The Gunman from Guadalez

by Eric Meyer

  Hardly surprising for the United States border, they'd have contingencies for escapers from illegal border crossings. They’d reached the end of the line, but she had other ideas. She kept her foot flat to the floor, speeding toward the roadblock. Walker was about to point out it would be advisable for her to stop when she swung the wheel over, simultaneously switching off the lights.

  They were off the road, driving through sand and desert scrub, bushes brushing the bodywork. Behind them the pursuing cars went past on the highway.

  She glanced across and laughed, and he could hardly believe it. Eva was enjoying it, like it was a High School prank. "We lost them, how about that?"

  He didn’t reply. It wasn't a game, and those men coming after them had guns, lots of guns. They’d be itching to use them, and by now they'd be feeling pissed and mean. She drove on for another mile out into the middle of nowhere. When he asked her where she was going, she said, "Anywhere we can hide until they've gone."

  She drove for another half-mile and didn't get any further. The Porsche zoomed up a low rise and lurched over the top of the ridge. It flew through the air and landed in deep sand. She gunned the engine and the wheels spun, but they were going nowhere. They were trapped, out of sight of the cops, but stranded in the middle of nowhere. She tried for several minutes to gain traction and free the wheels, but it wasn't going to happen. Finally, she gave up, switched off the engine, and gave them a sad look of regret.

  "I'm sorry, guys. It looks like we won’t be going any further." The tough and capable reporter’s façade had slipped, and she seemed about to collapse in a flood of tears, "I'm sorry."

  He put his hand on her shoulder. "Eva, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You did a brilliant job getting us away from the border, and with luck, we’ll be able to stay out of custody. What’re you going to do about the car?"

  "Forget the car, it's insured. How will you get to Mexico?"

  "How do you know I'm still going to Mexico?"

  She gave a low chuckle. "Because I know you, Kaz Walker. You’re not the kind of guy to give up, especially after what happened to Sheryl. I know what she meant to you, and what you meant to her.”

  “She was everything,” he said, not realizing he’d voiced the thought aloud.

  “I know.” She looked sad, “Why is it I never meet guys like you? Guys who'll stop at nothing to do the right thing by their girl."

  "Eva, that’s not true. In another time, you and me…"

  She grimaced. "Yeah, I know, I know. Don't worry about me. You need to worry about a little transportation problem. Your chances of reaching Mexico without anyone knowing you’ve crossed are close to zero. Maybe less. And that’s if you even get near the border. They won’t give up searching.”

  She was right, and yet… An idea had been buzzing in the back of his head. Curtis Brand, the pilot and owner of the Huey UH-1 Iroquois. He was the kind of guy crazy enough to try anything for a dare, and Kaz remembered the day he’d first arrived in Lewes with the Huey. It was the day of the Mayor's Parade, and the crazy fool had buzzed the marching bands in a roar of Lycoming engine and thundering rotors. Causing people to run for cover in the chaos of dropped instruments, dented tubas, ripped flags, and a sea of fists raised to the sky.

  Some of those who dived for cover were older men, those who could remember that Asian war, when the familiar roar of the Huey was often the prequel to blazing action and sudden death. Brand was the kind of guy to welcome the fury of battle, a man who’d take insane chances just for the hell of it. If anyone were likely to help them, it would be him. He used his cellphone to put through the call. When he answered, the roar of engine noise coming from the other end told him he was in the air.

  “Curtis Brand, at your service. What can I do for you?"

  "It's me, Kaz Walker. Curtis, we’re in trouble, and I need your help."

  "Right now? I'm in the air, in the middle of a job. No can do, Kaz."

  "How soon before you're available?"

  He sounded cautious. “Available for what?"

  "We're a few miles north of El Paso, and we're trying to get across the Mexican border."

  He heard the choking from the other end and smiled.

  "Kaz, tell me you're not serious. Buddy, if you’re calling me from down there, it means you're in trouble.”

  “Curtis, I…”

  “No, don’t tell me, it's all over the town. My friend, a lot of people are gunning for you.”

  “Believe me, Curtis, what we're doing is righteous. I wouldn't call you otherwise."

  "Like helping fugitives from justice to escape is righteous, making an illegal border crossing is righteous?"

  "You’ve got a point there, but if you knew why we’re doing this, you'd understand."

  He sighed. "Listen, pal, let's take the problems one at a time. Forget the legal issues. I don’t give a shit about people telling me what to do and what not to do. But like I said, I'm in the middle of a job. I won't be available for several hours. Next problem, you’re about three hundred miles from Lewes, and that's outside the range of the Huey. This engine is old and cranky, and it burns fuel like you wouldn’t believe. After the first two hundred miles the tank runs dry. So, I’d need to make a refueling stop, and that takes time."

  "Is that all?"

  “Nope. Next problem, the Mexicans would shoot me down if I made an unauthorized crossing. They're mighty prickly about who enters their airspace. Too many narcos and human traffickers crossing that border, and they tend to shoot first, if you know what I mean.”

  “I hear you. Apart from that, will you help us?"

  He heard Brand talking to himself, giving it some thought as he ran through the problems in his mind. They were in with a chance. He was thinking aloud, working through the problems.

  “Cross the border, yeah, it’d have to be after dark, so at least they wouldn't get a visual fix on me. Fly low and stay below the radar. With luck, they may not notice. Then again, they have a reputation for being trigger-happy of late. Do I chance it, or do I want to live a long and comfortable life? Fuck it, I’d die of boredom."

  “Kaz, which part of Mexico are you heading for?"

  "Ciudad Juarez."

  He choked again. "Jesus Christ, you want to fly into a war zone. Is this about the guy who's been running around Lewes killing people?"

  "That’s right. We can find him and stop him, Curtis, but we have to get over the border.”

  “Why not drive over?”

  “We tried that.”

  “They didn’t like it, huh? I guess they have an APB out on you.”

  “Yep.”

  “Who’s doing this? Just you?”

  “Me and Clarence Wheeler.”

  “Clarence? Is he sober?”

  “As a judge. And we have a reporter with us, Eva McCoy, but she’s just along for the ride."

  "So, it's just the bodies of you and Clarence to bring back when it’s all over."

  "Can you do it, Curtis? Yes or no?"

  There was a long pause, and he eventually gave the answer Kaz had been praying for.

  "Yeah, why not. Life’s too short, so I guess a chance to do some hellraising will make it more interesting, God help me. Say, if you come across one of those suitcases full of cash those narcos leave lying around, toss it my way. My business is always low on funds. You wouldn’t believe the price of avgas.”

  “Yeah, so you said. If I come across that suitcase, you’ll be the first person I think of."

  “Okay, give me the coordinates, and I'll get down there for tomorrow.”

  “No sooner?”

  “Nope, and it’ll have to be after dark. In daylight I'd be a sitting duck."

  He gave him the location and ended the call. They settled down to wait through the rest of the night and all the next day. Looking up at the clear night sky, crowded with stars. They shivered in the desert chill. Clarence was shivering for another reason. It was a long time since he'd had his last drink and was sta
rting to feel the effects of alcohol withdrawal.

  He called over to them. "You guys, I'm gonna walk around a bit, try to take my mind off it."

  He walked away and Eva looked concerned. "Is it the booze?"

  "Lack of the booze, but he'll be okay in another day or so."

  “Do you have another day?”

  He didn’t answer, and they sat waiting in comfortable silence. Eventually, she broke it when she mentioned Sheryl. "It's been a long time since her death. Too long, Kaz."

  "Maybe."

  "You should start dating again.” She met his eyes, “Why don't you start with me?"

  He was surprised, and yet... There was something indefinable between them, something unsaid. Although he still couldn’t shake Sheryl from his mind. Maybe when they got justice for her murder he could move on, though the chances didn’t look so good. Sitting here out in the boonies they seemed pulled together as if by some strange magnetism. He felt all the forgotten longing for female warmth and company return, surging through his body as he brushed her lips. He put his arms around her, and she responded by pulling him closer. But the moment didn't last, the memory of Sheryl was too strong, and he pulled away.

  "Another time, Eva."

  "It's okay."

  Under her breath, so he couldn’t hear, she murmured, "I can wait. As long as it takes."

  They dozed on the ground, stiff and cold in the bitter night air. They’d considered sitting inside the Porsche, but if the cops came across the car, they’d be sitting ducks. Out in the open they’d have a chance to escape. He found a rug in the trunk and wrapped it around her. She gave him a grateful smile and eventually, she fell asleep. He stayed with her, awake, watching for any sign of threats. The sun came up, and at last Clarence returned. He looked better, as if he’d leeched the alcohol out of his system.

  He saw them there together, and he managed a smile. "It's gonna be hot, Kaz."

  “I'd say it's already hot. When we reach Ciudad Juarez, it’ll be even hotter."

  “Like hell?”

  He nodded. “Just like hell.”

  The light was starting to fade when Curtis called. Once again, the clatter of rotors and the roar of the engine almost drowned out his voice.

  "I'm about an hour out. It’ll be pretty dark down there for me to land, can you show any lights?"

  He glanced at Eva. "How about the Porsche? Switch on the headlamps, that should be enough."

  She nodded, and he explained about the car to Brand. "That'll do just fine. Are you telling me you have a real live Porsche stranded out there in the desert? Why not call a breakdown truck?" A pause, "No, don't tell me, you don't want people asking questions. When you hear the rotors, light her up, and I'll come in."

  It was maybe fifty minutes later when they heard the roar of truck engines. Minutes later, the clatter of rotor blades, and first he thought Curtis was early. Except it wasn't just one rotorcraft, it was four or five, and the trucks were getting nearer.

  Eva looked alarmed. "What's going on, Kaz? Surely they're not looking for us out here?"

  That had been his first idea, but he dismissed it. No one called out a small army to track down a single vehicle carrying one or two fugitives. "No, it's something else."

  Clarence came up with the answer. "We're close to Fort Bliss, Air National Guard, and it looks to me like they’re running a night training exercise. We're stranded slap bang in the middle of the action. This place will soon be swarming with troops, helicopters, and Christ knows what else. Damn."

  Walker cursed. This was the worst possible luck. He called Curtis to explain the situation. "Is there anything you can do? If we delay the pickup, they could stumble across us. Even if they don't, that Mexican bastard is getting further and further away."

  Curtis chuckled. "You know, I’m thinking about the best place to hide a tree."

  “In a forest?"

  "You got it in one. I'll be just one more helicopter in the middle of the others. These night exercises are always chaotic, and I doubt they'll notice my bird dropping down in in the middle of them."

  "But they're flying Black Hawks. Surely they’d notice."

  "It’ll be almost dark, the visibility is crap, and they won't notice the difference."

  He wasn't entirely certain and didn't share Brand's confidence, but he was the man with the helicopter. "If you say so."

  "I do. Stay cool, I'll be with you in ten."

  At first, they didn't notice it amidst the roar of truck engines driving around them, unseen but too close for comfort, and the clatter of the helicopters. He was right. One more didn't make any difference. The Huey touched down, and they ran forward, Clarence carrying the M-60. He went into the cockpit and nodded his thanks to Curtis.

  "I owe you one, man. When we get back, you just name your price."

  He adjusted the controls, and the helicopter took off. Ascending so fast he felt he left his stomach back on the ground. "Is that right, you're headed for Ciudad?"

  "That’s correct. If you can put us down as close as possible the city, then it would be great."

  "Sure, sure, I can do that. But it's the getting back bit I'm not so sure about. You know how they feel about gringos in that city. I saw Clarence carrying an M-60 and that you're packing heavy iron. But if they think you're a threat to their cozy little empire, they’ll chop you into little pieces. Kaz, tell me you're not going up against the narcos."

  "I can't tell you that."

  He shook his head. "Jesus Christ, you really are. Have you written your will?"

  He grinned. "Nope, I haven't. No one to leave it to."

  He grimaced. "Dammit, I forgot. I'm sorry. Maybe it'll work out. What about the car?"

  "Eva says she'll claim on the insurance."

  "She'll need to. Once people discover it out there, it'll be gone before you can say goodbye. Gone in sixty seconds, so they say."

  "It's no problem."

  "Your funeral, buddy."

  He went into the cabin. Clarence and Eva were sitting on the jump seats, staring at the city of El Paso brushing past.

  "We won't be long. Eva, Curtis will take you back, and it might be best if you forgot about the car. Maybe you can report it stolen but keep your name out of this."

  She gave him a serious look. "When I get back?"

  "That's right."

  "Okay, I can do that. I'll contact the cops and tell them. Make up some story about it being taken from the parking lot. Don't worry about me."

  "I'd only worry if you were with us. It's no place for a lady."

  In the darkness he didn't see her expression. A flash of anger, and she said nothing. If he'd read her mind, he'd have understood.

  "Buster, it's just as well I'm no lady. Just in case you didn't know. Some of us journalist play rough, and I can play rough with the toughest of them."

  Curtis shouted back, "Five minutes, this is a short ride. It's lucky I don't charge by the hour."

  They watched the earth slide past, desert, urban areas, and then they were flying over a small forest, a tangle of dark green in the night. He thought back to the newsreels of the Vietnam War, and then they were over the long line that was the fence, the dividing line between the United States and Mexico. They were several miles from the El Paso crossing, but they could see the bright overhead lights that illuminated the crossing, and still a long line of vehicles queuing to get across from both sides. Several seconds elapsed, and below them things changed. There were less streetlights in the urban area, but where they existed, it was possible even in the night to see the dereliction and poverty. Whatever these people did for a living, many had connections to illegal narcotics, it didn't reflect in their living standards. What he saw confirmed what he'd heard about Ciudad. A shithole.

  * * *

  Almost fifty miles from where the Huey started to descend, Paco greeted his childhood friend, Diego Rivera. "My friend, I can't say how glad I am you're back. What happened to your head?"

  "It's nothing,
those fucking Federales ambushed me at the shopping mall, and I've been trying to complete the job ever since."

  "My friend, the hit was in Ciudad, and yet you've been up in New Mexico, Lewes. Killing people by the sound of it, why did you go there?"

  Rivera looked vacant for several seconds, and then he smiled. "The shopping mall. I needed to do the hit.

  "In Lewes?"

  "Yes, it was the nearest."

  He was talking nonsense, and eventually, Paco gave up trying to make sense of it. "Diego, don't worry about that. It's all over. Although the Federales are still searching for you, so we need to keep you hidden until the heat dies down. The first thing is to get someone to look your head, and I can arrange for a private consultation in the hospital at Ciudad. The limo will take you tomorrow, and you can slip in through the rear entrance. I know the surgeon, and he's a good man. He'll fix you up, so don't worry."

  "I'm not worried, Paco. Why should I be worried?"

  He put on a wide grin. "No reason to be worried, no reason at all. Everything is fine."

  It wasn't fine, apart from his memory failure. He was shaking like he had a serious illness. It wasn't an illness, unless you called cocaine addiction an illness. "Jefe, my head hurts. I need something for the pain and something to clear my head. A few lines of coke, that’s not much to ask for."

  He considered it for a few moments and shook his head. "I don't think so, my friend. You've been hitting it too hard lately, and it could make your head injury worse. I tell you what. I'll order the doctor to give you something to ease the shaking. Ease the withdrawal, a tranquillizer or something like that."

  He started to walk away but Ribera grabbed his arm. "I need coke. I have to have it now."

  His eyes were dilated, and the two men who'd brought him in looked around, starting to reach inside their coats. Paco considered whether to give them the go-ahead. Put a bullet in him and put an end to his problems. But he reconsidered. Diego had been useful in the past, and besides, he still carried that .22 Beretta tucked under his coat. He'd seen him kill with it, and he could draw, aim, and fire while other people were still taking a breath. It wasn't worth the risk, especially for such an old friend. Maybe later. He gestured for his men to back off.