A Cinnabar Sky

Home > Other > A Cinnabar Sky > Page 13
A Cinnabar Sky Page 13

by Billy Kring


  Dario yelled for Hunter to duck as bullets struck around her, shooting geysers of dust and gravel into the air. Hunter dropped into a three-foot deep wash and low crawled on her hands and knees to move forward. She thought about why the pickup stopped, because it had been evident just before the shots began. A recent rain washed a trench across the road, leaving it impassable.

  RL had to get to the pickup, not the other way around. He tugged at the boy’s arm, but the kid struggled to break free. A voice came from the pickup, “Come on!”

  Hunter low-crawled in the wash and stood when she was by a large Spanish dagger that could hide her. Hunter breathed deeply, watching from behind the hardy desert plant armored with bayonet-like leaves. She moved from behind the Spanish dagger and, staying in a crouch, scurried through an area of shoulder-high sage showing tiny purple blooms from a recent rain shower.

  Dario spotted her and yelled at the top of his lungs, “Hunter!” He jerked with all his strength and broke free of RL’s grip, staggering a few steps before getting his footing, and then raced off the road and into the brush, going like a twelve-year-old arrow toward his friend.

  Hunter ran toward him, even though the distance was over a hundred and fifty yards. She saw the hope in his face, his shining eyes, and sudden red wounds appearing on his neck and chest as she heard the shots from the pickup.

  Dario went down hard, hitting face first in the dust.

  Hunter screamed his name as she pulled her Glock and fired at the pickup. The distance was far, but the pickup’s body clanged like a tin drum from bullet impacts, and the driver’s window blew out from one round.

  RL climbed down one side and up the other to cross the washout, and got in the pickup as the driver spun the wheels and made a tight U-turn.

  It sped away as Hunter ran, crying at the same time. She knew even before she touched him that Dario was dead. She knelt and felt for a pulse, but found nothing. She wiped his face with her fingers, removing dust and tiny bits of sharp stone from his cheeks and forehead.

  Hunter stroked Dario’s hair, smoothing it off his forehead. She had failed another person, another child. Grief filled her. And what could she tell Dario’s mother, Erica? God-o-mighty…

  **

  RL hung on tight as Ellis drove the pickup, going so fast that the oversized tires whined on the road. RL said, “You have glass in your cheek.”

  “The other side’s worse. Stings like a sonofabitch, too. Missed my eyes, though.”

  “She was a long way off, doing that kind of shooting with a pistol.”

  “Tell me about it. I wasn’t worried when I saw her raise it, then it sounded like hail hitting the truck.” He picked another diamond-like shard of glass out of his forehead. “She must have been, what, a hundred fifty, sixty yards away, and running when she shot?” He wiped blood from his face, “She won’t get that chance again.”

  “What do we do next?”

  Ellis glared at him, “Before you screwed the pooch on this, we were gonna threaten Dario with hurting his mom, and vice versa, so they’d both keep their mouths shut about everything. Now, we’ll have to get dirty.”

  “Dirty?”

  Ellis looked at him with cold, angry eyes. “I killed a twelve-year-old kid five minutes ago. Shot him in the back. So, that dirty.”

  RL clenched his fists, wanting to punch Ellis in the face, but held it in and said, “Okay.” He averted his eyes so Ellis wouldn’t see his anger. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

  They drove to a hidden low-water crossing on the river and the big-tired Dodge Ram had no trouble driving across the Rio Grande. When they topped out on the Mexican bank, Ellis said, “You can’t go back. Kincaid saw your face.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll have to be patient. Meanwhile you stay over here.”

  “Where? I don’t have a house in Mexico.”

  “We get up here a little further, I’ll make some arrangements.” He gunned the engine to get the Ram over a steep hump and onto a level road. When he stopped again, Ellis pulled out his phone.

  “Who you calling?”

  “The new jefe for this area, from the Sinaloa Federation. His name’s Santos Quiroga, and he’s a tough young guy. Smart, too. They brought him in here because this is a fringe area, with other groups fighting over it. He’s here to put things under one roof, like the new Sheriff in town.”

  “How high up is he?”

  “Like a Lieutenant. For now.”

  “How’d you meet him?”

  “We did some work together last year, further south and further east out around La Linda.”

  “What did you do out there?”

  “There was a group wanting to take over that area.”

  “And?”

  “They won’t take over anything now.”

  They sat in the cool air-conditioned truck and waited for someone to show up, and all the while, RL felt sweat trickle down his spine while he sat beside Ellis.

  **

  Two vehicles: one ambulance and one Suburban from the fire department reached Erica on the highway. Buddy and Brandi talked to her, treated her head wound and put her in the ambulance.

  When they arrived, Hunter had already carried Dario’s body to the road and she sat there, holding him. Santino and Bobby were still banged up from the wreck, but wanted to help so drove the roads. They arrived first.

  The first thing Santino saw was all the blood on Hunter’s arms and shirt front. “Is she hurt?”

  Bobby said, “I think the blood is Dario’s.” He felt his heart sink. “Oh, damn.”

  They opened the back of the Suburban and slid out a stretcher and medicine bag, carrying it to the woman and boy.

  Bobby said to Hunter, “Can you tell me what happened?”

  “Someone in a tan colored Dodge Ram shot him. Whoever it is, is friends with RL because they stopped and picked him up.”

  “And left Dario.”

  “Yes.”

  Santino asked, “What caliber?”

  5.56, looked like an AR from what I could see. The windows were tinted dark, and I was too far away.”

  “I see some tinted glass over there on the road.”

  “I shot out the driver’s window, put a few holes in the car body, too.”

  “Hit anyone?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Bobby said, “So, RL was there.”

  “Yeah. He looked startled when Dario was shot.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he didn’t plan on them killing anybody.”

  Bobby put the stretcher near Hunter, “Lay Dario on this. We’ll put him in the back.”

  She did, and gave his hair one last brush off his forehead with her fingers as Bobby and Santino loaded the body in the Suburban.

  They closed the door and glanced at Hunter. She looked like a hundred miles of bad road, and the most lost person they had ever seen. Torn clothes, scratches, dust from head to foot, and a face streaked with tear tracks through all the dirt on her cheeks. Bobby said, “Come on. You can’t stay here.”

  She rose from the caliche road and climbed in behind the driver’s seat, looking sad and forlorn. Another child killed while she watched. The kidnapped children from three months ago, and the shootouts on the ranches, one near San Angelo and the other in Mexico by the lake, and more kids buried in silent, lonely unmarked graves. Hunter felt more tears and didn’t know how much her heart could take.

  Bobby said, “You want out at your vehicle, or one of us can drive it for you, we don’t mind.”

  “I’ll drive, thanks.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Thanks, though.”

  Bobby and Santino glanced at one another, both thinking the same thing, that Hunter was about to drop.

  Santino said, “Okay. We’ll follow you back, just to keep watch.”

  Hunter nodded her thanks, and Alicia came over to hug her. They talked, and both wept. Alicia gave H
unter back her phone, then got in with Bobby and Santino.

  They reached her pickup and she exited without glancing over her shoulder at the body in the rear. She walked to her pickup like a zombie.

  Bobby said, “I feel for her.”

  “Me, too, Hermano, me, too.”

  They glanced once at Hunter’s pickup as she drove away, then followed in behind her. Santino said, “Think she’s going home, or to the coroner?”

  “I guess we’ll see. Marfa is thirty minutes from Alpine, so she might pass that up.”

  “I think so, too.”

  As they drove in silence, each with their own thoughts, Santino wondered about that guy, RL, that Hunter saw, and what that sonofabitch was doing right now. One thing was certain, he disappeared in a hurry. He said, “What do you think will happen if Hunter finds RL?”

  “Oh man. He’d better walk around with his hands up or we’ll be carting another body to the coroner, and it won’t be Hunter.”

  “I just heard the other day about the shootout in Mexico. Not a lot of that info getting out.”

  “Everybody who likes Hunter wants to protect her, so they’re not talking. She rescued some kids down there, if I heard right.”

  “That’s what I heard, too, and a lot of bodies at the scene. Beautiful, lethal, and a good dance partner, plus she brings her own bottle to the dances.”

  “What was that whiskey she brought to the last dance?”

  “Devil’s River Whiskey. Made from Devil’s River spring water. Purest water in Texas, they say. That was some good stuff.”

  Bobby chuckled, “That’s why we drank all hers.”

  “That’s why we left in a hurry, too, when she came back to the table.”

  “She’s funny as hell, too.”

  “Yes, she is. But not today.”

  They continued on in silence, their minds returning to the body in back.

  Chapter 11

  Two hundred yards from the road, Adan watched from a ridge that was all sharp edges and rough spikes interspersed in the fissures with thorny tasajillo, sotol, and nopal. He made a small noise as Hunter and the others left with Dario’s body. He watched Hunter longest, wishing he was with her. Adan cried for a while, thinking of his dead friend. An hour passed, and the only sound was the wind, softly soughing among the creosote and cactus.

  He retraced some of the tracks and found the place where his friend was shot. Using a flat limestone rock shaped like the blade of a small shovel, Adan scraped dirt over the dark area of blood-soaked earth. It was all Adan could do to breathe, his grief was so strong. He stopped several times, then continued until all the evidence was gone and he didn’t have to see it any more.

  There was nothing left to do but walk. The distance from Elephant Mountain to Terlingua was over forty miles. He thought about it, and since the direction to the town was almost parallel with road 118, if he felt like he couldn’t make it, he could go to the pavement and wait to be picked up by someone, maybe the Sheriff, or Highway Patrol, or the Border Patrol. There was enough traffic that he would encounter someone if that became necessary.

  As long as he kept a sharp eye out for Ellis and RL.

  Thanks to his mother’s teaching, he found meager nourishment on the way eating certain plants, and he knew where two of the wildlife watering systems were, the ones that caught the scarce desert rainwater and kept it in shallow, covered areas like cisterns. He’d heard the guardabosques, the game wardens, call them guzzlers. Adan was sure there would be a bit of water in them since there had been recent rain.

  Adan took a deep breath, looked out across the harsh, desolate land, and said a small prayer before taking the first steps toward Terlingua. He hadn’t walked fifty feet before spotting an arrowhead in the game trail. He picked it up, admiring the delicate flaking to shape it, and the sharpness of the edges. It was small, less than two inches long. He wiped it with the edge of his shirt to polish the stone, and put it in his pocket. It was a sign of good luck, he thought.

  **

  Ellis watched the flashy Cartel leader as he drove up to park beside them in his black Land Rover. The black man with him, John Factor, exited the passenger side before the vehicle came to a complete stop, stepping gracefully to the ground and trotting for several steps before stopping at the same time as the vehicle.

  The black man reminded RL of the actor Don Cheadle, except for the deadly looking pistol with the eight-inch silencer in his shoulder holster. He did not smile as his dark eyes took in Ellis and RL.

  The Cartel leader opened the driver’s door and stepped to the ground. Flavio Valdez stood five-eight, a bit stocky and carried the weight in his barrel chest and stomach. He had short, dyed blond hair. RL remembered that he considered himself a gourmet chef equal to Guy Fieri and Bobby Flay, and liked to cook, often for others. But RL knew that neither Guy or Bobby had killed forty men, so there was that, too.

  Flavio said, “You two eaten yet?”

  “No,” Ellis said.

  “Good, I’ve got stuff coming, I cooked it earlier.” As he finished talking, a van pulled up and opened the sliding side doors, emitting mouth-watering smells of Mexican food. Trays and bowls of all types and sizes covered the shelves, each one filled with food and condiments.

  Two men in white server jackets put up tables with tablecloths, and added several bottles of wine. They continued to set the table with plates and silverware.

  Flavio motioned to it, “You boys sit.” Ellis and RL did so. Flavio joined them, and the white-jacketed men served them. “I fixed chicken mole with adobo sauce, tatema, grilled tomatillos and onions, guacamole, tortillas, and flan for dessert. Then as a little treat for you, an excellent drink I learned to make in Ecuador. Canelazo. A wonderful mix of aguardiente, cinnamon, anise, sugar, and other spices. Delicious.”

  Ellis knew to flatter him, “You made all this, today?”

  “I did. It’s fresh, I guarantee.”

  RL’s mouth watered. Flavio said, “Dig in.”

  All three men ate and drank, while John Factor stood by the vehicle, where he remained silent and aloof.

  When they finished, the three men received small glasses of brandy from the servers. Flavio said, “I’ve got fentanyl coming in, be here tomorrow. You ready to move it?”

  Ellis said, “There’s some heat down here at the moment. Every law enforcement agency in the area is around Terlingua and Lajitas.”

  Flavio’s face darkened. “Why?”

  RL knew Ellis was a smooth talker, and he stayed silent. Ellis said, “There’s a pesky Border Patrol Agent down this area, a woman no less. Her name’s Hunter Kincaid, and she’s the cause of the trouble.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “She messed up our last shipment because she’s got a hard on for me and RL here. Like we’re her special project in life.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Some kid friend of hers died. She’s mad at the world and we’re the nearest target.”

  Flavio was silent for a few moments, “If she’s out of the way, can you move things for me?”

  Ellis nodded and said, “Guaranteed.”

  Flavio waved over the black man. “John, I have a job for you.”

  John moved gracefully and stood beside Flavio. “These men have some trouble with a female Border Patrol Agent. She’s disrupting business. Can you do something about that?”

  John said, “Tell me about her.”

  Ellis filled him in on Hunter, her physical description, other things about her, like where she lived and worked, including that she was said to be a good shot with a pistol.

  John listened, not saying anything, then asked Flavio, “You want her dead, or in the hospital?”

  “Either way will get her out of the picture.”

  John nodded and returned to his original place.

  RL said, “He doesn’t talk much.”

  Flavio said, “He’s Indian, Seminole.”

  “Like the Seminole Scouts in the wil
d west days?” RL asked.

  “Yes. He is a dual citizen, descended from the original scouts at Fort Clark in Brackettville, somewhere near this Del Rio town. He lives in Muzquiz most of the time.”

  “He any good with that silenced pistol he carries?”

  Flavio said, “He’s better than good. I once saw him put a peso on the back of his hand, hold it chest-high, then drop his hand and draw to fire before the peso hit the ground.”

  “He drew from the shoulder holster?”

  “Oh yes.”

  Ellis smiled, “Excellent.”

  “He is the best.”

  RL pictured Hunter Kincaid, and thought of things he’d heard about her; he better be.

  John Factor said, “I’ll be back in a few days.” He left in the Land Rover, leaving a tall cloud of dust in the air as he drove into the distance.

  Flavio said, “He’ll take care of the problem, and we can get back to business. I have two-hundred-thousand single-dose patches of pharmaceutical grade fentanyl, two hundred keys of coke, and forty keys of heroin.”

  “Mexican brown?”

  “Brown Sugar, baby. Sweet and pure.”

  “Nice.”

  Flavio said, “How do you plan on getting all that across, and on to Odessa?”

  “If the volume is heavy on the international bridge, we can hide it in other products and send it across that way. They won’t let the bridge get too congested and will wave traffic on through to keep control of the flow.”

  Flavio said, “The traffic volume is down. I checked.”

  “Well crap. Then we go to plan B and we can take it across the river, transfer it to a vehicle and hide it in there, and take it cross country. I have keys to every ranch between here and Interstate 10, and can go cross country and never touch pavement until then.”

  “Where’s the Border Patrol?”

  “We have to be careful crossing, and sometimes they patrol the ranch roads, but running into them on a ranch, well, we can take care of the problem.”

  Just make sure you get it there. I’ve got guns and ammo coming back.”

  “We can handle that, too.”

 

‹ Prev