Depth of Winter

by Craig Johnson

  It was when I lifted my face that I saw the woman at the periphery of the crowd.

  There were a number of men attempting to dance with her, but she would twirl and twist from them when they got too close, casting longing glances and showing dance moves that stated flatly that she was not a casual operator but rather a professional.

  Every once in a while, she would glance over at me, the whites of her eyes and teeth flashing ever more apparent through the black-and-white makeup that transformed her face into an animated skull. She wore a tight black flamenco dress cascading with lace, fringe, and a boa of roses, a deep crimson.

  Staking out an area about twenty feet from me, she stamped the stones with her high heels, and all I could figure was that if I was going to die, this wasn’t the worst image to go out with.

  Some of the men reached for her, and even a few women, but she pulled away, strutting into the no-man’s-land that surrounded me and flicking the boa in a wide swish that fell over her shoulder, twitching at the end like an agitated cat’s tail.

  So this was how wolves circled.

  Swaying to the music, she leaned in and shimmied before continuing the inevitable approach like I was a captive field mouse. The others on this end of the crowd began to hoot and holler as she made it clear that I was her prey.

  I thought that maybe she was simply attempting to tantalize me and remain out of reach, but her progress brought her closer and closer until she was no more than arm’s length away.

  Turning from me, she undulated her backside just beyond my boots, shooting her arms out to the sides and then caressing herself along with the rhythm of the drums, her long black satin gloves running up and down the length of her body.

  I watched as she turned, going so far as to climb onto the wooden slabs that held me, the split at the front of her terraced dress revealing stockings with lace tops and the black straps of a garter belt.

  She was close enough that I could make out the details of her makeup, a field of bone white with a red rose at her forehead surrounded by cobwebs and turquoise leaves and a black ace-of-spades at the tip of her nose, another rose at her chin, and faux stitches around her lips.

  It was her eyes that held my attention, though, with black sockets and irises a remarkable violet color—like a high plains sky before a lightning storm.

  She pursed her lips in a provocative way, only inches from mine, and then extended her tongue, snakelike from her beautifully symmetrical skull—and there at the end of the pink was a skeleton key.

  11

  Pulling back from a deep kiss, she released me. “Bruja de la Piel.”

  And without another word, Bianca Martínez climbed off my lap with a smile and twirled toward the crowd again to uproarious cheers.

  I tipped my hat to a few hecklers, palmed the key, and rested a hand on the slab of wood, slipping the other one to the side and reaching for the lock that held me. I’d dealt with old padlocks my whole life and knew that if this one was anything at all like those, the key would work. Turning the loop handle I listened for the loud click and then watched as the latch dropped like a slackened jaw.

  I looked up again just to see if anybody had noticed and saw Bianca flash a smile and then disappear into the throng, dancing her way toward the fountain.

  Careful to keep my hands low, I slid the rod aside and then rested it on the upright next to me. I was free from the stocks, but what good was that going to do if I just got apprehended the moment I stood up?

  I could wait until Culpepper came to get me, but he wasn’t likely to come alone. I looked around, and my eyes lit on the drunk.

  It was his sombrero anyway.

  I would have to wait until the majority of attention was drawn away from the square toward the monastery, which proved not to be too much of a problem now that Bianca was in the midst of a flamenco, but I would have to move fast and with confidence. I checked the area just to be sure that there weren’t any guards around, or anybody else that might actually know me.

  There was a loud noise from the monastery and it sounded as if somebody might be celebrating by shooting one of the Kalashnikovs. Figuring that now was the time, I flipped the top plank up and stepped out like I’d been planning to do it all along.

  There was only one individual looking my way, so I waved at him and turned around to hoist the drunk onto the stocks. Placing his legs in the holes, I lowered the top plank and then arranged him, his legs extended, and placed his hat back on his head.

  I glanced around again, but the one witness had joined the other revelers. I patted the drunk’s shoulder and could’ve locked him in, but he didn’t seem to be in the mood to wander, so I started off in the direction of the sale barn to get to my cache of weapons. I circled around on a cobblestone street where I plucked a cotton blanket and a ball cap with, of all things, an AK-47 embroidered on it from a low wall where two teenagers were making out.

  There were a few people walking in the twilight, but every time I met a group I’d either go down another street or turn away and act as if I were going to throw up. Nobody bothered me, and I’d almost made it to the sale barn when I saw an armed contingent and ducked around a corner in time to see Culpepper and a few of his men who appeared to be headed to the sale barn as well. I waited until they were gone and then peered around the bend where one of their own stood by the double doors, originally designed for the entry and exit of livestock.

  I was trying to figure out what to do next when I spotted Bianca coming up the pathway. I waved. She saw me, glanced around, and danced her way to the building where I was standing, pressed hard against the wall. Clutching her skirt, she advanced and slipped to my side. “If anybody sees us, they’ll just think we’re kissing, like everyone else in this wretched place.”

  I wrapped an arm around her. “How did you get here?” Her violet eyes flared up at me. “Not that I’m complaining.”

  “We drove.”

  “We?”

  “The Seer is in negotiations with the government, so it is Alonzo and me.”

  “In the Cadillac?”

  “What else? And we are not alone—there are a number of expensive automobiles parked below, and it is strange, but people who are not of my country are entering the monastery.”

  “Are you armed?”

  “Sí, one of Adan’s pistols.”

  “Let me have it.”

  She reached under her skirt and pulled a snub-nosed .38 from who knew where. “Here.” She handed it to me and looked around again. “Where is Adan?”

  I didn’t say anything, because I was unsure as to what to say—my eyes met hers and it was already said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her face grew still, and then her eyes dropped. She brought a finger up to wipe the tears. “How did they kill him?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  The eyes came back to mine. “Which one?”

  “I don’t know.” I flipped open the cylinder and checked the load. “They took us prisoners when Lowery, the one who is the computer expert, turned us in.”

  She gave it a nanosecond of thought, and her face grew ferocious. “Then I will kill him first. I am a Spanish woman who never sleeps—I have time to plot my revenge.” She stretched her neck and glared at the monastery, a full lightning storm in her eyes, matching the clouds to the west. “Your daughter, you have seen her, she is okay?”

  “I’ve seen Alexia, the housekeeper who is taking care of her. She says Cady’s all right.”

  She nodded. “You are sure the housekeeper, she will not also turn?”

  I leaned a little to the side, glancing up the street toward the sale barn where the guard still stood. “Culpepper killed her nephew.”

  “We trust her then?”

  I smiled a sad smile at the plural. “Yep, we do.”

  “Then we kill him first.”

 
“Well, when you are sure of the order you let me know. In the meantime, I stashed a load of weapons on the other side of the wall near the monastery that I think might come in handy before too long.”

  “You cannot walk the streets.”

  “Can’t we disguise me?”

  “Not sufficiently, no.” She looked me up and down, shaking her head, the eyes sparking. “You need to go into hiding, and we will get the weapons and then come and find you.”

  As much as I wanted to argue, it made sense. “Any ideas where?”

  “This place is too open.” She leaned closer to me, her lips near my ear as a few people walked by and then glanced up the street toward the sale barn. “El ratón se esconde en la espalda del gato.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The mouse hides on the back of the cat.” She studied me. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but no one goes near that round barn.”

  “Except Culpepper and his cronies. You think something is in there?”

  “I don’t know, but it is a place you can go and be out of the way. Until they find you are missing, we are free, but once they find out they will begin looking for you and I am not sure there are that many places to hide.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Alonzo and I will get the weapons and then come and get you. You will have to see us when we return and somehow let us know where you are.”

  I gave her a detailed description of where the guns were hidden and then looked to the left where the rock walkway continued around the building. “I’ll go to the other side and see if there’s another way in, so look for me in that direction when you get back.” She started to go, but I caught her arm. “And be careful—I don’t know if they know where those guns are.”

  She nodded and then set her jaw, slipped around the corner and twirled with an arm raised, snapping her fingers like castanets.

  * * *

  —

  Staying near the wall, I drunkenly stumbled up the sidewalk, slowly turned at the far end of the building, and leaned against it as if I were going to throw up again.

  The building was actually octagonal rather than cylindrical with stone buttresses and high windows with rounded tops and a tile roof with a large cupola at the apex. The windows were painted black on the inside, which was rarely a good sign anywhere. As I approached it, I could see another door at the rear with another sentinel standing there with his automatic weapon.

  Thwarted at both sides, I slipped toward the middle where I saw a mesquite tree that had sprung up under the footings of the adjacent building, filling the small passageway between. It wasn’t the sturdiest tree I’d ever seen, but it might give me enough of an advantage to where I could see in one of the taller windows where the painters had run out of either paint or inclination.

  I had to turn sideways just to get down the passageway, so nobody was likely to enter it. The branches were low, and I took the first step up, keeping an eye on both sides as I climbed. The tree was surprisingly strong, but the bark was tough and slippery, so I was forced to take my time. The blanket got caught in a snag, so I dropped it and watched as it hung there on the broken limb, drifting like the flag of a lost cause.

  About halfway up I noticed that the painters hadn’t worked all the way to the edges, and that if I pressed my face close to the glass, I could see a tiny bit of the inside. Like those buildings back in Wyoming, there was a tiered grandstand, but the second-level railing blocked my view, so I climbed a bit more, finally able to see down into the show ring itself and the chutes where livestock usually entered.

  There were tables on the first level with what looked to be equipment, and I immediately recognized the cables and the banks of electronics. There were cameras set up, and all I could think was that it was a satellite phone-in, but for what? Lowery had talked about having unlimited internet and communication abilities, but I couldn’t figure out why this sort of installation would have been necessary in the sale barn. Possibly to auction drugs?

  The Day of the Dead revelries were still going on, and the drums and horns were loud even up here, so I wasn’t particularly worried about making any noise and thought that if I’d wanted to, I could’ve stepped from the tree up onto the roof of the other building.

  I looked back down just to check and saw a flashlight beam being cast around the narrow passageway. I hugged the feeble trunk in hopes of not being seen, but the beam fell on the dropped blanket and drew closer.

  It was only a matter of time before the light would shine on me, so I figured the roof was probably the best chance I had. Quietly lifting a leg, I pushed off and stepped on the sidewall and then the roof just in time to avoid the flashlight beam. Crouching down, I stayed near the edge in hopes that the flimsy-looking roof was stronger there and waited. There was a ripping sound from below where the guard must’ve pulled down the blanket, but no more noise and no more light.

  I kept a watch on the passageway, aware that just because someone wasn’t shining a flashlight didn’t mean that somebody wasn’t there.

  My patience was rewarded when the guard lit a cigar and moved back toward his post—bored, I supposed, at the lack of a target. I waited a few moments and started back to the tree but then, noticing that there seemed to be a lot more foot traffic around the sale barn, moved back onto the roof and scuttled to the front where I could see that streams of people were migrating from the plaza and up the hill toward the adjacent octagonal building where the doors were now open.

  Looking down the wall, I couldn’t see Bianca or Alonzo but figured it would be nice to know what was going on in the sale barn before we made any decisive moves. If nothing else, the goings-on might provide a workable distraction so that we could get Cady out of the monastery.

  I got back to the tree, climbed over, and lowered myself down to where I could see in the top of the window. The place was packed with people standing in the aisles and stairways as a man stood in the center of the ring holding a microphone that had been lowered from above like a boxing match.

  I could hear him plainly, for all the good it did in that he was yowling Spanish and at about a hundred miles a minute. I wasn’t sure how much longer my legs would hold out when the man of the hour appeared at the edge of the walkway behind the ring, the spot where the auctioneer usually stood and the only place with room to spare.

  Bidarte wore a large pistol at his hip and was calmly watching the proceedings while talking with a group of individuals who were sitting in the exclusive area away from the hoi polloi. They were an odd-looking group but well-heeled and being served from a private bar that appeared to be only for that section.

  Again, I thought about climbing down and finding my compatriots, but now I was curious as to what was going on and figured as long as they hadn’t discovered that I was missing from the plaza, I could indulge myself and see what the hell was happening here.

  The announcer in the middle of the ring kept talking, and I was beginning to get the feeling that that was all there was going to be when Bidarte made a gesture and the man handed the mic up to him. He began speaking, but I still couldn’t tell what he was talking about when he suddenly gestured toward a couple of the gunmen who reached back to open the livestock entrance gates.

  I was fully expecting a prime steer to walk out or a forklift with a truck skid full of the bundles I’d seen in the monastery when I saw someone being pushed by one of the gunmen stumble out into the ring. He wore a black suit, and his hands were tied together. He was barefoot, and his head hung so low that his chin rested on the wrinkled and bloodstained white shirt that covered his chest.

  Bidarte went on talking in a low tone before handing the suspended mic to the auctioneer who began the bidding for this man.

  There were varying responses from the crowd when someone shifted and sat in front of me, blocking my view. I moved to the right—the barefooted man still stood at the center of the ri
ng, but now there was another man who walked down the steps and approached him. There were no words between them, and then the man who had come from the audience raised a pistol and shot him in the face.

  I crouched there in the tree, unblinking, as the bound man fell backward onto the dirt and lay there. The crowd cheered, and the armed man raised the pistol in mock victory before dropping it on the dead man’s chest and spitting on him.

  I sat back on a limb, my eyes refocusing in time to see two people below, looking up at me. Clamoring to find my voice, I croaked at them with one of the few Spanish words in my limited vocabulary as I pulled the .38 from my jeans. “Vámanos . . .”

  “Vete is the word you are looking for.” They continued to look up at me and then the slightly larger one spoke. “And I’m happy to, but maybe we should give you these guns first?” Alonzo chuckled, and even in the dark I could see his smile, which at least in some small way buoyed my spirits.

  Scrambling down the tree, I reached them. “Did you find all the weapons?”

  “They must’ve found the others, but these were buried a little away under heavier rocks so I was able to retrieve them.” He held the Dallas Cowboys gym bag out to me. “As you know, they are mostly old handguns, and I’m afraid that’s not going to be enough.”

  I set the bag on the ground, pulled my canvas windbreaker from it, and slipped it on, filling the pockets. “That’s all right. I’ve got some other armaments that I think will do the trick.” I turned to look at them. “You guys need to get out of here.”

  They stared at me, Bianca the first to speak. “Are you insane? They will kill you.”

  “Maybe, but there’s only one way to make sure they don’t kill you and that’s to get you out of here. Now.”

  I glanced at the stone wall of the sale barn and decided not to pull any punches. “Look, if this all plays out the way I think it will, then the only way to do this is head-on. I already got your brother killed, and I’m not doing the same to you two.” I stepped in closer. “I don’t think I have much time, but you can help me by finding some vehicles on the roadway and pulling them out and blocking the way down, disable them so that they can’t be moved, flatten the tires, rip out the plug wires, anything. Then wait on the other side for my daughter.” I continued before they could interrupt. “If you see anybody else coming, it means I’ve failed and you should drive for your lives—now get out of here.”