The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  Bridges reddened with fury. And maybe there was something else in his expression. Guilt? "You’d better shut your mouth, Sheriff Walker. I’m the Mayor, which means I’m your boss, so watch your tongue. He’s gone, so forget him. People die all the time."

  "You mean like my wife, Sheryl?"

  A shrug. “She's dead and buried. Forget about her and get on with your life."

  He took a step forward, fired off a hard left, and followed it up with several quick-fire jabs. They smashed into his nose and almost crushed it flat against his face. Bridges bent over, trying to stop the blood pouring down his face, and he stared back at Walker with bitter hatred. "You're fired."

  "Too late, I already resigned."

  He tossed him his badge, and it skidded across the floor. Bridges glanced at it, and then back at him. "I want your gun as well."

  “It’s my personal weapon, so go fuck yourself."

  The Airport security chief led the bleeding mayor away. Clarence grabbed Walker before he started after Bridges for a second go at him.

  “Hold it, Kaz. Don't do it. He's not worth it."

  “Maybe not, but I’ll nail the bastard, Clarence.”

  “The Mayor?”

  He shook his head. “No, you’re right about him, he’s not worth it. I meant the bastard who just got away on that jet. He goes down, and I don't give a shit about diplomatic niceties or anything else."

  "They’re headed into Mexico, Kaz. Tell me you’re not serious."

  "I'll follow him to hell, if that's what it takes to put him down."

  Eva came up, and they tried hard to dissuade him from doing anything crazy.

  "Jesus Christ, Kaz, do you know what you're up against? This guy is a hitman for one of the major cartels. Dammit, those Gulfstreams don't come cheap, so anyone that can afford to run that kind of machinery is in the big time. I’m talking billionaire class, and they employ small armies to defend their turf. Don't even think about it."

  There was nothing to think about. He and this guy had a history. The man had murdered his wife, and it wouldn't be over until it was over. They were still arguing when a cruiser screamed across the tarmac and braked to a halt, feet away from where they were standing. Deputy Gerard Wilkes was driving, and Rick Tolley occupied the shotgun seat. He corrected himself. It would be Sheriff Rick Tolley now. Rick climbed out, adjusting his gun belt so his holster hung at the right angle. He put his hand close to the butt of his piece, like a real gunslinger, at least a wannabe professional gunslinger. He suppressed a smile and waited for Tolley to walk up to them.

  He wore a grim expression. “I'm sorry, Kaz, but I have to take you in." He was anything but sorry. Rick had been smarting ever since Kaz got the top job, and he’d been waiting for his chance to muscle in, "You know how it goes, there’ll be questions to answer. We can’t do this here; we have to return to the office. I’m putting the cuffs on you, Kaz, so don’t give me any shit."

  He was barely listening to what Tolley said until the words got through to his brain. He shook his head in astonishment. Sheriff for no more than a few minutes, and it was already going to his head.

  “Don't be stupid, Rick.”

  It didn’t make any difference. The new Sheriff intended to be stupid. He pulled his gun and pointed it at Walker’s belly. "You gonna come quietly, or do we have to do this the hard way?"

  He still couldn’t believe it was happening. “How about the hard way, Rick?”

  If it hadn't been so serious, he would’ve have found it funny. The guy was a fool. Once again, the Marine training saved him. He looked to the left, eyes wide, and Tolley followed the direction of his gaze. Kaz's right arm came up and knocked the pistol aside. He stepped inside Tolley’s reach, put a knee into his belly, and snatched the gun away.

  "Rick, go back to the office. Be happy you got the Sheriff’s job."

  Gasping with pain, panting for breath, he snarled, "Deputy Wilkes, arrest him. Shoot him if you have to.”

  Gerard paused, uncertain what to do. He came in with the cuffs in one hand and gun in the other. Walker was ready for him. He didn't want to hurt him, but neither could he let him take him in. He swept his right leg behind the deputy’s ankle, toppled him onto his back, relieved him of his gun, and put his boot on his chest. In an eyeblink the guy was on the ground staring up at him with a stunned expression on his face. He struggled, and Kaz pushed harder.

  "Stay down there, Wilkes. Believe me, that's the safest option.”

  The deputy stopped struggling, he relieved him of his cuffs, and took Tolley’s cuffs. He put one bracelet on each man’s wrist and threaded the spare cuffs through the loop and around a low fence post. It looked strong enough to stop them wrenching it out of the ground.

  He had their attention and made sure they were listening. "I want you guys to stay here and behave yourselves while we leave. Rick, where’re your handcuff keys?"

  "Back at the office!"

  He shook his head. "I asked you nicely, and now I have to do it the hard way. Clarence, lend me a hand. We’ll strip him naked and search his clothes."

  "In the left pants pocket."

  "Now you're being sensible.”

  He searched both men, took their keys, radios, and cellphones.

  "I'll leave your property by the entrance. I reckon they'll find you in an hour or so, and they'll send for another set of keys for the cuffs. In the meantime, enjoy your rest."

  "Fuck you, Walker!" Tolley snarled, "You're building a long list of crimes, and when we find you, we’ll put you away for ten years."

  He didn't even bother to reply. They climbed into the Sheriff’s cruiser, which was no longer his. Eva climbed into the rear seat, and they drove to the parking lot, where he removed the keys and tossed them into a drain.

  "I wouldn't want them thinking I’d stolen the car. Now they've fired me it's the property of the Sheriff’s department. Problem is, we don't have any wheels."

  "Oh yes we do. Give me a few minutes to get my car."

  Eva jogged back to the runway, and she returned after ten minutes in the Porsche 911. Clarence had to bend almost double to occupy the rear seats. His problems got worse when Kaz removed the M-60 and ammunition belts from the trunk of the Sheriff’s cruiser, wrapped them in the waterproof ponchos, and passed the bundle to Clarence.

  “Look after it. Where I’m going, I’m likely to need it.”

  Clarence still hadn't got it. “Kaz, tell me you’re not going to Mexico."

  "I'm going to Mexico, and nothing’s going to stop me."

  "Mexico is a big country. You’ll never find him.”

  He looked at Eva. "Maybe, maybe not, but it won’t stop me trying. I'll cross the border at Ciudad and start looking. The way I hear it, if you're looking for a Mexican hitman, Ciudad Juarez is the place to start."

  She frowned. "Kaz, no. Don't do this."

  "I’ve made up my mind and nothing's gonna stop me. This bastard’s killing days are over."

  From the back, Clarence groaned as he tried to adopt a more comfortable position. "Dammit, every time I move the machine gun digs into me."

  “Stick with it, buddy. They pack heavy firepower down south of the border, and I’ll need it. But first, I need to get there.” He raised an eyebrow and looked at Eva.

  She shrugged. "I'll take you down there. But it's not a good idea, and I think you know why. They’ll kill you.”

  Clarence added weight to her objections. “Kaz, what do you have, a machine gun, the two or three pistols you took off the deputies, 9mm Glock 17s, and your old Browning Hi-Power?"

  “It’ll have to be enough.”

  “I’m coming with you, my friend. You can’t do it alone.”

  “Clarence, no. You can’t put your life on the line like this.”

  “I reckon we Marines have to stick together.” He grinned, “Save your breath, I’m coming.”

  Eva groaned and murmured, “Macho motherfuckers, I thought that thing went out of fashion with John Wayne.”
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  Either they didn’t hear her, or they took no notice. He knew Clarence was right. He couldn’t do it alone. “It’s appreciated, buddy. I could use all the help I can get.”

  “No sweat, but we still need more firepower.”

  “I can't go back to my apartment. They’ll be there any moment looking for me. Clarence, what do you have at home?"

  He grimaced. “My place is not much bigger than a closet, and all I have is an old World War II Luger. My grandfather brought it back from Europe, and I kind of inherited it. But it's not much use against the kind of firepower those narcos have.”

  “That’s all you have, a Luger?”

  He looked embarrassed. “I had a couple more guns, but I sold them to buy booze."

  “Okay, we’ll have to manage.”

  Eva drove fast toward El Paso, almost three hundred miles away. The Porsche ate up the miles, and provided they didn't encounter a traffic stop, they'd be there in four hours. She drove expertly, and the little car raced along the road like it ran on rails. He was curious about something, and halfway there he had to ask.

  “Eva, why are you doing this? Is it for a story?"

  She flashed him a glance. "Nope, it isn't for any story. I'm doing this for you, Kaz. You're a good guy, and you need help. I mean it, you can count on me."

  "That doesn't explain why you're taking such a chance."

  She took her eyes off the road for a moment and turned her head to stare at him. "Because I like you, Kaz. Isn't that enough? I like you a lot. And I’m sorry about Sheryl, but that’s the way it is. "

  Their eyes met briefly, and she looked back at the road, making a tiny adjustment to the steering wheel. They drove on in silence, and he had much to think about. He'd lived like a monk since Sheryl died, and in other circumstances, Eva would’ve been the kind of girl he'd like to have spent time with, although he was always wary of her job. Still, he was beginning to suspect she wasn't such a bottom feeder as the rest of her colleagues.

  He switched his mind back to the task at hand. Working out how to find and kill this man when he and Clarence got across the border. He still didn’t have a clue when they reached the city of El Paso. She slowed and approached the border crossing. The queue was lengthy. He gazed into the distance, and under the bright illumination of the security lights they were searching every vehicle going south. Unusual, it was normal to be thorough with traffic heading north, but they weren’t so careful about southbound traffic. There could be but one reason.

  "We have a problem. They must be looking for us. Even if they weren’t, when they find the machine gun, they’ll arrest us on the spot."

  "We'll have to chance it,” Eva murmured, “Just look innocent, and hope they don't stop us."

  He smiled. "A car like this, they'll show plenty of interest, and that's assuming the cops in Lewes haven't put out an APB on the registration plate. Besides, I’m still wearing my Sheriff’s uniform. They can’t miss me.”

  "What else can you do?"

  He watched the commercial traffic approach the border from the north, and he had an idea. "They're searching the trucks, but the searches are not that thorough. Their focus is on the cars. We’ll find a truck, and me and Clarence can hide ourselves in the load and hope they don't see us."

  She turned around into a side street close to the end of a traffic queue and waited. It wasn’t long before the ideal vehicle stopped a few yards away at the end of the queue. An open back truck loaded with huge wooden drums of cable for communications or power, all strapped down with steel ropes.

  "That's the one. Clarence, let’s go. Thanks Eva. Thanks for everything."

  Almost without thinking he bent his head toward her and kissed her. Just a gentle brush of the lips, and it didn't mean anything. Or maybe it meant everything. He helped Clarence unwind from the cramped rear seats, clutching the parcel of the M-60 and belts. They ducked down and raced toward the truck. They managed to climb on the back without anyone sounding the alarm and wormed their way between the huge wooden cable reels until they were close to the cab.

  They hid in a tiny space, as much out of sight as possible. The chances were good they'd escape a cursory check, and the border guards would likely be tired and bored. It seemed like forever they were huddled in the tiny cramped space between the cable reels. The truck edged forward a few yards, stopped, and repeated the process until it was under the lights. A guard shouted an order to stop and when it was stationary, he climbed onto the back.

  He slowly made his way forward, tapping the reels and shining his flashlight between them. Kaz heard him yawn. He’d be looking forward to going off shift and getting some shuteye. They crouched down lower, hardly daring to breathe, and they almost made it. But almost wasn’t enough. A moment later the flashlight shone down on them, and they heard the distinctive sound of a gun being cocked.

  "You men, you're under arrest. Get out of there. Hands in the air."

  It had ended even before they’d crossed the border. They'd be under arrest for attempting to cross illegally, and then there'd be the charges he’d face back in Lewes. Mayor Bridges would make certain his pal Rick Tolley charged him with everything on the statute books, and probably plenty that wasn’t. As if that wasn't bad enough, the killer had escaped. He was in Mexico, safe from pursuit. Free to kill again.

  Clarence murmured, "Kaz, if you have any ideas, now would be a good time to say.”

  He didn’t have any ideas. What filled his mind was a crushing sense of defeat. Everything had gone blank, the past, the future, and especially the present, a big chunk of nothing. Nada, zilch.

  "There's nothing we can do. It’s over. We’re looking at spending the next few years in jail. Clarence, I’ll tell them I coerced you into coming along, but they may not believe me. I'm just sorry I ever got you into this."

  And I'm sorry I won't be able to get justice for Sheryl, and all the other people that bastard killed. Not until I get out, and that's not gonna be any time soon.

  The guard shouted again, a hard-edged threat to come out and bring their possessions with them, or else. He’d be used to migrants trying to cross the border, although apart from the occasional fugitive from justice, migrants tended to go the other way. From the poverty-stricken shithouses of South America, places like Venezuela, to the golden opportunities that beckoned in the United States. Promising them work, food, and a roof over their heads.

  Under the wary eyes of the guard they jumped down from the truck, Clarence still clutching the bundle containing the M-60. With the guard behind them, gun aimed at their backs, they walked back along the line of vehicles waiting to be inspected. Back toward a plain, brutal-looking building, all concrete block and iron bars, an immigration detention center.

  It was the beginning of the end. Kaz recalled the times he'd seen this happen on the newsreels, dazed, despairing Hispanics, their dreams in tatters. Now it was happening to them. More guards watched from the inspection booths, and two more stood in the doorway of the building. Waiting for them to arrive so they could strip them of everything, their possessions, dignity, and freedom, and toss them into a cell.

  So far, the guard hadn’t checked them for weapons. Neither had he checked the bundle that Clarence carried. At any time, they could have used the guns to make a break for it, and the M-60 would give them a serious edge. Except this was a legitimate stop, and neither man was in the business of shooting at appointed law officers carrying out their duties. All that could save them was a miracle. And miracles were few and far between in this place of vanished dreams. Until…

  They heard the roar of a high-powered engine and the squeal of tires. Expensive tires, on an expensive vehicle, and the roar came from an expensive engine. Eva gunned the Porsche 911 to high speed, and she was powering toward them. Less than ten yards away she slammed on the parking brake, wrenched the wheel over, and executed an almost perfect handbrake turn. She squealed to a stop and shouted, "Get in, fast! Don’t screw around!"

  Clarence m
oved first, leaping into the tiny rear seats, spitting and cursing as he struggled to fit into the cramped space with the cumbersome machine gun. The guard shouted at them to stop, and his gun was about to spit bullets. Walker swung around, and he was close enough to deliver a precision kick into the guy’s groin. He went down howling in agony, and he relieved him of his gun in case he recovered soon enough to open fire. Eva was already moving when he leapt into the passenger seat, and she hit the gas pedal.

  Two seconds later, the first shots spat out from behind, chewing up the tarmac, but the colossal acceleration got them out of trouble before the guards had a chance to correct their aim. In seconds, they were out of accurate pistol range.

  She glanced across at them as they hurtled through the streets of El Paso. "Pretty neat, huh? How about that for a rescue?"

  In the back, Clarence managed to twist his head around enough to stare out through the rear window. "We’re not out of trouble yet."

  The night air carried the sound of sirens, and blue lights reflected off the buildings as the pursuing cruisers charged after them. She gunned the engine hard, driving through the almost deserted streets at ridiculous speeds. When he glanced at the dashboard display, they were hitting one hundred and sixty miles an hour. She drove like someone born to it.

  Born to be wild, he grinned to himself, still stunned by their near-miraculous escape.

  She was obviously expert at driving the low-slung sports car, and she soon left their pursuers in the dust. The dark tide of hopelessness began to ebb. She’d given them another chance. They were getting away from the pursuit. It all changed when they left El Paso and passed a military base. His exhilaration faded. Another cruiser was parked close to the entrance. The cop saw them race past and joined in the chase, lights flashing and sirens wailing. The other vehicles were still coming, and the cacophony was like a bunch of hunters sighting their prey and whooping with glee. She accelerated again and raced away, until up ahead they saw more lights flashing. A roadblock. They’d reacted faster than they’d have believed possible.