by Mark Reps
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The first couple miles of the ill-maintained mining road were covered with wild sagebrush and a variety of scrub trees. It was passable…with careful maneuvering. Large boulders placed every quarter mile were evidence of the tribal desire to close the road to outsiders. Roughly three miles off the main road the landscape changed dramatically. What had been a flat, straightaway became a series of switchbacks, blind curves and washouts as the road began to climb through a series of ever increasing elevations.
“What’s that? Over there.” Deputy Steele pointed into a distant crevasse where reflected light flickered against the brown landscape.
“It could be windshield glass,” said Josh.
She removed a small pair of binoculars from a case on her belt. “Bingo. We’ve got ourselves a yellow Vega.”
“Scan the surrounding area,” said Josh. “Do you see anyone moving around?”
She saw nothing. Five minutes later at the top of a stone plateau the team stood around the abandoned, rusted out, yellow Vega. Sheriff Hanks popped open the hood.
“It still has a leaky radiator,” he said. “This baby isn’t going another foot.”
Ahead, where the road once again turned to hardened dirt and crushed gravel, Zeb examined a single set of oversized tire tracks. In the Vega, Kate found blood on the steering wheel. Josh leashed his dogs and made half circles fifty feet away from the car searching for human tracks. He then placed some equipment into a small backpack and joined Kate.
“Zeb, I’ve got some tracks here. They are identical to the ones at the trailer and at the Madrigal place, said Josh. “A small man’s tennis shoe.”
Sheriff Hanks did a slow three-hundred-sixty degree scan of the area.
“What do you think, Josh?” he asked.
“I think we’re hunting a hunter. I’m fairly certain Ángel is going cross country to try and catch up with Jimmie Walker. My guess is Jimmie Joe double crossed him and Ángel is eager for a little vengeance.”
“That young kid would be taking a helluva chance in this country going against a highly armed sociopath,” said Deputy Steele.
“But he’s got one distinct advantage,” said Sheriff Hanks. “He knows this road like the back of his hand. His grandfather taught him to drive on this road when he was a trucker for the mines,” said Zeb.
“Ángel started driving this road when he was ten years old,” added Kate. “Eskadi got that information for me from some Apaches who worked with Felipe Madrigal.”
“Unless that young kid is completely out of his mind we can assume he’s got at least some kind of weapon,” said the sheriff. “That makes him dangerous to us.”
“Here.”
Josh handed his truck keys to Sheriff Hanks.
“I’ll follow him. He should be easy to track. I don’t think he’s going to do much to cover his trail.”
“Josh, take this rifle,” said Sheriff Hanks.
“Keep it for yourself,” replied Josh.
“I guess with your arm in that cast you’re not going to be much of a shot,” said Sheriff Hanks.
“I’ve got the dogs. Besides which, I don’t plan on shooting anyone…unless my life or one of yours is in imminent danger,” replied Josh. “I gave that shit up.”
Kate knew exactly what was behind Josh’s statement. Zeb had a pretty good idea.
“We had better get moving,” said Zeb.
“Right now we’ve only got a couple hours of good daylight ahead of us. I expect Ángel is going to try and surprise Jimmie Joe up ahead,” said Josh. “But if what Eskadi says about the road is right, Walker may well have to abandon his truck sooner than he planned.”
“Jimmie Joe may or may not know Ángel is after him,” said the sheriff. “He may think that we have him. We had better assume Jimmie Joe figures we’re not too far behind him. Remember Jimmie Joe will be listening for us or anything out of the ordinary. We don’t want him to end up hearing us. Do your best to keep any noise to a minimum. If we have an element of surprise on our side, we don’t want to lose it,” said Josh.
“I’ve got a set of walkie-talkies in the trunk,” said the sheriff. “I want you to take one so we can keep in contact. In these hills and canyons I don’t know how much good they’ll do, but they’re better than nothing.”
Zeb, Kate and Josh all switched their walkie-talkies to silent signal mode, opting for a continual dual flash of the red light and a buzz as a signal for requested communication. In the event of an emergency it was agreed that flipping the override switch would be the best form of instant verbal communication. Josh’s vehicle had four-wheel drive and would make the trip better than the police vehicle.
Zeb shifted Josh’s truck into low gear. Haltingly he made his way along the treacherous winding road. Josh and Kate headed out on foot, following the tracks of Ángel Gómez. As they moved stealthily through a run off wash, Josh crouched to the ground every hundred yards or so, his animal like senses honed in on the world around him. An hour passed before he spoke.
“Ángel’s lost blood,” said Josh. “He is tiring and beginning to stumble.”
Kate had seen two smeared bloodstains on rocks earlier, but other than the occasional impression of a sneaker in the sand she had spotted little else.
“He’s bleeding from the head,” said Josh.
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“The blood pattern on the rock back there. The one you noticed. That blood was from his hand.”
Josh rubbed his hand against an imaginary cut on his face, squatted near a rock and used a flat hand to push himself up. His muted explanation was perfect. Blood on the fingers would leave exactly the smear mark she had seen.
“I noticed three other splatter patterns on the rocks. It was very faint or I’m sure you would have seen it. Blood falling from up here--”
Josh gently rubbed his hand against her forehead.
“--would create a central point with a small splatter pattern when it hit the ground or something on the ground.”
“Shouldn’t the blood from his wound be clotting after this amount of time?”
“Maybe it’s a big cut. Or maybe he keeps touching it and irritating it. It could be a gunshot wound.”
“How do you know he’s stumbling?”
“He is walking on the outside front part of his foot, rolling it over and pushing off his big toe,” explained Josh. “He’s faltering forward as he walks. It could be from fatigue or pain or both. He had a big night last night. In all the excitement he probably didn’t get much sleep. There’s a pretty good chance he’s dehydrated too. He’s probably running on sheer force of will at this point. To say nothing of the fact that it must be quite an adrenaline rush to steal a million dollars.”
“I’m sure it is,” replied the deputy. “Most people would do just about anything for a million dollars.”
“Some people don’t know there’s more to life than money,” said Josh.
“Like the thrill of the chase, maybe?”
“You tell me,” replied Josh.
Josh Diamond’s double entendre was all too obvious. Kate took a deep breath.
“Did you see evidence at the Madrigal place which makes you think he’s been shot?” asked Deputy Steele.
“There was a bloody towel in the driveway culvert. I gave it to the sheriff. My suspicion was that, with this kind of money involved, Jimmie Joe shot Ángel and left him for dead.”
With the gradual change in daylight from the sun beginning to disappear behind the higher hills, the desert temperature cooled down quickly. Josh’s dogs became only slightly excited as they began to sense the onset of early evening animal activity. These were the most well trained dogs Kate had ever observed.
“The setting sun is working against us,” remarked Kate. “Ángel or Jimmie Joe could be hiding in the shadows just about anywhere out there.”
“Good call. You’re right. We should move very carefully until we can use nature to our advantage
. We need the advantage of dusk. Let’s rest very briefly, then get moving.”
Josh took a position on a rock just into the shadows. Even from fifteen feet away Kate would have missed him if she hadn’t known he was sitting there.
“Drink some water,” he advised. “I’ve done a lot of remote desert reconnaissance work. It’s very easy to get dehydrated and not even know it, especially under stress.”
She sat, removed a canteen from her hip and took a long drink. In the distance something scurried in the underbrush.
“Small animal, not our man,” said Josh without moving a muscle. “But we are getting close. Look.”
Josh shined a small flashlight on a spot half way between them. It was fresh blood.
“The dogs found it,” he said. “Mutt is trained to point his tail downward when he smells human blood.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A nearly translucent moon was rising in the eastern sky. Sunlight was lessening more quickly than was ideal for tracking purposes. Josh surveyed the area with his binoculars.
“We’ve got forty-five minutes, maybe an hour, until darkness plays a huge factor. We need to keep moving, but we have to be careful. Let’s roll.”
Moving through the desert undergrowth in sparse light proved much easier than Kate had imagined. Following Josh’s lead they moved as if a single person. At three minute intervals he directed her with hand signals to stop and listen. Josh shined the directed light of a laser flashlight ahead and motioned for Kate to have a look. A mother skunk, teaching her children how to survive and hunt in the night, stared disdainfully at them. Another quarter mile on, Kate and Josh halted simultaneously. Ahead, around a corner in a small box canyon, a muted noise came drifting through the darkness. As they moved closer the shrill sound of satanic laughter became hauntingly clear.
“We’ll move up along the base of the canyon wall,” whispered Josh. “Stay low. When we get to the outcropping, stay put. I’ll move ahead, see what’s going on.”
Deputy Steele knew Josh could see the slight nod of her head as dusk crept over them.
“Make sure you are feeling everything with your feet. I do not want anything to give us away now.”
It was a point well taken. Josh suddenly signaled her to stay put. He sneaked away from the protection of the canyon wall, sliding into the underbrush on his stomach using his elbows to propel himself forward. She watched as he noiselessly disappeared into the desert underbrush. She was amazed that even one arm in a cast didn’t deter him from his mission.
The quiet desert air carried every sound from the canyon to Kate’s sharpened ears. Words suddenly became clear. One man with a deep voice was speaking. The gringo accent made her certain it was Jimmie Joe. His voice became clearer as the anger in his voice increased.
“Fool. You should never have followed me.”
“You killed Juanita.” Ángel’s voice was full of defiance, hatred and anger.
“Yes,” taunted Jimmie Joe. “Yes I killed your lovely Juanita. Her throat crushed as easily as a hummingbird’s.”
Ángel vomited.
“Do you want to know what her last words were? She begged me not to kill you. She pleaded for your life to be spared as I was taking hers. Oh, she was loyal to you, muchacha. Very soon that loyalty will be rewarded when you join her in hell.”
Deputy Steele gasped quietly as Josh slithered out from beneath the undergrowth not three feet from her.
“We got ourselves a bad situation,” he whispered. “We are going to have to move fast. Jimmie Joe has the kid tied to small tree. He is ranting and raving and telling Ángel how he killed his girlfriend. It sounds like he broke her neck and torched her.”
“What exactly do you think Jimmie Joe has in mind?” asked Deputy Steele. “Torture?”
“Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Looks like he’s pistol-whipped Ángel. He has taken the blood from Ángel’s wound and used it to paint a bulls-eye on his face, another on his chest and one near each arm. I don’t know how quickly this guy likes to kill or how much of the Marquis de Sade he’s got in him, but I would say Ángel’s life could be measured in heartbeats not minutes, unless we move fast.”
“We’d better get going.”
“We’ve got a second problem. Zeb is directly opposite us. We don’t want anyone to get caught in crossfire.”
Kate checked her weapon.
“How far do I have to move out from here before I can get a clear look at things?” she asked.
“Fifty feet out and you will be dead center of the small canyon. The small tree he’s got the kid tied to is about fifteen feet away from the canyon wall. It will be on your left. Your shooting distance will be seventy-five, give or take a few feet. Zeb is less than one hundred feet directly opposite us and behind the tree where Ángel is tied. I don’t think he knows we’re here. Follow me.” Josh hand signaled his dogs to crouch and remain silent.
Deputy Steele snaked along the ground close enough to the heels of Josh’s boots to smell sandy dirt ground into the rubber soles. Reaching the spot with a clear view he stopped. Drawing half way on his knees, using the cast on his left arm as support, Josh viewed the men through his binoculars.
“If we try and surprise them by getting any closer, we stand a good chance of getting hurt,” whispered Josh loosening his holster strap. “And, we lose the element of surprise.”
In the distance Jimmie Joe’s voice became crystal clear as he lectured his young, helpless captive.
“You stupid, fucking, little bastard. What the hell is wrong with you? I literally saved your ass in prison. I get you in on the biggest heist of your wretched life and how do you pay me back? By sneaking up on me like I’m some sort of stupid rookie con? I made a mistake by letting you live earlier. I should have killed you at your grandfather’s house.”
Deputy Steele watched the pair through the rifle’s scope. Josh eyed them through his binoculars.
Jimmie Joe suddenly grabbed Ángel by the hair. He forced the gun into his cheek, howling with delight as he distorted his prey’s face. Drawing back he pointed the gun barrel at Ángel’s head. His expression turned vile as he repeatedly brought the handle of the gun down hard on Ángel’s face and neck. Standing back, the big man grunted discordantly before kicking Ángel in the ribs and spitting on him.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m waiting for. I ought to shoot you right now and get it over with. What good is your fucking, rotten life anyway? Your girlfriend’s dead--your grandfather’s in jail, your mother and your grandmother are dead. I’d be doing you a hell of a favor by having you join them.”
“Ángel’s not moving,” whispered Deputy Steele.
“If he has an ounce of smarts, he’s playing possum,” answered Josh.
Jimmie Joe also noticed his prey wasn’t stirring. He grabbed a tree branch for balance and brought the heel of his boot against the bridge of Ángel’s nose. Angrily he bore down with the full weight of his massive body. Blood hurled through the air.
“Wake up, you little, brown traitor. It’s no time for a siesta.”
The insane laughter of the big man echoed in the canyon rousting a pair of night birds whose fluttering wings whooshed in the distance.
“I never killed a man I couldn’t look in the eye and I’m not starting now. So wake the fuck up.” shouted Jimmie Joe. “I said, wake the fuck up.”
Half lying on his side, head tilted back, Ángel didn’t stir.
“Maybe he’s dead already,” whispered Deputy Steele.
“He’s not. Zero in on his hands. He’s a tough little soldier.”
Deputy Steele sighted the scope toward Ángel’s hands. Tied behind his back, around the thin base of the mesquite tree, Ángel’s fingers were clawing at the ground, gathering sand and dirt, possible weapons for one last stand. She returned the aim of her rifle back toward Jimmie Joe who had now tucked his gun under his arm. He opened a water bottle, twisted Ángel’s neck toward the ground so his nose was pointing upward and began
pouring water into his nostrils. Ángel sputtered reflexively.
“So the little muchacha is awake now, is he?”
“Go to hell, Jimmie Joe. You son of a bitch. Go straight to hell!”
The stillness of the night provided no resistance for the raw tension of barbed hatred zinging through the air. Deputy Steele raised the 30.06 to her eye. She drew a bead just above Jimmie Joe’s ear. The big man began to pace slowly back and forth, repeatedly checking his weapon. Directly behind him, in her scope, she saw Sheriff Hanks moving through the underbrush toward Jimmie Joe. If she missed or the bullet passed through Jimmie Joe, it would head directly toward the sheriff. Josh held a rock in his good hand. He set his .45 at his side so he could quickly pick it up once he tossed the rock. Setting his gun down was a gamble. It was a risk he had to take if his plan was going to be executed. Moreover, he was hoping he wouldn’t have to use his .45.
“Time is running out,” he whispered. “If we are going to act, it has to be now.”
The utter calmness in his voice sent a chill down Kate’s spine. Her heart raced as she looked through the scope. Deputy Kate Steele could practically hear the wings of the Angel of Death approaching.
“I’m going to throw this rock directly between us and him. I’m hoping Jimmie Joe will turn directly toward you when he hears the noise. He may crouch down so be ready for that. You will have three, maybe four seconds to get your best shot. If we don’t do this now, Ángel is a dead man. It’s up to you to save that young man and rid the world of a wicked one.”
Through the scope she eyed Jimmie Joe Walker. For the first time in her life she recognized what pure evil looked like. If she pulled the trigger, this devil would be dead. But the line of her aim was such that she would almost certainly hit Zeb as well. If she did nothing, Ángel Gómez would most certainly die.
“It is time to save the life of an Ángel,” she whispered. “Don’t throw that rock yet. Give me thirty seconds to sneak around behind Jimmie Joe, then throw the rock. I need a clear, safe shot.”
“I don’t like it,” said Josh. “That is dangerous for you and we increase the risk of Jimmie Joe killing Ángel.”