and most likely reserves of cash as well. It will be critical for the Sinaloa people to locate their missing relatives and either bring them in…. or in the case of Abraham and Tressa…take them out.”

  Charlie narrowed an eye. “What’s your chances of beating them to it, Bob?”

  “We’re working on that. Hector’s home is under surveillance as we speak. He has a couple of wooded acres outside of town and a huge new home, plenty of room to hide stuff. Some of those caches we’d probably never find on our own. I imagine the Sinaloa people will have a pretty good idea where to look and when they do, we’ll be ready for them.”

  “It looks like all the action will be up there now. I suppose there won’t be much I can do down here?”

  “Well, Charlie, probably not, and I’m sorry it worked out this way. I was looking forward to working with you. But, in fact, I’m heading back up to Colorado this afternoon myself. I would like, at the very least, to salvage something out of the situation.”

  Charlie, on the spur of the moment, and not really knowing why, decided not to mention the note from Tressa Tarango, even though it was lying in front of him under the agent’s own message. Instead he put on a face to match the agent’s. “Bob, I’m sure working with you fellows would have been an interesting experience.” Charlie rose from his chair and moved around the end of the desk, to hold out a hand. “Who knows … maybe there’ll be a next time?”

  “I hope so, Charlie, I do.” And as the agent stood, they shook hands. Charlie couldn’t help feeling doubtful of his further chances of collusion between the agencies, at least not with the way things stood now. Still, he wanted to leave that option open. He could see it was a tricky business and an unpredictable one. Given what he had learned earlier, Charlie felt something might still be possible, if not inevitable.

  The Legal Services Investigator stood at the window watching as the Federal Agent opened his car door, removed his jacket, and then shrugged as though suddenly aware someone might be watching. When he turned to look up, Charlie raised a hand, and though he couldn’t be sure, thought he saw the agent smile in return. It was a strange organization, the DEA, but one that seemed to know its business, and from what he’d heard, was still the front line in the war against drugs coming in from Mexico. He couldn’t shake the idea of working with them but next time, if it happened, it would be on his own terms.

  The Chase

  Little Abe was clearly in his element. He played the old truck like a baby grand—one with a supercharged V-8 under the hood. Approaching turns he geared down then accelerated through the bend before ripping into the straightaways, foot to the floor. Occasionally the old truck fishtailed, tires squealing out of the skid. The suspension was state of the art as was the rest of the chassis, leaving only the vehicle’s disreputable appearance to conceal the true nature of the beast.

  The sun was just breaking the long grey line of the horizon when it occurred to him to ask without turning, “Who is that old man and his son back there? That Sancho Mariano?”

  Tressa had been dreaming of Mexico and the Dia de los Muertos… she, decked out in costume and painted face, proudly bringing the remains of the village’s most notorious son to its final resting place. She turned, slowly, from the dream and smiled in that way she often did when she meant for Little Abe to feel foolish. “Well, he’s not just some old vaquero out of lower Sonora. I can tell you that, Abraham. He’s someone who knows how to keep his life hidden from prying eyes.” She couldn’t keep a sneer from her lips as she went on. “Not like that ingrato Carlos Espinosa, or his evil Uncle Hector—both of whom may already be paying the price of their wickedness.” She smiled more broadly at the thought and then looked slyly over at Abraham. “Who do you think that old man is, Abraham?”

  Little Abe took a deep breath and slowly exhaled shaking his head in resignation. “If I knew who he was, Tressa…I wouldn’t be asking you.” He grew testy, knowing he was once again being played. She was making him part of that little game she enjoyed. He gritted his teeth, determined to give her the least possible amount of satisfaction. Sometimes he indulged the woman…but not today. Things were going too well, and for the first time in a long while he felt he actually had a chance at life. He wasn’t going to let her spoil it…not this time… but in only a moment he had relented, as he was often prone to do. Before he could again ask the question, Tressa’s expression went from taunting to one suggesting a measure of excitement he’d never seen before. Little Abe could almost see her changing her mind. She turned, and slowly emphasized each word with the shake of a finger, as though speaking to a child. “He and his older brother are the head of the Sonora Family, you silly goose. Did you
think I would let some old cowboy be in charge of our lives? Why do you think Chewy let us keep all the money from the restaurant last night? That little bit of money don’t mean nothing to them. They wouldn’t dirty their hands with it, Abraham. No, Señor, they are men of purpose, and might very soon control everything Hector Espinosa has built in that town. You are lucky he didn’t keep you there with him, Hombrecito. Old Sancho knows who you are, and who your father is, too. But, he is too smart to kill you just now—he said he is saving you, but he didn’t say for what.” Tressa fell silent for just a moment and when she finally spoke again her voice came softer and she leaned his way to whisper, “I had to beg to take you with me, Amigo. I told him I needed you to help take my Luca’s bones back to our village.” She gave a little sniffle. “I promised I would keep watch on you till we got to Mexico. Once we cross the border, we‘ll be in Sonora State. Sancho Mariano’s other son lives just across the frontera and he will keep a finger on you from there. Sonora State is where we’ll have to worry Abraham. If Chewy wasn’t occupied with Hector and Carlos, he would have come with me, and you would have wound up with the Espinosas—and trust me—you don’t want what’s going to happen to them.

  Little Abe’s eyes grew wide, not so much with fear, but rather on hearing she would risk everything to keep him from so tenuous a fate.

  “Why Tressa…why would you do this for me?”

  She didn’t answer, concentrating instead on the blurred line of fence posts rushing by in a graying dawn.

  “Well, for one thing, Abraham, I trust you, as far as one person can ever trust another. I owe you, hombre. I couldn’t just throw you in the river. And, anyway…I guess, I’m a little afraid of Chewy, too. He only got out of prison a while ago and has a reputation for doing desperate things. He was not so bad a man as Luca Tarango, but he was bold enough to be his father’s right-hand man, and old Sancho is happy to have him back.”