by Billy Kring
Degüello
Degüello
By
Billy Kring
Copyright © 2018 by Billy Kring
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by:
Elizabeth Mackey Graphic Design
www.elizabethmackey.com
Books by Billy Kring:
The Hunter Kincaid Series
Quick
Outlaw Road
The Empty Land
Tonton
Hunter’s Moon
Degüello
The Ronny Baca Series
Baca
L.A. Woman
Bad Moon Rising
Short stories
The Devil’s Footprints–A Hunter Kincaid Short Story
Jornada
Non-Series Novels
Hell’s Bells
Where Evil Cannot Enter (as B.G. Kring)
COWRITTEN WITH GEORGE WIER
1889: Journey to The Moon
1899: Journey to Mars
You can find these books on Amazon, plus the stories and more at my website:
www.billykring.com
I also place stories, comments, and things about the border and the old west--and other oddities on my Facebook page: Billy Kring Author.
For Elizabeth, forever and always
Author’s note:
Degüello is a Spanish noun from the verb “degollar”, to describe the action of throat-cutting…It “signifies the act of beheading or throat-cutting and in Spanish history became associated with the battle music, which meant complete destruction of the enemy without mercy.”
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter 1
The four women made their way unnoticed through the crowd of tourists and shoppers filling the sidewalks in the Mexican border town of Ciudad Acuña. Each of the women blended in, moving as the tourists and shoppers did, and all the while they angled into position to take the beautiful young child while she stood only inches from her mother. They had done it before, and felt confident it would be easy.
“How many will this make?” Sandra Avila, the youngest of the group, whispered to Sofia Cardona as they walked among shoppers and tourists.
“Stay focused,” Sofia said. They watched the beautiful woman and her stunning six-year old child strolling the sidewalk twenty feet ahead of them. The toddler seemed a miniature version of her mother, both with long hair the color of butterscotch. The child also had something rare, so rare it is the reason she is their target: her eyes. Incredible violet eyes that Sofia noticed, even from this distance. Other passersby stopped in mid-stride when the child looked at them. Sandra said, “You plan everything so well.” She copied Sofia’s quickening stride toward the woman and child as they walked along Callé Miguel Hidalgo, a stone’s throw across the Rio Grande from Del Rio, Texas. They pretended to browse the racks of colorful clothes along the open-air displays while keeping furtive eyes on the woman and daughter.
The crowd of pedestrians milled along the sidewalk, while a few people walked alone, admiring the stores and restaurants. Sandra turned to look behind her and nodded at the other two women, one a very fit-looking woman pushing a canopied baby carriage. The other was large and heavy, almost three hundred pounds.
The others picked up their pace until they were positioned closer to the woman and child and readied by arranging blankets in the carriage so they could easily be moved into position.
The blond woman paused at another rack of clothes and looked at one blouse in particular, letting go of her child’s hand.
Sandra moved silently behind the mother’s back and snatched the toddler from the ground, instantly turning with her as she stepped to the baby carriage.
Sofia had put a small chloroform soaked rag to the child’s face and locked it in place with a rubber band over her head so the rag fit like a surgeon’s mask. In an instant, the child lay in the carriage and was hidden under blankets with a flick of a wrist.
The large, heavy woman wore voluminous clothes and stepped to block the mother’s view of the carriage and the kidnappers.
When the mother, Ramona, looked around three seconds later, her daughter had vanished. A huge woman blocked her view and clumsily moved as Ramona did, continuing to hinder her vision, all the while apologizing. Ramona felt a thread of fear as she called the infant’s name, “Anita!”, and looked under the clothing racks in case the little girl hid to play hide and seek. Anita was nowhere to be seen, and Ramona’s voice quivered as she questioned other nearby shoppers.
No one saw anything out of the ordinary. Ramona pulled her phone and called the local police. They arrived in minutes, but the baby, her sweet baby, was gone.
By the time the police entered on the scene, the kidnappers were two blocks away, with buildings hiding them from the frantic mother. They went to a parked sedan and hid the carriage in a trash pile near the alley. Sandra drove away, going west on a road that paralleled the Rio Grande. Five minutes later she took a dirt road that dropped into the cane-choked river vega, following a narrow two-lane car path deep into the tall, green carrizo cane. The sedan drove through a pale, emerald colored, leafy world as the fifteen-foot tall cane formed a half-closed canopy above them, effectively making the car and women disappear.
Sandra said to Sofia, “Keep watch for the turn. It will be hidden.”
Sofia said, “Go a little slower. There it is.”
They followed it to the river while long green leaves like those on corn stalks brushed along the sides of the car. They drove all the way to where a man in a row boat constructed of two old car hoods welded back-to-back floated in the river. He waited underneath an overhang of cane.
As they climbed in the boat, the man said, “Hurry, the Border Patrol will be back soon.”
The older woman said, “Where are they?”
“We sent three boys across as decoys, so they could be caught and the Patrol had to transport them to another vehicle on the highway. They won’t be gone long.”
The younger woman held the limp child and said, “Let’s go.”
He rowed them across the river and had them deposited on the United States side in less than five minutes. A narrow trail in the river cane pointed north. The man said, “The car is fifty yards ahead on this trail. Keys are on the left front tire.”
They nodded and walked into the silent, green shadowed world as the boatman turned his craft to return to the Mexican side. They heard the gurgle of the water as he pulled on the oars for several powerful strokes, putting his back and legs into it.
They reached the ten-year-old Chevrolet in a short time and found the keys on the tire. The older woman took the limp infant and slid into the passenger side while the younger one started the car and drove out of the sandy river bottom and into the sparsely populated subdivision called Vega Verde, at the western edge of Del Rio. As they drove, Sofia reached into the plastic sack on the floorboard and removed the bottle of brown hair dye, applying it in small amounts to the child’s blond hair, working it in with her finger
s and along the strands that ran to her shoulders. She tossed the child’s chloroform mask out the window as they travelled. Sandra asked, “We’re leaving her hair long because the buyers want it that way?”
Sofia nodded, “Already paid extra for it. The boss said this one will bring a high seven figures in U.S. Dollars.” Sandra smiled, thinking of all the money she would have. Sandra hit a large pothole and rocked the car, pushing the child’s head onto the side window leaving a wet, brown smear on the glass shaped like a Nike swoosh.
Sofia continued to apply the dye, even after her partner pulled out on U.S. 90 and turned west. Sofia didn’t stop working on the child’s hair as she said to Sandra, “We’re free,” and she smiled.
~**~
Hunter Kincaid adjusted her old cut-off jean shorts as she relaxed in the passenger seat of Norma Ramirez’s Chevy Silverado pickup. The shorts had seen better days, looking frayed and faded, but felt so comfortable.
She and Norma had been friends and classmates since they went through the Border Patrol Academy, and although the two Agents worked in different stations, still got together occasionally, like this time in Del Rio, heading for the big lake and some boating, plus some much-needed fishing, laughing, swimming, and campfires.
Norma glanced in the bed of the pickup, “I noticed your, ah, vintage fishing gear when you loaded it up. Unless I’m mistaken, that’s the original Fred Flintstone model rod and reel, right?”
“Hah, you should be on Comedy Central. My rod may be old, but it’ll still catch fish, probably more than your new fancy schmancy one from Bass Pro that still has the price sticker on it.”
The wind from their open windows played with both women’s hair. “Want to bet?”
“How much?”
“Dinner tonight at Memo’s. Radney Foster’s back in town and is going to be there playing some new songs, too.”
Hunter said, “Oh, I like me some Radney. You’re on.” They travelled in silence for a bit, enjoying the sun through the windows and glimpses of the clean, blue-green water as they approached the long bridge over Amistad Lake. Both of them noticed a sedan coming at a high rate of speed on a side road that intersected the highway, and Hunter said, “They’re coming fast, Norma.”
“I see them.” She slowed down as the car slid onto the highway with a squeal of tires before weaving in several S patterns and lining out in the passing lane, driving toward the lake bridge.
Hunter motioned with her hand, and said, “Get up there, let’s take a look.”
Norma accelerated in the right-hand lane to move up. The distance to the bridge closed fast as Hunter leaned forward in the seat and looked beyond Norma at the passenger in the sedan.
It took a moment before the people in the sedan noticed them, but it gave enough time for Hunter and Norma to see the child’s head lolling around and smearing a wet, dark brown streak on the side window. “That’s not good,” Hunter said. “Get closer and honk your horn.”
Norma honked as Hunter leaned across her and showed the two women in the sedan her badge.
Norma said, “That badge isn’t gonna work.”
“It might,” She yelled out Norma’s open window, “Pull over!”
Instead, the sedan accelerated to get on the two-lane bridge first and moved side to side to keep Norma from pulling beside them again. Norma called in on her phone to the Border Patrol station dispatcher and told them what was happening. The sedan kept the two female Agents behind them, until halfway across the bridge.
Hunter said, “I think they snatched that baby, otherwise why dye her hair in a moving car?”
“I asked on the phone, you heard me. The dispatcher said there’s no traffic about a kidnapping. But something’s not right.”
Without warning, the sedan slammed on the brakes in front of them and slid to a squealing stop as blue smoke boiled from the tires.
Norma stood on her brakes and they slid toward the sedan, coming to a final, rocking halt three feet from the car.
The instant the car came to a standstill, Sofia opened her passenger door and took several steps with the blanket-wrapped child, walking to the edge of the bridge.
She looked once at Hunter, then tossed the child over the railing to the lake far below.
Hunter’s mouth dropped open.
Norma yelled, “Oh my God!”
Hunter shoved open her door and vaulted over the rail into space.
The lake surface glistened seventy feet below, and Hunter’s stomach flopped as she flailed her arms to change her body’s angle, hoping to hit the water with the soles of her feet.
She chanced a quick glance to where the child hit. Frothy white bubbles laced the surface and there was a hint of something small below the waterline. Hunter stiffened and closed her eyes an instant before impact, but still hit on her feet hard enough to click her teeth together before plummeting into the depths of the lake like an arrow until the water’s friction slowed her to a stop.
Bubbles like a thousand pearls surrounded her and rose through the clear green water toward the surface, pacing her as she kicked for the light. Her ears felt the pressure, and it was cold. She’d felt it when she went through the warmer top layer of water to the colder, deeper layer beneath.
Through the water, she saw a blanket-wrapped bundle sinking into the depths as slow as a waterlogged tree branch. A tiny hand pushed out of the blankets, frantically jerking as if trying to swim.
Hunter swam through the water toward the baby as it plummeted into the gloom, and she reached the toddler before it sank another five feet. She pulled the blankets from her and let them sink, with their edges fluttering in a motion like the wings of manta rays. Hunter held the struggling girl with one arm and kicked toward the surface.
As soon as their heads broke into the air, Hunter treaded water and checked her. The child wasn’t responsive. Hunter turned her on her back and continued treading, using her legs and feet to keep both of them afloat. Putting one hand on the center of her back, she lifted the child so her small chest and face was above water. Hunter put her other hand on the child’s body to do chest compressions when the girl coughed and vomited out a cup of water. She blinked her eyes and looked around, still frightened and looking for her mother.
Hunter said, “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”
“Donde esta mi Mami? Donde?”
“Vamos a hallárla. No tienes miedo.”
“Mi Mami?”
“Si.”
She shivered and said, “Okay.”
“You speak English?”
“Yes.”
Hunter felt her body tiring as she said, “We’ll find her, and I’ll keep you safe. Okay?”
Her small lower lip trembled and a fat tear dropped from the long lashes of one eye, but she didn’t cry or become hysterical.
“What’s your name?”
“Anita.”
“Okay, Anita, my name is Hunter. I don’t see a boat coming to help us, and I’m getting a little tired treading water, so how about I swing you onto my back? You can hold my neck while I swim and take us to shore.”
Anita nodded and moved to Hunter’s back, putting her small arms around the woman’s neck. She said in a shivering voice, “Okay.”
Hunter began with a breast stroke and started toward the eastern shoreline. After a few hundred yards, the shore looked as if it had retreated. Hunter said to Anita, “I’m going to pick up the pace and get us there faster, okay?”
“Okay.”
The kid was tough, although she did choke her rescuer a couple of times by squeezing too tightly around Hunter’s neck as she swam. Hunter had to squawk at her to not hold so tight, and Anita loosened her arms.
Ten minutes later, Hunter heard an engine and some music coming from behind her, so she turned to see a large pontoon boat coming towards them, with a half-dozen people on it, all staring at Hunter in the middle of the lake as if she was a unicorn.
The boat idled to a stop beside her and a couple of the m
en on it reached down to help the child off her back and into the boat first, then Hunter. The tall guy driving the boat said, “You and the baby just jumped off the bridge, or did you fall?”
“We didn’t fall. She was thrown over, and I jumped after her.”
His face showed surprise and concern, “Somebody threw a baby off that, and you jumped, from way up there? Son-of-a-bitch. They deserve to be put under a jail.”
“I’m hoping.”
“My name’s Keith. Where do you want me to take you?”
Hunter pointed to the shore on the east side, “I’m Hunter, and over there would be great.”
“You’re not local, are you?”
“No, on vacation and visiting my friend who lives here.”
Keith said, “You might find some less adventurous activities to do while you’re here.” He grinned.
The boat reached the shore ten minutes later and Hunter thanked the boat people before stepping to dry land with Anita in her arms. She took her time as she looked for any trouble. She felt tired, but not exhausted. Anita wanted down, so Hunter put her on the ground to walk. Anita stayed close as Hunter watched for Norma. Anita shivered so hard that Hunter heard her teeth chattering, so she pulled off her tee shirt, leaving Hunter in her bikini top and said, “I’m going to lay this on that big rock over there. The sun will have it warm in no time. Then you can put it on.”
Hunter placed the shirt flat on the rock, then she squatted on her heels and leaned back so the sun warmed her, too. Anita cuddled to her for warmth. Both stopped shaking after a few minutes and Hunter slipped the big tee-shirt on the six-year-old.
By the time Norma showed up, landing on shore in her bass boat no less, Anita and Hunter had dried. Hunter said, “What’d you do, fish in a tournament before you came for us?”
“It was already docked at the marina, and I thought it might be faster to find you instead of driving here in the truck. I figured you were still treading water out there.”