I ignore Paul’s slam. “And you got hooked?”
“I’m in control.” We ride on a bit before he adds, “I plan to wean myself as soon as we settle down to some sort of normalcy. I want to be a good husband to you and a good father to our children.”
I’m sure he means this, but hooked is hooked and it’s doubtful that a trafficking operation could be called normal. Besides, he has easy access to the stuff. The substance isn’t as bad on organs as heroin, but cocaine abuse is just as deadly. And if there’s any validity to the drug dealer’s mantra, “Never get high on your own supply,” I’d wager Paul’s business is in trouble.
Because of Chief ’s longer stride, Sugar has fallen behind and Paul slows the horse so I can catch up.
When I come alongside Paul, our two shadows stretch across the desolate landscape, outlined by the quickly rising sun. He takes a deep breath of the crisp morning air. “Smell the mesquite?”
I breathe in but the aroma eludes me.
When I don’t answer, he urges Chief forward and continues. “I saw the oil property slipping away and knew I would need another source of income. But I never considered trafficking until Ramón and his brother came to me with a proposal I couldn’t refuse.”
“And what was that?”
“A big percentage of the take to establish the business in the US, transfer the production down here, then use the airstrip at Anacacho to receive the goods. It’s a very clean operation. Ramón’s family is better than most.”
Paul’s description sounds like ad copy. I wonder if that’s how he’s justified the “business” to himself. And I’m amazed he’s being so up front with me. Though cokeheads tend to ramble, he’s giving out much too much information. Still, I’ve never passed up an opportunity—why start now?
“You never told me what happened to the ranch. For all intents and purposes, you’re dead.”
He laughs. “Ever the lawyer, aren’t you? Gibbs sold the ranch and the jet to pay off debts. A Laredo man bought the airstrip.”
“What a deal.”
“Ramón set everything up. And after we cut the deal, he sent me the best people in his organization—Fanny and Luke Hansen.”
My mouth drops. “Gibbs sold the airstrip to Luke Hansen? He’s the most disgusting human being I’ve ever met.”
Paul’s guffaw fills the air. “Hey, tell me how you really feel.”
I long to go into Luke’s abuses on the trip across the flat and barren countryside, but fear reprisal if I do.
“Luke is a mite rough around the edges, but he cleans up pretty good when he has to. Despite what you might think, he comes from a nice Valley family. Went to TMI with Ramón and then attended A&M for a while.”
“Does Gibbs know who Luke Hansen is?”
“Of course not. Ray Gibbs is the most honorable man I know.”
At that I try to check Paul’s expression but he’s too far ahead of me. His quick response sounds much too pat. Then Paul’s letter comes to mind and the ending. Ray Gibbs will help you. Trust him.
Ray could be an unwitting front for Paul’s scheme, but his words echo. Just be patient and I’m sure everything will turn out just fine. Though his words were reassuring, the look on his face betrayed them.
I remember that dreadful moment before I was hit from behind. “You were tied and gagged. Was that part of your plan?” “We needed to convince Cotton I was going to be killed by some disgruntled drug lord. As it turned out, your surprise visit made my untimely ‘death’ more believable.”
“But, I heard Fanny tell the sheriff she gave you heroin.”
“Part of the script. Cotton needed to believe I was dead for the plan to work.”
“Fanny. You said she planned the escape?”
“And did a damn good job. Now, she’s gone on to a much better life.”
“Six feet under?”
Paul gives me a tut-tut look. “Hardly. She recently bagged a plush apartment for herself in the El Prado suburb of Barranquilla on the coast of Colombia. Fanny’s mistress to one of the Medellín cartel. A dangerous move for most women, but if I know her, she’s doing just fine.”
“So the sheriff is in on this too?”
A gust of wind carries Paul’s voice away. Is he saying mordida? “What did you say?”
“Payoffs.”
I bridle at Paul’s condescending attitude. Most native Texans know about “the bite.”
He gives me a self-satisfied grin. “I’m dead as far as the sheriff ’s concerned. Right now, he thinks he’s dealing with a Mexican called Jefe.”
My mind replays the meeting in Gibbs’s office and Bill’s voice echoes. That’s what we wanted Paul to believe. If he wrote anything else we would all be in jeopardy, can’t you see that?
“The sheriff ’s playing both sides?”
“Has to. He’s dirt poor and the county pay isn’t that good.” Our horses now neck and neck, Paul studies me for a few seconds. “How do you think the Piper Cub gets across the border and back? We fly below radar level, but when the plane is at capacity, there’s not much speed. So, it’s up to Cotton to shell out cash on each side of the river as fast as we can get it to him.”
We ride on in silence, my mind scrambling to make sense out of what I’ve just learned. It’s a relief to know Bill hasn’t been exposed yet, but I wonder how much longer he can keep his role with the DEA a secret. There are too many corrupt officials on both sides of the border and someone is bound to squeal.
Our horses strain to gain a small ridge, then stand panting. In front of us lies a long, narrow body of water lined with willows. I notice the slight breeze coming off the water seems almost chilly.
“What’s this?”
Paul dismounts and offers his hand. “This is the only reason I could leave Anacacho.” He ties the horses to a nearby fence and comes back to stand beside me.
I survey this unbelievable anomaly in the midst of the unending scrub and sigh. “A treasure in the middle of nowhere.”
Paul smiles. “I guess you could call it that.”
He points over swaying willows to a jagged purple line on the horizon. “There’s an underground river rising in those mountains that flows through a fault in the limestone. The pipe breaks to the surface, runs above ground for close to one thousand feet, then dives again just beneath us.”
“But the mountains seem so far away.”
“Optical illusion. Just a couple miles. Not much elevation. The force of the water is like an artesian well. Here.” He squats, pulling me with him. “Even on the hottest days, it’s just like this.”
I swish my hand through the rushing water. It’s mirror clear and icy cold.
“There’s another surprise just through here.” Paul rises and motions me to follow him through a break in the willows. In a clearing beneath swaying leafy tendrils is an exact replica of Paul’s hideaway in the Anacacho Mountains.
Face filled with expectation, he grabs my hand. “I built this especially for you.”
My stomach wrenches as Paul’s lips find mine. I taste the bitter residue of his latest snort and it’s all I can do not to shove him away. But that calm, cool voice inside my head tells me not to resist anything he might try.
I wait, breath held, for him to make his move. After all, it’s the perfect place. We’re alone and the “bed” only a few steps away.
To my surprise Paul releases me and smiles. “Isn’t this a great summer getaway? On the hottest days, it’s as cool as it is right now. I consider this one of nature’s small wonders.” He checks his watch. “We better head back. It’s almost time for lunch.”
We are almost to the ranch when Paul says my wedding dress arrived from Laredo this morning and we will marry this coming Saturday.
At those words, the full sense of my predicament rushes forward with nauseating clarity. I have only five days to attempt an escape.
I manage to smile and make all the right sounds while the half-formed idea of the previous night begins to ta
ke shape. Jed may be as crooked as the rest of them, but he’s my only hope. How do I get to him? It won’t be easy since Paul has separated his domestic staff from the production crew.
After we dismount at the back porch, Paul pulls me close for a lingering kiss. To one side, I notice Miguel staring away, trying to ignore our intimacy.
When we part, Miguel says, “Perdóname, Jefe, you are needed at the stables.”
Paul excuses himself and hurries away, leaving Miguel to gather the horses and follow.
I catch up with him. “May I speak with you?”
Miguel jumps away. “Please, Señorita, we must not be seen talking. Speak only to Lena. She will relay what you have to say to me.” He breaks into a trot, pulling the horses behind him.
Adelena is at the stove when I enter the kitchen and I pull her toward the safety of the pantry and close the door behind us.
“I have to get away from here before Saturday.”
Adelena, face crammed with despair, nods. “I see Jefe has told you about the ceremony.”
“This morning. What do you know about it?”
“He asked me to prepare quail for the wedding feast.” “How many guests do you expect?”
“Jefe said twenty.”
Adelena’s just as much in the dark as I am. Remembering Paul’s announcement about my bridal attire I change the subject. “I hear my dress arrived.”
“Sí, Señorita. It is very beautiful. Jefe had it made in Laredo. It matches the mantilla.”
First the quail, now the dress and veil. Hard evidence of Paul’s insane master plan.
“I don’t have much time, Adelena. It’s very important that I speak to Señor Jed as soon as possible. Can Miguel get a message to him for me?”
Adelena nods. “He can try. But there are no places here to meet secretly except this pantry and there is no reason for Señor Jed to visit the house.” She wrings her hands, her face contorted with anguish and hope. “Do you really think you can get away?”
“I have to. I can’t marry that man. He’s...” I make the “crazy-in-the-head” sign.
Adelena nods in agreement. “Too much white powder,” she whispers, then crosses herself and says, “Dios mío, whatever will become of us?”
It’s just eleven and my newly-bowed legs beg for relief. I head for my room and a long soak in a steaming tub.
I don’t notice the dress until I stumble into it. The crackle of the plastic cover sends chills as I slowly turn to look.
An intricately filigreed ecru mantilla slithers to the floor and I step away, not wanting to touch it at first. Silent seconds pass before I make myself reach down and bring the heavy lace to my cheek. It’s so fine, it feels almost like silk.
I peer through the clear plastic to see a long dress, low cut with short sleeves. The lines are simple, accented with lace matching the mantilla. It’s as lovely as the veil. Under ordinary circumstances this would be a gift of love, but these are no ordinary circumstances.
After re-draping the mantilla over the dress, I deposit my sweaty riding clothes in the hamper and head for the beckoning bathtub.
The soak brings physical relief. Emotionally I’m a wreck and tears slide from beneath my closed lids. “This can’t be happening” hammers like a mantra until I can stand it no longer. I scrub my arms and legs until they burn. Finally, I pull the plug, watch the water disappear, and wonder if my life will be down the hole as well in the next few days. I have to face the truth. I’m trapped.
I’ve just toweled down when Adelena brings news that Paul will remain at the barns until dinner. She bears a tray with a bowl of hot bean soup and a goblet of red wine. Grateful for the chance to gain some control of my frayed emotions, I scarf the lunch, then take to the bed and snatch a few hours of much needed sleep.
It’s dark when the sound of Paul’s footsteps awaken me. The rush of his shower plunges me into action and when he finally appears in the living room, I’m enjoying my first sip of Scotch.
I raise my lips to meet his welcoming kiss and lie. “I missed you at lunch.”
Paul settles beside me just as Miguel materializes with his martini and disappears. “Better get used to odd hours and interrupted evenings. The crew goes into action the minute the shipment arrives.”
Dinner is devoted to a rundown of Paul’s plans for our wedding day. Masses of fresh-cut flowers will be flown in and only Roederer Cristal Champagne will be served to wash down Adelena’s celebrated broiled quail.
When I venture to ask how many guests will be sharing our “special moment,” Paul evades the question by saying, “How do you like the dress?”
I don’t have to lie. “It’s beautiful.”
He places his hand over mine. “I knew you’d like it. I bought the two matching mantillas last year with you in mind.”
I lower my head to hide my true thoughts. The man is delusional if he thinks I’m spending the rest of my life in this godforsaken hellhole.
We finish our coffee in silence, take a brief stroll around the house, and end the evening with a long goodnight kiss at my bedroom door.
Paul travels the few steps to his room and turns. “Sleep well, my darling. I want those black circles gone before our wedding day.”
I force my brightest smile. “You can bet on that.”
After checking to be sure my “alarm stool” is in place, I plump my pillows and sit against them, then spend the second night fighting a losing battle with sleep.
I jerk awake at first light, body aching from the horseback excursion, eyes bleary from catnapping, then drag myself into the bathroom and yet another hot shower.
I’m almost dressed when I hear the Piper buzz overhead then fade in the distance. Hoping Paul might be a passenger, I quickly twist my damp hair into a knot and hurry to the dining room.
The table is set for one. I push open the swinging door to see Adelena seated at the kitchen table sorting pinto beans.
“Did he go?”
She puts her finger to her lips, and points toward the pantry. Once the door is closed, Adelena says, “Jefe never leaves the ranch. He told Miguel it’s too dangerous for him. Everyone is down at the barns. A second big shipment came after dinner and they worked through the night. The first lot has just flown out. Miguel tells me they will transport until sunset.”
I can’t hide my disappointment and when Adelena sees this, she begs, “Please don’t give up, Señorita, you are our only hope.”
I force a smile and pat her hand. “Don’t worry. I’m getting out of here any way I can.”
After several cups of coffee, I wander through the house to the entry hall, then onto the covered front porch. The wind is still from the north and, though not quite as strong as the previous day, has set the rocking chairs in motion.
Forty-eight hours have lapsed since Luke snatched me from the taxi. By now, news of my disappearance should have reached someone’s ears. Surely, the law offices in New York where I was to hold my deposition have called Perkins, Travis to ask where I am.
I plop into the nearest rocker, survey my surroundings, and sigh. Adelena’s right. There isn’t a stand of mesquite in sight and the road from the barns to the house is wide open. Any attempt to make contact with Jed would be suicidal.
Only eight-thirty. If I don’t find something to do, I’ll go nuts. Midmorning, Adelena brings me a large glass of iced tea and some news. Miguel and Jed have talked. There will be an “electrical” problem at the house. Since Miguel knows nothing about electricity, he will wait until Luke and Paul are busy, then ask Jed who’s apparently Luke’s second-in-command to come to the house. It’s a simple plan, and may work if Paul and Luke are preoccupied with preparing the next outgoing shipment. My spirits rise a little just knowing there is a plan and that I haven’t misread Jed.
After lunching alone on a small salad washed down with two generous glasses of white wine, I stare out the window into the never-ending wasteland. This tedium must have driven Reena to sleeping late and drinki
ng two or three Bloody Marys before lunch. If this is to be the usual routine around here, I can easily picture myself diving into the bottle by midmorning.
My lids suddenly grow heavy and the thought of much needed sleep drives me from the table toward my bedroom. When the living room couch beckons, I accept. Best to be close to the pantry in case Jed can get away.
Paul’s kiss awakens me. He sits back on his haunches, keeping his face even with mine, and whispers, “You’re beautiful when you are sleeping. I’d forgotten that about you.”
It’s late afternoon. The mantle clock reads five. No Jed.
I mask my disappointment with a stretch and a yawn. “I decided to wait for you here. I can’t believe I’ve been asleep so long.”
Paul rises and looks down at me smiling. “In just a few more days, we can take our siestas together.”
I awaken well past nine the following morning and take my time dressing. By the time I get to the dining room it is almost ten.
Over seventy-two hours gone. I stare at my empty coffee cup and sigh. Hearing Adelena’s quiet movements in the kitchen, I realize if I can’t escape, she and I will be sharing a lot of lonely mornings.
The kitchen door swishes open, my cup is refilled, and I look up to see Adelena’s retreating back. So far, she and I have traded only the barest of conversation: Huevos, por favor. Café negro. Gracias. De nada. All this in polite monotones as she looks from window to door in furtive surveillance.
It’s warmer this morning and a gentle breeze lifts the curtains from their sill. Through the open windows I hear doves calling. The setting would be almost idyllic except for the lack of trees and the drug operation going on a half-mile away.
I empty my cup and shove back from the table just as the Piper Cub passes low overhead, preparing to land. There were two runs yesterday. This is the first today. I have gauged the take-off and landing intervals and they’re pretty much the same. I figure it’s two hours out and back with an hour to unload, load, and refuel. If I’m calculating correctly, that means there must be at the least a hundred miles from airstrip to airstrip, but I could be way off since I have no clear idea of the maximum speed of a Piper Cub.
Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery Page 18