Day of the Dead

by R. Allen Chappell

  “So, what was he going to do with them?”

  “Well, he wanted to know where he should take ‘em.” Thomas raised a finger and shook it, “You told me to use my own judgment…I thought about it and said for him to take them to Annie Eagletree’s place, until you could figure what to do.” Thomas waited to hear he’d done something right for a change, and when that didn’t happen, asked straight out, “You had someplace better in mind?”

  “It’s not that. I’m pretty sure Bob Freeman has been tailing me since I left the office. I imagine he’s watching us right now—just waiting to see where I’m headed.”

  “I know…I been watching him in the side mirror. He’s pulled over on that last big rise, behind the rock outcrop on the right.”

  Charlie checked the rear view mirror but couldn’t see the blue ‘sneaker’ unit from that angle. “Well, I’d better get with it then, or he’ll be coming up here thinking this is the place.”

  Thomas got down from the truck with a grimace, already stiff from sitting wet and cold. “I don’t know how long Uncle Johnny can keep his bluff in on those two, but I’ll bet he’s got ‘em plenty scared for right now.”

  “I’ll be back,” Charlie called, putting the Chevy in reverse and flinging mud every which way as he sloughed the truck around and got it pointed toward the highway.

  Thomas Begay leaned into the wind and yelled through the rain. “Don’t you worry—me and Uncle Johnny have everything under control.” It was a good thing Charlie couldn’t make out what he said. He’d heard Thomas say he had things under control on a number of occasions, and not one of them ever ended well.

  Thomas stood there in the rain and the mist until he was sure the Legal Services Investigator was well on his way. Down on the highway there was no traffic to speak of, and it wasn’t hard for someone familiar with every rock and arroyo to make out the front end of the blue sedan, though it was nearly hidden by a squat little juniper. He saw the agent hold back until Charlie was out of sight and then ease out onto the highway.

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie was not the sort to believe in premonitions, but he had one this time, and it wasn’t about Agent Freeman. He knew Bob was keeping just out sight somewhere behind him. No, this was something else. He hoped Thomas’s uncle wasn’t tempted to wreak some personal vendetta on his two charges. Navajo are taught revenge is not healthy for a person’s hozo and consider it a mental aberration particular to whites. John Nez, however, was a Vietnam vet trained by the military to override what they took to be cultural deviations. That made John Nez a hard person to figure out.

  The Investigator caught no sign of Bob Freeman until he was already past Harley Ponyboy’s place and well up the road to Alfred Nakii’s trailer house. Almost there, he chanced to look up at the right time and caught sight of Bob’s car in the rear-view mirror. He was struggling with the sedan as it fishtailed through the icy mud. Charlie watched and smiled as he eased up to Alfred’s with his truck in four-wheel drive. No vehicles in sight, nor was there any other sign the place might be occupied—not a single fresh track in the muddy yard.

  Charlie got out of his truck and leaned against the hood as the DEA agent pulled alongside.

  “Where are they, Charlie? I’m guessing this is where you left them?”

  “Well, this is where I left them, Bob.” Charlie replied truthfully enough, “But, since their pickup’s gone I’ve got to believe, they are too.” Charlie tried his best to look worried over this but was unsure how it came across to the agent.

  The DEA man thought this over as he ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth and squinted one eye at the Navajo investigator. “Are they back there where you first stopped? I was about to pile in on you right then, but you pulled out and headed upcountry so fast I figured I better stick with you. Are they back there at Begay’s, Charlie?”

  “Not that I saw, Bob.”

  Freeman got out and glanced up at a grey sky. The snow was tapering off leaving patches of ground fog to drift below the ridges. The agent picked a spot next to the investigator, lazily stretched and flexed his shoulders, before brushing traces of snow off the hood with a coat sleeve and leaning an elbow there. He looked back across the muddy stretch to the highway. “Well, I kind of figured this might happen.” The agent looked suddenly tired and there was disappointment in his voice. “It probably won’t do any good to go back to your friend’s camp and check, will it?”

  “I doubt it, Bob, I don’t think you’ll find them there.”

  The agent nodded pleasantly enough, but sounded a bit sad when he said, “I’d hoped for better than this, Charlie, I hoped we might someday be working together in Albuquerque.” He raised his chin and closed one eye. “I think you might have liked it down there.”

  The investigator nodded back. “I thought so, too, Bob…at least for a while I did. But I guess I’ve been out here too long now for that. I expect I’m probably better off where I am. I did think about it…on the way out here this morning, but it finally came to me the reservation is where I can do the most good.” Charlie turned his head toward the agent. “This is pretty much where I belong I guess.”

  The two men stood silently, each with his own thoughts, until finally Bob Freeman lifted himself away from the truck and turned to Charlie. “You know I have to take that Garza boy in, don’t you? We’ll get him, one way or the other. It will be the best thing that could happen to him, too, you’ll see, Charlie. Otherwise, someone’s probably going to kill him, either here, or in Mexico. Neither of the two cartels has any reason to keep him alive now that his father’s gone—he’s a liability now.” Bob looked down at the mud. “Does he even know about his father yet?”

  “I doubt it, I didn’t know myself until you told me this morning at the meeting. Abe Garza could be anywhere now—but Bob, if I do see him again, I will advise him to turn himself in. In all honesty, I can’t help thinking you’re right about that. I’d hoped you would take the pair of them under your wing and try to get them through this together, but if you can’t…you can’t.”

  “I tried to make that happen, Charlie, I really did, but my people wouldn’t go for it; for one thing, they think he’d be harder to deal with.” The agent rubbed his hands together and blew his breath on them. The snow had stopped completely but left in its wake an icy breeze sweeping down off the ridge toward the sage flats. “If Chewy Mariano has talked with his people in the last few hours he might know old man Garza is dead. Chewy was probably the one who saved the pair’s bacon at the funeral home. There won’t be any reason for him to safeguard Garza now…there’s no leverage in it for the Sonora people at this point. “Just something to think about, Charlie, I mean…if you should see him again.” The Federal Agent stuck out his hand with a wry smile. “I’ll be seeing you Investigator—no hard feelings—me and you are still good as far as I’m concerned.”

  Charlie Yazzie shook the agent’s hand with a firm grip and looked him in the eye. “We’re good, Bob. I wish it could have turned out differently, but no…we’re good, you and me.”

  The Legal Services Investigator sighed heavily and looked on as the agent’s mud-splattered sedan slid almost sideways in the icy muck and turned down the track. There was no denying it. He liked Bob Freeman.

  21

  Capitulation

  Charlie Yazzie poked around in Alfred’s old trailer making sure John Nez left no bodies behind, and not finding any, was impressed the place had been left so orderly—the propane was turned off, that was important. Back outside it occurred to him John Nez should already have the pair up at Annie’s place, and he hoped it had not inconvenienced his only aunt. Annie Eagletree lived alone now, her second husband, Clyde, having been banished the last several years due to his drinking and overly generous investment of Annie’s money in his lifestyle.

  Charlie took advantage of several four-wheel drive roads on the way to Annie’s place insuring the blue sedan wouldn’t follow.

  ~~~~~~

  When
he pulled up in Annie’s yard, Charlie saw the tailgate of the old Ford pickup, just visible behind her abandoned lambing shed. Not as well hidden as he’d hoped, but he suspected Thomas Begay might have taken care of that part. John Nez probably had his hands full with their detainees.

  Annie Eagletree peeked from the window and smiled at her nephew as he came up on the porch. Charlie was careful to scrape the mud off his boots on the new piece of hardware by the door. It was obvious what it was for, though it was the first one he’d seen. It looked like a big hedgehog…or a small porcupine. Charlie wondered briefly where his aunt got it, and why—Annie’s place was mostly rock and sand—the mud on his boots, he’d brought with him.

  Around Annie’s big table, four sets of eyes fastened on him—two of the people looked unhappy. His aunt, who loved company of any kind, regardless of reputation, was the only one smiling. “Come on in Charlie,” she chuckled, hefting the big coffeepot in greeting as she passed him on her way to the table.

  Tressa Tarango and Abraham Garza sat side by side, under the watchful eye of John Nez, and of course, Thomas Begay, who had beaten Charlie there by a comfortable margin. The tall Navajo fiddled with his cup and raised one eyebrow as he gave Charlie a lift of his chin in greeting. Everyone busied themselves with their coffee giving Charlie Yazzie the side-eyes thinking he was the one in charge now—but no one asked what he had in mind. Annie Eagletree had been made privy to a portion of her new guests’ story and had immediately taken their part. She loved rooting for the underdog and was known to take the side of all but the most heinous offenders in her favorite cop shows. She saw no link between what Tressa Tarango’s late husband might have done, and the couple here at her kitchen table. She motioned her nephew to a chair with an air of approval; Charlie was doing the right thing in helping these people.

  Charlie glanced around the table, finally settling on Little Abe. “Mr. Garza, you and I have something to talk about…in private.” He rose from the table and indicated Abe was to follow. Tressa started to get up, but the investigator motioned her back down with a wave of the hand. No one said anything, only stared into their cups and watched from the corner of an eye as the two men went outside. Not a word was spoken among them until the door reopened and Charlie, followed by the now sad and dejected Abraham, came back to the table. Little Abe sat himself down—not looking directly at Tressa, or anyone else.

  Thomas Begay watched as the investigator doctored his coffee and from long experience knew Charlie was pondering his next move. Thomas admired his friend’s ability to think things through on the fly and was curious to hear what had passed between the investigator and Little Abe. He hadn’t missed the crestfallen look on the younger man’s face. That alone seemed to put the Navajo in a better mood.

  Tressa Tarango, however, had no trouble at all guessing the outcome of the private conference and turned an icy gaze, first on Little Abe, and then away, toward the window, where she raised her chin and refused to acknowledge the glances thrown her way. She knew she was alone now and grasped the box with Luca’s ashes more closely.

  Charlie took a long sip of his coffee and looked around the table. “I have just informed Mr. Garza of the unfortunate death of his father in Sinaloa. And have further advised him, though not in any legal capacity, that his best course of action may now be to accept drug enforcement’s offer of immunity in return for testifying on behalf of the federal government.”

  Charlie’s Aunt Annie, an inveterate follower of television crime shows, immediately saw various implications in such a move and wasn’t shy about her thoughts on the subject. “What, then, is going to happen to this poor woman here?” She was looking at her nephew as she asked but tipping her head toward Tressa Tarango.

  Charlie was just getting to that and hadn’t quite come up with the best way to couch the answer.

  Annie’s phone rang, and everyone’s attention turned toward the sound. Charlie sat back with a frown knowing his aunt demanded telephone calls take precedence over any other form of human communication. She was sixty-five years old before the phone lines finally reached her section of the reservation and even then, was the last person at the end of her particular run of wire. The woman was inordinately proud of the device and often, by virtue of the optional twenty-foot cord, took it along with her from room to room. The last thing she wanted was to miss a call. She hated it when she ran out of cord and when that occasionally did happen she cursed both the phone, and the phone company.

  After she’d said hello, Annie listened quietly a moment or two before moving to the privacy of the living room where she turned and signaled Thomas Begay the call was for him. She handed him the phone, and what was left of the cord, as she shook her head and frowned, before making her way back to the kitchen.

  Charlie gave his aunt a questioning tilt of his head, and in return, she mouthed, “Lucy Tallwoman.”

  When Thomas finally hung up and returned to the table his face was ashen. “My wife says Harley Ponyboy has found her father.”

  ~~~~~~

  Charlie Yazzie concentrated on his driving. As evening fell, the late fall storm had, as predicted, revitalized, and sent yet another wave of rain mixed with snow to hamper their way south. The old Ford truck burbled along happily enough—the laid-back pace leaving the big V-8 loping along without effort. Old Sancho Mariano and his sons knew how to build a transporter.

  Charlie was clear that taking his official vehicle across an international border was out of the question. He was the boss, but there were limits to what perks that provided.

  The phone call from his wife had pretty much ruled out Thomas Begay going along with him—that might cause more drama at home than he could handle. He didn’t fill everyone in on the call, but did whisper to Charlie, that things didn’t look good.

  When asked if he could, on his way through Shiprock, drop Abraham Garza off with Agent Bob Freeman, Thomas agreed, though not without reservations. Nor was Little Abe pleased with the arrangement, but he was in too deep to back out. Charlie called to make sure the Federal Agent would be on hand for the transfer.

  A sullen Tressa Tarango sat as far away as possible…placing the cremains of her late husband on the seat between them, thinking they might at least provide some small psychological barrier.

  John Nez followed closely behind the pair in his own truck, Tressa Tarango having been adamant she return old Sancho’s truck as promised. Thomas’s Uncle John hadn’t hesitated when asked if he’d go along, even when told it would likely be a risky venture…or maybe that was why the ex-Marine was going along. “Why not…I’m caught up with council-work for the next couple of days. I wouldn’t mind seeing Mexico.”

  They drove steadily through the night and made the Mariposa crossing in time to wait for the 6 a.m. opening. Getting into Mexico wasn’t hard, but the Kilometer 21 Customs Facility was a mess. Long lines of returning Mexican nationals were bent on making their town’s Day of The Dead celebration. The parking lot was full of U. S. plated vehicles from a number of states, all lined up for the holiday migration back home. As is common on the day before a Mexican holiday, traffic was backed up. The parking lot was crowded with entire family’s leaving their vehicles for a chance to stretch, buy soft drinks made with real Mexican cane sugar, and look for old friends they thought might be returning as well. They chatted, and complained about what would, one day become a much more complicated process.

  The Navajos kept to their trucks, both men easily passing for Mexicans as long as Charlie kept his mouth shut and let Tressa do the talking. John Nez spoke enough Spanish to get by.

  Finally, bumper to bumper, the trucks idled through the last military check station, picking up speed as they headed south on Federal Highway D15 toward the city of Hermosillo and the rugged but alluring country that lies beyond. On the long arm of the Sea of Cortez, isolated villages have scratched out a precarious existence for more than a thousand years. Tressa could almost smell home in the breezes wafting off the damp mesquite, L
uca Tarango had never wanted to leave this place…and after tomorrow, he would never have to.

  They had eaten little, other than what snacks they’d picked up with their coffee at fuel stops—both men were worn out and ready for a break and a meal. When a trucker’s eatery appeared alongside a government run Pemex station they filled up the trucks and, at the woman’s urging, pulled over to the cafe. A few cars and pickups were scattered among the big rigs, which Tressa considered a sign the food would be decent. Though she had slept a good bit on the way, she, too, was ready for a break. John Nez picked a booth at the back of the room; one facing the door, and Charlie took this as yet another similarity with his nephew and was careful to look around before he seated himself to one side. There was the usual assortment of diners one might expect in such a place, but only two Charlie thought might bear watching. John Nez picked them out, as well, but after only a glance directed his attention elsewhere. The two men’s gold chains were, alone, enough to make them suspect, that and the fact they seemed more than a little interested in Tressa.

  The waitress came from nowhere to take their orders—there were no menus and the woman announced in Spanish what was available. Tressa was comforted by the familiar local dialect, and as the woman shuffled off to place their orders, Tressa watched as one of the men with gold chains touched the passing waitress’s arm and spoke behind his hand as he looked their way.