Road to Justice

by Glenn Trust

  “So they could be anywhere.” Isabella said.

  “Right.”

  “Like finding a needle in a haystack, or worse,” Reggie added.

  “Worse,” Sole agreed.

  “What’s the second option?” Isabella asked, not willing to accept the possibility that her son and Jacinta were gone.

  “Number two is not good.” Sole’s voice was somber. “They may not have come to the bank because someone stopped them.”

  Isabella’s face paled. “You mean Krieg found them.”

  “Just a possibility,” Sole tried to reassure her. “We don’t know where they are.”

  “So that brings me back to my question,” Reggie said. “What do we do?”

  “At this point, I think we have to follow the possibility that gives us the best odds.”

  “What does that mean?” Isabella’s brow furrowed with concern.

  “The odds against finding them out on the highway are astronomical,” Sole explained. “There’s too much country for them to disappear into. If they hopped on Interstate 35, they could be two states away by now. The more time that passes, the farther away they are and the slimmer our chances of finding them. On the other hand …”

  “What?” Isabella asked.

  “If Krieg intercepted them, we know exactly where they are.” He looked from one to the other. “And that’s also where they will be in the most immediate danger.”

  “So we go to Krieg,” Isabella interjected. The concern on her face morphed into outright fear.

  “Yes,” Reggie whispered, the memory of Sherm’s mangled body on the porch vivid in his mind. “We go to Krieg.”

  68.

  Rat Trap

  The convoy wound through the narrow back streets of Torreón. Stu Pearce, in the front pickup, put a hand out the window and the procession came to a halt, lining up along the curb of an alley near the Nuevo México district, a neighborhood controlled by rifle-toting cartel gang members.

  Pearce got out of the pickup while the driver kept the engine running, peering nervously around at the surrounding shacks and houses. This was enemy territory for gringos.

  “Relax,” Stu said. “Everyone’s in bed, and if anyone is awake and wondering what a line of vehicles loaded with armed men are doing outside their house, trust me. They aren’t going to come out nosing around.”

  He walked toward the rear of the procession and met Shorts Culper getting out of the van he was in five cars back. As the leaders of the K and Z expeditionary force, it had been deemed best for them to travel in separate vehicles.

  “You sure this is the right spot?” Shorts asked, looking around at the darkened houses.

  “Yep.” Stu nodded. “Came through here a couple of times with Lopez. That’s why we picked it. Won’t be no policía snooping around in this neighborhood.”

  “Okay.” Shorts stretched and yawned. “I could use some coffee to wake me up.”

  “Sorry. Already drank what I brought with me. I expect you’ll be awake enough when the bullets start flying.”

  “I expect so,” Shorts agreed with a nod, wishing he’d brought a second thermos of his wife’s coffee. “Sure would like to get this done and get back across the border. Feel like I’m on another planet.”

  “I reckon we are the aliens here. Kind of comical ain’t it. We’re the illegals on the wrong side of the Rio Grande.” Stu laughed. “That’s what they call ironical. Just keep thinking about that bonus Zabala promised. That’ll make the time pass quick enough.”

  A rooster crowed from a nearby house. Shorts turned to study the surrounding neighborhood.

  Both men were tired, as were the twenty others in the vehicles with them. It had taken coordination for all to cross the border at different points and times to avoid raising suspicions about their purpose. That ate up a good part of the night, and the drive to Torreón had used up the rest.

  “What time you got?” Shorts asked.

  Stu looked at the glowing dial on his old Timex. “Just after five.”

  “Soon,” Shorts said, relieved.

  “Soon,” Stu agreed and took out his cell phone.

  ***

  “Here. Take this.” Pepe Lopez held out a nine-millimeter pistol to Father Alfonso.

  “A gun?” The priest shook his head. “I can’t do that … carry a gun … use it to harm another. Whatever else I am, whatever else I have done, I am still a priest.”

  “That is not going to keep the bullets from putting holes in your head. You may need to defend yourself when Diaz realizes he has been deceived into attacking our little caravan.”

  Alfonso stared at the pistol.

  “Your choice.” Pepe shrugged and started to lower it. “Your life.”

  Alfonso reached out suddenly and took the gun. “Show me how to use it.”

  Pepe gave him a five-minute briefing on how to release the safety, aim, and squeeze the trigger. When he was done, he looked into the priest’s sweating face and figured that he would be a dead man before the day was through.

  “And you?” Pepe turned to Mario Acosta. “Are you armed?”

  “Yes, of course.” Mario lifted his shirt to reveal a military version Beretta Model 92F.

  “Careful. That big pistola is gonna pull your pants down.” Pepe laughed. “Or shoot your balls off.”

  “Let’s just get moving.”

  “Soon,” Pepe said.

  Alfonso took a cell phone from his pocket and looked at the time display. “It’s five fifteen.”

  The words had barely left his mouth when Pepe’s phone chimed. He answered, nodded, and said, “Bueno.” The others waited expectantly. “Let’s get moving,” he said.

  They climbed into the three K and Z trucks that had been stationed in the city. They were empty, carrying no produce and no border crossers behind their false walls.

  Sargento Miguel Garcia had assigned an off-duty officer to each of the trucks as the driver. Pepe climbed into the lead truck, and Mario took the rear. Alfonso nervously boarded the middle vehicle of the caravan, missing the step and striking his forehead against the door. The driver laughed as the priest pulled himself up into the cab rubbing his head with one hand.

  Engines roared to life, and the trucks began to move through the darkened streets of Torreón, headed toward the outskirts of the city in the direction of Monclova. Passing an intersection in a rundown neighborhood, Pepe leaned out the passenger window and blinked a flashlight beam three times.

  “There they are.” Stu hurried back to the lead pickup, and the line of vehicles loaded with K and Z men moved to follow.

  Thirty minutes later, they were well out of the city and away from prying eyes. Pepe’s lead truck turned down a dirt trail toward a farming village several miles off the main road. After another half mile, it rocked to a stop, and the brakes creaked on the following vehicles as they slowed in unison.

  There was no time to waste, and the loading went quickly. The K and Z assault team climbed out of the six vehicles that had brought them across the border and loaded into the rear of the marked K and Z trucks, six armed fighters to each truck. Stu Pearce led a team into Pepe Lopez’s truck in the front of the convoy, and Shorts Culper climbed into the rear truck where Mario Acosta watched in frightened awe.

  As the traitor, he was the only one present who had been kept out of the plan to trap Diaz. It dawned on him at once that there would be a fight, and the chances were excellent that he would end up in the crossfire, both sides considering him an enemy.

  Pepe Lopez walked back to his truck, smiling. “Give me your gun.” His pistol was pointed at Mario’s face.”

  “But I …”

  “Hand it over.”

  Mario handed the Beretta out the window.

  “Good. You should have remembered which side you are on.” Pepe took the pistol from his trembling hand. “If you try to run away, Garcia’s men have orders to shoot you down. Play your role, and there is a chance that you may survive this day.”


  Pepe turned without saying more, went to the front of the procession, and climbed in his truck. Mario was frozen in his seat, terrified. Diaz would think he betrayed him. Krieg and Zabala already knew he had betrayed them.

  The three K and Z trucks proceeded toward Monclova. Mario Acosta watched dazed as the lead vehicle bumped along the dirt road. Both sides had set a trap for the rats, and he was the first rat caught.

  69.

  A Lie

  “Where do you want them?” Claude Brainerd checked on his passengers in the rearview mirror as he spoke on his cell phone.

  “Bring them to the barn,” Krieg replied. “This could get messy.”

  “Right.” Brainerd disconnected and spoke over his shoulder, smiling. “Won’t be long now.”

  “You bastard,” Sandy snarled, straining at the shackles.

  “That’s funny, coming from you.” Brainerd chuckled as he made the final turn onto the drive to the Krieg ranch.

  They passed the house and went to the back lot where Brainerd drove his truck through the barn’s wide bay door. Tom Krieg waited inside, standing in the center of the immense space.

  “Packages delivered,” Brainerd said, grinning as he climbed out of the pickup.

  If he was expecting a word of appreciation or a pat on the back for a job well done, none was forthcoming. Krieg ignored him glowering through the truck windows at Jacinta. For the moment, he ignored Sandy.

  “Get them out,” he ordered.

  Brainerd opened the crew cab door and pulled Sandy out by the collar, letting him land with a thud on the concrete. He reached for Jacinta, and she tried to kick at him with her shackled feet.

  “Bitch,” he growled and took her by the hair, dragging her out head first.

  “Leave her alone, you son of a bitch!” Sandy shouted and struggled against the shackles, desperate to find a way to protect her.

  Tom Krieg stood over the two prostrate figures twisted side by side on the floor. Sandy glared up at him, fury burning in his eyes. Jacinta saw the devil she had escaped towering over her and wept.

  “You can go,” Krieg said without looking at Brainerd.

  “Uh, there’s the …” Brainerd hesitated. “I mean, you promised …”

  “The bonus?” Krieg’s head pivoted toward the deputy, annoyance on his face. “You figure I keep twenty thousand in cash lying around?” He shook his head, smirking as if to say, you really are a dumb son of a bitch. “I promised you a bonus, and you’ll get it. Have I ever shorted you?”

  “No,” Brainerd replied meekly.

  “I’ll call you in a couple of days. The money will be deposited in an offshore account with a passcode that I’ll give you. You’ll be able to withdraw it there.”

  “But, I thought …”

  “Leave the thinking to me. You’re not very good at it.” As always, Krieg was feeling mean and took it out on the person who had loyally followed his orders.

  Brainerd’s face flushed.

  Krieg sighed, realizing he might need the deputy’s assistance again soon. “Look any withdrawal over ten thousand dollars is reported to the Feds. So, I make a few smaller withdrawals for business purposes, and no one asks questions. Then I deposit the smaller amounts into the offshore account.”

  Brainerd’s brow furrowed trying to comprehend the complexities of banking law. Krieg’s patience was at an end.

  “Get out … now.”

  Claude Brainerd nodded and climbed behind the wheel of his pickup. His visions of newfound riches were overshadowed by the mystery of offshore accounts and federal banking rules.

  He looked in the rearview mirror as he drove down the entry ramp to the yard. Krieg stood, fists balled on his hips, glaring down at his captives.

  “I wouldn’t want to be them,” Brainerd whispered, accelerating away from the barn and whatever horror Krieg had in mind.

  “Let us go. You don’t have any right …” Sandy shouted.

  “Shut up.” Krieg’s boot caught him in the ribs. “I should have seen to it that your mother taught you some manners.”

  “Fuck you!” Sandy managed to hiss at him through clenched teeth.

  “You should treat your father with more respect.”

  There, he had said it. The great secret was out, and Tom Krieg relished the look it left on Sandy’s face. Today was the day to take care of loose ends, and the boy had been a loose end since the day Isabella told him she would not abort her baby.

  “What?” Sandy’s mouth opened then closed, and he shook his head, denying the possibility.

  “It’s true, boy. I’m your dear old daddy,” Krieg sneered.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I said when your mama told me.” Krieg shrugged, enjoying the boy’s torment.

  “I don’t give a fuck who you are. Let us go!”

  “Nope. That’s not on the agenda today.” Krieg laughed.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Well, to quote the old joke.” Krieg was feeling powerful and in control. “I brought you into this world, and I can take you out.”

  “Look do what you want to me, but leave her alone.” Sandy twisted, trying to get closer to Jacinta and somehow protect her from this monster.

  “She is a separate matter. What happens to her would happen whether you had ever met her or not. Forget her.”

  “No!” Sandy roared.

  The boot flashed out again, catching him in the chest and knocking the wind from him. “Shut up.”

  Krieg reached for Jacinta and dragged her to her feet. She stood for a moment before her shaky knees buckled. She fell, hitting her head hard on the concrete.

  “I’ll kill you,” Sandy seethed.

  Krieg ignored him and took hold of the shackles around Jacinta’s ankles and dragged her unconscious body across the concrete and into a windowless storeroom. He slammed the door and turned back to Sandy.

  “Let’s talk, son,” he said, a nasty grin on his face.

  “I’m not your son.”

  “You are, boy. There’s no doubt about it. I fucked your mother in the back of my pickup when she was about your age.” He smirked. “She was a whore even then.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “Accept the truth or not. I don’t give a shit, but part of me is in you.” Krieg smiled.

  “I’m not anything like you!” Sandy shouted, trying to drown out the truth of Krieg’s words.

  “You are. That’s why you’re here. Taking the girl was the kind of thing I would do. It took balls.” Krieg shook his head. “Problem is you got in the middle of my business. Now I have to make a decision.”

  “What decision?”

  “Whether a boy from Creosote disappears alone … or his mother goes with him.”

  “Leave my mother out of this,” Sandy strained, red-faced at the steel restraints.

  “No.” Krieg shook his head. “She’s part of everything. I told her to get rid of you, abort you, but she wouldn’t. I warned her what would happen to you if she ever spoke about my affairs.”

  “Affairs!” Sandy said scornfully. “You make it sound like some sort of real business.”

  “It is business.” Krieg grinned. “And pleasure.”

  “You’re a fucking maniac.”

  Krieg’s boot flashed out again, catching Sandy in the ribs. He rolled over in pain.

  “Don’t say that … ever.”

  Sandy gasped for air. Krieg took a breath and picked up where he left off.

  “Anyway, she believed me and stayed silent to protect you. In return, I gave her money to keep the café afloat when business sagged, even helped out putting money for you in that bank account in Laredo.” He smiled. “I knew you’d go there. That was too much to leave behind. Like I said you’re just like me.”

  Sandy shook his head in denial. Could it be true? His mother had never been happy in Creosote. Often, they talked of moving somewhere else, but always, she encouraged him to get away on his own. She would
never leave.

  Sandy kicked and jerked on the floor in frustration. “I’ll kill you.”

  “Now you’re talking like your old man.” Krieg grinned. “Just hold on to that thought. Let it bake inside you for a while. You’ll see we are not so different, after all. I want you to know it in your heart before I do what I’ve been waiting to do all your life.”

  Krieg turned and walked from the barn. The big bay door rolled closed, and Sandy was left in the gloom. He turned on his side and squirmed toward the storeroom. He called through the door.

  “Jacinta.”

  “I hear you, Reynaldo.”

  “Thank God. I was afraid he …”

  “My head hurts, that’s all.”

  He moved closer to the closed door, pushing his back up against it to be as near to her as possible. He felt a thump against the door and knew she had done the same.

  “I’m so sorry I got you into this,” he said softly.

  “You have done nothing to be sorry for. This man is an evil one.”

  Evil. It was the only description that fit Tom Krieg, father or not.

  “What do we do?” Jacinta asked through the door, and the tremor in her voice told him that she was afraid of the answer.

  “I’ll think of something,” he replied, knowing it was a lie.

  70.

  Settling Scores

  Benito Diaz stood in the shade of an overhanging rock scanning the valley below through a pair of binoculars. In the distance, three trucks appeared and took the turnoff from Highway 30 onto a back road to Monclova. As they drew closer, he could make out the K and Z markings on the side.

  A few minutes earlier, three cars of the Policía Estatal had made the turn and proceeded slowly down through the pass. The gringos thought they would keep them safe. Diaz laughed and spit on the ground. “Putos polis.” Fucking cops.

  They would pay for their arrogance. The route had been selected carefully, electing to leave the main highway and take this secluded mountain pass, while the policía on their payroll checked the way ahead. They thought they could deceive him, that he would not discover their location. Diaz laughed.