Desert Exposure

by Robena Grant

  He strode down the hall, having managed to bypass Stanton, and stood peering at the notice board near the telephone as if waiting for his turn in the men’s room. The door to the ladies room opened. Rachel raised her eyebrows slightly, and walked toward him. She looped an arm around his shoulders.

  “Want to go outside and make out?” she said, and nibbled his ear lobe.

  A sudden rush of heat hit his groin, but he tried to ignore it. “Who was that woman?”

  “She’s gone?” Rachel asked. She craned her neck to look down the hall.

  “Took your change,” Michael said.

  She laughed, showing her neat, white, foxy teeth, and her eyes sparkled. Her red hair had slipped partially from its ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed. He tugged on one long curl. “I’m a mess. I should have tidied up when I was in there.” She pointed to the ladies room, and tried to push her hair back into place.

  He’d never seen her look more beautiful. And if they didn’t get away from here soon he’d be devouring that sweet mouth. A couple of women rushed past them, chatting loudly while on their way to the ladies room. A guy waited behind him for his turn in the men’s room.

  “Come on,” Rachel said loudly. “This is my five minutes, and I want you all to myself.”

  He shrugged. “It’s all yours,” he said to the guy waving toward the men’s room door.

  The women turned, snorted their approval, and grinned as Rachel dragged him to the back door. Michael was not about to fight her off.

  Once outside, hidden in the shadows of the hulks of rusted cars, she grabbed at his collar with both hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. “Left pocket,” she said, coming up for air.

  He pulled her tighter, feeling the softness of her breasts against him and the silkiness of her skin. He snagged her bottom lip gently with his teeth, and sucked hard. Her breath came in warm bursts puffing gently against his lips. She pushed him away. “Piece of paper,” she said, and rained tiny kisses over his face. “Message from Mantis.”

  Michael’s blood heated. He heard the rush, the pounding of it in his ears. Rachel had him all charged up. Adrenaline mingled with a sense of alarm, and the need to read the note. Much as he didn’t want to, he eased back from the heat of her body. Something must have gone terribly wrong for Mantis to trust someone else with a message.

  He took the paper and slid it into his own pocket. She’d been amazing. She’d done nothing wildly spontaneous, and neither had she drawn attention to their situation. She’d acted the part of the bored girlfriend demanding some private time. God, he hoped she wasn’t bored with him. It couldn’t be fun sitting at that bar and observing the carefree, sometimes high, mostly unwashed crowd that swarmed the dance floor. While he found the locals colorful, and often times intriguing, she might think otherwise.

  He pulled her close and claimed her mouth in a kiss. He held her face with both hands and kissed her forehead, eyelids, and then the tip of her pert nose. He looked down, and searched her face. She’d become a really good side kick. Hell, he’d even make her partner, if she kept up the good work.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You did that well, back in the bar. You even managed not to alert Dave.”

  She moved back a few steps and gave him a delicate curtsy. “Yeah, I did. But, you’ll tell him all, once you read the message.” Then before he could respond, she grabbed his hand, hauling him back inside the bar. “Go pee,” she said softly. “The lights are good in there.”

  He felt for the piece of paper he’d slipped into his pocket, and looked up. She was already walking down the hall. “Okay, Dave,” she yelled. “I believe this next dance is mine.”

  Michael grinned. My side-kick, she’s a hell of a gal. He clipped the door to the men’s room and fished out the piece of paper.

  Bait shop abandoned today. Followed to Ocotillo Flats. New cabin. Three men. One old. Blindfolded. Got license plates. No photos. Henry’s dock. 2 am.

  F.

  His chest warmed, expanded. He read the note again. It sounded like an old-fashioned telegram, and that made him smile. He tore the note up, wadded it into a small ball and wrapped it in toilet paper, and then flushed it. This was the information he’d tried to find on his own. If it wasn’t a trick to get him in the line of fire of whoever had been tracking them, then they were close to solving the case. Mantis could be working with the other side, or working them both.

  Nah. He trusted Mantis.

  He used the facilities, and washed his hands. A shiver ran up his spine. Oh hell, Rachel had read the note. Old man, blindfolded.

  He shoved open the door so hard it shuddered on its ancient hinges, but he didn’t stop. His heart pounded as he ran to the mic, shoving through a sea of people, searching the room as he went. She’d disappeared, and so had Stanton. Fear gripped him, making it hard to swallow. Up on the platform he shaded his eyes and looked through the crowd. Expecting a new song, the couples swarmed the tiny dance floor.

  He pulled the mic close. “Anyone seen my gal?”

  “Never heard that one,” someone yelled back.

  “That a new tune? You write it, Dingo?” someone else called.

  “I’m serious,” Michael said. “Has anyone—?”

  “Don’t get your shorts in a bunch, big boy,” Rachel said, and elbowed her way through the crowd, dragging Stanton behind her.

  Michael let out a puff of air, straight into the mic. The crowd thought that was a hoot, and began to applaud and catcall.

  “Shoot, you’re so possessive.” Rachel shoved her hands against her hips.

  “We had a smoke,” Stanton yelled.

  Michael gave a shake of his head and picked up the guitar. He’d hear about this later and that was for certain. He relaxed into his song and found it possible, after his heart had slowed to normal, to give her what he hoped was a heart melting glance of apology. Rachel pulled off her ponytail clasp and released a froth of wild red hair. She laughed, waved at him, and then turned her back to him and did a little butt shimmy. Then she turned around, stuck her tongue out, and danced away with Stanton.

  The crowd loved her. But Michael suspected Rachel could be up to something; hatching some new plan to find her grandfather. She hadn’t said one word about what had been written on the note. He’d have to keep Rachel and Stanton in his sight for the remainder of the evening. Because, deep down, he guessed that Stanton was putty in her hands. He’d do anything Rachel asked of him.

  ****

  A little after midnight, Michael sat outside the club’s entrance on the motorbike. Rachel snuggled up behind him. The night air had turned damn cold, but having her small body pressed up against his back had him feeling overheated.

  Stanton leaned in close, examining the bike. “So you might sell it?” he asked loudly.

  Michael shrugged and leaned closer. “We have new developments. Come straight back to Henry’s cabin. If you can hide your car and walk a bit, that would be great.”

  “Yeah, can do. I know the area,” Stanton said softly.

  “I’m looking for a buyer…maybe next month.”

  “Great bike,” Stanton said, raising his voice and circling the bike. “When you decide to sell…let my buddy inside know.”

  “You mean Fred, the mayor of Desert Scapes?”

  Dave laughed. “That’s the one.”

  Michael waited until Stanton sauntered around the bike again, and then came back close to the handlebars. “I’ll give you a ten minute head start. But wait until we get inside the cabin before you approach. Come along the shore to the back verandah.”

  With a raised hand, Stanton walked to his car. He turned slowly. “You gonna sing here again?” he yelled.

  “Sure enough,” Michael called back, and grinned up at a couple who passed by.

  “Good to know,” the guy said. “It brings a bit of life to this godforsaken hellhole.”

  “Thanks,” Michael said, and felt Rachel nestle even closer into his back. “Glad you enjoy my music.”


  The guy made pleasant small talk. Michael tried to concentrate, nodding when he thought he should, but his concentration was on the receding taillights of Stanton’s car. The guy finally said goodnight, and strolled toward a flatbed truck. Michael hoped he could trust Stanton, because now he would have to confide every detail of the case. There’d be no holds barred.

  “So…about the elderly blindfolded man,” Rachel said, whispering into his ear.

  “Ah, not the place,” Michael said, scanning the parking lot. “We’ll have time to discuss everything before Mantis arrives.” Mantis could be playing both sides, and going with the highest payer. Could he be watching them now? Were he and the skinny young woman hidden behind the rusted out trucks? Or would Mantis already be at the cabin, a black stick figure blending in with the trees and awaiting their arrival?

  Michael road toward the highway not wanting to believe it, but the 2am appointment could be a set up. A tiny shiver ran up his spine, and he sensed something was rotten somewhere. He should have given Rachel over to Dave’s care and gone to the cabin alone. But now there was no going back on the plan. Besides, she’d never go away for longer than she had tonight and leave Ralph alone. She’d demand they go to the cabin first to get Ralph.

  “Hang on, babe,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Ralph will be excited to see us.”

  She nestled closer. “He’ll be out cold on the couch,” she yelled back. “But get home fast. We need to go spring my grandfather.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  They turned off the highway and Rachel sensed something was wrong. They’d turned onto the short unsealed drive of hard packed sand that led to Grandpa’s cabin and the motorcycle swerved. Michael cursed, and gripping around his waist tighter, she watched the path of the bike’s headlight.

  That’s it. That’s what’s wrong. “Stop,” she yelled, and hit Michael’s back. “Stop now.”

  “What?” He stopped and cut the light.

  “No, put the light back on.”

  Rachel pointed to the deeply rutted road. “Look at that. That’s wrong. That’s not how—”

  “Shit.” Michael immediately switched the headlight back off. “We’re leaving the bike here. Maybe you should stay. I’ll go on foot and check—”

  “No,” she said, her voice harsh. “Ralph is in the cabin.”

  “Let me—”

  “No.” She gripped his upper arm tight. “We’re in this together.”

  Even in the dark she sensed his frown and knew he did a quick weigh of the pros and cons. She hopped off the bike. No way in hell she’d stay out here alone while he went to the cabin. About to make a run for it, she felt his firm grip on her elbow.

  “Okay.” He drew out his gun. “Stay close behind me.”

  ****

  “Holy shit!” Michael said, as they stopped a few yards from the cabin. Somewhere behind him Rachel started to whimper.

  His eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark. He couldn’t believe what he saw. There were deep tracks everywhere. Heavy vehicles had recently travelled up and down the road, and criss-crossed the front area of the cabin. Even the side gardens were flattened. He stood still, barely breathing, and listened. Not a sound.

  An eerie quiet hung over the place. It looked like a war zone, or a scene out of an action movie. Pieces of wood had splintered and they hung at odd angles, and the entire front of the cabin was pockmarked with bullet holes…dozens, no, hundreds of them. The screened-in front porch had gaping holes in the mesh. The door hung listlessly on one hinge.

  Poor Ralph. Michael’s chest tightened. Rachel had sunk to the sand, on her knees, her torso stretched forward. He heard dry retching. She rested her forehead on her folded arms, looking like she was offering up a prayer. Maybe she was. “Stay,” he whispered, and broke into a run. He didn’t even know if she’d heard him.

  He had to get to Ralph’s body first, if there was anything of it left. He couldn’t let her see that. His heartbeat quickened as he approached the cabin, his gun drawn. The inside front door of the cabin was locked. Fortunately he’d put a new key on his own key ring. He heard Rachel’s wracking sobs behind him, but he didn’t look back.

  He unlocked the door, turned the knob, kicking the door wide, and dropping into a half-crouch. He held his gun level. Nothing moved. He flicked on the light. Sitting on the couch—half of its cushions blown apart—was Mantis. He held Ralph to his chest. They’d both been asleep. Mantis squinted at the light. Ralph yipped when he recognized Michael, and he wagged his tail. Michael looked from Mantis to the dog, and then back again. Relief made his knees weak and he stiffened his thighs.

  “Smart little dude,” Mantis said, and yawned. He gave Michael a lopsided grin. “I found him underneath the couch.”

  “When did this happen?” Michael asked, and picked up Ralph who had darted across the room to him.

  “Around midnight. I’d gotten here as fast as I could. I’d heard what was going down.”

  Michael nodded, dropped a kiss on Ralph’s head, and frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Heard they intended to do a hit on the bar…I spread the word you were there, but had left early…said you were shacking up here, with your girl.” He shrugged. “Safer than killing a lot of innocents. No way I could get another message to you, because I’d already headed up here. Sorry, I didn’t know about the little dude.” He glanced over at Ralph.

  “You were here when it happened?”

  Mantis nodded. “Yeah. Had to walk and didn’t know how long it would take me.”

  Michael waited for him to go on.

  “I sat back along the road a bit. When I heard several heavy vehicles slow down on the highway, and exit off, and saw three sets of headlights extinguished, I headed for the trees.”

  “Jesus!” Michael ran a hand over his face.

  “Yeah. They had a real party. Some serious shit is going down with this, Doc.”

  Michael nodded. Ralph happily licked his face. Then he remembered Rachel. “Hang on,” he said to Mantis, and hurried back out the door. “Rachel, hon. Ralph is okay.”

  She raised her head from the sand. And in the shaft of light from the front door he could see her confusion.

  “Ralph is fine,” he said, hurrying toward her.

  She slowly pulled herself up a bit, as his words began to register. He put Ralph down on the ground, and the dog hurled himself at her. She totally got it then. The place came alive with squeals, and barks, and kissing. So much for keeping their existence at the cabin quiet, but after the drive by shooting—well, hell, it was more of a massacre—Michael didn’t much care. The attackers might come back to make sure they’d done the job though. But he doubted that. They’d be long gone. He sensed movement, and swung to his right, gun leveled.

  “What the hell happened here?” Stanton asked, coming up from the back of the house. His feet were bare, wet and sandy. He carried his shoes tied by the laces and swung over one shoulder, and he held his gun, aimed and steady. His pants legs were rolled up to his knees. Michael figured he’d decided to walk at the edge of the water to cover his tracks.

  Mantis came out of the cabin, and stood on the porch. Stanton swung toward him, gun still leveled. Rachel remained on the ground, hugging Ralph, and rocking back and forth.

  Stanton looked up, frowned. He took a step closer to the porch. “Fernando?”

  “Deputy,” Mantis said, with a nod. He looked around and out toward the dark trees. “We might want to get inside, turn the lights out.”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, and waved Stanton inside. He cast another quick look around. Nothing stirred. Not even a breeze.

  Stanton hesitated a moment. “Some of them were on foot. They must have jumped out of the vehicles, run around the back while the driver ripped up the front, then climbed back in and driven off. They shot up the whole damn place. Back and front.”

  Michael swallowed hard. This had turned into one hell of a fucking mess. If they hadn’t gone to the bar, they’d
be a mass of bloody pulp. If he’d insisted on leaving Rachel here…

  Ah, hell. He couldn’t even go there. Not even in his thoughts, and he swallowed hard against the sudden rise of bile in the back of his throat. Whoever tailed them had obviously noted their arrival earlier. Had perhaps seen them take off in the boat, and then return later in the day.

  Who the hell is it, and where is he situated? And what gang is he working with?

  Michael grimaced. If their tail had seen them drive off on the bike to the bar, he must have left the area at that point, and not followed them to Fred’s. If he had done that, he’d have known they hadn’t returned early. He helped Rachel to stand, and supporting her still shaky body, walked her and Ralph inside the cabin. He locked and bolted the front door, and thought of the irony of doing that.

  “Hang on a minute,” Mantis said, and sprinted across the room and out the back door.

  Michael and Stanton exchanged glances. Rachel, still preoccupied with Ralph, fussed and cooed at him like he was a baby.

  “You trust him?” Stanton asked.

  “Implicitly,” Michael said.

  A minute or two later, Mantis reappeared. “They didn’t take out the boat,” he said. “The boat and the dock are sound.”

  “Good. Terrific, we’ll leave by Henry’s boat,” Michael said. “But where will we go?”

  Mantis explained that they could dock at a neighbor’s place, about a mile and a half up the shore. The guy was out of town, and the most immediate neighbor was in rehab. It would be a short walk back to Stanton’s car. Then they’d get Rachel to a safe place.

  Michael was impressed. Knowing their nearest neighbor was not at home explained why nobody had reported the sounds of gunfire. Although, knowing the closed mouths of the people who frequented these shores, he figured most people would keep their distance. He doubted anyone would say anything, or report hearing gunshots. What the hell would he do with Rachel? He couldn’t leave her here. She couldn’t go home. No way in hell she’d go with him to Ocotillo Flats. He had enough unknowns on his plate and couldn’t be watching out for her welfare while trying to locate the Suarez brothers.