The flesh from a full-grown horse would provide them steaks for several days and jerky for several months.
It turned out that Sal’s visit and offer were godsends to them. They were planning on butchering a horse before the day was out anyway.
Didn’t matter much to them which horse it was.
The gold would help them a lot in buying enough provisions to get them by for a few weeks. Hopefully until God blessed them with a heavy rainstorm or two.
But it wouldn’t fill their bellies in the short term.
Sal’s old horse would do that.
And if Spencer had to break his promise to Sal to spare the horse and let him retire peacefully in a meadow?
Well, that was too darned bad, as Spencer would say.
He owed his allegiance to his maw and paw. Not to some broken down old man in a funny-looking pickup truck.
Chapter 10
Present Day…
Dave Speer still wasn’t sure how far he trusted Tony.
Despite Tony’s calm demeanor, and the fact he looked more like an accountant than a drug dealer, he was a purveyor of a very dangerous product in a very dangerous world.
They were an odd couple if there ever was one. A family man, a former Marine who was as patriotic and law-abiding as any American could ever be.
Teamed up with a drug dealer who dealt unscrupulous people their choice of poisons, without regard to where they got the money to pay for them.
Of course, to hear Tony tell it, he was doing society a big favor.
“You have to cut these people a break,” he tried to explain to Dave. “They’ve been through hell. Something ten times worse than hell. If they feel a need to escape reality to help themselves cope with this new dangerous and chaotic world, then who are you or I to judge?”
Dave wasn’t buying it.
“But you know you’re destroying their minds. You’re doing them no favors.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, my new and slightly naïve friend.
“I give them a quality product. One I’d have no hesitation in using myself if I were so inclined. The stuff I sell to them isn’t cut with Draino or crushed salt or talcum powder. It’s as pure as snow, if you’ll pardon the pun. That’s because I only do business with people I can trust.
“And my buyers, in turn, trust me. They know I’m picky about who my suppliers are. They know I won’t buy from just anybody. They know that when they pump that shit into their arm or suck it into their lungs that they’ll get high instead of die. That’s how I’m helping them.
“I didn’t put that monkey on their back. It was there long before I came along. But since it’s there and I know how vicious it can be, I’m helping them to deal with the monkey safely until they decide to kick the habit. When they tell me they’re tired of the monkey and ready to quit, I help them.”
“Yeah, right. A drug dealer with a conscience. A drug dealer who helps his customers get off the shit.”
“It’s true. Ask around.”
Dave did ask around. And he found out it was indeed true. Some of the cleanest people in the camps east and north of Albuquerque; some of Tony’s closest friends, were once Tony’s customers.
“Here’s the bottom line, Dave. When these people are in the shit and haven’t yet decided to get clean, they’re gonna get it from somewhere. If they get it from me at least it’ll be clean. If they get it from somewhere else, there’s a fifty percent chance or better it’ll be cut. Sometimes with stuff that won’t hurt them.
“And sometimes with stuff that can kill them.”
In the end they were at an impasse. Tony didn’t convince Dave he was a drug dealer with morals; a man who was into helping his customers get off the junk when they wanted to instead of hooking them forever.
But Dave couldn’t fight the feeling that he liked the man, drug dealer or not.
And that was good. Because for better or worse, they were partners.
And partners worked best together when they didn’t hate one another.
“So, where are we going first?” Dave asked from the passenger seat of Tony’s Polaris as they navigated around the abandoned cars and trucks on the interstate.
“This part of town belongs to the Crips. Their turf is everything south of I-40 and east of I-25. Probably eighty square miles or so.”
“That’s a big chunk.”
“It is. It was split between them and a group called Sanders’ Freedom Fighters, but they just finished a turf war and sent the Sanders group packing. Killed about half of them.”
“The Sanders’ Freedom Fighters, huh? What kind of freedoms were they fighting for?”
“Mostly their own personal freedom to rape, rob and plunder. They were bad, but not the worst. I won’t miss them much.”
“Are the Crips any better?”
“Not generally. But at least their leadership is more stable.”
Chapter 11
It was eerily quiet as the Polaris made its way along Interstate 40.
Tony drove in the eastbound lanes, dodging abandoned cars and trucks which were facing toward them.
Dave’s curiosity finally got the best of him.
“Not that it really matters anymore, but why are you driving against traffic?”
“You haven’t noticed the cars?”
“Which cars? The ones all over the place with their headlights pointing in our direction?”
“No. The cars that are blocking all the on-ramps and exits.”
It turned out that Dave had noticed. He just never said anything.
On every on-ramp, at the point where it connected with the freeway, an abandoned car had been pushed across the ramp to effectively block it.
And across both sides of the car, in fluorescent blue spray paint, was the single world “CRIPS.”
Across every exit ramp was another car painted exactly the same way.
“Look on the other side of the highway,” Tony said. “The exits and ramps are marked the same way, except the cars are painted “LOS LOBOS.”
“I saw that,” Dave said. “And I know who the Crips are. Who are Los Lobos?”
“Los Lobos is Spanish for the wolves. They were an Albuquerque street gang before the blackout. Absolutely brutal. One of the worst. They were the first ones to stake out their territory and begin kicking out non-gang members. They went door to door a week after the blackout and handed each resident an eviction notice.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. They had them made up in Spanish first, then English. It said the residents had seven days to vacate the premises. After seven days they’d return and kill one family member. And then they’d return every seven days until they were all dead or gone. It was pretty effective.”
“They didn’t go to the cops?”
“There was no way to get to the cops, except for walking. And anybody who left the neighborhoods on foot was questioned about where they were going. The rumor I heard was that one guy made it downtown by traveling at night. The cops told him he was on his own. The cops were deserting right and left and staying home to protect their own families. Many of them read the writing on the wall and were getting their families out of the city while they still could.
“The story goes that the guy who went to the cops was the very first man in Albuquerque to get his head on a stick.”
“His head on a stick?”
“Yes. Besides the painted cars, it’s one of the main ways the gangs mark their territories. They kill their enemies, and sometimes regular citizens who didn’t leave town soon enough. They put their heads on a stick and paint them in their gang colors.
“The Los Lobos use red. If you come to a street that has a red-painted severed head on a stick, stuck into the ground on the corner, that street belongs to Los Lobos. You’d better stay the hell off of it unless you’re a member of the gang or affiliated with them in some way.
“Or, if you’re like us and get safe passage because you have guns or drugs or somethin
g else they want.”
“Does it ever make you nervous, coming in here knowing that they could turn on you in a heartbeat?”
“Of course it does. Not as much as it used to. They’ve learned that I offer the best shit available, that it’s high quality and uncut.
“They also know that I never reveal my sources. Not to anyone. Not even to you.
“That’s not because I’m necessarily secretive. It’s for my own protection. Because as long as my sources are known only to me, they’ll keep me alive. If I were to die, that information would die with me. And then they’d have to deal with everybody else. Half the dope they bought would be cut, and most of the rest of it would be crap. And some of it would be downright dangerous.”
At mile marker 164 the pair drove the wrong way down an on-ramp around a 1977 Cadillac Deville decorated with Crip colors.
Dave remarked, “It must have taken a lot of time, pushing all these cars onto the ramps and then painting them all.”
“True. But then, there’s not an awful lot of stuff to do anymore without electricity. They’ve got a lot of time to kill these days.”
Tony pulled up to what struck Dave as some kind of checkpoint.
It was a Class C recreational vehicle, an upscale Winnebago, sitting diagonally smack dab in the middle of an intersection.
Milling about were half a dozen gang members, dressed mostly in blue.
And heavily armed.
“Who the hell’s this?” one of them asked Tony while nodding in Dave’s direction.
“His name’s Dave. He’s my new partner. Dave, this is Tiny, Blue and Bobo.”
No one offered any greeting or handshakes. It was apparently beneath them. They were on their own turf and felt no real need to be either hospitable or friendly.
Dave nodded in their direction, not as an indication of subservience, but rather merely to acknowledge their existence.
“Daaaamn, Tony. Drug sales must be pretty damn good for you to be needin’ a damn partner all of a sudden.”
“Sales are good, Bobo. Real good. But he won’t be doing my drugs. We’re branchin’ out. He’s gonna be haulin’ hooch.”
“Now you’re talkin’. Now that’s some feel good I can get into my own self. When’s he gonna start runnin’?”
“Probably in a few days. We’re working on the details now. I want to introduce him to Hell Boi, find out what he needs and how much, so we can hook him up.”
Bobo addressed Dave directly for the first time. It was as though he just then noticed him.
“You bring in the good shit, now, you hear? None of that cheap shit. And find a good stash of Crystal for me. I drink a lot of that shit, but it’s gettin’ pretty damn hard to find ‘round here lately.”
“I already got a handle on it, my friend. I’ll bring you a couple of bottles on the house, next time I come in.”
“All right, now we talkin.’”
Bobo turned back to Tony and said “Hell Boi at the house. You know where it’s at.”
“Yes, I do. Later, fellas.”
As they drove down the street, Tony leaned over to Dave and said, “Well congratulations. You passed the first test and did well.”
“Because I made some new friends?”
“No. Because you didn’t get us both killed.”
Chapter 13
“Who the hell is he?”
The question, which Dave expected to hear over and over again in coming days, came from a tall, thin black man. He reminded Dave of a character named Huggy Bear in an old 1970s crime drama Dave had forgotten the name of.
The man followed up the question with an observation:
“Man, you know I don’t trust white people.”
Tony countered, “I’m a white people.”
“You’re different, man.”
“How so?”
“You got somethin’ I want. You’re a white people I tolerate.”
“You’ll tolerate him too. He’s my new partner. His name is Dave. He’s gonna start runnin’ booze for me.”
“What kind of booze?”
“Whatever you need, bro. Colt 44, Ripple. Whatever you need.”
“Man, that’s racist, you cracker.”
“So’s cracker, you big dummy.”
Hell Boi turned to Dave and did something Dave totally didn’t expect.
He held out his hand for a handshake.
Not the old man handshake of Dave’s father’s generation, the kind two old friends give to each other at church on Sundays. No, this was a bro handshake. A cool shake.
A handshake that told Dave that while his skin was lighter than Hell Boi would have preferred, he was accepted.
That he and Hell Boi might never be friends. But they’d be able to do business.
“When you gonna start runnin’ your hooch, man?”
“That’s just it. I’ve got the merchandize. I still need a way to move it. We’ve heard about a red pickup truck movin’ somewhere around Albuquerque. It no longer has an engine. Instead, it’s being pulled by two horses. An old couple is riding around in it. We want to find it. It’ll be perfect for driving my merchandize around the city.”
“You gonna sell your stuff to the other factions too?”
Tony answered for Dave: “Hell yeah, dude. We’re businessmen. We’ll sell to anybody who gots the gold. You know how it is.”
Hell Boi wasn’t pleased, but he did indeed know how it worked.
“Okay. Just promise you’ll stop here first. Give me first crack at what you got.”
“You have my word, man.”
The tall man seemed satisfied.
“So,” Tony continued. “We need some help finding that red pickup truck. You seen it?”
“Me personally, no. Somethin’ like that I’d definitely remember. Let me ask my lieutenants.”
He turned and whispered something to an aide, or more likely a bodyguard, standing silently behind him.
The man disappeared into another room.
Dave got an uneasy feeling, but it was unfounded. The man reappeared with three other men, all of who were unarmed. They’d have been loaded for bear if there was any trouble amiss.
Hell Boi addressed the newcomers.
“These crackers are looking for a red pickup truck, pulled by two horses. Driven by two old people. You guys seen anything like that?”
The three looked at each other, shook their heads and shrugged their shoulders.
One of them uttered the now predictable, “No, man. If I saw somethin’ like that I damn sure woulda remembered it.”
“So you’re sure there’s nothin’ like that anywhere on our turf?”
“Oh, hell no. Shit, if I saw somethin’ like that I’d probably shoot the old folks and take it for my own self.”
Dave winced at the words, then hoped nobody noticed.
Hell Boi offered, “Maybe you got ahead of ‘em. Maybe they just ain’t here yet.”
Tony said, “Maybe. Would you watch out for them for us?”
“No problem, man. We’ll shoot those old mothers off the damn thing and save it for you when you come back again.”
“No, please don’t do that,” Dave blurted out.
The others looked at him, not sure what to make of his words.
He’d stepped in it and he knew it. If they suspected there was another reason he wanted the wagon, there was a good chance they’d find it, and Beth, and demand a ransom to get her back.
Tony sensed his story would be more believable than Dave’s and stepped in to help.
“The old folks, they’re traveling with a little girl. Dave had three girls and they all got shot a few months ago. He has a soft spot for kids and don’t want any shootin’ because he don’t want the girl to get hurt. He’d rather just find the old people and buy the pickup from them instead.”
“I got a girl my own self,” Hell Boi said. “I ain’t seen her in three years now. I don’t even know where the hell she at. I feel ya.”
Th
e fire put out, Dave breathed a sigh of relief. He’d have to be more careful in the future.
He exchanged glances with Tony. Tony’s eyes told him the same thing.
Hell Boi turned to his lieutenants.
“Tell the fellas to watch out for them. A red pickup truck with two horses and some old people. Tell them to stop them, but not to hurt them. Bring them here to see me.”
He turned back to Tony.
“How soon you coming back?”
“Three days. Can you hold them here that long?”
“No problem, my lily-white assed cracker friend. We’ll treat ‘em like family.”
“Good.”
“Now then, down to business. You got my usual shit?”
Tony dug into his bag and Dave got the feeling he’d passed the first of many tests.
Chapter 14
“How close was that bullet we dodged?” Dave asked when he and Tony were back on the road.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it. It wasn’t that bad. Every man, even the bad ones, has a soft spot for little kids. Nobody wants to see little kids get hurt. It was an unfortunate comment, but you recovered nicely.”
“Yeah. By letting you do the talking.”
“Let’s look upon that as an opportunity to learn, Dave. From now on try to let me do most of the talking.”
“Good idea.”
They drove on along I-40 until it intersected with I-25, then headed south.
“It’s not true.”
Dave’s cryptic comment caught Tony off guard.
“What? What’s not true?”
“Not all men have a soft spot for little kids. Not all of them hate the thought of little kids getting hurt or killed.”
Tony turned to look at him.
He almost asked, but thought better of it. He could plainly see in Dave’s eyes that Dave had seen things… horrific things, that men had done to children since the lights went out.
And Tony decided he didn’t want to hear about them.
One thing Tony would likely never tell Dave was that he had two small children of his own.
Two boys, four and six, who lived with their mother in Smyrna, Georgia.
On Desert Sands: Alone: Book 6 Page 4