The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  The call abruptly ended, and Diego opened the door and looked outside. He sought the name of the street, Grand Way, and a Ford dealership, Lewes Ford. He decided it would be enough, and he went back inside to wait for Paco to call back.

  * * *

  Martinez put down the phone and furrowed his brow in thought. He'd seen the reports of the mall shootings on the news and smiled at the idea of a killer running loose in an American city. Now they’d know what life was like in parts of Mexico, like Ciudad. He gave it ten minutes and called Diego back. Something needed to be done, like yesterday.

  He clicked his fingers. “Alberto, bring me a map of the United States.”

  Minutes later, he rushed back with the map, and Paco pinpointed the city of Lewes, close to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Somehow the crazy fool had got the wrong idea after the debacle at Ciudad. He’d blundered into a Federales ambush and afterward run across the border for some reason. Probably to evade capture, but he arrived in Lewes, started a new killing spree, and was working his way onto America’s Most Wanted. He’d escaped the Federales, but the American cops were not so stupid. Or corrupt.

  He’d have found it amusing, but for one important factor. Rivera was party to many of his closest secrets. Like his contacts in the narcotics underworld, as well as cops and politicians who did him favors in return for suitcases stuffed with cash. If the cops in Lewes got their hands on him, it could be serious, more than serious, a total disaster. Even the Federales couldn't ignore information from Paco’s right-hand man, and they'd have to act. For a few moments, he toyed with the idea of sending a team to take him out. Kill Diego, and he'd never talk.

  Then again, he'd known him since he was a kid, and he'd done good service for his narcotics empire. Whatever had gone wrong, he needed to get him back inside Mexico. Back among his friends and family, and he shouted for Alberto to return.

  "Tell Miguel to get the jet ready. He’ll be flying to Lewes in New Mexico. I want you to go along and take some men. Five should be enough. Diego is stuck there, and we need to bring him home."

  "Is he ill?"

  Martinez felt a twinge of annoyance.

  What business of his is Diego’s health? Although I suspect he is ill. Why else would he do those things?

  "He's a good man, and he's in trouble, that’s all you need to know. Get it done.”

  “Si, Jefe. At once."

  Within the hour, the Gulfstream G650 lifted off from a private field outside Guadalez and set a course for Lewes, New Mexico.

  * * *

  Clarence examined the M-60 and nodded approvingly at the ammunition belt Walker had fitted earlier.

  "You haven't forgotten how this thing works, Kaz. That's good to know, but if you plan to use it, you’ll need some practice. Me, too, I haven't fired one of these things in a long time. A man gets rusty.”

  The Sheriff wasn’t happy; this was getting out of hand. The M-60 was a good luck charm, not a way to tackle a multiple killer in a crowded urban environment. "Hold on there, I wasn't planning to use it. It's just…"

  He grinned. "Why don’t you admit it feels good in your hands?”

  It did feel good. "Something like that.”

  Clarence grinned. "Okay, I know a range where we can fire off a couple of belts and remember what it takes to hit something. You up for it?”

  “Go ahead and fix it up.”

  They packed the M-60 and ammo belts in a pair of waterproof ponchos and strolled outside. Eva emerged from the pack of reporters. "Kaz, Clarence, where're you going?” She looked at the bundle they were carrying and recognized the weapon, “Jesus, that’s the M-60 machine gun you have there. Does that mean you found him?"

  “No, we haven’t.”

  She grimaced. “I hate guns. Especially big, mean, ugly guns like that one.”

  “It’s not a lady’s gun.” He didn’t notice her angry look, “Me and Clarence are going off to fire off a few rounds, a bit of therapy. We need a break, something to clear our heads from everything that’s happened around here, so we can work out what to do next. Shredding a few targets beats the shrink’s couch every time.”

  She raised her eyebrows. "That’s an interesting way to clear your head. How about I come with you?"

  "I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll see you later."

  "Is that a promise?” Eva called as he left. He didn't answer.

  They arrived at the range in what had once been a quarry. The targets were arranged against a one-hundred-foot sheer cliff to stop bullets skittering away at random. They climbed out of the car, and another vehicle pulled up behind them. He recognized the Porsche 911 belonging to Eva McCoy.

  "Something tells me we’ve been followed."

  He grimaced. "And something tells me she's going to be difficult to get rid of. Not that I'm saying we should get rid of her. That's a nice-looking girl, something to brighten up the day.”

  “She’s a reporter.”

  “Maybe, but there aren’t too many men in this place. In fact, they're all men, at least until she pulled up."

  She came across to them, all smiles. Walker watched for any sign of a covert camera or microphone and drew a blank. She understood what he was doing and shook her head.

  "This isn't business. I came strictly for pleasure. Like you."

  "Pleasure? What do you know about guns?”

  “It’s been a long time since I did any shooting, so it’s time I put that right. Besides, my readers, the former military man, will want to be reminded what it's like to shoot one of these things.”

  "Well, uh..."

  "Don't get me wrong, I don't want people to think our Sheriff is riding around the city with a machine gun in the trunk of his car. Just general background stuff is all. Do you mind if I join you?"

  He couldn’t think of a suitable objection, and she followed them inside. They went to the extreme edge of the range, and Clarence used the machine gun first. Lying prone, with the bipod extended, he put the butt to his shoulder, took aim, and opened fire.

  Short bursts echoed across the range, and all heads turned to watch. He continued until the belt emptied. Kaz reeled in his target and wasn't surprised he'd literally turned it to pulp. He prepared to fire the next belt, and it took him time to settle into the right position. His mind was still reeling from the events of the past days. Discovering the Mexican was his wife's killer, the desperate hunt to find him, and the threat to his job.

  It was more than a threat to his job. It was a threat to everything he held dear; his city under siege and people terrified by the one-man killing spree. And regardless of whether he nailed the killer or not, Mayor Bridges had decided to ease him out and put his own man Rick Tolley into the job. Probably they worked on a quid pro quo basis. ‘You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.’

  He recalled the Mayor had considerable business interests in the city, including a chain of women's fashion stores, which explained something else. The reason he wouldn't consider closing the malls was because of the damage it would do to his own businesses. Once he got his crony into the Sheriff's job, he’d be free to do what he wanted anywhere in the city. Bridges was a tough businessman, continually looking to expand his business empire. With the new Sheriff to back him up it would be easy to squeeze competitors out, so he could buy them out at a fraction of their value.

  Maybe I’ve got it wrong, but it all adds up. From what I know of the Mayor and of Tolley, I don't think I’m too far wide of the mark.

  Wheeler patted him on the shoulder, shaking him out of his reverie. "You're ready to fire."

  He pulled the butt into his shoulder, took aim, and squeezed off a dozen rounds. Clarence squinted through the scope, and he shook his head and chuckled. “That was crap, Sheriff. If I were a bad guy, I’d stand in front of the target where I’d be safe. The nearest you got was about a yard wide of the target. You're too tense. Relax, control your breathing, and think about the way you did it in Marine basic training. Try to remember what they taught
you. Do it again."

  He forced himself to calm his racing mind, relaxed his body, and the next time he fired Clarence whistled with approval. "They're all on target, and you scored some in the inner ring. Keep firing and get used to the gun."

  The big surprise came when Eva insisted on firing the weapon. “Like I said, I’m certain my readers will want to know what it's like using one of these things, a real M-60, like their daddies and granddaddies used when they were in Vietnam. And a few wars since."

  “You said you hated big, mean, ugly guns like this.”

  She smiled. “This is for research. It’s different.”

  Neither man could think of any good reason to say no. Although they assumed her shoulder would be bruised and raw by the time she’d squeezed off a few rounds. Clarence laced the third belt into the gun, and she lay prone. It was obvious she’d done it before. She tucked the butt into her shoulder, looked through the rear sight, finger curled around the trigger. She was no rookie, and she proved it when she opened fire. Unlike Kaz, she didn't need to make any adjustments to her technique. The gun vibrated, and scores of bullets spewed out of the muzzle, tearing the target into fragments. Clarence was watching through the scope, and he shook his head in disbelief.

  "I don't believe it, lady. You handle that thing like a pro. Something tells me you've done it before.

  She grinned. “I was in ROTC at college, rank of second lieutenant. They taught us to use some of the more basic weapons, like the M-16, the M4A1, and this baby. I can shoot straight, Sheriff, and I’d like to help you find this mall killer. Anything you want, you tell me."

  He looked at her with new eyes. He’d taken her for a greedy, grasping reporter, albeit a pretty one. Every newsie he'd ever encountered had been the same. Anything to get the story, and a lot of them thought the law didn’t apply to them. What was it one famous newspaper editor said? ‘Why let the truth get in the way of a good story?’

  That about summed it up. Yet maybe she was different. She'd freely given him that picture of the shooter, and now she was offering practical help. Not just a bimbo to come along and make the coffee while the men did all the shooting and had all the fun. She’d proved she could handle a light machine gun, she had basic military training, and he'd no doubt she’d prove to be a formidable ally in a gunfight. Except this was the city of Lewes. He was the Sheriff, sworn to uphold the law, and there wouldn’t be any gunfights inside his town.

  His cellphone buzzed and he answered. "This is Walker."

  "Sheriff, we have a problem.”

  His guts churned. "Not another mall shooting?"

  “No, no, it's nothing like that. An executive jet landed at Lewes Airport about an hour ago, and the passengers rented a limo. They drove into town, collected a single passenger, and drove back to the airport. The thing is, this guy is a Mexican, and they say he doesn’t have a valid passport.”

  “So?”

  “Well, uh, that means he couldn’t have had a visa to get into the United States."

  "Why are you telling me this? Call the Border Patrol, call the Feds, call anyone. We have enough on our plate trying to find the shooter and stop him killing any more people."

  "That's just it, Sheriff. One of our guys saw him entering the airport. He’s the shooter, the guy we’ve been hunting. He boarded that jet, and they're insisting on taking off.”

  He felt a surge of hope. "Whatever you do, don't let that plane take off. Call the Air Force if you need them, but don’t let it leave the runway."

  "We can't do that, Sheriff. We tried, but they denied our request."

  "They can't do that."

  "That’s the problem, they say they can. The passengers all have diplomatic immunity issued by the Mexican government, which means the aircraft is covered under the Hague Convention. As far as we're concerned, it's foreign soil. Untouchable, and unless a miracle happens, that plane will take off real soon."

  "Do what you can. I'll be right there."

  He ended the call and raced for the cruiser. "Clarence, we have to go. Lewes Airport, he's trying to get away on a private jet.”

  They leapt into the car and raced out of the parking lot. Eva was right behind them, and she had no trouble keeping up in her German sports car. They arrived at Lewes Airport ten minutes later and hurtled past the barrier. The Gulfstream was taxiing toward the runway, and he didn't wait for explanations. The tower couldn’t stop them taking off, so he’d have to.

  Instead of turning into the parking lot, he drove straight past the terminal, past the aircraft parked on the stands, and out onto the taxiway. He was picking up speed when the Gulfstream turned through one hundred and eighty degrees to face the main runway. The engines screamed as the pilot applied full power, and he released the brakes. The Gulfstream surged forward, and he went after it. The cruiser was hitting one hundred miles an hour, edging past the jet.

  His intention was to put his vehicle across the runway, so they'd have to stop. But whoever was flying the aircraft had other ideas, and he took a chance and pulled back on the column. The aircraft wasn't traveling fast enough to leave the ground, and it made a few feet off the tarmac before the wheels grounded again. The cruiser was pulling ahead, but he still couldn't swing round in front of it for fear of causing a major disaster. He had to get at least fifty yards in front to give the pilot time to pull up.

  He was edging ahead, yard by yard, and still the Gulfstream lacked sufficient takeoff speed. But it was still accelerating, and he’d be cutting it real fine. He estimated he was far enough ahead, jammed on the brakes, and swerved in front of the racing aircraft. The jet came nearer and nearer, and he thought it was going to collide with his vehicle. Inches from disaster, the pilot again pulled back on the column, and this time the Gulfstream left the ground. Immediately, the landing gear began to retract as they watched the tires nearing the cruiser.

  The jet was no more than ten feet off the ground and the wheels still partially lowered when it zoomed over the roof. One tire touched, and a dent appeared a foot wide and two feet deep. They ducked, and slowly Kaz lifted his head after it had gone past. In time to watch it climb into the sky, and it had gone, heading for the border and into Mexico. Untouchable. He'd lost.

  Chapter Five

  He drove off the runway and pulled up on the verge, still out in the middle of the airport. Eva’s Porsche raced across, and she skidded to a stop alongside him.

  "Are you guys okay?”

  He didn't answer; his brain was numb with the near escape from death. Although he’d have gladly died to prevent the escape if that’s what it took. Before he could get himself together, flashing blue lights, wailing sirens, and a bunch of airport cops clustered around them. They’d boxed in the cruiser front and back, and the Lewes Airport security chief hurried over, weapon drawn. Other cops ringed him, gripping their assault rifles, and looking like they wanted an excuse to use them.

  "Sheriff, if it was anyone else, I'd put the cuffs on you and put you in a cell. As it is, you have questions to answer, so I want you to come with me. We'll talk about this in my office."

  "My car…"

  “My men will bring it to the parking lot. We can drive back in my vehicle. Come with me.”

  They went through a rear door of the terminal. To reach his office they had to negotiate the bright lights of the departure lounge, and people stared at them, puzzled by the drama that had taken place in front of their eyes. They'd almost reached the security office, when a smooth-looking Mexican wearing evening clothes stepped in front of Kaz.

  "Preventing a diplomatic flight from leaving is a breach of Federal and State law, Sheriff, but I guess you know that."

  "Who are you?"

  "I run the consulate in Albuquerque. I came here to straighten out the formalities to enable the departure of my countrymen."

  So, this is the man who allowed a monster to escape.

  He took a step toward him, and another man materialized from behind the Consul. He moved between Walker an
d the Mexican. He was big, wide shoulders like library shelves, and a head that looked as hard as a mechanic’s toolbox.

  "Step back, Sheriff, or I’ll tear you apart.”

  He was so incandescent with fury he snapped out a curse before he thought about it. The bodyguard swung at him, and Kaz had taken enough. He dodged the blow; hit him with a three-punch combination to the lower belly that whooshed the breath out of his lungs. As he doubled over, Walker swung his arm all the way back, and threw it forward in a piledriver of a left hook. It smacked into his chin, rocking him backward. He fell to the floor, and the Consul stepped in front of him.

  "Stop, this man is part of my diplomatic staff.”

  "In that case you should tell your diplomatic staff not to attack an elected Sheriff."

  The Consul’s expression was greasy, the man confident of his privileged status. “Sheriff, you attacked him first. I saw it all.”

  “You’re a fucking liar. I don’t care who you are.”

  There was a flurry of movement in the crowd, and Mayor Bridges appeared. Kaz assumed he’d come to give support. He was wrong.

  "What are you doing here, Sheriff?"

  His savage glare puzzled him. “Trying to keep the peace, which is what they pay me for. I could ask you the same question, Mayor Bridges.”

  He frowned. “The airport authorities asked me to clear the flight, so I came to sign the necessary permits, the waivers needed for special diplomatic departures.”

  “You know who was on that flight? The guy we’ve been hunting, the guy that’s been running around Lewes killing our citizens, and you allowed him to escape? Are you for real?"

  "It was a question of diplomatic niceties.”

  “Not where murder is concerned, Mayor.”

  “I didn't have any choice."

  Kaz forced himself to stand back so he was out of range, and he couldn’t lash out at him, which he felt like doing. "You’re a moron. You've left him out there to keep on killing. All you think about is your damned businesses, about making money. You don't give a shit how many people die, as long as you can keep piling cash in your bank accounts. How much did they pay you to let that flight leave?”