The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  The last thing he wanted was another confrontation with the howling wolves camped outside his office, waiting to devour him. The Mayor and his lapdog Rick Tolley would probably be inside, two men he distrusted and was beginning to despise. But he had to go back and file a report. He parked around back and forced his way through the front door. Mayor Bridges had returned, and he was in a corner chatting with Tolley. They looked like two conspirators, plotting to take over the city. Or take over his job.

  "Sheriff, I need to talk to you."

  "Not now, Mr. Mayor. I have work to do. I'll talk to you later."

  He entered his office, slammed the door shut so they'd get the message, and put through a call to the crime scene technicians. They were all out of the office, but he got the mobile number of the guy attending the brothel killing. He wasn't optimistic about providing any leads to the killer.

  "Sheriff, there's nothing here that can help us. There's DNA, traces of human hair, and plenty of semen from at least a hundred men, so it could have been any of them who killed her."

  “It was the Mexican.”

  “I guess. But there’s nothing here to pin him to the murder.”

  "What about the bullets, do they tell us anything?"

  "Still inside the body, looks like just the one to me. I'll talk to the Chief Medical Examiner and ask him to extract them as soon as he can. But I guess you know Doc Weatherby is busy, what with all these killings going on in the city.”

  "Do your best."

  He ended the call; angry he was so helpless. He’d seen the face of the killer, yet the problem was finding him before he struck again.

  He needed help, someone with experience in tracking people, fugitives from justice. Someone who could sniff him out like a bloodhound. He suddenly remembered Clarence Wheeler. The guy who'd saved his life in Iraq, who he'd picked up drunk in the street, and was languishing in a cell. His trade was tracking down fugitives, a bounty hunter, and an expert. When he was sober, people said he was damn good. He walked through to the back and unlocked the cell. Clarence's eyes were brighter than they’d been the day before now the alcohol had leached out, and he was lying on the cot with his hands behind his head. He looked up as Kaz entered the cell.

  "Going to charge me, Sheriff?"

  "If I charge you, it'll be for bed and board. Did they feed you?"

  "Bacon and eggs over easy."

  “Any good?"

  He grimaced. "The worst I've ever had. What's on your mind, Kaz? Have you come to tell me to get my life in order? Stop the booze and get myself a regular job? Maybe go to church? If that’s the message, you're wasting your time. I happen to like the way I live."

  "I came to ask for your help, Clarence. You’ve heard about this problem we have, a Mexican hitman running around our city killing people?"

  "I've heard. Have you managed to find him yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “When you do, hire a helicopter, fly him over the desert, and drop him from five thousand feet."

  "That wouldn’t be legal. Although I'd like to do it."

  “You sound like it’s personal.”

  He decided to level with him, and he told him about Sheryl. About the blurry image he'd seen of the shooter from two years ago, and it was the same guy. Wheeler whistled. "Damn, that's something of a coincidence. So, you do have a good reason to want to put him in the ground."

  "I have a good reason. Except I don't have him."

  “So what do you need?”

  "What I need is advice about how I can go about finding this Mexican. The way he operates seems random. No, it is random. The hits don’t have any reason or logic. He just kills people and disappears. I guess you know what it's like. If a fugitive doesn't have a motive for the crime he committed, it's hard to know why he's doing it, and where he’ll strike next. There’s something else. We don’t know his name.”

  The other man nodded, his eyes narrowed, lost in thought. "If I was tracking him, I'd follow-up his last known addresses, his family, contacts, the whole nine yards. But if you don't know who he is, that doesn’t help. All you know is he’s mighty good with a gun. But when you do find him, my advice is to blow his head off before he nails you first."

  He smiled. "I've already worked that one out. Anything else I can use?"

  Clarence was shaking his head. "Sheriff, you don't understand. That Browning Hi-Power you carry won’t hack it. When he gets you in his sights you won’t know he’s there, not until the last split-second. You need something heavy to take him down first. Something that’ll spew out a lot of bullets."

  Walker’s mind flashed to the M-60 hanging in his office, and he dismissed the thought. He was trying to catch a murderer, not start a war. "I’ll bear it in mind. Anything else I can use?"

  "You know what I’d do in this situation, I’d set a trap for him. Work out where he’s most likely to hit next and stake it out."

  Sheriff Walker thought back to the news report from Ciudad, and he shook his head. "The Federales already tried that, and it failed. They staged an ambush, and there were collateral casualties, but they didn’t get him. Although…"

  "Sheriff?"

  He was thinking about the dressing on the guy's head.

  Is it possible they winged him? And if they did, what does it mean? Maybe nothing. Although, in the meantime if we’re lucky, he might contract blood poisoning and die. I’m not counting on it.

  "A stakeout is out of the question. He’s targeting crowded shopping malls, and we can't have people caught in the crossfire. I’ll find him, sooner or later. You’re free to go."

  He nodded. "There’s one more thing, Kaz. Don't go anywhere without backup, and I mean not anywhere. Until you catch this guy, make sure you have someone watching your back every step of the way, just like it was in Iraq."

  "I remember how it was, and thanks."

  “Kaz, you're sure this guy killed Sheryl?"

  "I'm sure.”

  “Do you want him to face justice?"

  I want to kill him.

  "Something like that."

  Their eyes met and understanding passed between them. “Let me help you. Like I said, you can't do this on your own. “

  "I have my own people, Clarence."

  At that moment the door opened, and Rick Tolley put his head inside. "The Mayor is outside talking to the media. He says to tell you he still needs to talk to you."

  He gave him a cold stare. "Tell him when I'm good and ready."

  The door closed, and Clarence frowned, glancing at the place where Tolley had been a second before. "Are you sure about having your own people to watch your back? Do you trust that guy? I wouldn't."

  "He's my deputy. I have to trust him."

  He snorted. “About as far as you could throw him uphill. Kaz, you needed my help once before, and then it was a close-run thing. Say the word, and I'd be happy to oblige."

  "I’ll think about it."

  "You do that, but don't forget what I said. Make sure you carry a big gun and get off the first shot. Plenty of shots, preferably.”

  He opened the door and left. Walker went back to his desk, thinking it through. He knew instinctively Clarence was right. Shoot first and ask questions afterward. Maybe it wasn't the way they did it these days; after all, it wasn’t like the old Wild West, except the Mexican had changed the rules. The deck had tilted away from normal law and order. Tilted toward mayhem and murder.

  He tried to deal with the various reports on his desk, but once again he felt overwhelmed. He was the Sheriff, sworn to uphold hold the law, and now he was thinking of breaking the law. Gunning down a man in cold blood without a warning was not what he'd signed up for. But he was also the husband of the finest woman he'd ever known, a woman who'd been slaughtered by this man. She needed justice, the kind of justice meted out by a big gun, just like Clarence had said, if he could find him. His soul burned with the need to find him and kill him.

  If he leaves town, goes somewhere else, what then? I do
n’t know. What if he goes back to Mexico, which he’s sure to do sooner or later? I don’t know.

  He sighed and got up to leave the office. He had to face Bridges sooner or later, and he went outside. The Mayor was still talking to the newsies, and he wasn’t handling it well, red-faced, obviously failing to deal with their searching questions. He left them when he saw the Sheriff.

  "Kaz, you need to catch this guy and fast.”

  He raised his voice and shouted, so they’d hear the voice of the ‘tough on crime’ Mayor when they watched the news.

  “No matter what it takes, this man has to be stopped.” His voice dropped to a murmur. He’d made his pitch, and the voters would be pleased, “Sheriff Walker, the whole town is in uproar, and if you don't stop him soon, people are going to start selling up and leaving. This is a catastrophe.”

  "You mean I can close down the malls to keep people safe?"

  He exploded. "Not that, you sonofabitch. Close them down and you’re out of a job, I guarantee it. Don't let me down. I want that guy either dead or in a cell inside forty-eight hours. Savvy? Otherwise, I'll be looking for a new Sheriff." He glanced toward Rick Tolley; "I'm already preparing a list of names if you let me down."

  He'd had enough of Bridges pulling his chain while the city of Lewes was facing a crisis, the most lethal, bloodthirsty killer in its history. He was on the point of chewing him out, but he changed his mind. It wouldn’t get them any nearer to finding the killer, Sheryl’s killer.

  In the end he decided to do another tour of the malls and make sure his deputies were alert. He drove away, cursing himself for his inability to halt the carnage. Checking the malls seemed lame, and after the first three he knew he was wasting his time. The deputies were watching the doors, and they seemed to have their eyes open. Hands hovering over their guns, ready to draw and shoot if the Mexican showed up. Each security chief told him his men were ready for anything, and this bastard wouldn't catch them out again. But as he drove away from the third mall, he wasn't so sure. They were doing their best, but this guy was better.

  Besides, he knew they all had their own agendas, which were to stay open to the public. The malls were playing roulette with people's lives, hoping the next one that got hit was someone else’s problem. Everyone had the own agenda. Rick Tolley wanted his job. The Mayor wanted to be re-elected, and the traders wanted to make a profit.

  He had his own agenda, to run Sheryl’s killer to earth. Yet it all came down to a single solution, the answer to everyone’s problems, to put a bullet through the Mexican's head. Although some would be just as happy if he drove him out of the city and made him someone else's problem.

  He felt he was failing them all, although they were also failing him. The only serious offer of help had come from Clarence Wheeler, the town drunk, and from Eva McCoy, the hack. She'd handed him that blurry photo when she didn't need to. She could have run it as a front-page item on the local news, but instead, she'd given him a break. There was also Curtis Brand, the helicopter pilot, who'd taken a shot at analyzing what they were up against. Yet the overriding factor was securing justice for Sheryl, which could take only one form, to bury the bastard. He’d almost got back to the office when he realized he’d made up his mind.

  To hell with law and order, with being the Sheriff, to hell with all of them, I’m going after him. And if necessary, I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth, until I can put him under the earth.

  He almost got back when the radio crackled. "Sheriff, it's Tolley."

  "Go ahead, what is it, Rick?"

  "He hasn't left town."

  “Has someone spotted him? Do we know where he is?”

  "Sheriff, he shot and killed another woman with two children in the El Dorado Mall. The security guards tried to stop him, and a gunfight broke out. They say it was like a war zone, bullets flying everywhere. I'd have sent some uniforms to handle it, but they're all out guarding the malls. Our detectives are tied up with other cases, but I called two of them back in and told them to deal with it.”

  “Who was guarding the El Dorado?

  "Stuart Mason."

  "Why didn't he do his job?"

  A pause. "Sheriff, Stuart Mason did do his job. That’s why he’s dead."

  He acknowledged. "I’m on the way."

  He switched on the lights and siren and put the pedal to the metal. Minutes later, he pulled up outside yet another shopping mall, and yet another crime scene. In ordinary times it would be filled with innocent shoppers. Now it was a place of terror and death. Crowds of people milling in the parking lot, and grim-faced security men standing with guns drawn, looking for a target.

  The first body he came across was Deputy Stuart Mason. He recalled his wife was expecting their first child, and they’d just put a deposit on an apartment in a newly built condominium. A tiny wound showed where the bullet had penetrated his chest and entered the heart. It would have killed him immediately. Inside it was a bloodbath. The woman and two children were stretched out on the floor. Five more people were dead and seven wounded. Most of the wounds were from larger caliber handguns, like those carried by the security guards, and he didn't need to ask how it happened. Frightened and trigger-happy, they'd opened fire the minute the Mexican started shooting, and the rentacops weren't too fussy about where they put their lead.

  His cellphone buzzed. It was Tolley again. "Sheriff, I'm on my own here, so I can't leave the office, but I've informed the crime scene techs. They say it'll be a few hours before they can make it. They're pretty busy."

  "I know."

  His sense of loneliness and isolation deepened. More deputies arrived, and he sent them away to protect the other malls. The man who’d done this had gone; he knew that for certain. He also knew it was useless speculating he’d left town. On this occasion, the man had encountered the cop posted outside the El Dorado and put a bullet in him, a heart shot, as he walked past. He probably hadn’t even paused when he did it. Someone said they'd seen the shooter carjack a vehicle to make his getaway, but most were hysterical. One said it was a dark blue Toyota, someone else said it was a dark red VW. No one got the license plate.

  When he’d done everything he could, which was next to nothing, he drove back. Once again watching the sidewalks as he cruised past at slow speed. Sometimes he saw a man walking on his own, a Hispanic, but each time it was the wrong man. The sidewalks were unusually empty, and with good reason. The city was under siege. If he didn't take this man down soon, more people would die. He had no choice but to close the malls, and he'd be out of a job. Worst of all, Sheryl would be denied justice.

  When he got back, he ignored Tolley and entered his private office, with a snapped; "I don't want to be disturbed, not for anything."

  He had to do something. He needed an expert, someone who could help him track this man down. Someone who wouldn’t be too fussy about the way it was done, who’d be happy to put this killer under the ground. He could only think of one man, and he put through a call to Clarence Wheeler. "I need you."

  "I'll be there in fifteen."

  While he was waiting, he took down the M-60. Recalling what Clarence had said about a big gun and remembering that time in Iraq when Wheeler saved his life with an identical weapon to this. Pouring out bullets Rambo style, holding it at the hip, and putting down the encroaching enemy like wheat before a combine. He’d found out later they were ISIS. Fanatic Islamists, and two of the dead wore suicide vests. If they’d got any closer, the city would have a different Sheriff.

  The gun was empty. He went to the locked cabinet and removed three belts of ammunition. He began threading one into the breech when the door opened, and Eva McCoy burst in. Tolley was right behind her, but he waved him away.

  “Sheriff, I’m sorry, I tried to stop her.”

  "It's okay. I'll handle this."

  The door closed, and the reporter stared at the M-60, her eyes wide. "What's going on, Sheriff? Are you going after him with a machine gun? That’s an M-60, isn’t that a
bit heavy for taking down one man?”

  "I was just checking it while I’m waiting for Clarence.”

  “Sure you were. I see you’re checking you had a full belt of ammo loaded.”

  He was surprised. “You know about guns?”

  “I know. What’s going on, Sheriff? I came in with a couple of questions and find you preparing to fight a war.”

  He met her eyes. “You think this isn’t a war?”

  “Well, uh, I don’t know.”

  He decided to take a chance. “There’s something you may be able to help me with.”

  Her eyes sparkled. "Just say the word, Kaz. Anything."

  * * *

  He found an abandoned grain store, broke off the lock, and drove the stolen Toyota inside. He reclined the driver’s seat and managed to grab an hour of sleep, despite the terrible pain. When he awoke, he snorted more coke. Two lines, but it wasn't enough, and he snorted two more, and two more again. The pain was still there, but now he was strong, stronger than ever, and ready to handle anything. Strong enough to do the job he’d come here to do.

  And then? He didn't know where he lived, wasn't even sure of his name. The only name he could remember was Paco Martinez, who he knew had been his childhood friend. He climbed out of the vehicle and roamed around the inside the empty store, like a caged beast. Checking for a rear entrance if the cops arrived. He jumped when his cellphone rang, and he looked at the screen. It was like cool water rushing over his fevered body.

  "Paco!"

  "Yeah, it's me, you dumb bastard. Where are you, amigo?"

  “I, uh, don’t know. Somewhere in America.”

  His friend didn’t speak at first, and then he sounded puzzled. “What are you doing in America?”

  “You told me to kill the woman and her two kids.”

  “Diego, that was in Ciudad Juarez. We watched it on the television. The Federales ambushed you, and you disappeared. Where in America are you?”

  “Jefe, I don’t know.”

  He heard Paco curse under his breath. “You have to find out so we can come and get you. Look around. Try and see some street signs. I will call you in ten minutes, and you can tell me what you’ve found. We will find you. I promise.”