The Territory: A Novel

by Tricia Fields

  Josie gave Otto a rundown on the morning. “I talked to the Assessor’s Office. Drench owns the land Winnings’ trailer is on. I’ll go talk to him tomorrow.” She pointed to the opened Gunner’s policy manual that lay in the middle of her desk. “You know how many guns Red had on the inventory he kept?”

  “It would appear, too many for his own good.”

  “Two hundred sixty-three.”

  “I’d think two or three would have been sufficient.”

  “Didn’t Hack Bloster make it sound like the whole stash of guns was kept on those hooks in Red’s living room?”

  Otto typed in his computer log-in and turned toward Josie, his expression more interested. “That’s the way I took it. But there sure weren’t enough hooks to hold almost three hundred guns.”

  “You busy?” Josie picked up her keys.

  * * *

  Josie left a note on Marta’s desk asking her to set up a meeting with Sergio Pando. Josie valued her personal connection with Sergio, where the intelligence exchange was based upon a friendship instead of on border regulations and politics. The law enforcement and government agencies from the two countries may as well have been from different planets. Information exchange was too often caught up in red tape and bureaucracy, wasting precious time in an investigation. Piedra Labrada had recently undergone a series of brutal assassinations that were attributed to La Bestia, and Josie was certain the assassination at the hospital was linked to them as well. While she hoped the connection between La Bestia and Artemis was only geographic, she feared the violence that had invaded their town would only intensify. She had killed a member of La Bestia at the Trauma Center, wounded another, and then placed him in the Arroyo County Jail. To compound matters, the leader of the rival cartel, Hector Medrano, had been murdered in her Trauma Center. She had no doubt there would be retribution.

  * * *

  Once the engine in her jeep finally turned over, Josie set the air-conditioning on high in deference to Otto. The bank’s sign read eighty-nine degrees, and it was just past noon. The department uniforms were thick and held heat like insulation, a fact Otto lamented from April through October—although with an average high of 101 degrees in July, everything felt uncomfortable. He walked outside with two cans of Coke and slid into the passenger seat, griping about the heat, his aching knees, and the general decay of society.

  Josie drove past the courthouse toward Farm Road 170 to follow the Rio Grande south toward Red’s place, listening to Otto’s running commentary about life. His dim view of the world remained balanced with optimism concerning his wife, Delores, and grown daughter, Mina, who lived in El Paso. After years of working together, Josie and Otto had formed a close friendship, one that had carried them through difficult times both in and out of the office.

  Otto opened one of the cans of Coke and handed it to Josie, then pointed out his window to a large group of black buzzards circling what looked to be barren desert.

  “Why would any living thing, man or animal, move to a giant blistering sandbox? Fifteen buzzards to one field mouse. Not very good odds,” Otto said.

  Josie smiled. “Don’t be such a cynic. Don’t you feel like a winner every night you make it home and realize you pulled it off again?”

  “I’m the cynic?”

  She pulled the jeep up to Pegasus Winning’s trailer when she saw the Eldorado was parked out front. Josie rolled her window down and heard the air conditioner blowing. She put the jeep in park and jogged up to the trailer and tried the door handle. Otto stared at her as she got back in the car.

  “Wondered if the trailer was locked,” Josie said.

  “And?”

  “It was.”

  “There’s something strange about that girl, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Might it be that she found Red Goff dead on her couch?”

  “It’s the way she seemed so bored with the dead body. Most women I know would have been bawling their eyes out. She was more worried about missing work.”

  Josie shrugged. “Bills have to get paid.” She thought part of Winning’s tough image was an act. She didn’t have the woman figured out yet, but she would bet money she was not the killer.

  The crime scene tape was still in place at Red’s, and things appeared undisturbed since their last visit.

  Josie put plastic gloves on and unlocked the glass door. The smell of mildew hit them both as she opened it.

  Josie and Otto stood at the entrance and scanned the living room, the kitchen to the right, and the hallway to the left.

  “Where’s that smell coming from? It didn’t smell like this yesterday,” he said.

  Josie flipped the light switch on and nothing happened.

  “Generator’s off,” she said.

  Otto clicked on his flashlight and walked in.

  Red Goff lived off the grid, a phenomenon that could be found in pockets across the country, but was more prevalent out West. Red wasn’t connected to the city utilities. He received no electricity, no city water or sewage, no phone lines. The goal was to have no connection to the outside world. It was difficult in West Texas, where growing your own crops meant costly irrigation, but Red managed it as a hobby farm. He had raised cows, which he butchered for his own meat, selling the rest off to the meat-processing plant for profit. He also maintained a garden, where he grew almost all his vegetables. He purchased nonpasteurized dairy products from a farmer in Odessa. The University of Texas used to bring out a group of Environmental Studies students each year to observe his solar operation, but the guns on his walls and the pop-up rants on government control had ended the visits several years ago. Since then, Red had practically vanished from public life, except for his status with the Gunners.

  Otto called to Josie from Red’s bedroom. “Look at this!”

  Josie found Otto on his hands and knees, looking under a queen-sized bed with a leopard-print comforter and black satin pillows. Josie shuddered at the thought of Red slipping around on satin sheets.

  Otto’s voice was muffled as he pulled an area rug out from under the bed. “How many people do you know lay their rugs under the bed instead of beside them?”

  Josie took the corner of the rug from Otto and pulled. Otto stood up and they moved the bed out toward the door. The room was about fifteen feet square and contained the bed and an old Scandinavian-style dresser that had been painted black. With the bed moved back against the opposite wall, a trapdoor became visible. Otto smiled.

  “Nice work,” Josie said, and bent down to lift the wooden door that lay recessed into the concrete floor. As she lifted the door, the smell of mildew pushed up out of the cellar and became so strong, her eyes watered. A wooden stepladder led down into a black hole.

  Otto and Josie stared at each other in the flashlight’s dim beam.

  “Isn’t this where you walk down those stairs and find ten mutilated bodies in a freezer?” Otto asked.

  “Basements give me the creeps. You want to take this one?” she asked.

  Otto shook his head. “I don’t think that ladder will hold me.”

  Josie flicked on her own flashlight and shone it down the hole into standing water. “Damn.”

  * * *

  Thirty minutes later, Josie was easing herself down the ladder wearing thigh-high rubber boots, a broom in one hand, and a miner’s lamp attached to a band around her forehead. She kept the rubber boots and miner’s lamp in a plastic trunk in the back of her jeep for calls that took her down along the Rio. She found the broom in Red’s kitchen. Josie stood on the bottom rung of the ladder and slowly panned the light around the room. The cellar, about fifteen by twenty feet, appeared to be a supply area containing large cans of peanut butter, green beans, corn, roast beef, and lard. Sleeping bags in plastic lined the top shelf, as did various Coleman lanterns and one-burner stoves. Ten-gallon plastic containers of drinking water were almost submerged around the bottom perimeter of the room.

  “It’s high-dollar stuff,” Josie called
up to Otto. “He didn’t go to Walmart and stock up. Where’s ole Red getting his money?”

  “I studied the list of members yesterday. I knew all the members but one, and there isn’t a sugar daddy in the bunch. A few with money, but nothing significant.”

  She took a step off the ladder and into the room. The waders closed in around her legs, the cold water pressing against her. She poked around on the floor with the broom handle and found nothing. On the right-hand side of the room was a pipe that had apparently leaked the water. The pipe appeared to exit the back side of the building and was probably connected to a well. She could see the water pushing into the room where the pipe was submerged. Josie scanned the wall and found a shutoff valve.

  She looked up toward the hole in the ceiling and saw Otto bent at the waist and squinting down at her.

  “This was intentional,” she said. “That valve was opened completely. I can’t believe the well hasn’t run dry by now.”

  “He had to be two feet from hell before he hit water out here,” Otto said.

  Josie waded across the far side of the room, where five hundred–gallon plastic trunks lined the floor. The water was just below the lip of three of the trunks. The other two were empty and floating just below the wooden shelf above them. Josie opened both and found black grease stains on the inside and the strong smell of gun oil. She wondered aloud if the missing guns had been stored in the tubs. The other three trunks were full of detonators, frag grenades, explosives, night-vision goggles, tac lights, and scopes.

  “There’s enough explosive here to blow up the entire town.”

  A small green plastic tub sat on a shoulder-high shelf in the corner. Josie pulled it down and lifted the lid. Inside were approximately a hundred photos and a 35-millimeter camera in a black leather carrying case. Josie didn’t bother to examine the photos but took the tub and handed it up to Otto. She carried the remaining two trunks through the water, up the ladder, and loaded them into the jeep, and left the tubs with explosives for the Department of Public Safety to remove. Then Josie made the final climb out of the rank water and into Red’s bedroom, imagining mold settling into her lungs.

  Later that afternoon, Josie and Otto cataloged the six trunks into evidence and then spread the photographs out on the table in the department office upstairs. After a quick scan of the pictures, Josie sat down in disgust and shook two Tums from the bottle that she kept in her desk drawer.

  Otto remained standing, hands on his hips, scowling down at the pictures. “I just never figured him for a pervert. That poor girl didn’t have a clue,” Otto said, pointing to a picture of Pegasus Winning in shorts, bare chested, walking across the living room in her trailer. The grainy picture appeared to have been taken by a telephoto lens.

  They found around forty pictures of Winning, mostly undressed, getting ready for bed or getting out of the shower. The pictures had obviously been taken on multiple days. One picture particularly bothered Josie. Winning stood completely naked at the kitchen counter, looking toward the window as if she heard a noise, with a shot glass held just up to her lips. Her expression was distant, the look of someone trying to deaden her loneliness through a bottle. Josie wondered what she might look like through a camera lens in the privacy of her own home at night. The thought depressed the hell out of her.

  Otto pulled another manila envelope out of the green tub and dumped the pictures onto the table, then laid them out in rows. The photos all appeared to be of Gunner members and various meetings and activities.

  He pointed to a picture and leaned closer to the table to examine it. “Those fellas aren’t Gunners. Look at the three men in the background, all wearing desert camouflage.”

  Josie picked up the picture and studied it. Two of the men had what appeared to be automatic machine guns strapped over their shoulders, and all three appeared to be Mexican.

  “Bingo.” Otto clapped Josie on the back. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  FOUR

  The Border Crossing at the International Bridge into Ojinaga was backed up, typical but frustrating. Josie inched through, cursing yet another result of budget cuts on both sides of the border. Marta had logged on at the department at 4:30 P.M., as Josie logged off for the night. Department-issued vehicles were not allowed out of county, and definitely not across the border. Josie had to conduct business in Mexico off duty and in her personal car. Marta was on the clock, but traveling in uniform would draw unwanted attention. Josie had driven home, traded the jeep for her nondescript ten-year-old Ford Escort, and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She picked up Marta, who had changed out of her police uniform and into a pretty blue skirt and white lacy blouse. Josie held her tongue but smiled.

  Marta left Mexico ten years ago after divorcing an abusive husband. She traveled through all the proper channels to get her green card and a job as the night custodian at the jail. Hard work and diligence had paid off as she worked her way up through the ranks to police officer. She had confided in Josie that she felt ashamed for leaving her country and working in America, but her daughter’s safety kept her from moving back to Piedra Labrada.

  On several occasions over the past few years, Josie and Marta had met Sergio at his home, a small adobe in a barrio just south of a bend in the Rio. The stone walls were over a foot thick, with window wells that held flower boxes bursting with red geraniums. His only child, a shy teenaged girl, waved and smiled from the backyard but did not come to the front porch where they met her father. Sergio stood on the top step and smiled, threw his arms open to Marta, and wrapped her in his embrace.

  Sergio and Marta had been childhood sweethearts. Marta had surprised everyone when she married a local troublemaker, and Sergio married his wife soon after. After his wife was murdered and Marta divorced her abusive husband, Sergio came calling again. Marta had resisted his advances for many years now, but she never explained her reasoning to Josie.

  Josie and Marta sat on plastic chairs at a round table covered with a bright orange tablecloth and set with mismatched plates and cups. Sergio, lit up like a man tending to royalty, brought out platters of roast pork tacos and beans and a pitcher of iced tea with lemons.

  Marta smiled up at Sergio. “You cook beans to melt a woman’s heart.”

  “Ah, if only that were so; you’d have married me years ago.”

  Marta patted the empty seat beside her, and Sergio sat and poured drinks from the pitcher. After a delicious dinner and pleasant conversation, Josie felt she had to apologize in advance for ruining the evening with ugly police business.

  Sergio frowned at Josie. “No apologies. What happened to you nearly killed me. I hear it on the radio and had to call on your safety.” He paused and looked at Marta with concern. “La Bestia is responsible for the Medrano murder. Most certainly. We struggle every day. Once they infiltrate your town, they are like rats. They will multiply, getting into every corner. They will devour your city.” He paused and pointed a finger at Josie. “You want to start a booming business in Mexico? Open a funeraria.”

  Josie looked to Marta. “Funeral parlor,” Marta said.

  “I heard yesterday they expect Lorenzo Marín to make a full recovery,” Josie said. “Is that what you hear?”

  Sergio frowned deeply and nodded. “Unbelievable. He took three shots, one a centimeter from his heart. He talked to his wife yesterday, but he’ll be in the hospital for another week or two. Then therapy.”

  “I can’t believe the difference a few short years has made here. I almost don’t recognize it.” Marta gestured to Sergio. “We grew up running the streets at all hours. Our parents didn’t give a thought to our safety.”

  Sergio turned to Josie. “When’s the last time you drove around Piedra Labrada? More than just a trip to the restaurants downtown?”

  “Probably six months or more. The crossing’s too much of a hassle,” Josie said.

  Sergio stood and walked toward a small white car parked on the curb in front of the house. It resembled an old Volkswa
gen Rabbit, with rust spots and dented fenders on the front and back passenger side. “Come. Let me show you in person. Talking doesn’t show the extent of the damage La Bestia has done to our city.”

  Sergio drove them first through the old section of Piedra, where the streets crossed one another in a maze that funneled into the central plaza. They entered a neighborhood that Marta said she knew well.

  From the backseat, she scooted up between Sergio and Josie to point out a house on the right side of the street. “That’s my aunt’s house. We’ve tried to get her to move, but she refuses. Won’t give up on the neighborhood.”

  Sergio pointed down the street. “Look at the empty houses, Marta. People move and don’t even try to sell. What would the point be? Who would buy here? I guarantee your aunt is paying protection or she would not be in the house.” He gestured through his open window to a small concrete-block home spray-painted with black graffiti. The windows were broken, the front door splintered in two. A fence post that had been put into a bucket of concrete and allowed to dry lay in the yard.

  “The battering ram. Clever, yes?” Sergio asked.

  Marta moaned in the backseat. “So sad. This used to be such a nice, quiet area. My mother lived only a block over.”

  “The park, just behind your mother’s old place? Gone. Nothing left but bare ground. It’s so horrible, weeds even refuse to grow there.”

  Sergio drove them through streets that once held ramshackle shops behind sidewalks filled with people walking all hours of the day and night. Now, about half the businesses were boarded up, windows broken, filth spray-painted on the sides of buildings. He slowed his car and they watched three young boys standing on the street corner stare suspiciously at the car.