Muerte Con Carne

by McKenzie, Shane

  Marta screamed, winced at the slitting pain in her throat.

  The glass beaded up, frosted, and now Gustavo was nothing more than a blue blur. His head smashed into the glass again, breaking through, and he shoved his face through it, glaring at Marta with wide eyes, his teeth bared and bloody. He roared, misting blood over Marta’s legs.

  She reared her foot back and slammed it into his face, the heel of her shoe smashing his nose and chin. Gustavo absorbed the blows like a tree trunk, didn’t even turn his head as he continued to push his face past the shattered safety glass.

  He yanked his head out, reached in and unlocked the door. The door was nearly thrown off the truck when he swung it open and reached for her.

  “No! Please…p-please no! Ahhhh!”

  She pummeled him with kicks, and more blood flowed from his head and face, but he never slowed. His callused, rough hand grabbed her by the calf, and he dragged her back toward the house in a cloud of dust.

  ***

  Felix lifted his hands to ear level, palms out, and shook his head. “I don’t mean to shout and I’m not looking for any trouble with you. Those people. The ones that run that trailer…they got my friend. I’ve got proof, and I just want to find her. Please, you have to help me.”

  “I told you, boy. Cristobal and Alma, they’re good people. Been sellin’ food here on my lot for years, never caused me no trouble. I known that family a helluva lot longer than I known you. Now get the fuck off my property before I blow your nose to the backa yer head.”

  Felix felt like his head would pop from the pressure. His hands shook and he backed toward the door, but he knew this man knew something. He could help, but it was clear he had no intention of doing so. Felix spoke through his bared teeth. “You don’t understand. I’ve seen it. They…they-”

  “Put the gun down, Burl. I got it.”

  Felix was actually relieved to hear the sheriff’s voice, but when his arm was twisted behind his back and the cuff was locked over his wrist, he tensed up, tried to spin and face the man. “What are you-”

  “Don’t fight me, son. Don’t you dare.” The sheriff grabbed hold of Felix’s other arm and twisted it behind his back, snapped the cuffs shut. He led him out of the store and into the sun’s brutal rays.

  “Sheriff, please. My friend, she’s in trouble. We have to help her!”

  “Your friend, huh? Thought she was your wife.”

  “She’s not…it doesn’t matter! I’ve got video, I can show you. They fucking kidnapped her!”

  “What’d I tell you, son? Told you if I caught any more shit from you, if I had to haul my ass back into this shit hole, I’d haul you off. And that’s just what I mean to do.” He slammed Felix stomach-first into the patrol car, spread Felix’s legs and started patting him down. “You got any weapons or drugs on you, best tell me now.”

  Felix grunted in frustration, but kept his calm as best he could. “Just let me show you the video. You’ll see, and then you have to help me find her. That goddamn bastard that pulled a knife on me, he’s got her. Shit…god only knows what he’s doing to her.”

  The sheriff patted Felix’s ankles, and when he stood, his face was beat read and sweat-glazed. The sores on his lips glowed pink. “What’s this about a video? I’m not followin’ you, son.”

  “I’ll show you. At the motel. I…oh god. I love her, sir. I love her and if anything happens to her I’ll fucking die.” Heavy sobs filled his face, and he leaned over and rested his head on the car’s roof as they took over.

  “Goddamnit.” The sheriff opened the back passenger door, then ushered Felix inside.

  “No! You can’t do this…just let me show you. Please, just let-”

  “Stop your damn yelling, all right? We’ll make a stop at the motel. Tell me, son, if your friend is in trouble like you say, how in the hell do you have a video of this?”

  Felix told him everything. The sheriff shook his head and casted continuous backward scolding glances at Felix as they made the short drive to the motel.

  “And it’s no goddamn wonder she goes missin’. Messin’ around out there? My god, you kids are stupid. Just plain fuckin’ stupid comin’ out here for this shit.”

  “I know. It was a mistake. I tried to tell her but she wouldn’t listen, was too fucking stubborn to listen to reason…” He stopped himself as his anger reached a boiling point. Took a breath as they parked just outside of the front office. “We had a fight. She went off on her own without me…and now…”

  The sheriff stepped out of the car, opened Felix’s door, spun him around, and uncuffed him. “Don’t do anything stupid, you got me? Take me to your room and let’s see what in the hell this is all about.”

  The sheriff took his time following Felix up the stairs. Felix struggled to catch his breath as he stormed toward the room.

  Marta’s door still hung open, and the second he stepped over the threshold, his heart got to hammering, his palms sweating.

  Maybe the sheriff knows where these bastards live. We can go there straight from here, get Marta the hell out of there.

  But Felix stopped short of the bed. The laptop was gone.

  “Wait…my computer is…no. Oh hell no!”

  He ran in circles around the room, searching every nook and cranny but found nothing. The sheriff had his arms crossed over his bulbous belly, his eyes narrow slits that burned twin holes in Felix’s face.

  “Sheriff, I’m not bullshitting you. I was telling the truth! It was…it was that fucking asshole down at the desk. He heard the screams…he, he unlocked the door for me because he heard them.”

  “Look. I don’t know what you kids are tryin’ to pull here, but-”

  “Trying to pull? What could I possibly gain from this? My laptop was sitting right here on this bed. That bastard saw it, knew it was in here, and he took it. I’m telling you, there’s no other explanation.”

  “Why would he do that?” The sheriff’s tone was like a teacher scolding a kindergartener.

  “I don’t know! Because he fucking hates my guts maybe? And I think he’s got cameras in his room. I can’t prove that, but I’m telling you, he was watching us, when we were…”

  “When you were what, son?”

  Felix threw his hands in the air. “It doesn’t matter, okay? Please, can we just go talk to him? If he took it, for whatever reason, he doesn’t realize what’s on it. Maybe if you tell him-”

  “Tell him what? I ain’t seen none of this footage you say you got.”

  “Please, Sheriff. They have her right now!” Felix nearly told him about the giant Lucha Libre he saw in the video, but held that back. His story was crazy enough, and now he’d already threw in his suspicions of cameras in the motel rooms. He knew the sheriff probably thought he was some out-of-towner, paranoid lunatic, and he didn’t want to add that Rey Mysterio with gigantism was holding Marta captive. “Please, sir. I’m begging you.”

  The sheriff’s lip curled and he wiped the sweat from his brow, then nodded toward the door. “Come on, then.”

  Felix jogged past the sheriff and down the stairs. He blew into the office and growled when he saw him.

  The man sucked on a flat, peppered piece of jerky and was leaned up against the counter staring down at a Lusty Latina magazine laid flat beneath him. When Felix burst in, the bell exploding with violent jingles above him, the man flinched, gave a half smile. When the sheriff followed behind, the man folded his magazine up and tossed it somewhere under him, stood up a little straighter.

  “What’s this about, Sheriff? Ain’t you gonna lock this prick up? After everything he done?” The man’s jaw was slightly swollen from where Felix had hit him, but not much. He rubbed the bruised spot as his eyes bounced from the sheriff to Felix.

  “Look, Lindsey. The man says he had a laptop in his room and now it’s gone. If you-”

  “Are you accusin’ me of takin’ it? I don’t have his fuckin’ laptop.”

  Felix held his breath to calm his shaking bod
y. His fingertips dug into his palms as he stared at this Lindsey. The name didn’t fit the fat jerky-sucking pig in front of him.

  “The man says his friend was kidnapped. Says there’s something on that laptop that can help find her. So if you got it, and I’m not sayin’ you do, but if you might know where it is, a woman’s life may depend on us getting it back, you got me?”

  Felix stepped forward, softened his face. “You can keep the laptop. Just let me show the sheriff the video, okay? After that, it’s yours.”

  Linsey’s face burned maroon, and he seemed to be thinking over his options as he chewed the end of his jerky strip. Then he shook his head. “I told you, I ain’t got yer fuckin’ laptop.”

  The sheriff exhaled through his nose, stood there for a minute studying the man.

  “Sheriff, I ain’t got it. Okay? Shit, I thought you was comin’ out here to help me, not accuse me of shit. This asshole’s tryin’ to get back at me, that’s all this is. Can’t you see that?”

  “You evil motherfucker! You know you have it… You’re helping them kill her, you fucking bastard!” Felix started to charge the man, but the sheriff caught him, wrapped his arms around Felix’s chest.

  Lindsey snorted, snickered. He spat on his own floor and pointed at Felix, his eyes on the sheriff. “Get his ass outta my office. I want a restraining order against this asshole.”

  Felix fought the sheriff’s grip for a minute, but was dragged backward and out the door. The sheriff released him, but stood in front of the door and put one hand to his pistol.

  “You know he’s lying. I know you saw it in his face.” Felix paced back and forth in front of the door, trying to catch a glimpse of Lindsey over the sheriff’s shoulders.

  “What I think don’t mean shit, son. I have no proof to back up anything you’ve told me. But I’m gonna do you a favor. I’m gonna let you drive on outta here.”

  “What? You…you’re not going to help me? Marta, she’s probably fucking raped, maybe dead by now, and you aren’t going to do shit about it?”

  “What I’m gonna do is let you get in your car and drive outta here. And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do. This whole business is giving me a headache and pissing me off, and I should toss you in the back of the car and take you in, but I’m tryin’ to cut you some slack here.”

  Felix turned his back on the sheriff, stared out into the vast desert. He wanted to scream Marta’s name, but instead just screamed. His muscles tightened to the point of aching and he dropped to his ass in the dirt.

  The crunch of the sheriff’s shoes behind him. “I’m sorry, son. I am. But you say you two had a fight, right? What’s to say she didn’t up and leave town already? Head on home, wherever that is, and I bet she’s waitin’ on you.”

  Felix didn’t bother explaining the video again, knew it was useless. He didn’t respond, didn’t even look at the sheriff again.

  “And I mean it this time. Don’t make me come back out here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Felix stood, dusted his pants off, then got into the Taurus. He watched the sheriff drive away through the rearview. Lindsey stepped out of the office, lit a cigarette.

  I’ll be back, you cocksucker.

  Felix reversed out of the parking lot. Tendrils of smoke twisted out of Lindsey’s nose as Felix took a long look at him. Felix threw the car into drive, but instead of turning left to drive back out of town, he went right, pressed his foot to the floor as he headed for the border.

  10

  Marta had been tossed back into Gustavo’s bedroom after being dragged through the yard and up the stairs. The back of her head knocked against each step as Gustavo hauled her up, his grip on her leg nearly enough to break it. Blood had stained his mask where Marta had kicked him, turned the blue fabric purple. He growled with every breath he took.

  The family still sat at the table, attending to the old woman who had calmed her yelling and looked to have fallen asleep in her chair.

  As each step collided with the back of Marta’s already injured head, her vision had begun to blur, her thoughts getting muddy and slow. Francisca still wept, screamed for her husband and child. The woman’s shrill but hoarse shrieks echoed throughout the small house.

  Gustavo had thrown his bedroom door open, swung Marta like a pendulum by her leg, and tossed her nearly across the room. She landed hard on her side, slapping her right cheekbone against the floor and biting her tongue again, almost on the same spot as before. Fresh blood flowed into her mouth, the pain in her tongue electric, but she had jumped up and ran for the door, pounded her fists on it and kicked at it when Gustavo slammed it shut and locked it from the outside.

  But she gave up on that and lay with her back against the door, facing the dark, rank room. Her only friends were the flies and maggots feasting on the head flesh. The TV was still on with its constant eruptions of static. The white noise and the drone of the flies mixed into a maddening chaos that filled Marta’s head like broken glass.

  She wanted to sleep, but her mind refused to allow it. After sitting in the same spot for what seemed like hours, she crawled across the room and cut the TV off. The room went pitch dark and silent except for the buzzing and a repetitive clicking sound, which she realized was the music of the feasting maggots. She switched it back on to get some light, but turned the volume all the way down.

  Muffled voices. One of them was female, crying, long wails between muffled words. Francisca. It had to be. So Marta figured the male voice had to be Cristobal. She crossed the room and put her ear to the wall beside the mounted shelves displaying the masked Lucha Libre heads. She held her breath and listened. Cristobal’s voice was nothing but bass through the wall and Marta couldn’t decipher a word of what he was saying.

  The gold belt hung just beside and above her, and she studied its surface as the static light writhed over it. Scattered here and there within the melted mess of various jewelry were teeth. The gold caps were welded to the belt, the roots of the teeth sticking out the back of them, aged and crusted with blood and dried bits of flesh.

  All of the melted-down gold was laid over a strap of what looked like spotted cowhide, but as she looked closer and squinted, she saw that the spots were words. Bits of scripture maybe tattooed on whosever skin that used to be. The strap shone like leather. Marta gasped, sucked in a lungful of putrid air that filled her mouth like hot oatmeal.

  A violent gag curled her body, and she backed away from the shelves toward the door. She pressed her back against it, slid down to the floor, and rested her forearms on her knees. No more tears. No more fucking crying.

  She knew nobody was coming to save her. Knew that if she was going to survive, going to get out of this place, it was up to her to do something about it.

  She touched the engagement ring, spun it over her finger. With the blood acting as a lubricant, the ring slid free with ease and she lifted it to eye level, holding it gently with her ruined hand, and breathed out a small chuckle. She pressed the warm metal to her lips, kissed it, and put it back on her finger.

  The door moved, pressed against her back, and Marta scurried away from it, quickly searched the floor for some kind of weapon, anything at all. She thought about grabbing the television but didn’t think she could lift it with her bad hand.

  The first thing to enter the room was a round belly, poking in through the small crack in the door like a flesh globe. Alma’s face appeared, and she stepped into the room, carefully, eased the door shut until it clicked.

  “What…what’re you doing?” Marta said. Alma didn’t appear to be holding any kind of weapon, and Marta’s confidence lifted.

  This is my chance. I’ll use her to get out of here.

  She didn’t know how she would do it, but figured if she could somehow hold Alma hostage, threaten to hurt her and her baby, she could walk out with Alma in tow. It was all she had and she would make do with it.

  “Can you hear him?” Alma said. She didn’t seem at all interested in Marta, and even when she spo
ke, she didn’t look at her. Her attention was squarely on the spot where the bass of Cristobal’s voice vibrated the wall. “In there with his new whore. That fucking bitch.”

  Francisca’s grief-filled whimpers never stopped, and she spoke words between the sobs. Even though Marta couldn’t make the words out, the tone was clear. Francisca continued to beg, probably pleading for her family.

  Alma bared her teeth, her lips flapping over them as she muttered under her breath and stomped toward the wall. She rubbed her belly with both hands like an oversized crystal ball as she leaned against the side of a bookcase.

  “What is he…doing to her?” Marta said.

  Alma’s brow lowered, the muscles in her jaw rippling as a tear snaked its way down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, her eyes never landing on Marta as she drilled a hole into the wall with her stare.

  “He wants to fuck her. He wants her to have his babies.” She balled one hand into a fist and punched the bulge in her belly, bit her bottom lip as she did the same with the other hand. “She’s a whore…a fucking whore. I’ll kill her.”

  Marta’s instincts told her to stop this woman from harming the unborn child, but then she remembered where she was, who this woman was, and stood back.

  Let her kill the fucking thing.

  Alma’s fists morphed into claws and she scraped her nails across the stretched flesh of her stomach. Red lines opened and beaded up with blood.

  Alma finally turned and faced Marta. “He loves me. Me! Not her.” Her lips uncurled and she screamed through the wall of her teeth. “Not her!”

  The tears flowed heavily from Alma’s eyes now, soaked her cheeks. She looked wild in the rapid light crackling from the TV, her eyes wide, face shaking as she wept. When her hands shot out, Marta leapt away from her, expecting her to launch some kind of attack. Alma grabbed one of the masked heads from the shelf with both hands and began slamming it against the wall. White dust drifted down from the circular dent she made, and she screamed as she swung, spittle flying from her mouth.