“Babysitting you wasn’t what I had in mind,” he told her. “I’m just a mite tired after capturing some Guatemalan gang member and rescuing a fair damsel.”
“Don’t joke about it, Tom,” Bonnie said quickly. “You can’t begin to know what Carla May has gone through, that poor girl.”
He ran his hand over his head and nodded. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t mean anything by what I said.”
Bonnie stepped closer to him and lifted a hand to rest it on his cheek. “I know you didn’t.” She came up on her toes to kiss him, although she didn’t have to raise herself much. She was almost as tall as he was. “I think I’ll go by her house and see how she’s doing. You think that would be all right?”
“I don’t see why not. See you at home later?”
“Sure.”
They got in their respective vehicles and drove off, Tom hanging back so that Bonnie could pull out of the parking lot first. Then they turned in different directions, Bonnie toward the edge of town where Carla lived, Tom toward the business district.
As he drove, he felt worry gnawing lightly at his guts. He could have gone with Bonnie and called Louly at the store. That way he would have known that Bonnie was safe.
On the other hand, they couldn’t stay together 24/7. They would have to be apart some of the time. He couldn’t dump all the responsibility for the business on Louly, and there were his parents to think about, too. He couldn’t neglect them.
That brought up a fresh worry. His folks lived several miles out of town, and Buddy Gorman had said that M-15 liked to strike back at their enemies through family. Was it safe for his mom and dad to be out there by themselves? Tom wondered if they should come and stay with him and Bonnie for awhile. They would put up an argument, of course, especially his dad. Herb Brannon had lived in that ranch house all his life. Getting him to budge from it might require dynamite. Tom smiled at the thought.
The Explorer that had driven through the front of the accountant’s office was gone now—along with the body of the dead gang member inside it—but there was still plenty of evidence of the destruction that had taken place. The sidewalk was blocked off with yellow crime-scene tape. Sheets of plywood had been nailed up over the gaping hole left behind by the crash. Part of Main Street had been blocked off with orange cones, leaving only one lane of traffic getting through in that direction. Tom drove past, shaking his head at the devastation.
That crime-scene tape was getting to be a familiar sight in downtown. Earlier in the week, it had marked off the spot where Burt Minnow had been murdered. Tom had seen the dark stain on the sidewalk left by the old man’s blood. A city work crew had gotten most of the stain up, but if you knew where to look, you could still see it, mute testimony to the senseless slaying that had occurred there. Tom felt a pang of sorrow as he drove past the spot. Burt had been a friend and a neighbor ever since Tom had opened the auto parts store. It was still hard to believe he was gone.
Tom turned into the side street, went along it to an alley that led behind the block of businesses, and parked back there in an open, graveled area where employees parked so as to leave the spaces along Main Street open for customers. He unlocked the rear door and went inside, past the restroom and the tiny lounge, through the big area behind the counter that was filled with shelves and bins where parts from light bulbs and fuses to brake drums and air cleaners were kept. Radiator hoses of all shapes and sizes hung from hooks on the walls and had to be gotten down with a long pole made for that purpose. Heavy steel racks along one side of the building were filled with tires. The parts counter bisected the main room. Up front were more shelves containing car wax, radios and speakers, motor oil, brake fluid, air fresheners, even fuzzy dice to hang from the rearview mirror. In this part of the country, where people didn’t think twice about driving ninety or a hundred miles to go shopping or take in a movie, their vehicles were mighty important to them. Brannon Auto Parts tried to provide anything folks might need for their cars and trucks, at a reasonable price. Not as cheap as SavMart, of course, but most of Tom’s customers were regulars who had been shopping with him for years and didn’t have any interest in going elsewhere just to save a few cents.
When he came in, Louly Parker was behind the counter ringing up some windshield wiper blades for a customer. Her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and her jeans were tight enough to hug the curves of her bottom. Tom was an extremely happily married man, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t recognize an excellent female behind when he saw one. When he had first hired Louly, some of his predominantly male, middle-aged customers had been a little unsure about buying auto parts from such a young, pretty gal. They had realized fairly quickly, though, that Louly knew engines inside and out. The only girl in a family of four brothers who had endlessly rebuilt hot rods, she had learned everything there was to know about cars at an early age—including how not to let boys get too fresh in the back seat.
Of course, other customers had been more than happy to have Louly wait on them. Tom suspected some ol’ boys came in and bought stuff they didn’t really need, just so they could shoot the breeze with Louly for a while. That was all right, too.
The fella buying windshield wipers was the only customer in the store at the moment. As soon as he was gone, Louly turned to Tom, threw her arms around him, and gave him a big hug. He patted her on the back. She put a hand on his chest and pushed, putting some distance between them. She said, “What the hell, Tom. You’re the Lone Ranger now or something?”
Tom grinned. “How does a kid like you know anything about the Lone Ranger?”
“I had to show my daddy how to work his DVD player so he can watch all the episodes he’s bought on disc. Don’t change the subject. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in on those bank robbers like that. Then what would I have done for a job?”
“Gone to work for SavMart, I guess, like everybody else in the world.”
Louly rolled her eyes. “No thanks. I like this place.”
“I’ll sell it to you and retire.”
“One of these days I’ll take you up on that offer.”
The banter was well-worn and concealed the affection between them.
“Have you found out anything about those guys?” Louly went on. “I’ve heard people say they belonged to that M-15 outfit.”
Tom’s expression grew more serious as he nodded. “That’s right. Sheriff Gorman identified the one who was captured, and he’s definitely M-15.”
Louly shivered. “From everything I’ve seen and heard, that’s one scary bunch. They killed poor old Burt Minnow like he was nothing to them, like somebody swatting a fly.”
“Yeah, I’ll be staying closer to home for a while, since they may be holding a grudge against me. You think you’re up to working some longer hours?”
Without hesitation, she nodded. “You’re worried about Bonnie, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah. More about her than about me, to tell you the truth.”
“That doesn’t surprise me a bit. I’ll be here whenever you need me, Tom.”
He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder, a gesture that would have gotten him in trouble a lot of places. Thankfully, political correctness had only a tenuous grip on Little Tucson; people didn’t see sexual harassment everywhere they looked.
“Thanks. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble here—”
“If I do, there’s a baseball bat under the counter.”
Tom smiled, but he knew a baseball bat wouldn’t be much protection against the likes of M-15. Louly would only be here during the day, though, and he didn’t think the gang would retaliate in broad daylight.
Then he reminded himself of what had happened this morning at the bank, and earlier in the week to Burt Minnow, and he wasn’t so sure.
“I’m going to see about getting the guys to come in more often, so you won’t have to be working by yourself any.”
“That’s not necessary, but if it
makes you feel better, I won’t argue with you.”
“Good. You shouldn’t argue with your boss.”
“Especially one as stubborn as you,” she teased back at him.
He went into the small, crowded office and made some calls. Sal Guerrero, one of his part-timers, agreed to come in and work the rest of the day with Louly, and he and Mitch Hobson would split the shifts until further notice so that Louly would never be alone in the store. That made Tom feel a little better. He left, heading for home.
Bonnie had planned to stop by Carla May Willard’s house, but she might be home, too, by the time he got there, Tom thought.
8
Carla leaned her forehead against the cool tile of the wall inside the shower and let the water cascade down over her. She closed her eyes and stood there, soaking in the heat and steam. After a moment the shakes hit her again, and she had to grab hold of the bar that ran around the inside of the shower. Her hands gripped it tightly, squeezing harder and harder, and that helped control the shuddering.
But it just grew worse, and finally Carla sagged against the wall and let herself slide down it until she was sitting on the floor of the shower. The water hit the top of her head and streamed over her face, plastering down her hair. She kept shaking, her breathing ragged as she sobbed. Tears welled from her eyes and were immediately washed away.
She wished that the memories could be washed away so easily.
Even before she had gotten to the hospital, while she was riding in the back seat of Lauren Henderson’s sheriff’s department cruiser, she had been dreaming of a shower. She felt so incredibly filthy, and not just from rolling around on the sandy bottom of that wash. This filth stained her both inside and out, and she couldn’t wait to wash it off.
Lauren had made it clear in a firm but reasonably gentle manner that she couldn’t clean up until the doctor had examined her and evidence had been gathered. Evidence. That was a delicate way of putting it, when what they really did was to swab that bastard’s semen out of her vagina, comb her pubic hair so they could recover any hairs or bits of skin he’d left behind on her, and scrape under her fingernails in hopes of finding skin or blood samples there, even though she had told Lauren she hadn’t clawed the man. It was just procedure, covering all the bases. The son of a bitch had gotten away, but the authorities might get their hands on him someday and they wanted all the DNA evidence they could get so they could convict him.
Carla didn’t care if he was convicted or not. She wanted him dead, not in prison.
At least the other one had been caught. Tom Brannon had seen to that. Mr. Brannon had shown up before the second man had had a chance to rape her. Why couldn’t it have been just a little earlier?
And why didn’t she feel any cleaner when she had been under this shower for a long time, so long that the hot water was starting to run out?
The bathroom door opened, and Deputy Henderson’s voice asked, “Mrs. Willard? Are you okay in there?”
Carla forced her voice to work. “Y-yeah. I’m fine. I . . . I’ll be right out.”
“Okay. No rush. I just wanted to be sure you were all right.”
The deputy had brought Carla home and offered to stay and keep an eye on Andy and Emily while Carla got cleaned up at last. She was grateful for that. She just wasn’t up to looking after her kids right now. She would have to find somebody to help her, maybe her mother. Although that would mean that Carla would have to put up with her mother’s endless carping about how she never should have married Danny Willard.
That was absolutely right, of course. If Danny hadn’t been such a worthless bum, she wouldn’t have been carjacked, kidnapped, raped, and almost killed. If he hadn’t abandoned them, she might not have been driving along Main Street right at that particular moment. Yes, there was no doubt about it. It was all Danny’s fault.
The shakes had subsided somewhat. Carla pulled herself to her feet and shut off the now cold water coursing from the shower head. She opened the stall and stepped out, picking up a thick towel from the back of the toilet and wrapping herself in it.
After she had dried off and put on a robe, she left the bathroom and went into the dining room of her modest home. Deputy Henderson was sitting there, playing some sort of board game with Andy, who seemed fine despite the bandage on his head. Carla was surprised to see Bonnie Brannon in the dining room as well. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, rolling a ball back and forth with Emily.
Mrs. Brannon smiled up at her and said, “Hello, Carla May.” At least she had the good sense not to ask her how she was doing. That wasn’t surprising. Carla had always thought Mrs. Brannon was smart and sweet. She should have married Brian, she told herself. Then Mr. and Mrs. Brannon would have been her in-laws, and everything would have been all right. None of the bad things would have happened to her.
Carla started to cry again.
“Lord, here we go again,” Lauren Henderson muttered under her breath, then immediately regretted it. Of course Carla Willard was upset. She had been kidnapped, raped, and terrorized. She had every right to cry. Thankfully, she didn’t appear to have heard Lauren’s comment.
Bonnie Brannon had, though, and she shot a quick frown of disapproval in Lauren’s direction. Lauren shrugged and made a face as if to say she was sorry. And she was, of course.
Carla’s crying set off the two kids. Bonnie got off the floor, cuddling Emily in her arms as she did so, and as she went over to Carla, she said to Lauren, “Why don’t you take Andy out in the backyard for a little while?”
Lauren nodded. “That’s a good idea. I hear Andy’s got a dog, and I’d like to see it. Okay, Andy? You’ll show me your puppy, won’t you?”
He sniffled and wiped the back of his hand across his nose, but he nodded in answer to her question and walked slowly toward the back door.
Lauren hesitated. Quietly, she said to Bonnie, “Sheriff Gorman told me to keep an eye on—”
“It’s all right, you’ll just be in the backyard. And if the sheriff gives you any trouble, just let me know. Buddy Gorman and my husband have been friends for years.”
“Well . . . okay.” Lauren stepped out into the backyard with Andy, who knelt down and called a short- legged, long-bodied dachshund pup from its doghouse in a corner of the fenced-in yard. Lauren smiled and said, “A wiener dog! I love wiener dogs.”
“His name is Frankie.”
“For Frankfurter?” Lauren guessed.
“Yeah,” Andy said with a grin. His eyes still had some tears in them, but he was all right again now.
“How old is he?”
“I don’t know. I’ve only had him a couple of weeks. My mom got him for me ’cause I did good in school this year. She was afraid I wasn’t gonna pass, so she said she’d get me a dog if I did. I was afraid she wasn’t gonna keep her promise, but she did.”
Andy picked up a rubber ball that was lying on the ground and tossed it across the yard. The dachshund pup went after it, short legs churning rapidly. Andy laughed and clapped his hands as Frankie retrieved the ball and brought it back to him.
Lauren looked down at the boy and the dog and shook her head. When she saw something this innocent, it was hard to believe the evil that was Mara Salvatrucha could exist in the same world. Surely that was some bizarre alternate universe.
But it wasn’t, of course. The evil was here and now, and it wasn’t content to lurk in its own dark corners. It was eager to crawl out into the light, to befoul and pollute and ruin the rest of the world for the good people who had worked so hard to make decent lives for themselves. Ever since she had become aware of that evil, Lauren had longed to smash it, to drive it back into its hole and bury it so deep that it could never see daylight again. That desire was one reason she had gone into law enforcement.
The fact that she got to pack heat didn’t hurt, either.
The back door opened, and Bonnie Brannon came out, still carrying Emily. Carla followed them. She had put on some jeans and a shirt and wore f
lip-flops on her feet. Her eyes were still a little red and swollen, but she looked a little more composed now. Lauren hoped that the condition lasted. Carla had a couple of kids who were depending on her to be strong.
“If you need to get back to work, Deputy, I can stay here for a while,” Bonnie said. “Carla’s called her mother, and she’s going to come stay with her for a while.”
Lauren nodded. “That’s a good idea. But I can stay as long as I need—”
“It’s all right, really,” Carla broke in. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Deputy, but I think it would be better if... if you went on back to work. Having you here . . . well, it’s just a reminder of . . . of what happened.”
Lauren felt a flash of irritation, but then she realized that Carla didn’t really mean to sound ungrateful. She just wanted to get a sense of normalcy back in her life, and she couldn’t do that as long as Lauren was hanging around in uniform, with a service revolver holstered on her hip.
“All right, that’s fine. But if there’s any problems, any sign that something’s not right, call the sheriff’s department and somebody will be here right away.”
Carla nodded. “I will. And thank you again.”
Lauren reached down to pet the dachshund. “So long, Andy,” she said to the little boy. “Take good care of Frankie.”
“I will,” he said. “I already promised my mom I’d feed him and change his water and clean up his poop.”
Lauren tried not to grin. “Well, if you do all that, I’m sure everything will be fine.”
She nodded to Carla and Bonnie, then went back through the house and out to her car parked in front. As she pulled away, she felt a tingle of apprehension. Members of M-15 didn’t get caught and put in jail very often. Hardly ever, in fact. So this case was going to get a lot of publicity, and the gang probably wouldn’t like that. The leaders wouldn’t want one of their men convicted and sent to prison. That might make them look weak to the other members of the gang. They would do something, Lauren thought. She was convinced of it.
Invasion USA Page 7