Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  Shouldn’t he have been heading over for the dinner party? Maybe he knew about the box. No. He’d been in the stables so he wouldn’t have heard Selena and Roland talking about it. But he could be working with someone. Someone could’ve heard the rumor and called him.

  Jarret re-lit the joint and slid back to his spot on the stable wall.

  Another dark figure in a Stetson hat appeared at the back of the house.

  Jarret made a move for cover but stopped.

  The slim figure had a self-conscious, awkward sort of gait. Had to be Roland.

  Jarret took a drag off the joint and admired the stars again while Roland strode over to him.

  “Hey,” Roland said, his face shrouded in shadows.

  Jarret gave a nod, exhaling smoke.

  Roland sniffed the air. “What’re you smoking?”

  With a grin, Jarret dropped the joint and crushed it out with his boot. It was nearly spent anyway so he didn’t feel too bad about it. He had a good buzz going, and nothing Roland could say or do would kill it.

  “So did you see anyone?” Roland peered into the darkness around them.

  Jarret huffed. “Did you guys set the bait?”

  Roland shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “Did everyone catch your story?”

  “I think so. We talked about it twice, near two different groups of suspects.”

  He smirked. “Suspects, huh? Isn’t everybody a suspect?”

  Roland shrugged. “Well, not the family. Not Papa. We didn’t want them to hear. So be careful when you start talking. Don’t talk in front of them.”

  Jarret smirked. Roland was such a dweeb. “Whatever. So there’s only one guy who hasn’t heard about the box of valuable antiques. Enyeto.” He gave a nod in the direction of the apartments.

  “Enyeto? Oh yeah. I guess he wasn’t there.”

  “You guess? Shouldn’t you know?” He pushed off the wall and stood with jutted jaw, peering down at Roland. “He’s in his apartment. But don’t worry. I’ll make sure he knows about the box when he finally joins the party.”

  “Okay.”

  “If anyone takes the bait, they’ll probably come now, while you’re here.” Jarret smirked and started walking backwards, toward the house. “And what’re you going to do about it? You gonna get Rufino’s gun?”

  Roland shook his head and turned away. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was stupid.” He looked at Jarret. “I don’t know what I’ll do. Guess I’ll confront him. I have my cell phone. I’ll call you if I see anyone. We can surround him or something.”

  Jarret nodded, slowly, loving the airy feeling in his head. “Where’s Selena in her hot little geisha dress?”

  “In the house. I think it’s time to eat.”

  “Good. I’m hungry.”

  ❖

  Selena leaned against the kitchen countertop and laughed with stone-faced Eremita. Her silky, oriental-style dress, red with a gold and green floral print, drew attention to her slim waistline and shiny black hair, making it hard for Jarret to look at anything else.

  Turning as Eremita walked off with a tray, Selena caught sight of him. “There you are.”

  “Yeah, here I am.” He tore his gaze from her dress.

  She took his hand and whispered in his ear, “Help me spread more rumors. We have to do it before my mother comes back down. She’s putting Rosa to bed.”

  “Anything you want.” He let her lead him to the dining room.

  A few guests, men in bolo ties and women in vests and denim skirts, had taken their seats at the long table. Their voices and laughter rose above the contemporary Mexican and classical guitar background music. The table setting looked like a page out of a home decorating magazine: royal blue wine goblets stuffed with gold napkins, blue and orange patterned plates, and candles as centerpieces. Four stable hands stood gossiping in the hallway. A middle-aged couple strolled into the room, both of them dressed in dark jeans and boots.

  Selena leaned close and whispered, “That is my mother’s friend Becca and her husband Taine. Her son Rick is in the other room.”

  “So, is this everyone?” Jarret nodded to include the stable hands in the hall.

  “No, a few are still in the great room.” She stopped by the buffet, examined the hors d’oeuvres, and snatched a stuffed piquillo pepper.

  Jarret leaned over her shoulder. “Did you guys have drinks in the great room?”

  She laughed. “Drinks? You mean alcohol? Are you an alcoholic? At your age?” She bit into the stuffed pepper.

  He huffed. “I don’t have the chance to be one. Don’t you ever want to sneak a drink?”

  She shrugged and said, “I have wine with dinner sometimes,” then she stuffed the rest of the pepper into her mouth.

  “A whole bottle?”

  Wiping her mouth with her fingers, Selena studied his face. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m feeling great. Why?”

  “You don’t look yourself. Your eyes—”

  “Don’t I?” He couldn’t help himself. He leaned in for a kiss.

  She put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “So you will drive me, then?” She whispered rather loudly.

  “What?”

  Selena glanced as stable hands straggled into the room and seated themselves at the table. “I have a storage unit I want to put something in. Can you take me there after dinner?”

  What was she talking about? She said he didn’t look himself. Then she wanted a ride to a—

  She kicked his shin and widened her eyes as if he should know what she was talking about.

  “That hurt,” he said, rubbing his shin.

  She made him straighten up then whispered in his ear, “Can’t you play along? Just say okay.”

  “Okay.” Now he remembered. Roland’s plan.

  She took his arm and led him into the hallway. They both leaned against the wall. “Roland is a much better actor than you.” She glanced to either side. “We should probably keep an eye on everyone. If someone wants to sneak out—”

  Laszio came into the hallway, a cell phone to his ear. “I will be there. I will come right now.” He shoved his cell phone into a pocket of his jeans and adjusted his cowboy hat, nearly walking into Selena.

  “Watch it.” Jarret straightened up and glared. “What’s your hurry?”

  “Con permiso.” He tipped his hat to Selena but only glanced at her. “My wife, she needs me. I must go.” He glanced again, worry in his eyes, then went to the door saying, “Tell your Papá I must go. Lupeta is not feeling well.”

  As the door squeezed shut, Jarret grinned. “Think he’s our thief?”

  Selena smacked his arm. “Don’t be silly. His wife has cancer. She’s often sick. I thought she might be sick when I didn’t see her here tonight. I didn’t want to ask. He doesn’t handle it well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gazed at him as if studying his eyes.

  He pressed his lips together, dying to kiss her. The foyer chandelier cast geometric patterns of light on her silky red dress, playing with her figure.

  “I mean he’s emotional for a guy,” she finally said.

  For some reason, her comment hit a nerve. He snapped from his lustful thoughts and watched as two more stable hands clomped into the hall on their way to the dining room.

  “Not that I don’t understand,” Selena said. “It’d be hard knowing that your spouse was going to suffer and die. I think I’d—”

  “Do you like Roland more than me?”

  She stared. Then she cracked up.

  A bad name came to mind, but he stopped it from crossing his lips. He shook his head and turned away as Rufino and Papa strolled into the hallway.

  “Hey, amigo,” Rufino said.

  Papa only nodded.

  When the hall cleared, Selena had a straight face. “Why can’t I like you both? Why must I like one over—”

  His cell phone rang. Roland? He whipped his phone out and answer
ed it.

  “He’s here!” Roland whispered, urgency in his tone. “He’s going for the box.”

  “Who?” Jarret gave Selena a nod to answer the question in her eyes.

  “I don’t know. One of the stable hands, I think. Come out the front, and we’ll surround him.”

  Jarret ended the call and stuffed his phone away. “I’m going out front. You stay here.”

  “Stay here? Why?”

  “‘Cuz I don’t want you getting hurt.”

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. She folded her arms across her chest. “You mean because I’m a girl?”

  Jarret bolted through the front doorway and plunged into the night. He jogged through the landscaping, weaving to avoid colliding with artistically placed cacti, decorative pebbles slipping beneath his boots.

  At the corner, he stopped. Not a soul stirred from here to the stables. The windows of Enyeto’s upstairs apartment were even dark. So where was the thief? Where was Roland?

  Jarret’s jaw tightened. If Roland was playing a trick on him, he’d pay.

  He headed for the stables, clinging to the shadow of the house, alternating between walking and jogging. As he neared, something in the shadow of the stables moved. Roland?

  Jarret darted to the house and flattened himself against the wall.

  A man in a cowboy hat—too tall to be Roland—stepped into the moonlight, cradling the box in his arms. He took a long look behind and to either side but didn’t appear to see Jarret.

  Jarret dashed into the moonlight and closed the distance between them.

  The man jerked his face toward Jarret and retreated into the shadow he’d come from.

  “I know what you got.” Jarret skidded to a stop about ten feet away, his gaze directed to where he assumed the man stood. “Where do you think you’re going with that?”

  The man stepped from the shadows, without the box. He held something small that flashed, reflecting moonlight. A knife?

  Feeling the urge to retreat, Jarret forced himself forward. Then he stood strong, feet shoulder width apart. “I ain’t afraid of you, with or without a knife, or whatever you got in your hand, so who are you?”

  “Go back inside.” The low voice came from the front end of the apartments. A floodlight had illuminated the area earlier, but now it was dark.

  Jarret and the thief both snapped their faces toward the voice. It sounded like . . . Enyeto?

  The thief stepped back.

  Jarret shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere. Why don’t you come out of the shadows?”

  All of this had seemed to unfold rather slowly, so whatever either one of the shadowy dudes decided to do, Jarret thought he’d have plenty of time to respond. He assumed a fighting stance, legs bent and fists at chin level. If he had to, he could take them both.

  The first man lunged toward him, and the second man zipped from the shadows. The knife flashed in the moonlight as it neared Jarret’s neck. Arms wrapped around his chest from behind. His feet flew out from under him. Someone had yanked him back and held him.

  Wishing for a surge of adrenaline but getting none, Jarret grappled for the attacker’s arms and struggled to get his balance. His attacker flung him. He landed hard on his side in a bush along the house.

  “You go.” Enyeto stood over him, one arm outstretched, pointing to the back of the house, his dark face grim and wrinkled, looking like a Native American of legend.

  “I told you, I ain’t going nowhere.” Clutching his sore ribs, Jarret struggled to get back on his feet. He wasn’t backing down no matter what.

  “You are in no condition to defend yourself,” Enyeto said, “even against him. I will take care of this.”

  Did Enyeto know he was high? Maybe. Maybe he saw him smoking the joint or heard him bum one off Rufino. “I can take care of myself. You two working on this together? You been stealing from the people who take care of you? I knew you were scum.”

  “Let me go on,” the first man said to Enyeto. Wait . . . was that Laszio’s voice?

  Jarret squinted at the shadowy figure, trying to make him out. It was Laszio.

  And now he was taking backward steps, moving toward the shadows of the stables. “Do not tell anyone about this. I must do this. It is only his word against mine. Nobody will believe him.”

  Jarret got to his feet and lunged, ready to sprint for Laszio.

  Enyeto wrapped his arms around Jarret’s torso again. “No, Laszio,” Enyeto shouted over Jarret’s shoulder.

  Jarret twisted and tried to pry himself free, but Enyeto’s firm grasp didn’t lessen.

  “This is wrong,” Enyeto said. “You will put the box down, and you will go home. We will talk later.”

  “I will not.” Laszio darted for the shadow where he had set the box.

  Enyeto flung Jarret to the side and bolted after Laszio.

  Although determined to keep his balance, Jarret tripped on his own feet, landed on his knees, and fell onto his side. By the time he sat upright, the thieves had entered the stables. Enyeto almost sounded like he wanted to stop Laszio, but, no, they must have been in it together.

  As Jarret climbed to his feet, people came from around the back of the house: Papa, Juan, and Selena, with Roland in the lead. Nobody looked his way. They marched toward the wide-open doorway of the stable, walking in the light streaming from it and on the moving shadows of the men, who were now fighting. Someone inside shouted something that Jarret couldn’t make out.

  Jarret jogged to where everyone had gathered, just inside the doorway. He squeezed in between Selena and Roland. All eyes were fixed on the fighting men, Enyeto and Laszio.

  Arms entwined, boots scraping the floor, each man struggled to dominate the other. Laszio, the younger and heavier of them, slammed Enyeto’s back against a stable door without breaking their bear hug. He freed an arm and, eyes bulging, drew back his fist.

  Enyeto, his face as placid as the desert horizon, blocked the blow with an open hand, capturing Laszio’s fist in his palm. With a step and a turn, he twisted Laszio’s arm behind his back and turned him to face the onlookers. Then he released his grasp and set a boot to Laszio’s rear end.

  Laszio landed on his face in a pile of hay.

  Roland gave Jarret a glance then did a double take, his gaze dropping to Jarret’s shirt. “Are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” When Roland turned away, Jarret brushed the dirt off his white Diesel polo. This shirt had cost him more than—

  There came a sound like breaking glass near Laszio.

  “Oh, my palomino!” Selena said with emotion, a hand on each cheek.

  Laszio lay prone a few feet from the box. The box was on its side, a bit caved in but still taped shut.

  “Do not get up again,” Enyeto said. “We will talk.”

  Señor Juan stepped forward. “What is the problem here?” With a voice calm and controlled, he came across gentle rather than angry, his gaze shifting from one man to the other. He must have had no idea that Laszio was his thief. What had Roland told him to get him outside?

  “Hey.” Jarret bumped Roland’s arm. “What happened to ‘we’ll surround him’?”

  “Oh.” Roland glanced at his feet. “I made a split-second decision, thought maybe Señor Juan should see this for himself.”

  “Thanks for telling me.” His comfortable buzz kept his temper down, but that would’ve ordinarily hacked him off.

  “I’m sorry,” Roland said. “I thought—”

  “Do you want to tell him yourself?” Enyeto said to the man on the ground.

  Laszio eased himself up to his knees. He gave Juan a sad, hound-dog face, then folded over and started bawling.

  “I believe you have found your thief,” Enyeto said, his eagle eyes turning from the pathetic man on the ground to Roland.

  Papa and Juan both glanced at Roland, but then Juan stooped by Laszio. “Is what he says true?”

  Hands to his face, Laszio nodded and confessed everything.

  “W
hat does this have to do with the two of you?” Papa had squinting, accusing eyes for both Jarret and Roland.

  “Why don’t you ask him?” Jarret gave a nod to indicate Roland.

  Papa’s gaze shifted to Roland; he blinked as if he couldn’t believe it. “Roland?”

  A chuckle rose up inside Jarret, wanting out. He wiped his mouth and lowered his head to control it.

  “Oh. Um . . .” Roland took a breath. “I guess, well, it was my idea. I thought it was important to find out who was stealing things before we left. So I . . .” He shut his mouth and turned to the grown men whispering to each other on the stable floor.

  “Jarret?” Papa said.

  “It’s what he said. It was his idea.” Typically, now, he would’ve taken offense at Papa’s insinuating glare, but this was all Roland’s idea. And Roland didn’t have a snowball’s chance in southern Arizona of getting away without the blame. Papa would have to turn his accusing eyes right back to the Pale Rider.

  The corners of Jarret’s mouth trembled, laughter threatening to erupt.

  “I don’t see anything humorous about the situation. This isn’t a game. I told you both not to worry about it. Someone could’ve gotten hurt.” Papa’s eyes turned to the ground. “Whose knife is that in the straw?”

  Jarret didn’t bother looking. “Ain’t mine. Better ask your other son. But I don’t think it’s his either. A gun’s more his style.”

  Roland’s head spun around, fire in his eyes.

  The combination of his fearful-angry expression and Papa’s questioning-angry scowl struck a funny chord deep inside. Jarret turned away, trying not to laugh aloud. Maybe he ought to step outside and—

  Papa gripped Jarret’s upper arm then leaned close and whispered through clenched teeth, “Have you been drinking?”

  Now that shouldn’t have been funny, ‘cuz Papa was obviously on to him. So why couldn’t he get control of himself? Why couldn’t he keep the chuckle from rising up? “Drink . . . ing?” He said, trying not to laugh. “No, I ain’t been . . . drinking.”

  Of course, Rufino had to arrive at that moment, shuffling into the stream of light that stole through the stable doorway. Judging by his tight lips and wide eyes, he’d heard the question. When Papa turned his steely blues on him, he took a step back. He might as well have confessed right then. No point in lying now. Papa ain’t nobody’s fool.