by Stuart Woods
Bobby gave a low whistle. “Man, I really bit, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.”
“But where are we going?”
Big Bear pulled over to the curb in front of the bus station. “We’re there,” he said, “and we’re about to save your life.”
“How?”
“It’s like this: you take some of the grand and you go inside and buy a bus ticket.”
“To where?”
“Anywhere you like, Bobby; that’s the beauty of this thing. You’re free as a bird, and you’ve got a thousand dollars in your pocket.”
“But I like it here, in Santa Fe.”
“Not anymore, Bobby. Santa Fe isn’t the place for you anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Two reasons: one, because when Harold gets out, he’ll kill you for not killing Mr. Eagle. Of course, he was always going to kill you.”
“I can handle Harold. What’s the other reason?”
Big Bear reached under his jean jacket, pulled out the Colt Python and pointed it at Bobby. “The other reason is that if you don’t go in there and get on a bus, I’m gonna kill you. Same if you should come back to Santa Fe. Now, is all that perfectly clear?”
“I guess so.”
“Don’t guess, Bobby.”
“It’s clear.”
“And don’t think things are going to improve if you wait awhile, because Harold will still be here, and I’ll still be here, too.” Big Bear unlocked the doors. “Go ahead. I’ll wait until I see you on a bus. Be sure and wave.”
“Well, thanks for the lift,” Bobby said. He got out of the truck and headed for the bus station.
Big Bear waited until the next bus pulled out, and he saw Bobby waving from a window. He started the engine, turned around and drove back to the jail. He shoved the pistol under his seat then went inside, presented himself at the visitors’ window and asked to see Harold Fuentes.
After a half-hour’s wait, a man with gray hair and a ponytail walked into the visiting room and sat down at a table, looking around for a familiar face. Big Bear walked over and sat down at the table. “Hey, Harold,” he said.
“Who the fuck are you?” Fuentes asked.
“I’m the guy who’s bringing you the good news,” Big Bear said.
“What good news?”
“You just made, what, twenty-four thousand dollars, and you didn’t have to do anything for it.”
Fuentes looked around warily. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s like this, Harold: the party who paid you the money is now in Mexico and is never coming back.”
“How do you know this?”
“I know all sorts of things you don’t know, Harold. For instance, I know that Bobby, the guy you hired to do the dirty work, is, right now, on a bus out of town, and he’s not coming back. So, you don’t have to kill him, and, of course, you don’t have to kill Mr. Eagle. When you get out, you just spend the money, without a care in the world.”
“And you’re sure about all this?”
“I’m absolutely positive, Harold.”
“Is that all you’ve got to tell me?”
“Just one more thing, Harold: if you should somehow forget all this and take it into your mind to harm Mr. Eagle anyway, I’m going to blow your fucking head off. Got that?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Have a nice stay here, Harold, and enjoy yourself when you get out.”
Harold stood up. “I’ll do my best. Oh, and thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Big Bear said. “Not to anybody.” He got up and left the jail.
Once in the parking lot, he called Ed Eagle’s office and asked for the lawyer.
“Joe, it’s Eagle.”
“Good morning, Mr. Eagle. I just wanted you to know that the little problem you mentioned to me has been taken care of.”
“Peacefully?”
“Absolutely.”
“And you’ll see the other guy, when he gets out?”
“I visited him in jail. He was very happy to hear that he gets to keep the money without having to earn it. I put the other fellow on a bus out of town, and he won’t be back. We all square on my legal costs?”
“What legal costs?” Eagle asked. “Thanks, and goodbye, Joe.”
“Bye-bye, Mr. Eagle.”
Twenty-one
CUPIE GOT UP, SHOWERED AND SHAVED, THEN TURNED over the bathroom to Vittorio. He walked next door and rapped on Barbara’s door. “Good morning!” he shouted.
No reply.
“Answer me, or I’ll kick down the door,” Cupie said, wondering if she had flown the coop again.
“All right, all right,” she said.
“I’m going to go and change cars, and Vittorio and I will meet you in the restaurant for breakfast.”
“All right.”
Cupie got into the Toyota 4Runner, drove to the rental car office and exchanged it for a Camry. “The SUV is too big,” he explained to the clerk.
“Whatever you say, señor,” the woman replied.
“Can I drop the car at any of your offices?”
“As long as you drop it in Mexico,” the woman said. “You cross the border in it, and there’s no insurance and big trouble.”
Cupie drove back to the hotel and found Vittorio and Barbara silently eating breakfast. He sat down and ordered eggs and bacon.
“How are we going to do this?” Barbara asked.
“It’s fairly simple,” Cupie replied. “We drive to the airport and put you on the flight of your choice.”
“I’m paying you guys twenty thousand dollars for a ride to the airport?”
“A ride to the airport with armed guards,” Cupie explained. “Otherwise, it’s a long drive to the border.”
“What if the kidnappers or the police are watching the airport?”
“Then we’ll take a long drive to the border.”
“You got a new car?” Vittorio asked.
“Yeah, a nice Toyota Camry, anonymous green. Did you call Mr. Eagle?”
“Yeah, and he was very pleased. I’m going to drop off the paperwork at the Federal Express counter at the airport, then we’re done.”
“Not until my plane takes off,” Barbara said.
“Then we’re done with Mr. Eagle.”
“Funny, so am I.”
They finished their breakfast and loaded the luggage into the car.
Cupie opened the back door for her. “I’d like it if you’d lie down on the seat,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to get unlucky. If certain people can’t see you, we’ll be luckier.”
“Oh, all right,” she groused.
“Unless you’d rather have people shooting at you through the windows.”
“I said all right, okay?” She got into the car and made herself comfortable.
“Then we’re off.”
“I’ll drive,” Vittorio said.
“Yeah, Geronimo, you got all the moves,” Cupie replied, sliding into the passenger seat.
“Wrong evil Indian; it’s Vittorio.”
“Whatever. Mrs. Eagle, what is your preferred destination city?”
“I don’t know. Where can you fly to from Acapulco?”
“Well, let’s see: certainly L.A. and San Francisco; maybe Denver, Atlanta, and probably New York.”
“Not L.A.,” she said.
“Bad vibes in L.A.?”
“Bad people.”
“They got those everywhere.”
“There’s bad, and there’s bad.”
“Well, L.A.’s my home sweet home, and that’s where I’m going. I’d love your company on the flight, but suit yourself. How about you, Vittorio?”
“Albuquerque,” Vittorio replied. “My car’s at the airport there.”
“Well, to each his own,” Cupie said. “What I think I’m going to do when I get home is take my daughter out to a really good restaurant and encourage her to go to law school.”
<
br /> “Why law school?”
“Well, it might make her forget about joining the LAPD, and get her into the D.A.’s office, instead. And if it doesn’t, the law degree will impress the LAPD recruiters.”
“Lawyers are not nice people,” the voice from the backseat said. “I’ve seen too many lawyers the past few years and been married to one. Tell her to major in fashion design.”
“How would she ever meet an eligible, heterosexual man in the fashion business?” Cupie asked.
“You’d be surprised. Of course, the straight ones are very, very busy.”
“Next turn for the airport,” Cupie said.
“I saw the sign,” Vittorio replied drily. He made the turn. “I’ll drop you two off at curbside checkin, then I’ll turn in the car and find you inside.”
“Okay,” Cupie replied, “but don’t drive away until I’ve had a look around and give you the high sign.”
“The high sign?”
“Like a thumbs-up.”
“Oh.”
“Which airline?”
“Doesn’t matter; we’re not going to check in at curbside anyway. I don’t like it with all the cars driving by.”
“Uh-oh,” Vittorio said.
“What?” Cupie replied.
“Black suburban, battered, bullet hole in the rear window, at twelve o’clock, curbside.”
“Where?” Barbara asked, sitting up.
Cupie pushed her back down in the backseat. “I swear, you just want to be a duck in a shooting gallery, don’t you?” Cupie watched as the driver got out of the Suburban and strolled over to two Mexican police officers loafing on the curb.
“Just keep driving, Vittorio.”
“What, you thought I was going to stop and ask directions?” Vittorio asked.
Twenty-two
EAGLE HUNG UP THE PHONE FROM HIS CONVERSATION with Vittorio. He felt relieved, relaxed, clean, as if after a sauna and a massage. In one day, perhaps two, he’d have the blank sheets with Barbara’s signature, and life would be sweet again. So it had cost him three hundred thousand dollars plus the fees and expenses of Cupie, Vittorio and Russell Norris, say another fifty thousand. So what? It would be the cheapest divorce he could ever have obtained. Barbara had shot herself in the foot!
Apart from that, he had rid himself of one, possibly two, hit men and won Joe Big Bear’s case in court. All in all, it made him feel like playing golf when he should be working. It was more fun, if he should be working. He called Wolf Willett.
“You up for some golf?”
“Sounds like more fun than working,” Wolf said.
“Half an hour?”
“Done.”
HALF AN HOUR LATER they were on the first tee, looking at a very straightforward par four, three hundred and seventy-five yards. Wolf hit a nice straight drive. So did Eagle, but ten yards shorter.
“I’ve never understood why you can’t translate all that height of yours into length on the golf course,” Wolf said smugly. “I mean, I’m nearly a foot shorter than you, and I just outdrove you.”
“I want to encourage you,” Eagle said. “Later, when there’s more money involved, I’ll get longer.”
VITTORIO DROVE AWAY from the airport, then pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. “I guess we can wait them out,” he said. “Check back every hour.”
“We got lucky that time,” Cupie said. “They were dumb enough to park that tank outside. Next time, they might be inside the terminal, and we only know what one of them looks like. Let’s drive to Puerto Vallarta and try the airport there.”
“Okay by me,” Vittorio said. “What about you, Babs?”
“You guys are nuts,” she said.
“What? We just earned our ten grand each, protecting you from the kidnappers; the rest is a free ride for you.”
“Let’s get going,” she said. At least, she had stopped popping up out of the backseat every ten minutes.
“Just relax, baby,” Cupie said, “and we’ll get you home. Wherever that is.”
“Shut up and drive,” she said.
Vittorio put the car in gear and headed for Puerto Vallarta.
THEY LEFT THE COURSE after nine holes and went to the clubhouse for some lunch. Eagle told Wolf about his feelings of relief and safety.
“Relieved and safe is a good way to be,” Wolf agreed. “Of course, there’s another woman out there somewhere, just waiting to do it to you all over again.”
“You mean you think they’re all thieves and murderers?”
“No, just our first wives. Maybe you’ll get lucky next time, the way I did.”
“You did get lucky, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, and now when I pay my film editor, the money stays in the family. And not only that, when she’s not working with me, she goes out and earns a very nice buck working for other filmmakers.”
“Now that is devoutly to be wished,” Eagle said, wonder in his voice. “To think that I was happy this morning, thinking all my wife had cost me was three hundred and fifty grand, and your wife is out there, bringing home the bacon.”
“The eggs, too, in a good year.”
“I’m never, ever, ever going to get married again,” Eagle said. “I should never have done it in the first place.”
“That’s not good thinking,” Wolf said. “Goes against the natural order of things.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that man is not meant to be alone; he craves companionship.”
“And sex.”
“That, too.”
“I got news for you, pal: from now on, dinner and a roll in the hay is enough companionship and sex for me. Maybe a dirty weekend now and then.”
“Yeah, but you’re not getting that warm, family feeling around the holidays.”
“I’ll sleep through the holidays.”
“Yes, and alone.”
“I HAVE TO PEE,” Barbara said.
“I’ll let you know when we’re at the next gas station,” Vittorio replied.
“I have to pee right now,” she said. “The road is bumpy.”
“Then you’re going to have to make do with a cactus for a bathroom.”
“Let me worry about that.”
Vittorio pulled over. “There’s a nice one right over there,” he said. “Some bushes, too.”
Barbara got out of the car and picked her way across twenty yards of desert in her high heels to a clump of flora.
“Uh-oh,” Vittorio said. He was looking in the rearview mirror.
Cupie swiveled his head around and looked back down the long, straight highway. “It’s a black dot,” he said.
“Right.”
“Gimme those binoculars of yours.” Cupie focused on the black dot. “Uh-oh,” he said. He rolled down the window, letting in a gust of hot, dry air. “Barbara!”
“Just a minute,” she yelled.
“Stay where you are,” Cupie called. “Car coming.”
“Big deal!”
“I hope not, but it could be.” Cupie watched through the glasses as the black dot got bigger. “Take off your hat,” Cupie said.
“What?”
“Vittorio, they may not remember you, but they’ll remember that fucking hat.”
Vittorio took off his campaign hat and dropped it on the floor. “You know what I wish?” he said.
“What?”
“I wish I had a heavy machine gun.”
Cupie was still glued to the binoculars. “It’s a black SUV,” he said. “I wish I had a hand grenade.”
Twenty-three
CUPIE AND VITTORIO WERE HOLDING UP A MAP, CONCEALING their handguns beneath it, when the black Suburban pulled alongside them and stopped. A window slid down, and two men grinned at them from the front seat. They couldn’t see who was in the backseat.
“Buenos días, señores,” the man in the passenger seat said. He was middle-aged, mustachioed, bad teeth.
“Hiya,” Cupie yelled, smiling, too. “You speaka the Engli
sh?”
“Of course, señor,” the man replied. “Do you need help?”
“We’re just looking for the best way to Juárez.”
“You go straight ahead, all the way to Tijuana, then turn right on highway number two, and that takes you all the way to Juárez.”
Cupie looked at the map, puzzled. “Wouldn’t it be shorter to go more cross-country?”
“Yes, señor, but the roads are not so very good, and, of course, there are the banditos.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it sounds more exciting that way. Thanks very much.”
The rear window of the Suburban slid down a couple of inches and a pair of eyes appeared, looking into the rear seat of the Toyota, then it slid up again.
“Adiós, señores,” the front passenger said. “Vaya con Dios!” The Suburban roared away.
“Speaking of banditos,” Vittorio said, “that guy looked just like the bandit in Treasure of the Sierra Madre. The ‘We ain’t got no steenking badges’ guy.”
“Yeah, and his intentions are pretty much the same.” Cupie looked over to see Barbara coming. “Get back in the bushes!” he yelled, and she turned around and disappeared again. He turned back to Vittorio. “You think they bought it?”
“Well, they didn’t see the lady, did they?”
“I don’t think they bought it.” Cupie yelled out the window. “All right, they’re gone; get back in the car.”
Barbara made her way back to the Toyota and got in. “Was it them?”
“You bet your sweet ass it was,” Vittorio said.
“Where did they go?”
“Straight ahead.”
“Then let’s turn around and go back to the Acapulco airport.”
Vittorio shook his head. “The driver of the Suburban talked to the cops there; they’ll be looking for you.”
“He’s right,” Cupie agreed, “and they’re probably on the phone right now, giving them a description of us and our car.”
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“Let’s make a pass at the Puerto Vallarta airport,” Cupie said, “and if it’s staked out, we’ll just go straight on to Tijuana and walk across the border. We’ll get you a cab to the San Diego airport, and you’re free as a bird.”
“Sounds right to me,” Vittorio said. “You on board, Babs?”
“Do I have a choice?”