by Ben Rehder
Julio gunned the engine again to drown out Oscar's latest string of obscenities…but the Cadillac remained firmly entrenched.
“Perro malparido! Wha’ the fock were you theenking?” Oscar asked. “I tole you to go around the focking mod!”
Julio gritted his teeth. “There are large rocks on either side. This was our only path.” He revved the engine again to no avail.
“Coño de tu madre!” Oscar turned and looked at the hulking figure in the backseat. “Tyler! Geet us out of this focking mod.”
Tyler nodded and climbed out of the car. Julio watched in the mirror as Tyler walked to the rear, leaned down, and placed both hands firmly on the vertical slope of the trunk. Julio floored it and a rooster tail of thick brown sludge machine-gunned up Tyler's body. Oscar and Julio could hear him cussing as he stepped away from the vehicle. “Keep pushing!” Oscar yelled. “You are already feelthy, so what does it matter?”
Tyler got back into position, Julio floored the pedal, and they could feel the bulky car slowly creep back onto solid ground.
Tyler hopped back into the car, still wiping mud from his torso, and they proceeded toward the winding hillside road that led down to the cabin.
Becky rapped firmly on the door. “Luis! Hey, Luis! I gotta go again.” Thirty seconds passed, then a full minute.
“He must be sleeping,” Marlin said. He pounded on the door with the ball of his fist. “Wake up, Luis! The lady needs a little privacy again.”
They heard Marlin's truck door open and shut, less than five yards from the cabin door. Marlin looked over at Becky again, reaffirming that she was well lit by the lantern she was holding. Glowing like the Statue of Liberty at night.
Marlin pressed against the wall to the left of the door frame. Moments earlier, Marlin had felt the weight of the tube-sock filled with rocks. Plenty heavy to do the Job. Amazing how many stones Becky had managed to gather on each bathroom trip. They heard the familiar sound of the board lifting out of the brackets on either side of the door…then the door swung open.
At first, Red and Billy Don sat in stunned silence, sure that the videotape they were watching was some kind of joke or illusion. Finally Red said, “Good God Almighty.”
“I ain't never seen such,” Billy Don said, eyes glued to the set.
Then, a mere nanosecond later, Red realized he was staring directly at the goose that laid the golden egg! Roy Swank would pay a small fortune to get this tape back. It was the one delicious, wonderful, oh-so-fantastic opportunity Red had been waiting for all his life. Damn, here it was, right under his nose…and when he wasn't even expecting it! Yes, life was fixing to change big-time for Red O'Brien. There would be no more Milwaukee's Best when he could afford Budweiser. No more Hamburger Helper when he could afford prime rib. Hell, he'd burn his old mobile home to the ground and replace it with a shiny new double-wide! Get all new furniture, including a dinette set. Drop a new engine into the Trans Am sitting on his front lawn.
Red was overwhelmed by it all. “Turn it off, Billy Don! Turn it off!”
“Wha…?”
Red jumped to his feet and pushed the EJECT button on the VCR. He slid the videotape out and clutched it to his chest. This was his winning lottery ticket, and it wasn't leaving his grasp. “Go grab our things and meet me at the truck!”
“But, Red, we're supposed to stay here and…”
“Goddamn it, just do it! Hurry!”
THE DOOR OPENED all the way…and Marlin knew that Luis’ next few moves would determine whether the plan was a resounding success or a dismal failure. There was Becky, standing in the warm halo of the Coleman lantern…in her red panties, hair hanging seductively over her shoulders, breasts pushing against the confines of her recently tightened Wonderbra.
As most men would, Luis automatically took a step forward, eyes focused hungrily on the woman in front of him, the pistol all but forgotten in his hand. Then, just as Marlin had anticipated, Luis decided it was a trap and Becky was simply a decoy. So he turned quickly to face Marlin.
The game warden simply smiled at him.
That's when Becky stepped forward and swung the weighted sock from ankle height, bringing it down squarely on the crown of the Colombian's head. Luis’ knees buckled momentarily, but he didn't fall.
He did fall, however, when Marlin drove him to the ground like a tackling dummy.
Both men lay prone on the dirt floor. Marlin tried to pull himself on top of the wiry man, but Luis writhed and kicked and flailed. Marlin threw a hard right and felt the man's nose collapse under his fist. Luis squealed in anguish and seemed to find renewed strength from his pain. He managed to pull his upper body free from Marlin's grasp and started clawing at the earth. Marlin was on his knees now, arms wrapped around Luis’ thighs, as the Colombian, lying on the ground, grabbed the door frame and tried to pull himself away. He was amazingly strong. Luis freed one leg and kicked Marlin on the side of the head. Marlin slammed a big fist into the smaller man's abdomen and heard the air rush out of his lungs. Luis kicked again, catching Marlin hard on the bridge of his nose. Marlin tried to shake the dizziness he felt in his head, and Luis took advantage of this brief moment to wriggle free, jump up, and lunge for the exit.
Then, the whole room danced crazily as Becky swung the Coleman lantern and hit Luis on the shoulder. Glass shattered and the small man's shoulder was suddenly aflame. He swatted at the flames and screamed in agony, as Marlin and Becky were too astonished to do anything but watch. The fire began to crawl down the man's torso and Becky turned away in revulsion.
Marlin moved forward to help smother the flames, but Luis had something else in mind. He streaked out the door and ran downhill toward the Pedernales River.
In sparse moonlight now, Marlin felt around on the dirt floor for the gun and finally found the cool metal grip. “Grab your clothes, Becky!” he said. She was already pulling on her jeans.
He took her by the arm and they ran out the door of the cabin, only to see a big white Cadillac lurking in the moonlight twenty yards away, pointing directly at them. An instant later the headlights of the Cadillac bathed them in light.
Marlin's mind raced. The occupants of the Cadillac, by any stretch of the imagination, couldn't be anything but enemies. Marlin's cruiser was a mere twenty feet to his left, but he had no idea whether the keys were even in it. Worst of all, the cabin sat in an open clearing; the nearest woods were fifty yards away, precluding a run for cover. In this brief pause, while Marlin was trying to decide what to do next, his decision was made for him. Marlin, struggling to see past the powerful headlights, heard a car door open. And then he heard the familiar sound of a shotgun being racked. A voice—that of the beefy American—said, “Drop the gun and stay where you are.”
Bitter disappointment flooded every nook and cranny of Marlin's brain. They had been so close to freedom…and to lose it again so quickly was almost more than he could stand. He glanced over at Becky, who was now holding her blouse self-consciously over her breasts.
Marlin let the gun fall to the ground and stepped in front of Becky, shielding her from the light. “Pull your blouse on. And hold on. I promise I'll get you out of this yet.” Marlin knew it was a shallow promise. He had no idea what he was going to do. But if he had to sacrifice himself to gain her freedom, that's what he would do. “Listen, I have an idea…I'm going to make a run at the car, try to distract them…and when I do, I want you to run to your left. There's a dam over there that leads…”
“Forget it, John,” she said. “No way. They'll shoot you for sure.”
“It's the only way—”
“I won't do it.” She looked him hard in the eyes. “We'll get out of this together.”
Inside the Cadillac, Oscar was livid. Once again he had been failed by incompetent help. Oh, how he wished everyone in this world could be as trustworthy as himself!
As they had approached the cabin moments earlier, they were surprised to see the door standing open, with light emerging from the insid
e. Oscar had ordered Julio to coast quietly to a stop with the lights off. Seconds later, they were dumbfounded to see Luis dashing out of the cabin with his upper torso on fire. How he had managed to get himself into that kind of predicament, Oscar had no idea. Luis was nowhere to be seen now. Probably floating facedown in the river, if he had made it that far.
Tyler held the game warden and the woman at bay with the shotgun while Oscar tried to figure out his next move.
Julio, still in the driver's seat, broke his usual silence and offered his grim opinion. “We must kill them.”
“Quiet!” Oscar ordered. He needed time to think. Killing a civilian, like the man who had snapped Oscar's photo from the hedges, was one thing, but killing an American officer of the law…well, that was bound to cause serious complications. On the other hand, there was really no way around it. They had to make a clean getaway, and they couldn't allow the lawman to give them any more trouble. The girl, she would be an unfortunate bystander.
In the silence, frogs on the riverbank began a shrill chorus. It almost seemed to Oscar as if they were mocking him, urging him to make a decision.
The deer were waiting. Oscar could have the drugs back in his hands in a matter of hours. Then he could simply fade into the background, find another buyer among his extensive network of contacts, and return home. Perhaps Julio was right this time. Oscar himself acknowledged that he didn't always make the wisest decisions under pressure. Trusting that idiot Roy Swank, for instance. He should have dealt with that man much more firmly several days earlier. Should have made him pay cash for the drugs and figure out the distribution on his own. The man was a novice and a fool. However, Swank knew nothing of the hostages. Killing them here, with Swank's own shotgun, would likely put Swank in prison for years. That appealed to Oscar at this point. It was also the quickest, easiest way out. “Shoot them!” he called out to Tyler.
Waiting in the beam of the headlights, Marlin had an uneasy feeling that a decision was being made. He knew that now was the time to act if he was going to act at all. Maybe he should grab Becky and take off toward the dam. It would be tricky in the dark, but what other choice did he have? The dam was very narrow and probably under a foot or so of water, with so much rain lately, but he knew he could find it by sheer instinct. The teenager in him would take over and find it. His pursuers would probably think the entire river was at the same depth and just plunge in at a closer point on the bank. They'd find themselves in five feet of water while Marlin and Becky ran for safety.
He could see the silhouette of the man with the shotgun, but he couldn't make out any features. Marlin could tell that the shotgun was aimed at him, not Becky.
“Get ready to run,” he whispered to Becky. “We'll both go.”
“You sure?”
Before Marlin could respond, he heard a horrifying command from the interior of the Cadillac: “Shoot them!”
The man with the shotgun immediately fired a blast.
MARLIN INSTINCTIVELY LEAPT sideways to the ground, dragging Becky with him. He was aware of a severe burning in his left arm. He felt defeated, cowardly, waiting to hear a second blast that would silence all sound forever. Then he heard something much sweeter. The shouting of a familiar voice, with a smooth-as-honey Central Texas accent.
“Freeze, you son of a bitch, or I'll cut you in two where you stand!”
Phil Colby was out there somewhere in the darkness.
Marlin looked over at the shotgunner and saw him nervously pacing in front of the Cadillac, peering into the darkness, trying to get a fix on Colby's location.
“Put the gun down!” Colby yelled. With the babbling river's noise, even Marlin couldn't tell how far away Colby was.
Marlin realized that the large American was now focusing on Colby, not him and Becky. He glanced over at the gun he had dropped moments earlier.
A string of insistent Spanish came from the Cadillac.
In response, the shotgun kicked again as the man fired a volley of buckshot in the direction of Colby's voice.
In one fluid motion, Marlin dove to the ground, grabbed the pistol, and came up on one knee, firing.
The man with the shotgun dropped his weapon and looked down at a rapidly darkening patch on his muddy shirt. He placed his palm flat on his chest as if to stem the flow. Then he crumpled to his knees.
“Get out of there, John!” Colby yelled.
Marlin grabbed Becky's arm and immediately ran toward the sound of Colby's voice. He heard another shot and glanced back at the Cadillac. Two more men had jumped out and the one on the driver's side, a guy with a droopy mustache, was firing a handgun. Out of the glare of the headlights now, Marlin could see Colby crouched on one knee in the darkness, returning fire at the Cadillac. Marlin and Becky ran to him.
“I'm out of bullets,” Colby said as Marlin and Becky squatted beside him. They all flinched as a round whistled over their heads.
Marlin looked at Becky. “You okay?”
She nodded.
“Take her to the trees,” Marlin whispered to Colby. Then he turned and fired from instinct, without even checking the sights. The armed man flinched and ducked behind the fender of the car.
Marlin couldn't see the other remaining man, but then he heard the engine turn over in the Cadillac. The car immediately lurched forward, spun a 180 in the dirt and silt, and headed back the way it had come, back up the hill. The entire time, the armed man tried fruitlessly to climb back into the car—but the driver was leaving him behind! Marlin watched in disbelief as the man fired two shots at the departing vehicle. The car roared away, leaving nothing but darkness.
Aiming at a memory of the man's location, Marlin unleashed four rounds, emptying the gun. He moved to his right in case the man returned fire at Marlin's muzzle flash, but there was no response. Ten seconds later, Marlin heard frantic splashing as the man plunged into the river fifty yards away. Then the hills became silent once again.
In the moonlight, under the big Texas sky, Marlin hugged his best friend. “Damn, am I glad to see you.”
“Jesus, that was spooky, John! You nailed that guy with the shotgun! Who the hell were they?”
“I'll tell you the whole story later, but right now, let's just get out of here.”
“Wait a second. At least tell me who this young lady is.” In the darkness, and with Becky out of her nurse's uniform, Colby hadn't yet recognized her.
Marlin was at a loss for words. His best friend had just saved his hide and here Marlin was with the woman Colby intended to pursue.
“You already know me, Phil. Nurse Cameron.” She stepped forward and hugged Colby. “Thank you. Thanks to both of you. That was unbelievable.”
Colby remained silent for a moment. Then he turned to Marlin and said, “Well, hell…you beat me to the punch, pardner. I don't blame you.”
Even in the dim light, Marlin could see Becky give him an inquisitive glance. Marlin deflected it by changing the subject. “Let me go see if the keys are in the cruiser. Y'all wait right here. If nothing else, I can radio for help.”
Marlin returned a minute later in the cruiser. “Hop in. Let's get out of here while we can.”
“Let me look at your arm first,” Becky said.
Marlin felt the warm, sticky blood on his bicep. “I think I took a piece of buckshot, but it's fine.”
Becky objected, but Marlin convinced her that his wound could wait. They began the long drive up to the ranch house. Along the way, Marlin told Colby about being abducted by the Colombians, who, they both agreed, had to be Swank's suppliers. Colby told Marlin about finding his letter to the attorney general, coming to the ranch, and then deciding to check out the old rock cabin. He also told Marlin his theory about the deer in the five-acre pen. “Those have to be the drug deer, John. He couldn't just let ’em roam the property or he'd never figure out which was which.”
Marlin agreed, clapping his hands together. “The DEA will nail him, then. The deer will be just waiting there. All they gotta d
o is open one up.”
Colby cleared his throat. “Well, we may have a little problem there, old buddy.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I kinda let them go.”
“You what? Are you out of your mind?”
“Calm down for a minute and think about it, would you? It's better this way. First of all, I had no idea what was going to happen down here. It might not have turned out as well as it did. Then what would have happened? Those deer could have stayed in that pen for years and nobody would have been the wiser. So I had to let ’em go just in case. Remember, the hunters are going to be in the blinds bright and early tomorrow morning. With all those trophy deer running around, what do you think's going to happen?” Colby gave Marlin a sly smile.
Marlin was warming to the idea. “Damn, you're right. We just need to make sure they have the right audience when it all comes down. I'll need to make a few calls.”
“There's something we need to do first, though.”
“What's that?”
“It's Buck, John. I saw him. He's still up in the pen.”
Deputy Bobby Garza had been disappointed to cut his annual fishing trip short, but there was no way around it. Three hours earlier, when he had checked in with his wife, she told him about the two visitors she had had: First, some guy identifying himself as a Mexican cop, and then Phil Colby. She said that they both had seemed nervous and both were asking for him. Instinct told him it had something to do with Marlin's theory about Roy Swank's deer. Sure, Marlin had left that message about Thomas Stovall's practical joke. But for some reason, Marlin's voice-mail just didn't sit right. He had sounded a little peculiar.
On the drive home, Garza had used his cellular phone several times to call Marlin, but got no answer. Same thing with Phil Colby. He called Herbert Mackey to check in, but the sheriff said that everything was quiet. Garza played it cool and told Mackey the fish weren't biting so he was heading home.