Champagne for Buzzards

by Phyllis Smallman

  “He saw them, saw you and I out riding, and he saw the airplane searching for him too. They nearly caught him twice. He’s really exhausted. Even though he’s terrified, he can’t hide from them anymore. He wasn’t sure when he came here if he wasn’t running back to the place he escaped from. He never saw the house in the daylight. But he thought it was different because the place he ran from seemed to have more trees and underbrush closer to it. But he was totally disoriented and lost in the woods. He just hoped he was doing the right thing, hoped we weren’t going to put him back in a truck.”

  We were stunned into silence. Tully was the first to recover. “What are we going to do with him?”

  “We have to be careful who we tell,” I warned. “Red Hozen is a part of this. He was out there with Boomer today. We can’t turn him over to the sheriff. Ramiro would never make it to jail.”

  “All right,” Tully said. “Are we all agreed whatever we do we don’t turn him over to the sheriff?”

  We were all agreed. Uncle Ziggy had some rather heated things to say about the sheriff and his relatives, present and past and future, before Tully cut in with, “But what are we going to do with him? They’ve been watching Riverwood pretty close. They must know he’s somewhere on Clay’s property.”

  There was something bothering me. “We only have Ramiro’s word for all this. He could be a common criminal. He may have heard of trafficking in humans and be using it to get our sympathy. We don’t know if what he’s saying is true.”

  “The sheriff was real short on the details of the guy he was searching for,” Tully said. “You pointed that out yourself. And you saw the sheriff out there with a gun, hunting with Boomer. Something bad is going down, for sure. Do we want to get in the middle of this?”

  Marley’s answer to the question came from out of left field. “Remember Anne Frank?”

  “Who?” I said.

  “Anne Frank, we read her diary in grade nine.”

  “What about her?”

  “I always wondered if I saw my neighbor being dragged out in the middle of the night, what would I do? Well, this is sorta like the Gestapo coming for our neighbor. If the bad guys want him, we shouldn’t let them have him. I’m not brave, never have been, you know that, but I’ll be damned if the one time in my life I’m called on to do something I’ll fold without trying…not for him, you understand, but for me, for my own self-respect.”

  “Marley’s right,” Uncle Ziggy said, jutting out his chin, determined and ready to fight.

  Tully said, “We don’t know if he’s lying to us, although I don’t think he is, but even if he’s telling us the truth he could still be dangerous. Desperate people can do desperate things. That’s still no reason we should turn him over to that gang with guns. I said I’d make sure he got somewhere safe and I will. We need to get him away from here and turn him over to people who can sort it out.”

  “Okay,” I said, “Let’s put him in Uncle Ziggy’s rig, cover him with blankets and run him into Jacaranda. The police there will take care of it. We need to turn him over to someone else quick.”

  Tully shook his head at this idea. “We can’t take him out. Since last Monday we’ve been stopped by a deputy every time we went off the property.”

  “Don’t break cover,” Uncle Ziggy warned. “That’s always the first rule, isn’t it Tully? That’s what we learned in ’Nam.”

  “Ziggy’s right. We have to bring help here rather than try and run to it.”

  “I’m calling Styles,” I said. It was a comfort reflex. I trusted him to tell me how to solve this problem.

  Detective Styles and I had developed a mutual respect. If I were honest, it was even more than that. The physical attraction was something I mostly chose to ignore, but the fact that it was there meant that when I called I was sure he’d come…except this time. This time he was still up in Tallahassee at the conference and out of touch until Thursday, one day away. I left a message, giving an outline of the situation and asking him to come out when he was finished in Tallahassee.

  Twenty-four hours wasn’t much, was it? We had it all under control. If Ramiro was still on Riverwood tomorrow, Styles would take care of him. We could hold out twenty-four hours. Just sit tight and wait until tomorrow and it would all be over.

  CHAPTER 41

  Tully and Zig took Ramiro up into the small loft. I was more than willing to leave them to take care of things but first I had to unsaddle Joey and put him in the paddock. I did think of offering the stupid animal to Ramiro and let him make a break for it, figuring it would take care of two problems.

  Marley followed me to the paddock. “He’s exhausted,” she told me as if I hadn’t been able to see that for myself.

  “Why don’t we take him in the house where he can sleep in a proper bed?” Now that Marley had taken on the work of savior she was going to do it up right.

  Silly idea, but I wasn’t about to use those words to Marley. “Like Tully said, we still don’t know if he is dangerous, don’t know if he’s lying.”

  “We know that those men are after him with guns. Doesn’t that prove his story?”

  “He could still be a criminal. Even if his story is true, there may be more to him than that.”

  “The sheriff isn’t trying to arrest him for shoplifting.”

  “There may be a reason he left Guatemala. Both things could be true. He could be escaping from slave labor and he could be a criminal as well. The point is, you don’t invite strangers into your home…well, not unless you’re my mother, and you know how often that went sour.”

  But for Marley, Ramiro had gone from a raving maniac to the second coming. Secretly I’m sure she wanted to hide him in the attic and pretend we were under occupation, which was just about what it was feeling like, surrounded by armed men and vehicle checks. True, we could still pick up the phone and dial 911, but who was going to come?

  Back in the barn Marley tried to convince Tully of the rightness of her view.

  “He stays in the barn,” Tully said, no room for argument. And then he added, “And you girls stay out of the barn. Me and Zig will take care of him.”

  Uncle Zig came out of the stall with the empty water bottle and plastic wrap, tidying up and hiding all evidence of our visitor. Ziggy pointed out reasonably, “Like Tully said, the man could be lying to us.”

  “We better have a weapon close at hand, Zig, when we’re in the house,” Tully added, herding us out of the barn.

  “Not in the barn,” Zig agreed, “case he tricks us and gets it away from us, got to be real careful.”

  “What if they come here looking for him?” Marley whispered. “What are we going to do?”

  “We have to just act normal,” I told her. “Although there isn’t anything normal about this family.”

  Tully laughed and waved us towards the door. “That may be true but then I’ve never met these normal folk we all aim for.”

  “And we aren’t family,” Marley put in as if that somehow made a difference. Marley always has a great need for accuracy and truth. Strange, even with my good example, I’ve never been able to dissuade her from this silliness.

  “Family has nothing to do with DNA,” Tully told us. “Family is people who love you and who guard your back.”

  Tully only went as far as the back porch while Zig went to the bunkhouse and returned with a big old double-barreled shotgun that had belonged to my grandpa. It tended to have the bad habit of firing both barrels and sitting you on your ass so it was a good thing Zig was the size he was.

  Marley and I stood at the kitchen window watching the barn. Marley asked, “Do you really think Ramiro is a danger to us?”

  “There’s no easy answer to that. Whether directly or indirectly, whether he does the deed himself or brings violent men here, we are caught in the middle, and innocent bystanders take as much flak as soldiers. I jus
t want to turn him over to someone we can trust. That’s why I called Styles.”

  “Oh,” she said in mock surprise, “that’s why you called him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you know what I’m saying. I’ve seen the sparks that fly.”

  “As usual, you’re wrong. I called him because we need someone in authority who we can trust to sort this out.” I looked from the barn to Marley. “It’s a bugger, isn’t it? Who do you call when you can’t rely on the police?” Marley said, “Maybe we should call the FBI.”

  I looked at Marley in shock. “I never thought of that. Won’t they call Sheriff Hozen and ask what’s happening? The last thing we need is to tip the sheriff off. We need someone we can trust, someone who will believe us before anyone else.” Marley nodded. “People are always letting us down.”

  “Comes with being human.” I picked up the thick writing tablet and a pen she’d been using to make lists and handed it to her. “Write everything down so we have a copy of what Ramiro told us. Later we’ll get him to write his story down in Spanish. It will help when we get him somewhere safe.” What I wasn’t saying was that if the sheriff took him or he ran off we’d have some kind of record left behind.

  “Right,” Marley agreed, pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table. She began to write without thinking, earnest and determined to get it all down.

  Tully came in and went to the den, returning with a rifle. He went out to the porch and laid the rifle beside him on the floor. Through the door I watched Dog sniff the gun. Then Dog went around to the other side of Tully and flopped down.

  Should I mention Clay’s handgun to Tully? I decided to keep that one for myself…as backup. Besides, they had quite enough firepower to scare me.

  I left Marley to her writing and stepped outside. “Did you hide him well?”

  “Pulled down some bales and made a safe little hidey-hole,” Tully told me. “Don’t worry, it’ll take a real serious search to find him.”

  “I’m betting a real serious search might not be too far off.” An afternoon thunderstorm was building up out towards the gulf. The trees swayed and the wind picked things up and tossed them about the yard. The air was charged with a current of violence that was almost palpable, as if the weather could feel the human tension and wanted to get in on the act. “Crazy weather, I just don’t understand it,” I said.

  We were on the porch finishing our lunch when the sheriff’s car careened into the yard. He was followed by pickups towing trailers.

  I put my glass down on the floor. “Showtime,” I said. “Better hide those weapons or the sheriff is going to think he’s come to the right place.”

  Right off the bat I noticed Boomer’s big-assed truck. It was hard to miss, lording it over the other vehicles. The door opened and he jumped to the ground. His eyes found me. The doors of the pickups opened and men and dogs poured out, making an ungodly racket.

  Boomer reached into the truck and pulled out a rifle.

  Beside me Tully said, “Easy girl, stay cool.”

  Boomer slammed the truck door shut and started towards the house, the rifle in his left hand. Tully’s hand went to my arm.

  Sheriff Red Hozen jumped in front of Boomer, blocking Boomer’s progress with his body. Bits of their conversation, mainly Boomer’s curses, reached us. It took some time, but finally Boomer swung away and went back to stand by his truck.

  Red Hozen marched to the porch. Tully and Zig and I stood on the porch steps waiting.

  “We’re going to search this property for a wanted criminal,” Red Hozen said. Marley came out from the kitchen, letting the screen slam behind her. The sheriff’s eyes flicked to Marley and then back to me. I guess because I slept with Clay he thought that put me in charge.

  “We’re searching for a dangerous criminal, a murder suspect.” The sheriff’s attitude said he expected a fight and was ready for it.

  “Not looking for Howie Sweet then?”

  “If Howie Sweet is out there, we’ll find him.” Sheriff Hozen turned to Tully. “Fact is, it would be better if you and your family went back to town until this criminal is caught. It’s too dangerous here with this fella on the loose.”

  The sheriff looked back to me. “This is no place to be with a fugitive on the loose, Mrs. Travis. I suggest you leave.” Tully raised a hand. “My daughter is leaving, Sheriff.”

  “Good. Things are a little different out here than they are in the city.”

  “Yes, I’ve noticed that,” Tully said.

  Sheriff Hozen’s eyes narrowed, looking for the insult and then he said, “These men are going to go out back and chase this fugitive out. Best you be gone in case he heads this way.”

  I asked, “Have you asked for Clay’s permission to search his property?”

  “I don’t need anyone’s…” the sheriff swallowed a curse, and said, “…permission.” The word was distasteful to him. “I’m only telling you this as a courtesy,” he said. “If you won’t leave, just stay out of the way. Best you all stay indoors with everything locked up nice and tight. Remember, one man has already died.”

  Involuntarily my eyes looked out to the black pickup where Boomer Breslau stood. Around Boomer men were backing the three-wheeled vehicles off the flatbeds and loading up the dogs. Boomer ignored them. There was only one living thing Boomer was interested in and that was me. He held his bandaged hand up as if he wanted me to see it, as if giving me the finger. It was both a promise and a threat, saying he’d be coming for his revenge.

  Tully sounded bored when he said, “Knock yourselves out, Sheriff. You boys just go out there and have all the fun you can.” The sheriff swung away and jogged to join his men.

  A man, built like a fire hydrant, came up and started talking to Boomer who looked away from me and nodded. His eyes swung back to me and stayed for a moment longer and then Boomer watched the man unload his mechanical mount for him.

  The chaos and racket of the dogs were beginning to blend into some kind of order. Men mounted their machines, called up their dogs behind them and started off. Every man was armed.

  The searchers roared off around the barn and down the narrow lane between the fenced fields, setting startled horses running from the noise.

  Sitting down on the porch railing to watch, I said, “Maybe this is the time to run for Jacaranda. Put Ramiro in the back of Uncle Zig’s truck and get the hell out of here.”

  CHAPTER 42

  “We stay put,” Tully said. “Let them run around out there all day, what good is it going to do them?”

  “The dogs are a worry,” Ziggy said. “They pick up his scent, they could track him back here.”

  Tully frowned. “I been thinking on that. How likely is it that those dogs have been used to track men? More likely they’re just coon dogs. My guess is the Breslau clan is getting desperate, trying to flush him out, trying anything to find Ramiro. We stay put and let the fools wear themselves out.”

  “One day is all we need,” I added. “Tomorrow Styles can take over.”

  “For now, I’ll just go to the barn and make sure Ramiro understands what’s happening and stays out of sight.” Tully picked the rifle up from under the papers and handed it to Ziggy, but Ziggy had already toed the newspapers off the shotgun and picked it up so Tully handed the rifle to me.

  “I’m coming with you,” Marley told Tully. “He can’t understand you.”

  They headed for the barn while I took the rifle inside and put it on the kitchen table. Then I went to the window and leaned on the sink to watch Marley and Tully going to the barn, wanting to call them back, wanting them to be safe. Who knew how frantic the guy in the barn might be and what he might do. Everyone I was closest to was put at risk by this rescuing business and I didn’t like it. I only hoped Ramiro was worth it.

  When Marley and Tully disappeared into th
e barn, I went back out to the porch and picked up the empty plates. Back in the kitchen I watched Uncle Ziggy pace up and down the porch, never taking his eyes off the barn, the open shotgun hanging loosely in the crook of his arm but ready to be slammed closed for action. His restlessness mirrored my own anxiety, the wanting to do something when all there was to do was wait.

  The rain began to fall, big round drops that drilled holes in the dust and pattered on the tin roof of the porch.

  I turned on the tap, rinsing dishes before putting them in the dishwasher, forcing my mind to practical matters I could do something about. My head buzzed around the problem of who you call when you can’t trust the police. Who do you trust? It all came down to that. Who do you trust with your life?

  Out here in nowhere land where no one knew me or cared about me, without a dozen guys leaning on my bar who I could turn to for help and no Miguel in the kitchen with a cleaver, I was downright lonely. I missed them. Feeling cut off from other people was bad. If I was going to be in deep doodoo I wanted company, lots of it.