by Chris Fabry
“If you don’t get those people out of there and the governor is killed, this will be on the police because you didn’t listen.” J. D. hung up.
There weren’t any cabs and who knew how long he’d have to wait for one. He went inside and grabbed a business card with the hotel phone number from the front desk. As he walked out, he spotted several people wearing red, white, and blue with Chandler stickers on a rolled-up piece of cardboard. He followed them to a minivan.
“You guys aren’t heading over to the rally, are you?” he said.
The people turned. A man with graying hair had his keys out.
J. D. stepped closer. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You a Chandler supporter?” the man said. He opened the side door with his key fob but kept his eye on J. D.
“I’ll probably vote for him. But to be honest with you, I just need to get to the rally.”
The man pursed his lips and glanced at the van. “I’m all for an informed electorate, but it’s pretty tight. Sorry.”
“I understand. I don’t usually look this scruffy, if it means anything. But if you’d give me a ride, I’d appreciate it.”
“I wish I could, friend.”
The man got in his van and J. D. heard the doors lock. He walked across the parking lot and through the bushes toward the interstate.
The van pulled over a few yards ahead on the street and the front passenger door swung open. “Your lucky day,” the driver yelled. “I got outvoted. Democracy in action. Hop in.”
J. D. shook his hand and thanked him. As the man introduced the others in the van, J. D. wondered if, in the coming days, they would fight over whether he’d been the man in the news reports.
“You in town for the rally?” the driver said.
“No, I work on a farm south of here. Where are you all from?”
“Prescott. We hate the direction this country’s going and I think Chandler is the man to get us out of the ditch, if you know what I mean.”
There were a couple of amens from the backseat and J. D. nodded. They seemed sincere, but they were also walking into a buzz saw, and he wasn’t sure if or when he should break the news.
Win’s cell vibrated and he pulled it out.
“Is this Win?” a man said.
“No, sir, it’s not.”
“I’m Detective Ross. Who is this?”
“My name’s J. D. I’m a friend of Win’s.”
“He left a message. It sounded urgent.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He looked at the driver and figured this was as good a time as any. “It’s about the rally. In less than an hour a guy from Mexico is going to try and kill Chandler. And I doubt he’ll stop with the governor.”
The driver nearly hit a fire hydrant.
“What man?” the detective said. “How do you know this?”
“Maria put it together early this morning.”
“Who is Maria?”
“Maria Sanchez. Daughter of the cartel leader. You’ve been looking for her. I’m the one who found her.”
“And Maria is the shooter?”
“No, she’s trying to warn people.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. My guess is she’s trying to stop Muerte too.”
“Is he the shooter?”
“He might be. He’s got the gun.”
“How does Maria know Muerte?”
All J. D. could see were brake lights in front of them. When he looked to the sky, he was surprised to see clouds billowing, growing fuller and white, like cotton candy.
“Detective, I can explain this after you’ve cleared that area. You need to stop the rally.”
“Are you serious?” someone in the back of the van said. There were gasps from the others.
“Where are you now?” the detective said.
“Headed toward the rally.”
“And Muerte, you said he—”
“You’re wasting time!”
“I have to convince a lot of people more powerful than I am about this, J. D. Tell me about Muerte.”
“He brought a high-powered rifle across the border.”
“And he’s involved in the drug trade?”
“Come on, Detective, surely you know his name.”
“I do, and I’m familiar with Sanchez.”
“Maria thinks he’s double-crossing her father, that Muerte’s really involved with the Zetas.”
“Why would he want to kill Chandler?”
He couldn’t fault the man for the questions. He’d had them too. But he also couldn’t keep the frustration down. “We could go back and forth a long time until I get you to believe me. But if you’re taking this seriously, you’ll get on the horn now with the Secret Service or whoever’s in charge.”
“I’m doing that, but I have to prove to them this is a credible threat.”
“Tick off a list to them of the people killed the past three days. The Border Patrol agent, the doctor in Benson, the officer on the south side—all of those are directly connected to Muerte. Plus the shootout at the Mustang Bar last night. Body count’s pretty high at this point, so I think it’s credible. And if the media gets hold of the fact that the police knew ahead of time this was going down, you can kiss your jobs good-bye.”
“Why’d you wait so long to make the call?”
Another good question. “Maybe I should have called you a long time ago. There’ll be time to score me on all of this, but that’s not now.”
“What are you hiding, J. D.?”
“What do you mean?”
“What are you not telling me? About you, about the girl?”
There were many things he wasn’t telling. He picked one. “She didn’t want to go to the police because that would make it easier for Muerte to find her. She thinks the police are working with him. At least some of them.”
“That’s crazy.”
“Muerte is powerful. He has contacts and lots of resources. He pays well.”
“And you trust this woman?”
“I trust her a lot more than I trust Muerte or you.”
The man remained calm, in control. “How do you know this man?”
“I don’t know him. But every time we turned around, he was there, or some of his men, trying to kill her. Now I suggest you tell the governor and everybody who’ll be on that platform to cancel the rally. Get those spectators out of there.”
“We’ve been following your credit card transactions. We know about—”
He had been connected too long. J. D. hung up and the phone immediately buzzed. They were in thick traffic and he glanced at his watch. He was running out of time.
“How far away are we?” J. D. said.
“A few minutes if we can get around the traffic,” the driver said, his face ashen. “Did you really mean what you said?”
J. D. nodded. “That was the police. I don’t want to bust your balloon about this meeting, but if I were you, I wouldn’t go anywhere near the rally.”
“If it’s so dangerous, why are you going?” someone from the back said.
“I’m looking for somebody.”
Something familiar caught his eye and to his left, across four lanes, he saw Win’s truck parked at the end of a Safeway lot. When the driver braked again, J. D. opened the door and stepped out.
“Much obliged for the ride. You folks take care.”
The people looked dumbstruck as he closed the door and ran straight through stalled traffic. He found the truck unlocked, keys still in the ignition, but the handgun was gone. In the distance he could hear the thump of music from the band shell and the faint noise of a crowd.
He climbed into the truck and sat, staring at the phone. Narrow your focus. Take the next step. Keep moving. You’re not the hunted now.
He dialed the mystery number in the recent calls list. The number he assumed Maria had dialed. It rang once.
“Yes?”
It was Muerte. No question. Nothing in the backgrou
nd, no thumping bass or clapping. Just a clean line.
“Is this you, J. D.?” Muerte said. His voice had a boxy sound to it. Like he was speaking from an empty room.
“I called to let you know the police are on their way.”
“Really? You’re such a good friend. And where might they be looking?”
“Maybe they’re using your phone. Maybe they’ve got a bead on you right now. I’d take a look around.”
“Oh, I have taken several precautions, my friend.”
“Well, don’t be surprised if they pull the trigger before you can. Unless one of the Zetas is firing the rifle.”
“Is that what she told you I was doing?”
“We figured it out together.”
“Why aren’t you with her?”
“How do you know I’m not?”
The man smiled on the other end—J. D. could hear it in his voice. “J. D., have you considered that the things she told you may not be the truth?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did she portray herself? Was she the pouting kitten, luring you with her beauty? The virginal damsel in distress, vulnerable? Or perhaps the religious zealot? She was trained in all these ways and more. Is this how she reeled you in?”
“You’re an evil man.”
He chuckled. “So quick to judge others, aren’t you? You probably even gave her access to a firearm. Am I right?”
J. D. hesitated.
“So she does have a firearm. And it will be your gun that is used in this heinous crime.”
J. D. couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.
“She used you, J. D. She seduced you to believe what you wanted to believe. And now you are an accessory.”
His heart rate accelerated. “What’s it feel like, Muerte?”
“What does what feel like?”
“To have the tables turned. To be the hunted instead of the hunter.”
The cell buzzed and J. D. held it away from his ear. It was the hotel’s number. Win. J. D. ignored it.
“By the time the authorities figure out what happened, if they ever do, I will be a long way from here. And you or whoever’s weapon is used will be arrested, not me.”
“And Maria will be dead.”
“Maria will survive. We have an agreement.”
“What agreement?”
“You’ll see, J. D.” Another smile.
J. D. got out of the truck and glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes until the event began unless the police intervened. Keep him talking. Focus on anything in the background.
“You know what, Muerte? You’d make a good song.”
“What was that?”
“I said you’d make a good country-and-western song. It’s what I do. Write songs. Sing. Most of them have a lot to do with losing something, having a cold, dead heart, or just wanting to get revenge. I think you’d be a good fit.”
“Your homespun humor intrigues me, but I prefer the music of my native land.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to listen to whatever they’re playing at the federal pen.”
The man chuckled. “If they did catch me, I would never stay locked away. Poor J. D. Taken in by a woman. Beautiful, yes, but so cunning and deceptive. And now she is going to use you to kill the candidate.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Did you pledge your undying love? Is that why you’re still chasing her?”
J. D. didn’t answer.
“You should find her and prevent her from taking an innocent life.”
He kept walking toward the venue, thinking.
“I’ll be looking for your picture in the news accounts,” Muerte said. “Good luck, J. D. You’re going to need it.”
33
J. D. KEPT MOVING, reaching a cordoned-off area and a security checkpoint. If Maria had a gun, she wouldn’t have made it through that. He walked the perimeter, looking for a spot where she might have crawled under. Streets were closed, blocked, and the traffic around the venue snarled as crowds swelled. A stage was set up near the front of the downtown library, an imposing, window-laden building. He had to get higher than street level to find her. And maybe if he got higher, he could find Muerte. But that was a big if.
The phone buzzed and he heard Win’s voice.
“J. D., I just spoke with Detective Ross. Where are you?”
“At the rally.”
“Do you have my truck?” The man sounded groggy.
“I found it a few minutes ago. Maria took it.” He told him where it was parked.
“I’m sorry. I checked on Iliana and I must have fallen asleep.”
“It’s not your fault. Maria put something in our orange juice.”
“What was it?”
“Must’ve been the Percocet. We got it in Benson.” J. D. tried a door to the library. Locked.
“But why would she do that? We’re trying to help her.”
The revolving door at the front of the library circled and J. D. headed for it. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s all an act, Win. Maybe she used us.”
“What makes you think that?”
A security guard stood near the door, watching the plaza, nodding to J. D. as he came through.
“I just talked with Muerte. He says she’s the one who’s going after Chandler.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Unless she’s the one angling for control of the family business.”
Silence on the other end.
“Maybe she led us to believe all that stuff about Muerte and the Zetas.”
“After meeting her, hearing her story, that’s hard for me to believe.”
J. D. agreed, but he didn’t want to say that. “My other theory is she’s protecting us. She went alone to find Muerte and take him out. She’ll take the consequences.”
“I prefer that theory.”
“I hear you. What did the detective say?”
“He told me he spoke with you. He’s very concerned.”
“Good. He should be.”
And then it came together in J. D.’s head. As he hit the stairway to the second, then the third floor, it came to him as clearly as his reflection in the polished tile. Outside were ominous clouds and the crowd below, but inside his head swirled another storm. He hadn’t figured out why she had acted as she did—he might never know that—but why he had been vulnerable. She had exploited, whether she meant to or not, his need. She had used his weakness, his desire to save someone. If he had not been so needy, he might have acted differently, might have stood up and involved the police instead of running.
The same thing had happened with Alycia early on in her illness, him pushing her for treatment, conventional instead of organic. He couldn’t lose her. It was about him, not her.
Had Maria sensed this unfettered desire, or had they simply met each other at the right moment? It didn’t matter now, of course. But following her, running toward her as she sought Muerte, meant continuing toward weakness and vulnerability. If he did it for selfish reasons, to get Maria back, to keep her safe, he would follow his life’s pattern. But could there be something more? Something good in the pursuit?
“Maria called Muerte from your phone,” J. D. said. “She made contact. And she has a weapon.”
Win said something J. D. couldn’t hear.
“That detective, did he talk to Chandler’s people? Is he getting this thing canceled?”
“He said he was handling it, but I don’t know how successful he’ll be. J. D., we should pray for her. There is nothing left to do but pray.”
“You pray, Win. Pray hard. I need to go.”
He hung up and scanned the crowd.
Where would Muerte be? He had a high-powered rifle and scope. That meant distance. He was somewhere holed up in one of the buildings that surrounded the rally, but which one? Which angle would he take?
Then he saw it. As clear as the Arizona sun, he saw the building in the distance, blocks away. A perfect sight line to the stage. If Muer
te were high enough in that building or especially on top of it, he would have a clear shot. J. D. focused on the roof, then on windows, but it was too far away.
He glanced at his watch. Only fifteen minutes until the rally began.
As he walked outside, the wind picked up and swept dust and grit into his face. He pulled his hat low and set himself on a straight path toward the building, skirting police officers stationed every few yards.
A siren wailed and a column of limos broke through a line in the barrier. The back of the crowd began a cheer that echoed through the throng. Their hero, the one who would lead them to their political promised land, neared the stage.
The hot air had become a swirling cauldron and he was sweating from every pore. Ahead of him, moving away from the rally, he saw a woman with long black hair and sweatpants. J. D. broke into a run.
“Maria!”
He jumped a barrier and pushed through a line going the other way. They had no idea.
She ducked into a coffee shop and he followed, seconds behind.
Every eye in the place looked at him when he burst through the door. He spotted her in the back, going into the women’s room, and called again but she didn’t stop.
He squeezed past the others and made it to the narrow hall leading to the restrooms.
“Maria, you in there?” J. D. said. He pounded on the door. No answer. He pushed the door open and saw the woman duck into a stall just being vacated.
“Maria!”
There were two women at the sink, incredulous that he was inside. “What do you think you’re doing?” one said.
“She has a gun.”
Gasps and the two headed for the door.
He knocked on the last stall. “Maria? It’s me, J. D.”
“Leave me alone.”
The accent was right but the voice was wrong. He stood on the air conditioner and looked over the stall. The woman screamed.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
A staff member was on the phone when he exited, and the two terrified women trembled with friends near the front.
“False alarm,” J. D. said.
“Pervert!” one said.
The crowd noise increased. He kicked himself for following a dead end. He had wanted it to be her and it had cost him.
Straight ahead was the tall building that had looked so promising from the library. The doors were locked and a crudely written sign said there was no access until after the rally. He cupped his hand to the perfectly cleaned glass and noticed a security guard. He banged on the window and the man waved him off. J. D. moved to a side entrance closer to the guard and knocked again.