Above The Law

by Tim Green

  "You think a man like Chase can't swing something like this?" Jose asked. "Taking out a handful of Mexicans, a crazy woman lawyer, and a cop like Gibbons? He's like a teenager playing with little kids, pulling quarters from your ears."

  "You're the cop who went bad," Trent said.

  "Nice try, friend," Jose said when he heard the metallic clicking sounds on the line. He snapped the phone shut to keep Trent from triangulating the signal.

  Jose left through the back door, searching the dusty ground and worming his way through the spot in the faded fence where a slat board had gone missing years ago. On the other side he found several footprints around the edge of a mud puddle, some from combat boots and one from a cowboy boot. He knelt at the puddle's edge and poked at a Marlboro filter half buried in the mud. He traced the edge of the smooth flat boot print with his index finger to test its age. He stood and placed his own size twelve into the print, proving to himself that the man who had made it wore something north of a fifteen. It must have been Gage.

  Jose headed off down the garbage-strewn alley and flipped his phone open again. He walked as he dialed, heading for his truck and listening to the steady ring, his heart knocking as he anticipated the sound of her voice.

  CHAPTER 56

  CASEY WATCHED THE SUN DROP BELOW THE BANK OF CLOUDS TO the west, then waited for the blue to burn down to a dark purple before she pulled out of the Quik Mart and drove the last two miles of the map, turning off the road into the gravel drive of the quarry. Off to one side the earth gave way, plummeting several hundred feet before its broken shards came to rest on a stone floor yet to be blasted into usable pieces. Scrub trees and ragged weeds bordered the rocky slope on the other side of the path. She killed her headlights and rolled slowly down the path, coming to a stop just this side of two sentinel boulders guarding the road before getting out.

  Crickets trilled, celebrating the cool night air. Casey moved among the weeds, their dew soaking her pants legs and shoes. Peering out from behind one of the ten-foot rocks, Casey studied a moonscape of broken rock, chasms, and pitted slabs that stretched nearly to the purple furnace of the horizon. Off to one side, a decrepit trailer sagged in its bed of weeds like a wet cigarette. Beyond that a tractor trailer rumbled, puking diesel into the crisp air, its running lights strung up like those of a carnival freak show.

  Casey's breath shortened. Her heart galloped and her fingers gripped the rock's cool face. A man in jeans walked the length of the trailer with a machine gun slung over his shoulder. The latch clanged and the tall door screeched as he swung it open and peered inside, shouting something in Spanish and pointing into the container. He shouted again and shook his gun, waving to someone inside, then fired a single shot into the sky. Casey heard the cries of distress and saw the bearded man reach into the trailer and yank a young girl out by the arm. The chilly air carried her gasping sobs across the open space, turning Casey's stomach.

  The man slammed shut the door and retreated, dragging the sobbing girl into the weeds, where she grew quiet. Casey swallowed the bile back down her throat and considered a series of wild actions she could take, none of which made a bit of sense. The shadows deepened, however, and she moved forward from her hiding place, determined, if nothing else, to get close enough to see the plate numbers of the eighteen-wheeler. Crouching, she scurried across the rough ground until she could worm her way under the edge of the old construction trailer, crawl through, dampened and dirtied, and part the hem of weeds.

  Casey widened her eyes, then narrowed them, trying in vain to discern the license-plate numbers. She studied the rest of the eighteen-wheeler, Tracy mud flaps, a red cab with a black rooster on the door and a circle of words around it Casey couldn't read.

  She focused on the spot in the weeds where the man and the girl had disappeared. She thought she saw some movement and heard a low groaning. She plotted a path forward to where she might get a better look at the plate and the logo on the cab. Just as she started out from under her hiding place, she heard, beyond the hammering of her own heart, the crunch of gravel and tires. Headlights glowed beyond the eighteen-wheeler, their beams thick with dust and bugs. The man popped up from his spot in the weeds, slipped the machine gun strap over his neck, and struggled with his belt buckle as he ran for the eighteen-wheeler. He knelt beside the tractor trailer, the gun raised to his shoulder until he recognized the car, a police cruiser, and stood to wave. As the man with the gun strode toward the car, Casey forgot about the license plate and calculated the distance between herself and the girl lying in the weeds. Her heart felt tight and adrenaline surged through her veins.

  She crawled on her belly from beneath the trailer, staying low and out of the beam of the headlights, which now outlined the dark shape of the big eighteen-wheeler. Into the weeds she went, frantically parting their brittle stalks, afraid the rasping sound would be heard, but urged by a growing panic. A sniffle broke the silence around her and she realized she'd gone past the girl. She pushed through the growth toward the sound and nearly fell over the young girl who cowered, clutching the torn dress to her naked body.

  Casey knelt and helped drape her with the tattered remnants. She froze at the sound of Gage's voice. She peeked over the tops of the scrubby vegetation, and he emerged like a giant from the police car.

  The big cop fixed the tall hat on his head and swung open the rear door of his cruiser, snarling and snatching at whoever sat in the back. When Casey saw Isodora, her spine went rigid. With her little girl crying softly at her breast, Isodora tottered alongside Gage with deadened eyes. They lifted her into the back and then turned their attention to the weeds.

  "Come on," Casey said, hissing and dragging the young girl by the arm, crawling away from the eighteen-wheeler.

  Behind her, she heard the voices of Gage and the man with the machine gun moving closer. Casey and the girl broke free from the brush and crouched on a flat open space of rubble between the weeds and a rising mound of slag that wrapped itself around the work area, broken only by the boulder-lined road. If they scaled the slag they'd be seen, but no other cover existed except for a pile of enormous old tires resting next to a hill of broken rock.

  "This is where she was," the man's voice said from deep in the weeds.

  "Come out, you little bitch!" Gage said, bellowing in the dark and moving their way.

  Casey grabbed the girl's arm, hissed at her to be quiet and stay low, and half dragged her across the naked ground toward the tires. When they reached the pile, Casey poked her head up, then ducked as a beam from Gage's flashlight played over the mound of spent rubber. Motioning for the girl to follow, Casey wormed her way into the pile. The upright tires stood nearly six feet high. When they got close to the center of the pile, Casey shoved the girl into one of the tires that lay flat on the ground, signaling for silence before stuffing herself into the other half. The smell of rubber filled her nose and the dry dusty air nearly set off a sneeze. Casey pinched her nose shut.

  The men's voices reached the edge of the weeds, and they, too, saw the tires. Gage redirected his light, and the shadows grew and shrank all around Casey as he drew nearer.

  "Where are you?" Gage shouted. "Get out here now or we'll cut you up into little pieces!"

  The other man shouted in Spanish and Casey could see the girl's wide-eyed face in the wavering light and she pressed her finger tight to her lips, shaking her head. She found the girl's hand and squeezed. The scuffing sound of boots punctuated the men's heavy breathing.

  "You think in there?" the other man said in a low voice.

  "Maybe," Gage said, and the pile of tires shifted as he pushed several aside.

  The girl's face crumpled and tears began to spill from the corners of her eyes. She shook her head and her breathing grew louder. Casey tightened her grip. The center of the beam exposed the old tires around them, sweeping back and forth, then coming to a dead stop.

  Gage filled his lungs like two big tanks. A small whistle sounded in his nose.


  He kicked the tire they hid in, but Casey kept herself molded tight to the inner edge.

  "Is that something?" the other man asked.

  Gage said nothing for several moments before the beam disappeared.

  "No," he said. "She's not in here."

  The rasping sound of their boots on the stone began to recede. Casey exhaled and patted the young girl's hand in the darkness.

  Then Casey's phone rang loudly, reverberating around the tire. Her hand snapped to her hip and silenced it. Her stomach heaved and the sounds around her seemed amplified.

  Boots slapped the stone, and Gage tore at the tire pile, roaring as he threw them aside one by one, stirring a storm of dust. When he reached their hiding place, he tried to raise their tire. With a wild cry, he reached inside and tore the young girl from her spot, clubbing her head with the butt of his gun and slamming her to the ground.

  Then he came for Casey.

  CHAPTER 57

  GAGE TWISTED HIS FINGERS UP IN CASEY'S HAIR AND DRAGGED her from inside the tire. Casey shrieked and swung her fists and kicked at Gage's groin, doubling him over in pain, but not enough to loosen his grip.

  The other man chortled, and Gage sprang up, backhanding Casey as he did. Stars exploded in front of her eyes. Her ears rang, and she tasted blood. Gage punched her in the stomach so hard she felt her legs go slack, and she crumpled to the ground, gasping. Above her Gage wheezed, and placed his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His flashlight lay at a crazy angle, lighting up the tire pile and glinting on the blood that flowed down the young girl's face.

  The girl groaned and began to crawl. Gage saw her and sprang, stamping on her hand, crushing the bones. She screamed as he ground his boot, then lifted her by the hair and kicked her toward the eighteen-wheeler.

  "Take her," Gage said. "Close it up and get the fuck going."

  "What about her?" the man said, waving his gun barrel at Casey.

  "She look Mexican to you?" Gage said in a growl. "Don't be stupid. I'll take care of her."

  The other man grinned and nodded and took the young girl by the scruff of the neck, disappearing into the weeds. Gage bent over again, collecting his breath. Casey heard the rear doors to the eighteen-wheeler squeak shut and the bolt was rammed home. After a minute the eighteen-wheeler's engine whined, its gears clanked, and its brakes hissed before it rumbled off into the night.

  "You keep coming around me for a reason, girl," Gage said, raising his head and grinning her way. "Must be you only learn the hard way. Yeah, that happens."

  Casey tried to thrash her legs, but they barely moved. She groped the rocky ground, clawing herself away. She felt Gage's thick fingers on her skin as he stuffed one hand into the waist of her pants and wound her hair around his other fist, lifting her off the ground with incredible ease. He propelled her forward, through darkness and the weeds, her feet barely touching the earth until they reached the vehicles. Gage slammed her down on the trunk of his cruiser, knocking the wind out of her, dizzying her with pain, then disappeared for an instant. Casey rolled off the trunk, lost her balance, and began to crawl.

  She heard Gage coming. He lifted her from the ground and again slammed her facedown on the trunk, sending fresh waves of pain through her nose. Her face slipped on the car's painted surface in a smear of her own blood. Gage rolled her on her side, winding tape around her wrists even as she struggled. He loosely bound her ankles, then yanked a bandana from his pocket and stuffed it into her mouth before wrapping her face with a third band of tape.

  "Now you'll sound good," he said, breathing heavy and rolling her onto her stomach. "Just a little whimper."

  She heard him click open a knife, then felt the prick of its tip just beneath her eye and she went rigid, squeezing her eyes shut. Gage bent over her, leaning close enough so that she could feel his breath on her face as he whispered.

  "What did I say to you?" he asked plaintively. "I said, 'This is not your business,' but here you are, sticking your nose in."

  Casey choked and gagged, gulping down the blood that ran from the back of her nose into her throat. She felt the point of the blade pushing up underneath her eyeball and she fought against her own scream.

  The only shriek came from Gage.

  The pressure from the blade's point disappeared at the same instant.

  Casey's eyes shot open and she saw him flopping in the dust like a tarpon on land, his legs helpless as fins, his hands groping for the haft of the blade buried in his lower spine.

  On the edge of the foggy glow of light stood a ghoulish figure, his head wrapped in bloody rags, baggy clothes draped slack over bony limbs, grinning maniacally at the thrashing cop. The ghoulish man ran into the light and stomped on the knife in Gage's back, intensifying his hellish screaming before dodging back, his mouth open now in a jackal's laugh. Casey saw the gun in his hand and she wormed her way off the trunk, spilling to the ground on the far side of the car from Gage.

  Casey struggled, squirming toward the darkness, but before her third step the ghoul was on her, poking her temple with the barrel of a gun.

  He made a soft clucking noise as he unwound the tape around her ankles. In a heavy Mexican accent, he said, "You not going anywhere. Get up."

  He grabbed the collar of Casey's shirt, dragging her up while keeping the pistol planted firmly against her head. Gage had grown quieter, sobbing now, his arms feebly flopping in an effort to dislodge the knife. The ghoul walked Casey next to the car, away from the moaning cop, and reached inside the window of the cruiser to pop open the trunk. He then led her back to the open trunk and pushed her in, slamming the lid shut.

  In the pitch-blackness, Casey heard the man talking to Gage.

  "You fuck with the wrong people, you piece of shit," he said. "Now tell me where they go."

  "Fuck you," Gage said through his agony.

  After a moment of silence Gage screamed again and again, his howl ending in renewed sobs.

  Casey struggled with her bound hands to dig into the front pocket of her cut-up jeans. She got hold of her cell phone and flipped it open, illuminating the inside of the trunk. The light revealed a jagged edge of sheet metal. She stretched her wrists toward it and began to cut the tape, but stopped when she heard more talking outside.

  "Big man," the zombie said with his jackal laugh. "Now I make you a little girl."

  "No! God, no!"

  "You don't got no God."

  "I didn't do it! It was Chase. He killed your brother!"

  Casey looked at the phone. With her thumb, she clicked it to video mode and began recording what she heard, the picture nothing more than the metal ribs of the trunk.

  "And you, too."

  "I covered it up. That's all. No, Jesus, don't."

  "What about his little girl?"

  Gage was bawling now. "Don't do it."

  "The girl!"

  "Oh, God," Gage said. "They're gone. They're all gone."

  "Where?" the zombie asked, calm and quiet.

  " Mexico," Gage said. "I don't know where. I don't. Chase knows. He knows. Don't! No!"

  Gage screamed again, a new agony that ended with a gagging sound and a choking before everything went quiet.

  Casey's heart battered her ribs. She heard footsteps coming for the car and snapped shut her phone, killing the light. Her hands trembled in the blackness, but the trunk stayed shut. She heard the man get into the car and slam the door shut. The engine started. The car lurched forward. Casey smashed into the rear of the trunk, the phone spilling from her fingers in the dark. The wheel spun rocks up into the well next to Casey's head. As they bounced along the quarry road Casey groped blindly for the phone. Then they stopped and Casey froze. She heard voices speaking Spanish. Another car started its engine and took off. The cop car did the same, going the other way, hitting the pavement of the rural highway and racing off into the night.

  CHAPTER 58

  JOSe RETURNED TO HIS TRUCK, TAKING GREAT CARE TO KEEP TO THE darker shadows. After he slid beh
ind the wheel, he scanned the street carefully before pulling away from the curb and setting off down Commerce. When his phone rang, he dug it free from his pocket and saw Casey's number. He looked at the display for a moment and placed it on the seat beside him, just driving and thinking.

  The phone kept ringing.

  He focused on the road, then scooped it up and flipped it open.

  "Yeah," he said.

  "Jose," Casey whispered.

  "What the hell?"

  "Elijandro's brother killed Gage," she said.

  "Good riddance.''

  "I saw it.''

  "Call the cops.''

  "I have a slight problem right now,'' she said.

  "Why are you whispering?"

  "Well, I'm in a trunk for one thing. I called 911 but they thought I was nuts and I don't know where I am."

  "Slow down. Whose trunk?"

  "Elijandro's brother is driving Gage's car. He killed Gage at the quarry, and now I'm pretty sure he's going to kill me. So let's put our differences aside, good by you?"

  "You're at the quarry?" Jose said, stepping hard on the gas, heading for the interstate.

  "I was."

  "Which way did you go?" he asked, punching Wilmer up on his GPS.

  "I'm in a goddamn trunk."

  "Which way did you turn? When you left the quarry?"

  The line was quiet and Jose swallowed before hearing her say, "Left. It was left."

  "How long?" he asked.

  "A minute ago."

  "Stay on the phone. Tell me when you turn again."

  "Jesus, this trunk stinks," she said. "Smells like chewing tobacco and piss."

  "You're in Gage's vehicle?" Jose said, pulling onto Route 45 himself and rocketing down the left-hand lane. "A cop car?''

  "Yes. This guy just showed up.''

  Jose glanced at the GPS, then touched the zoom.

  "You'll hit Belt Line any minute," he said. "I'm on 45 already. I'll be there."

  "No problem," Casey said. "Take your time. The trunk is roomy and I have a homicidal maniac at the wheel. It's all peachy.''