He figured that would work, unless, of course, Pinto had missed the propane tank. In which case, the Gorozas would tell him they had no natural gas and would immediately become suspicious. Maybe demand credentials.
The other problem was that Ed had probably already made sure they’d seen his picture. They would have wanted to know who had killed their son. They would want to make sure all their people knew. In fact, they probably had a copy of his photo and were passing it around to the men on the patio. Frank’s face would be fresh on their minds. He just hoped the black-rimmed glasses and cap would be enough.
Frank shook his head. This was all such a long shot.
Sam slowly accelerated down the road.
“You okay?” Frank asked him.
“Capital,” Sam said.
“You better put on some sunglasses,” Frank said. “You’ve got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen.”
Sam tapped a flat compartment in the ceiling of the van. It opened up to reveal a pair of sunglasses with big lenses and thick white frames—something only a woman would wear. “I don’t wear sunglasses,” Sam said, but he removed the glasses and put them on. He glanced over at Frank for an assessment.
“You look like an escapee from the Village People. Put ‘em back,” Frank said. “We’ll have to hope nobody questions you. But if they do, just imagine your face is a frying pan.”
“That’s what they teach you in the army?”
“No,” Frank said. “But it’s the best we’ve got right now.”
Up ahead on the right, the riders came into view. Frank hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a trail about thirty yards off the road that ran through the ponderosa and prairie grass. The horses looked like fine animals, well-muscled and sleek. One was the color of pale sand with a black mane and tail. A girl rode on it. The other horse was black as night. Its tail was bobbed, its mane braided. It looked like a show horse. An older woman rode it.
Sam slowly caught up to them and passed. Frank caught a glimpse of the older woman’s face before she moved back into the pines.
“Plan change,” Frank said. He looked down the road. Saw the perfect place. “See that big dead pine a ways down?”
“Yeah.”
“Get this thing down there quick and pull over. We’re getting out. We’re going to hop the fence and hustle out into that field.”
“What’s going on?”
“That was Flor Goroza on the lead horse. Probably just finished praying for her son in that grotto.”
“And swift vengeance on the ones responsible for his death.”
“We’re going to do it here.”
“They’re on horses.”
“Barging into a house is like storming a castle. Riskiest thing there is. Taking someone out in the open, away from all those beer drinking guns—dude, this is our opportunity.”
“Maybe the desk jockeys came through,” Sam said.
“What would Pinto say?” Frank asked.
The lawn mower cut in. “Pinto would say that you’d better speed up, or you’re going to miss this window.”
“Okay,” Sam said, screwing up his courage. “Okay.” He accelerated, sped down the road toward the pine. Frank grabbed the clipboard and duct tape. He had his glasses on. Had his baby blue baseball cap. Had the tool belt. Operation Flor was a go.
“Right here,” Frank said. “Turn it around so we’re facing away from the drive; as soon as we have her we want out of this place.” He glanced back. The riders hadn’t appeared through the trees yet, but he and Sam didn’t have much time before they would come into view.
Sam braked hard, moved to the other side of the road, and made a tight U-turn that put them right alongside the shoulder on the Goroza side of the road. Sam put it in park. “So what are we going to do? Jump out of some bushes? I don’t see much cover.”
“We’re going to act like we’re surveying. Like we own the place. We’re going to talk loud. Gesticulate large.”
Sam swallowed and nodded.
“We’ll be back here in less than three minutes.”
“Okay,” Sam said again, obviously feeling his nerves. “Time to go get us a slaver.”
He turned off the van and they both opened the doors and hustled off the road’s shoulder to the barbed-wire fence. Frank gimped along, but he could bear a little pain for Tony. For those children.
They climbed over the fence into the Goroza’s property. This particular spot was a nice swath of open prairie grass about a hundred yards long. At one end were the pines from which Flor would emerge. At the other was the last stand of pines before the land opened up on the open fields around the Goroza’s house.
The horse trail was only a couple dozen yards up ahead. “Right here,” Frank said. “Just walk.”
Sam slowed to a walk. He was breathing hard, looking all wide-eyed.
“We own the place,” Frank said.
“Right.”
Frank patted his belt. The duct tape was still there. This was going to work.
At the end of the field, the riders flashed between the trees.
Frank said, “They’re going to come talk to us. When I grab Flor’s reins, you grab the reins of the second rider. You’re going to need to pull her off the horse. We’ll duct tape them both. Then we’ll take Flor with us.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling, Frank.”
“This is your first dance. Of course, you do. We all get a bad feeling the first time out.”
“I know, but it’s kidnapping.”
“It’s Tony. It’s those children.”
Sam blew out a big sigh.
The two riders began to emerge from the trees.
“Showtime,” Frank said. “Pace with me.” He strode off fifteen paces like he was measuring something. Then he turned his back to Flor, pointed down. He spoke loudly. “This spot here is where the pipe’s coming through.”
Sam got into his role. He pointed out to the road. “Over that hill, then run it the rest of the way out past the house. All these trees will have to go.”
Frank nodded. He spread his arms wide. “We’re talking a swath twenty feet wide for all the equipment.” He acted like he’d just glimpsed the riders out of the corner of his eye, looked at them bold as you please, then he stepped off another ten paces and pointed from his current spot to the previous one where Sam stood. “We’re talking this wide,” he said loudly.
Sam nodded. “I think that will work.” He was getting into his role.
Flor was now only a few dozen yards off, looking at them from atop her horse with some annoyance. Of course, from the photo Frank had seen, that could be her happy face. She had shorter hair than in her photo and a good amount of blue eye shadow. The second rider was much younger than Frank had first thought. She looked young enough to be Flor’s granddaughter.
Frank pointed at the riders and said loudly, “Let these folks pass.” Then he turned over his clipboard and began writing and diagramming, making notes, ignoring Flor like she was some kind of tourist.
When they got close, he looked up and smiled. “Hello,” he said.
Flor gave her reins the slightest tug, and her splendid black horse stopped. The girl behind stopped her horse as well. They were amazing animals. Even Frank could see that. Flor held a black leather riding crop in one hand. Behind her were two saddle bags. In the bags were tall candle glasses. The wax had all burned away; the glass was smoky.
“Who are you?” Flor demanded.
Frank took on happy helpful tone. “Well, Ma’am, my name is Clarence Thomas. I’m with Xcel Energy.” He folded his clipboard under his arm and walked toward her. “We’re out doing a survey. Is this your land?”
“I don’t know of any survey.”
Frank continued with the happy helpful worker bit. “Well, Xcel Energy is always looking to develop domestic energy sources. And our geologists are thinking there might be something in this area.”
“What are you talking about? Oil?”
“
Natural gas.” He walked right up to her. “Natural gas is our future. There’s a big old fault that runs parallel to I-25. Every so often a secondary fault will shoot off. Those formations are rich with gas.”
Frank had no idea what he was talking about. He’d BS’d with a driller that worked for Halliburton a few weeks ago. He was making this all up from what he could remember of that conversation.
He glanced at Sam who had just realized he needed to be next to the girl’s horse, not ten feet down the trail.
“So, Ma’am, we’re just out doing a preliminary. But we do want to talk to the owners. Do you know who owns this property?”
“I own this property.”
“Well, that’s perfect. You’re going to get a letter and a call. I can’t promise anything, but if things check out, there might be a lease opportunity.”
“I am not interested in trucks and drilling rigs ruining my land, Mister . . .”
“Thomas. Clarence Thomas. Like the supreme court judge.”
“Whatever.”
“Don’t be too quick. Things aren’t like they used to be. The way they drill now, they can go in from the side. Set up the rig a mile away, off your property, and go in sideways. You’ll never even notice.” Frank was waiting for Sam to get into position, but he was taking his time.
“Is that so?”
“There’s a lot of good money to be made. Of course, this land might be dry.”
“Well, today is not the day for me to talk. We’ll wait for your letter and call.”
Frank’s golden opportunity was about to ride off. He looked at Sam.
Sam smiled broadly. He said, “You have got some fine horses here. Is this palomino a Morgan?” He walked up to the girl’s horse and patted its flank.
“It is,” Flor said, her face as bitter as old beer.
“Not as high-strung as an Arabian, but a much finer sit than the Quarter Horse. When I was a kid, our troop rode Morgans to get our equestrian merit badge.”
“How nice,” Flor said. “And now we need to go. Excuse us.”
Show time.
Frank grabbed the halter of Flor’s horse right by the bit. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.”
Sam reached out and grabbed the halter of the girl’s horse.
Flor’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell,” she said, then pulled back her riding crop and struck at his face.
Frank raised his free arm to block the blow, but Flor put her heels into her horse’s flank, and the animal surged forward. The power of the animal was immense. The horse ripped free of his grasp, and then its flank slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.
Frank scrambled to his feet tried to gimp-run after her, but Flor was already galloping away. She had, what, a half a mile to the house? That would take that horse no time at all to cover the distance. They had to get out of here. Now!
“Sam,” he said and turned.
But Sam had a hold of the palomino Morgan. His foot was in the stirrup. The girl was on the ground.
With a little hop, Sam rose up and swung his other leg over. He fitted his free foot into the other stirrup. Then he grabbed the reins with both hands and said, “Move.”
“What are you doing?”
Sam kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks and shouted, “Ha!” The horse surged forward right toward Frank.
Frank leapt off the trail. Sam flew past. He yelled and kicked the horse again. The animal surged again. Clumps of dirt and grass flew up from its hooves. Beyond them Flor raced for the trees. Sam yelled again and slapped his horse on the rump. The horse stretched out. Sam’s baby blue work hat blew off.
This was not going to end well. Frank thought about the P90 in the van, abandoned that idea, then loped for all he was worth down the trail after Sam and Flor.
By the time Flor reached the trees, Sam had cut the distance between the two of them by more than half. He was raised up a bit out of the saddle, riding like a pro.
Flor slowed when she got to the trees. Sam did not.
He caught up to her in the pines, grabbed the reins of her horse, and pulled back. The animals bumped each other and tossed their heads and slowed to a jumbled walk.
Flor yelled something in Spanish and struck Sam with her riding crop. She struck him again.
Sam winced, grabbed the riding crop.
Flor fought him.
The horses wheeled.
She let go of the crop. A moment later she held a revolver in her hand. She pointed it at Sam.
Sam tried to grab the gun, but he was too slow. She fired it right at him.
The muzzle flashed. The sound cracked through the trees. Loud enough to hear back at the house. Loud enough to hear for a couple of miles. The horses startled, jerked to the side. And Sam fell from his mount, dragging Flor with him.
They landed in a heap. The horses shied away, dragging their reins.
Lord, no, Frank thought. Sam!
He ran as fast as his dumb leg would allow and covered the last few yards of the open field and entered the pines.
Sam was trying to get up, holding his arm. Flor was on her hands and knees, looking for something. Then she saw it and rose unsteady to her feet.
Frank lengthened his stride. His tool belt bounced at his waist. His shin protested mightily. He was only a few dozen yards away.
Sam got to his feet, blood running down his arm.
Flor scrambled two paces and bent down to reach for her gun.
Frank lowered his shoulder and charged.
She came up with the revolver, wheeled it round. Then she heard Frank coming. She turned to face him, but he was already upon her. He struck her in a full-body tackle. She was a small thing. It was like tackling a grade-schooler, like taking down a bird.
The revolver flew out of her hands, and they slammed into the ground, his large bulk hammering her.
She cried out in pain.
Frank rolled her onto her stomach. Then he pulled the duct tape out of his belt and tore off the end. He brought both of her hands behind her back and wrapped the tape around them tightly four times. Then he rolled her over. Her eyes were full of anger and pain. She snarled at him, said something he thought might be Spanish but just as easily could have been Demon.
He tore off another strip of tape about six inches long and pressed it down over her mouth. Then he turned to Sam.
Sam was covering his upper arm, face twisted up in pain fear. His blood was soaking his shirt, dripping off his hand.
Frank ran over to him. “We got to get out of here.”
As if in reply, the girl who Sam had pulled off the horse started shouting in Spanish through the pines. She was somewhere between Frank’s location and the Goroza’s, running for the house.
“She shot me!” Sam said.
“Let me see that,” Frank said and pulled Sam’s hand away. The blood welled up. But not as bad as it could have. The bullet had grazed him, cut along the outside and into the muscle.
Frank tore the hole in Sam’s shirt wide. Tore the whole sleeve off. Then he wiped the wound, had Sam put some direct pressure on it with the torn sleeve, and then tore off a large section of duct tape.
Sam pulled the bloody sleeve away, and Frank applied the duct tape, trying to butterfly the wound shut. Then he tore off another piece and wrapped it round the other way. Duct tape had saved more than one man’s life out on the front lines. That should hold until he could get Sam to a hospital. In the meantime, they had Flor.
Except they didn’t. She had gotten to her feet and was running away.
Frank chased her down. Then he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Get to the van!” he shouted.
They hustled back through the pines and out onto the grassy field, Sam holding his arm, Frank hobbling along with his load.
The girl was still yelling in the distance, but now men were yelling back.
Frank’s leg was killing him. He walked-jogged the last few yards to the fence. Sam pressed the top wire down, a
nd Frank stepped over.
Back at the Gorozas, an automobile engine roared to life. Then another.
“Get the side door open!” Frank said.
Sam climbed over the fence, up the shoulder, and rushed to the van. Frank followed behind. Sam flung the side door open. “I can’t drive with this arm,” he said.
“Put the keys on the seat!” Frank said and unloaded Flor onto the floor of the van.
Down the road, a black SUV came barreling out of the Goroza’s long driveway and skidded onto the road.
Sam threw the keys on the front seat and ran around the front to the other side.
The SUV’s motor roared, and the vehicle straightened out and headed toward them. One of the Goroza’s goons hung out the passenger’s window with something that looked like an AK-47. A moment later he started firing.
Didn’t the idiot know he was as likely to hit his boss as one of them?
Bullets whizzed past, striking the van, thudding into the ground.
Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe Flor wasn’t the head of this organization. Or maybe he was just an idiot with a gun.
“Get in!” Frank roared. “Get in!”
Frank attempted to move Flor’s legs and shut the door, but the moron in the SUV let off with another round that kicked up dust on the shoulder near Frank. They had to get out of here fast. He left Flor where she was, tore open the driver’s door, and jumped in.
Sam hopped into the passenger’s seat.
“The keys!” Frank yelled.
Sam pointed. “The seat!”
Frank fished the keys out from under his kiester, found the right one, and shoved it into the ignition.
A bullet zinged into the side of the van.
Frank turned the key. The van’s engine started, warning tones ringing about the open doors. Then Frank threw it into drive and floored the accelerator.
The little minivan’s engine roared. The van shot forward. The open side door rolled back in its track with a bang. They shot down the road, picked up speed, then there was a thump, like something had fallen to the ground. Frank glanced in his driver’s mirror and saw Flor Goroza tumbling on the asphalt behind him.
Bad Penny Page 28