Visions of Evil

by J. E. Neiman

  "Pearl. You's can read and count," she said.

  The five of us covered the body with rocks and dirt. We grabbed his belongings and hurried down the back of the rock outcropping.

  At the base, Lulu turned to me with her hands on her hips. "Okay. Now what's we gonna do?"

  Chapter 37

  Nuevo Laredo-Tamaulipas, Mexico

  Jake and Rosie drove out of the cantina parking lot around three in the morning. Rosie, in the driver's seat, maneuvered her father's rusty, dark-green, 1976 Ford pickup through the dimly lit back streets of Nuevo Laredo. The muffler hacked and popped with each gearshift.

  She glanced at her passenger. He is a devil, a Diablo, she thought. The truck hit a large pothole and her body flew above the seat for a second. The shocks in the vehicle were worn out, making the ride comparable to a bucking bronco. Again, Rosie glimpsed at Jake, who hung onto the passenger door, white-knuckled. Good. I hope you're terrified.

  If my plan works, I will soon cross the border and travel to El Paso where the bastards are holding my sister, Lydia. The same bunch kidnapped me six years ago. Rosie shivered in the warm night air thinking how many of the Mexican border guards were part of the sex-slave ring. One mile from the border, Rosie pulled off on a side street and into a dirt driveway.

  "What the hell you stopping for?" Jake yelled.

  "I can't leave my papa's truck near the border. Someone will steal it. I park here at my cousins." Rosie beeped the horn twice and started to open the vehicle's door.

  Jake reached over, grabbed her long black hair and yanked her back into the seat. "You're not going anywhere, bitch. Give me the keys."

  "No," she screamed, "let go of me." Rosie sidled her body toward him, releasing the tension of the hair pull. "You bastard." Turning, she reached to scratch his eyes out with the keys clasped in her hand.

  He slapped her hand down and tried to pry it open. "Give me the damn keys," he yelled.

  Rosie sank her teeth into his left forearm. She felt his body stiffen as her small teeth found a nerve.

  "Shit!" He yanked his bleeding arm from her mouth. Closing his fists, he raised them to strike her. "You bitch."

  She saw a bright flash, followed by a loud thud.

  Jake's arms fell loose at his sides and his head sagged forward. Rosie jumped out the driver's side and ran toward the light source.

  "Gracias, amigo," she gasped.

  Ramon, a shirtless thin man, hurried to her as he aimed a flashlight at her face. His other hand held a steel pipe. "Are you okay, Rosie?"

  "I am alive, Ramon. Gracias." She wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. "Is he dead?"

  A taller figure, Ramon's son, came toward the two, "The gringo is out cold but is breathing. Papa, you hit him hard." He spun around nervously. "We should get him inside."

  "Si," Ramon said.

  The two men dragged Jake out of the pickup and into a shack. With Rosie's assistance, they checked the bloody wound on the back of Jake's head and splashed water onto his face.

  "What the hell?" Jake murmured. "Where am I?"

  "You will be okay. Drink some water." She pushed a bottle at him.

  He chugged, stopped and spat the fluid onto the floor. "Christ, it's warm and tastes like piss."

  "Get up." Rosie wanted to hit him again with the pipe laying a few feet away, but she needed the Diablo to get across the border. "We have to go."

  Jake pulled himself off the floor. He reached to his head and swayed.

  Ramon steadied him. "Senor, can you walk?"

  "I'm dizzy," Jake mumbled. "Get your dirty brown hands off me. What'd you do to me?"

  "Go." Ramon said with disgust. "Now." He pushed Jake toward the door.

  * * *

  Rosie led the way as they walked the remaining distance through rutted alleys strewn with trash and reeking of methane from open sewers. The route was precarious because of thugs who lurked in the shadows, but it was safer than the streets where the authorities might pick them up.

  Jake stumbled often. He had trouble keeping up with Rosie. "Why the big hurry?"

  "Shhh. We need to be hidden before dawn," she whispered. "Come on. No time for questions."

  By the time they reached Rosie's destination, the La Plaza Motel, a few blocks from the Rio Grande, the predawn sky had turned a dirty gray. Birds began to chirp and roosters crowed in the distance.

  Jake grumbled, "I hate dim-witted chickens."

  Rosie ignored him and walked into the motel's office. She spoke Spanish to a man inside and gestured toward Jake before leading him into a room next door. She switched on a table lamp near an unmade bed. A cheap radio alarm glared five o'clock.

  Now alert, Jake rubbed his head and grimaced. "I'm not staying in this flea-bitten room. If I didn't get lice or crabs from your pigsty trailer, I will here. Look at the carpet. It's slick from filth. I could skate on it." He scowled. "I'm leaving."

  Rosie reached out and grabbed Jake's arm. "Listen to me. We can't cross the border until afternoon. We will pretend to be an American couple who came to Nuevo Laredo in the morning to buy cheap shit from poor Mexicans. Then we cross the border near dusk. The Americanas’ are afraid that when the sun goes down, the dirt and poverty will rub off on them."

  A police vehicle's siren screamed as it passed by the motel. Jake and Rosie both stood still waiting.

  "We must act like an American couple," Rosie said. "Buy junk and be happy when we cross the border. We will brag to others as we wait in line about how we bartered an old woman for her handmade flowers and drank cheap tequila." Rosie moved across the room and closed the drapes.

  "Okay, okay. So what do we do in this shithole? Screw?" Jake walked toward the bed. "I'm not putting my ass down on that piece of shit."

  "We need to work on our plan. Open your suitcase. You have the papers we need."

  "Why should I? You and your buddies nearly killed me." He reached over and grabbed her small shoulders.

  Rosie's body stiffened. "Be careful." She spat out the words. "You are an American on the run. Why else would you end up, dirty and on foot, at a second-rate cantina near the desert? I may be poor, but not stupid." She yanked his hands off her. "My family and I could have called the federalies and you would be in jail. Or we could have killed you and fed you to our dogs." Her eyes sparkled as she watched Jake's sense of power fading.

  She had his attention and savored the moment by smoothing down her skirt and pulling her thin blouse together in the front. "You are in Mexico, gringo. Not a safe place for you. My uncle manages this motel, and he lives next door. The walls are paper-thin. He will call the authorities if you do not cooperate with me. And he will slit your throat if you touch me again." Rosie paused. Her words hung like thick smoke in a closed room. She propped her hip against the wall and continued, "You are slime. When we cross the border, it will be the last time I see your Diablo face."

  Jake nodded. His eyes darted toward the wall she was leaning against and his face showed a glint of trepidation.

  "Look at the papers. What names can we use?"

  With an arched brow, Jake stared at Rosie as he opened the suitcase on the bed. He focused on the contents.

  Rosie gazed at Jake closely. He had strong facial features with brown eyes and strands of silver in his dark hair. She guessed he was in his late forties. He wore a rumpled, pale-blue shirt, wrinkled tan slacks and expensive Prada loafers with no socks. To bad, he is a Diablo.

  Jake picked out two passports and matching driver's licenses. He returned the other documents back into the suitcase, turned around and said, "Okay. Scot and Rosemary Nix, from Chicago. Idiots spilled their life story to me." He snickered. "Rosemary Nix has long dark hair. We'll call you Rosie so you won't make a mistake. Now use your pea-sized brain. Remember that you were born in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Your mother spoke Spanish to you as a child. You have a Spanish-American accent, not your sickening Laredo-Mexican drawl. You're twenty-five years old. Birthday's March 27." He plopped d
own on top of the closed suitcase, which sat on the bed. He gave Rosie a critical look. "Pull your hair up, wipe that makeup off your face, and put on respectable clothing. Rosemary Nix was not a puta. Comprende?"

  "Si, I have other clothes and I can look like an American whore-wife." Rosie frowned. "Most women are whores or putas, in different ways. We all screw for something. Me for dollars. At least I'm honest about it." She paused to calm herself. "And what about Scot Nix?"

  "Scot was born in North Dakota. He's the youngest child of twelve. His parents were breeding machines." Jake laughed at his joke. "Scot's a building contractor, who just finished a large project in Illinois. He and his wife needed sunshine. They went to Monterrey."

  Rosie stared at the passports. "How did you steal these?"

  Jake paced across the room. "The couple liked me. Talked my leg off at the hotel bar. Rosemary Nix rubbed up next to me right away. Her hand slipped under the bar edge. Played with my dick and it grew hard as a rock." Jake moved close to Rosie and grinned. "Like all women, she wanted me."

  Rosie grimaced at his disgusting words and his foul breath. "You are nothing. You are only alive because I need a new way to cross."

  "Mr. Nix wanted to smoke weed so we went outside the bar. When I returned, after twenty or thirty minutes, Mrs. Nix didn't even ask where her hubby was." Jake's face lit up. "Mrs. Nix and I went to their suite in the hotel for wild sex. She screamed and yelled." He laughed. "She loved it. For me, in case you're wondering, it wasn’t much.”

  Rosie frowned. Her eyes darted toward the wall she was leaning on, to remind Jake her uncle was listening.

  Jake did not seem to notice the subtle warning. "Then the bitch decided we should find her husband. We looked for him, and guess what? She didn't come back either." In an insolent tone he said, "A lonely, bored, sad housewife. She hated her life and her chubby husband. Mr. Nix had confided in me that he had forged loan papers. Things were coming down fast. I did them both a favor."

  Rosie shook her head. "You killed them. You're a sick son-of-a-bitch who believes he is God."

  "Whatever." He paused and glared at her. "Don't act as if you're a Madonna. You're noting but a whore and you're ready to use their passports." He moved in front of her. "Lucky for you, I did kill them. Now we can be Mr. and Mrs. Scot Nix." He laughed and grabbed her ass.

  Rosie pushed herself away.

  Jake looked at the adjoining wall and whispered, "I stayed in their suite for a few days. Made telephone calls and found money hidden in the refrigerator. Idiots, that's the first place to look. I bet the hotel hasn't even reported them missing, and they don't have a family."

  Jake opened and closed his large hands. "I'm thinking you'll try something stupid once we get on the American side of the Rio Grande. If you turn me in, I'll do the same to you." He glared at her. "Don't cross me, bitch. You may have me by the short hairs now, but not for long. If anything goes wrong today, I'll kill you."

  Chapter 38

  1875-Empire, Colorado Territory

  "The sun will be up soon," I said to Lulu. "We need to get out of here." She nodded. Even in the early morning light, I could see fear and panic in her big black eyes. I clutched her hands in mine, wishing I could share my vision of escaping this way. "If you wear Mac's clothes and ride ahead of the wagon, people will think you're Mac."

  "That might work, Pearl, but where we going?" she whispered. "And whats we gonna do when we get there?"

  "We'll figure it out."

  Lulu turned to the others. "We've got to leave before this town knows what we done did. Go to the river, all of you. Wash off the dirt and blood. Hurry back to camp. We'll load what we can in the wagon." She pushed Sonny in front of her. "Now."

  * * *

  Even at full dawn, the only folks active in Empire were a few Chinese men sweeping out tents and throwing slop onto the road. Two skinny dogs glanced at us, then resumed lapping up the garbage just dumped. We passed them all without acknowledging their existence and they ignored us as well.

  Lulu, wore Mac's clothes and his well-worn leather hat pulled low on her head. She rode twenty-feet ahead of our wagon with Sonny at her side.

  We left the filthy tent city behind and followed a trail going southwest. The mountains loomed in the distance. Golden aspen trees lit up entire hills in streaks of sunlight.

  Large groups of ducks and geese flew overhead calling to each other with throaty honks. They flew in V-shaped wedges signaling that winter was on its way. In a way, we resembled the flocks above traveling behind Lulu and Sonny. But we were not headed toward a warmer place.

  Midmorning we stopped in a vale surrounded by evergreens and aspens. We were exhausted and famished, but stood in awe at the wild flowers still blooming. Pink snapdragons, blue morning glories and purple columbine flowers that resembled orchids, bordered the little valley. Meadowlarks and thrush provided a musical reprieve. The aroma of autumn leaves, the grass and the clean air filled our senses.

  Kate sneezed and we all said, "Gesundheit," in unison, except Anna, who rested in the wagon. She was not feeling well.

  "We have enough bread and jerky to last about six days," Lulu said. Her thick black hands sorted through the food keg. "Apples are getting rotten. Need to finish them soon."

  After our meal, I placed Mac's money and documents in front of me on a piece of cloth. I counted the bills and Kate stacked the coins in separate piles by size and shape.

  "There's over $200 in paper money and about $50 in change. How long do you think this will last Lulu?" I asked.

  Lulu stepped down from the wagon after checking on Anna. "Through winter, if we don't get robbed."

  I picked up a document and read. "Here's a deed to McGregor's, a store in Georgetown. Where's that?"

  "I remember Mac showed me on a map. You probably have it there." She pointed at the pile of papers. "It's west of Denver. A mining town. Guess we could head there."

  "Mac won it at poker last night," Kate said.

  Sonny brought a bucket of red berries he'd picked from beside a nearby lagoon. He handed them to his mom. She patted the back of his dirty, crumpled plaid shirt. He beamed a wide smile.

  "Look," I shouted, shooing flies from my face. "Here's a mining claim. It's near Magic City in the Colorado Territory. Know where that is?"

  Lulu shook her head. "Nope, but we ain't no miners." She ambled over to Kate and lifted her long curly red hair. "Need to hack this off. You'd be safer."

  Kate pulled Lulu's hand away. "You aren't cutting mine."

  "Lulu's right," I said to Kate. "We can't look like fancy girls."

  I pulled Joey's knife out of my waistband. "Sonny, come here. I'll be first. Cut my hair short."

  Chapter 39

  Nuevo Laredo-Tamaulipas, Mexico

  Jake's eyes snapped open in the dark room, his left leg numb. He didn't move as he tried to remember where he was and how much time had passed. He realized he was propped on an end table with his shoulder braced against a dirty wall in the Nuevo Laredo motel room. His indiglo watch showed he had slept over an hour in the awkward position. Stiff and sore, he stood and slapped his hip pocket for his wallet.

  Rosie opened the outside door and walked inside. The morning sun streamed into the heavily draped room. It blinded him for a few seconds. She threw a white plastic shopping bag onto the bed. "Take a shower. We need to leave pronto."

  "Well hello, Rosie. What'd you steal from me this time?"

  Rosie pulled the grungy drapes open. "No time for bullshit. I need to cross the border soon. Hurry, I'll be outside."

  Jake grabbed the sack. Inside, he found used, but clean Levis and a maroon Polo shirt. Both in the correct size. He exited the motel room ten minutes later, showered and shaved wearing the faded jeans and shirt. Dusty hot air mixed with the odor of burnt food greeted him. Rosie stood in the shade of a weary mesquite tree. Jake gave her the once-over.

  She wore an ankle-length, red gauzy skirt with a pink sash and a white embroidered blouse. Her long h
air, pulled up at the side and clasped with a tortoise-shell barrette made her look older than sixteen. The Jacqueline Kennedy-style sunglasses gave her the appearance of a tourist at play in Mexico.

  "Well, well." Jake squinted in the bright light. "Now you don't look so sluttish, but I still wouldn't be caught dead with you in the States." He knew Rosie's fake Chanel sunglasses hid a cold stare of contempt. She picked up her straw tote and took a step forward before he grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

  "Let go of me," she hissed. "We must leave."

  "Okay." Jake dropped his grip. "Which way's the border? A psychic bitch needs my attention on the other side."

  Chapter 40

  Phoenix, Arizona

  Allie stepped out of the Phoenix hotel lobby and noticed a ceiling of broken clouds. The unforgiving sun had bleached the city and surrounding desert of color, leaving only shades of gray. A few palm trees planted around the concrete and glass building looked desperate, if not defeated.

  "Allie, wait up." Dan walked toward her. "If you're headed to the airport, maybe we can share a ride."

  "Of course. My car's right here." She pointed at a white compact parked nearby. They walked to the vehicle with suitcases in tow, chatting about the coincidence of being on the same flight to Denver.

  After returning the rental and going through security, they bought two cups of Starbucks coffee and waited at their gate. Allie studied her research notes regarding Pauly St. Claire. She stopped and glared at Dan's right leg. It danced up and down as if it had a life of its own, creating annoying taps on her chair. She suppressed the urge to pinch his knee.

  The announcement to board their Southwest airline's flight echoed off the terminal walls. Allie and Dan joined the sheep-like formation entering the plane. They found seats next to each other and became occupied in their thoughts. The plane taxied, lifted and flew west.