Once More to Die

by Jim Johnson

  “Tommy, I…”

  “Well, I wasn’t. I thought we were making love, not screwing.”

  “I didn’t…”

  He took a deep breath and sighed, the most heart-breaking sound she’d ever heard.

  “Well, where the fuck is this limp-dick son of a bitch? And why ain’t he rescuing your perfect ass? Is he in jail? In the military? Out of the country?”

  “No, Tommy.”

  “What the fuck, María Elena?” He looked up at her, stricken, and her heart broke.

  “Papá made me marry Don Diego.”

  Tommy stared from under lowered brows. “Fuck me to tears.”

  Tommy Atkins stood and stormed out, tearing one hinge off the front door.

  Suddenly, he reappeared at the door. “Alexander Dumas once said something about all human wisdom is contained in two words: Wait and Hope. Well, I waited and I hoped. I guess it wasn’t so fucking wise, was it?” Then he was gone.

  María Elena Alejandrina Ximena Vásquez-Guerrero de García slumped into her chair and put her face in her hands.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: HER

  Head in her hands, María Elena heard the door to the SUV slam shut.

  She heard the SUV start. She heard it spin tires. She heard the engine wind up as it headed away. Finally, the engine sound faded and she was alone.

  Empty, she didn’t know what to do. So she cleaned. She did all the laundry. She tried to read. She tried to watch satellite television. Nothing worked. She tried to nap and, surprisingly, that worked for a couple of hours. It had been a long night.

  Her stomach began cramping occasionally, apparently her period kicked off early by stress.

  The sun was almost down now. She sat outside the front door in a lawn chair and waited. Nothing. Tommy did not return. She did not hear the tell-tale engine sounds of the Toyota.

  She thought about taking the jeep and going off looking for him.

  She thought about packing her stuff and taking the jeep and heading back to Florida. At least in Florida you could feel the air you were breathing.

  The sun dropped below the mesa and shadows grew long.

  No Tommy.

  What could she have said? What should she have said?

  Well, maybe she should have leveled with him from the beginning. She knew now that to be the case. The confession would have taken a lot of guts and stripped some of her pride. It had been so much easier to put it off. So when was she going to tell him anyway? She didn’t know any answers. She felt worse.

  Maybe Tommy had left for good?

  No, he was thorough if nothing else. He’d have taken money and clothing. She didn’t admit it to herself, but she hoped he wouldn’t have left her--although the evidence to the contrary was growing.

  Later, María Elena made herself a small meal and didn’t eat most of it. She drank a glass of wine and that didn’t help. She spent an energetic half an hour with her resistance bands.

  Eventually, she gave up her vigil and went to bed. She chose the couch so that when—and if—he returned, there were be no questions of who sleeps where.

  She slept desultorily. When she did sleep, she slept fitfully.

  At a quarter after three, she heard an engine approach. Not taking any chances, she got a pistol and looked out the front window.

  The Toyota slewed up in front and slammed to a stop. Tommy almost fell out comically, outlined in starlight and moonlight. He staggered to his feet and stumbled toward the door.

  María Elena quickly returned to the couch, dropped down, and covered herself with a blanket. Not knowing what else to do, she feigned sleep.

  He walked in, ignoring the fact that she’d fixed the hinge on the front door. He didn’t try to be silent, but he didn’t make much noise anyway. That was Tommy. When he moved, he was quiet and economical.

  Through slatted eyes, she watched him.

  He raised a bottle of mescal to his lips and drained the remainder. He stopped above her for a moment. She felt his eyes on her. Then he lurched toward the back and fell into the bed. The empty bottle of mescal dropped to the floor.

  Soon he was snoring, seriously snoring.

  María Elena tried to return to sleep. No luck.

  What she needed was a nice long run.

  At four thirty, she got up and quietly dressed in her running outfit.

  Outside, the predawn sky darkened and began to turn light far in the east. She performed her stretching exercises and felt some of the tension drain. She looked forward to her run. She started out, running down their hardpan lane toward Algeria road. She could run five miles that way without getting to the spur which led to Algeria Road. One thing she liked about running here was that the terrain was not level. She went up and down hills and inclines and around canyons. Florida was flat and level. And Florida did not have a whole bunch of ravines and canyons and arroyos, dry storm beds, boulders, cliffs and cacti. None of that stuff. She decided she was born to be a flatlander.

  She violated their rule about going armed everywhere you went. She never carried a gun while running. She might need it for snakes, but wouldn’t use it for the gunshot might draw attention. But she did adhere to Tommy’s advice: always carry your Swiss Army knife. How do you carry a weapon if you wear only a pair of nylon running shorts with a mesh tank top? The latter was risqué, but she knew she wouldn’t see anyone out here well before dawn. Or any time, for that matter.

  On mile three she was warmed up and increased her pace to maybe a six or six and a half mile pace.

  The more she ran, the angrier she became. It wasn’t her fault Diego had turned out to be scum. What could she have done? Papá had been insistent and sold her on Don Diego. He’d painted a glorious future for them. Diego had been nothing but a gentleman and she respected him—at the time. She had even understood the necessity of the union. Her stride was into a fine rhythm by now. At the five mile point she turned around and headed home. She reflected that there was more rock right here than in the entire state of Florida.

  At four miles out, she heard it. The sound was low but steady and was getting louder.

  “Uh oh,” she said aloud and increased her pace. Even over her own breathing she heard the motor. She ran faster and realized she was at a dead run, after six and a half miles, she was running a sub-six. She knew she could hide in one of the small canyons or draws which fed off their path and not be found. But Tommy was back at the cabin, likely in a drunken stupor, and he’d never be able to protect himself. Certainly he was still in his REM sleep and wouldn’t hear any vehicle. Whoever it was, if they were looking for Tommy and her, could walk right in and arrest him or shoot him.

  “Damn.” She concentrated on running and breathing. She didn’t need to be caught short of breath. Again she wished for Florida humidity so she could tell if she were getting enough oxygen right away. Often she glanced over her shoulder.

  Then she saw light stabbing through the disappearing darkness behind her. She veered off the gravel pathway and raced down a short arroyo, slowing to avoid obstacles now becoming visible in the growing light. Abruptly, she stopped and slid behind a rock outcropping. She gulped air to make up for not running or walking a cool down half mile. Twin beams pooling together in front of the vehicle announced its presence. The motor growled, being driven slowly in a low gear. They were either going slow to negotiate unfamiliar territory or to avoid warning Tommy or her.

  She picked the latter option as she saw the headlights had been taped over, showing only two slits primarily focused on the ground in front of the vehicle. It was a large SUV, probably a Yukon. Maybe seat six or seven? She couldn’t see inside the Yukon, and all the instrument lights had been turned off.

  Not good, she thought as her mind raced. Trying to run silent and masked headlights? An attack. They knew where they were going, too. While she wondered about that thing, she pushed the worry aside. The prime thing she had to do was to warn Tommy. She had to do something. And even though the Yukon was driving maybe ten
or fifteen miles an hour, there was no way she could outrun it. But as the SUV rounded a bend ahead, she resumed her run trailing behind it and losing ground. When she caught sight of it again, she realized they had disabled the brake lights and now turned off the taped headlights, trusting to the murk of dawn. She knew that hereabouts when dawn came, it would come suddenly. At that time, she would become vulnerable if the driver were to check his rearview mirror.

  From running the hardpan to and from the cabin daily, she knew the distances. At this point she was a shade closer than three miles away.

  María Elena ran faster. At least since they were not driving fast, they weren’t raising much dust for her to breathe. Too eager, she stumbled once and fought to regain her balance, cursing the waste of time. She was at her top speed. She usually ran mile seven at a good clip; but now she was running in a killer sprint, even faster than what her routine was when finishing up the last mile. Her arms pumped and she concentrated on proper breathing, her eyes scouring the earth in front of her.

  Even though Tommy had exploded against her, she knew she had no choice. Sure, she could save herself, but that wasn’t in her character. And, by God, Tommy had never hesitated to save her time after time, and they hadn’t known each other that well then.

  Her body was failing her, she couldn’t sustain the pace with the oxygen she was taking in. She had to slow down from a sprint to a hard run, realizing she had a couple of miles to go and wanted to be able to make it. She was thankful that pre-dawn is almost cold compared to the daily highs over 100.

  As she eased up, she smelled burned fuel and saw the outline of the Yukon ahead of her. Veering off the beaten path, she slipped behind a large Saguaro cactus. It took her a moment to regain her breathing as she fought against the urge to gulp in great gobs of air. Soon, her lungs stopped complaining and she released the iron control she had imposed on her breathing.

  She caught sight of a slight movement at the front of the SUV. The shadow of a man leaning against the grill exposed him. There had to be others. No. They’d gone ahead, not wanting to take the noisy vehicle any further. They were sneaking up on Tommy. She didn’t know how far they had gone, but she estimated this location to be perhaps a mile and a half from the cabin. The one man here would be the rear guard, securing their transportation and watching the only roadway. Good tactics. You gotta bet the rent they left only one man, she thought. What to do now? Sneak past him? Okay, then what? Likely with their head start they’d beat her to the cabin. And she wasn’t armed, except for her Swiss Army knife she usually carried. What was she going to do? Threaten them with a bottle opener? The only answer was to attack the only enemy she could right now.

  María Elena moved laterally so that the Yukon remained between her and the sentry. She moved her feet close to the ground so she could feel any impediment which might give her away. She edged around some loose rocks and picked one up. It was the size of a grapefruit and had plenty of planes and corners and indentations to where she found a very comfortable grip.

  On another hand, Florida comparisons: Rocks? Hereabouts, it was as if they grew rocks like weeds in Florida. Humongous rocks, fist-sized, boulders, odd shapes, well-rounded large and small. In Florida, you’re talking mostly coral and gravel and limestone.

  She arrived at the rear of the vehicle with no plan. Fortunately, it was large enough to conceal her. She glanced inside to insure no one remained and the dawn’s early light showed her empty seats. It could seat seven comfortably she saw. They wouldn’t have come all this way with only two or three men, but she didn’t know. She had to find out.

  María Elena crept around the right side toward the front. She picked up another rock and tossed it like Kareem shooting his patented sky hook for the Lakers back in the day. It thunked and rolled not far on the other side of the Yukon. Immediately, the rear guard guy straightened and dragged a Glock from under a windbreaker. As he shuffled his feet and turned to face the possible threat, María Elena scooted silently around the front right quarter panel of the SUV, her arm already winding up. She was behind him before he felt her presence and her arm shot down from overhead and the rock smashed into the side of his head. He froze, and then slid to the ground as if he had no bones.

  She snatched his weapon from his hand and stuck it into his eye. But the man was unconscious. She couldn’t have that. Swiftly, she removed his belt and tied his hands behind him and then attached the belt to his feet in a loop. That would be difficult to escape from, she hoped. Then she searched the car for more weapons but to no avail. She found a couple of unopened plastic bottles of water. She drank deeply then poured one over the unconscious man’s face. He didn’t respond, so she doused him with the other one. He seemed to gain a degree of consciousness, but still wasn’t fully conscious. She pulled down his pants and found he wore no underwear. Then she began slapping his face. His breathing pattern told her he was coming around. This wasn’t working out like it did the movies. She noted his head was bleeding profusely, though she knew that head wounds bled a lot. She twisted one of the water bottles and jammed it into his mouth so he couldn’t yell.

  Finally he came around, eyes opening and darting about it panic. He jerked his arms and they tugged his feet and then he tried to move his feet and they stretched his arms in pain, so he stopped and began trying to shout through the water bottle. She jammed the barrel of his automatic into his left eye. “Quiet.”

  He mumbled for another few seconds and she pushed the weapon deeper until she could feel him react in pain. He fell back and held still.

  “Can you hear me?”

  He nodded with hesitation.

  She took his gun and jammed it into his scrotum. He winced in pain, now aware he was naked below the waist.

  “I’m going to say this one time, and one time only. When I ask a question, you will answer it in a low voice and truthfully. If you don’t, I will cut off your genitals with my Swiss Army knife. Understand?”

  Nervously, he nodded again.

  She removed the automatic and pulled out her knife, flicked open the largest blade, and showed it to him. “Sorry, it’s not very sharp. I’m going to free your mouth. If you yell or try to, I will saw off those little things down there.” She was conscious of the swift passage of time. She had to do something quickly. But she had to do it right and that would take a little more time.

  As she twisted the water bottle to get it free from his teeth, she began talking in a low voice. “You got me at the wrong time in my life,” she said, thinking of what happened between her and Tommy yesterday. Was it yesterday? It felt like an eternity. “And it’s the wrong fucking time of the month for me, too.” She paused again. “Not only am I pissed, I’m past being pissed. I’m coldly furious. Right now you represent all men and it would give me great pleasure to saw off your private parts.” The plastic bottle popped out of his mouth. He smacked his mouth in appreciation. “How many are you?”

  He hesitated and she immediately jammed the water bottle partway back in, and stabbed his scrotum with the blade. His body bucked and she withdrew the knife.

  “Last chance,” she said and he heard the conviction in her words. He nodded violently. She pulled the water bottle out again. “How many?”

  “Six.” His voice was harsh and dry.

  “Why are you here?”

  He hesitated until she moved the water bottle toward his face again. “Take out Atkins.”

  “Why?”

  “Orders. And reward.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “The boss.”

  “One more chance. Who, what, when and where? Tell it all right now.” She flipped his penis with the blade of the knife.

  “Jesus, lady. Gimme a break. Owwww! Our boss got a tip about him, somebody wanted the outstanding reward. He checked with Florida and confirmed it. He sent us down here.”

  “Names?”

  “He’ll have me killed.”

  “I will kill you—after I castrate you.”

&nbs
p; “Okay. Jesus. His name is Hamilton.”

  “Where?”

  “Vegas.”

  “How long ago did the other five leave.”

  “Shit, maybe five minutes, maybe more, before you clobbered me.”

  “How are they armed?”

  “Handguns. One shotgun. One auto, a Mac-10 or something I think. My head hurts.”

  “Did they have a plan?”

  “Deploy when they get there and see the layout.”

  She knew she was out of time. She jammed the water bottle back into his mouth. His eyes were fearful and she drew back with the rock once again. “Sorry, I don’t have a choice,” she said conversationally. She had intended to clip him on the other side of his head from the former wound, but he tried to dodge the blow and the rock slammed into his forehead.

  She wondered if he had died. It wasn’t her intention, but if so, so what? Turning killer wasn’t a large step from what she’d come to be, anyway. And Tommy’s safety was paramount. When this all gets over, she told herself, you’ll have time to feel remorse.

  Was it too late to warn Tommy? Even as the thought appeared, the answer leapt into her mind. She jacked a shell into the chamber, saw that the safety was off, and fired five shots into the air. The night seemed quieter when the sound faded. If it got his attention, then he’d wonder why five rounds. As soon as his mind settled that she might be the origin—and why not?—he’d figure it out and be prepared for that many attackers--if it wasn’t already too late.

  María Elena searched the body and found two more magazines. She dropped the half empty one and slid a replacement into the slot. Her hearing was returning quickly to normal. She’d shot Glocks at their training range before.

  Now what?

  Again, the answer formed immediately in her mind. This reaction must be from exposure to Tommy Atkins, shooter, tactician, and strategist.

  She jumped into the Yukon and sat in the driver’s seat. Like any good getaway car, the key was in the ignition even though the buzzer had been disabled. She started the engine and slammed the vehicle into gear. She accelerated quickly, not worrying about sound. Let them wonder, just as her five shots would confuse them. Unless they had a smart guy with them who’d figured out the significance of the five shots. The SUV slid in four wheel drifts as she powered forward and around tight turns.