Before he could respond, Jorge called out again. "Jesus? Is it you?"
Jesus stayed in the car, called out the window. "Si, Jorge, it is me."
Jorge lifted the rifle from his shoulder, waved it.
"Down!" Señor Zack said.
At that moment Jesus heard a loud impact in the rear of the car. Glass flew. Jesus turned to look in time to see the hat on the dummy fly off and the pillows slump away. Then the FBI man's hand was on his shoulder pushing him down. Jesus crunched under the dash.
"Jesus?" It was Jorge.
Señor Zack looked down at him, his finger across his lips. He opened his door, stepped out, stood behind it. "You got what you came for. Now where is Dr. Apgar?"
"You are a funny man," came the reply. "You are in no position to bargain."
Jesus watched Señor Zack calmly pull his handgun from his holster and check the load, concealed behind the door. Fascinated, as with a rattler about to strike, he peeked up over the dash. He saw Jorge once again wave his rifle.
"Adios, FBI man."
Jesus cringed, waited. Nothing. He felt his heart pound like a hammer. He saw Jorge step around his door toward the front of the pickup, wave again. The sound of a distant rifle followed the splatter of Jorge's head, a spray of blood. His body slumped to the ground.
A man Jesus had not noticed leapt from the passenger side of the truck, sprinted back up the road. Señor Zack steadied his pistol on the top of the door: two rapid shots, a bright dart of flame for each one. The running man fell.
Señor Zack glanced down at Jesus. "Stay there and stay down." He climbed back in the car, his door left open. He drove around the pickup truck, stopped next to the man who had run away, stepped out. He raised the man by his shoulders so Jesus could see without leaving the car.
"Know him?"
The man looked Hispanic. His forehead was a stew of blood and bone. He was a stranger. Jesus shook his head.
Señor Zack climbed back in his seat, inched the car along the road. He studied both sides as he drove. He spoke without looking at Jesus. "We're not out of this yet. Stay down unless I tell you otherwise."
They broke out of the pines. Jesus saw an open area on the right, a building on the left close to the road. The shadows were deeper now, the building dark. The FBI man drove with one hand holding the door, the other steering. His pistol lay on his lap. They crept past the building. The low murmur of the car engine and the throb of the exhaust were the only sounds.
A grassy area came into view, grew larger. Another building, dark and silent, inched by. The road ended at a large cabin. One window showed light. A hundred feet away, Señor Zack stopped the car. He turned on the headlights, left them to shine on the small front porch. He waited.
A minute later, the front door opened, a large man stepped out onto the porch. He sat down on the top step, looked directly into the headlights.
Jesus gasped. He knew this man. He was the gringo who unlocked the storage unit for Jesus and the dope smugglers that night so long ago.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Zack watched the man walk across the porch, sit on the step. A large man, he moved with a familiar grace. It was Barnard.
"Hi, Zack." Barnard spoke in normal tones. His voice came clear to Zack. "I didn't expect you to make it this far, but I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." He patted the space on the front step next to him. "Come sit with me. I am unarmed. My man has your friend Susan in the cabin. We can chat for a moment. You have time, don't you?"
Zack spoke an aside to Jesus. "Stay down." He removed his gun, put it in the seat, stepped out of the car. He studied the nearby terrain, then walked down the headlights to the porch.
Barnard looked up. "You might have turned off those annoying headlights."
Zack grinned, sat down on the step next to Barnard. He turned toward him, rested his back against the post. "It came down to either you or Malden, in my mind."
Barnard chuckled. "Poor Malden. How could you think that even for a moment? He's the most earnest man I know."
Zack eyed him. "I assume you have a proposal of some sort?"
Barnard shook his head. "No, I think it best to wait and see what happens between your Indian friend and my man. Care to place a wager?"
Zack smiled. "Eagle Feather hasn't let me down yet."
"He must have talent."
Zack shrugged. "A bit."
Barnard stared into the headlights with a slight smile. "I suppose you left those lights on so I couldn't see into the your car. The question is: is Jesus dead or alive?"
Zack shrugged again.
Barnard studied his face. "I'm gonna guess alive. I think that's why the headlights are on." He looked away. "Well, that's okay. After my man is done with your friend, he'll finish the job."
Zack raised his eyebrows. "You're very confident."
"He's the best there is. I spent a lot of money on him."
"How's Susan?"
Barnard turned to Zack. "You know, she's a charming young woman––so knowledgeable. We've spent a wonderful day together." He sighed. "I do wish we'd maintained our original charade: simply enjoy one another's company, you drift away, I go about my business."
Zack peered at Barnard. "What is your business, exactly?"
Barnard stared at Zack for a moment. "I guess there's no reason not to tell everything. Soon one or the other of us won't be around to worry about it." He smiled. "You must know that a small town police chief doesn't make much money. If the town happens to be bankrupt, like Santa Lupita, there's simply not enough to survive. You know, Zack, it's very difficult to watch your department grow smaller each year, your resources shrink, everything you need to do your job disappear. Think about my family. I run an entire police department, yet I couldn't put a meal on my own table." Barnard shook his head. "It was unacceptable." He sighed. "When Jorge came to me with an idea, it knew it was the only solution for me."
"I wish I had a nickel for every story like that I've heard."
"That's your problem, Zack. You think too small. Nickels don't add up very fast." Barnard shifted his position. "The point is I really wanted to do right by my town. I wanted the town to have all the police protection it deserved; keep the gangs out, keep the streets safe. I knew about the drug trade, I'm not blind. It was gonna go on with or without me. Part of our deal was Jorge would keep the trade out of my town." He tapped Zack's arm. "Kinda ironic, isn't it? Santa Lupita is probably the only town on the Central Coast with no gangs and no drugs."
Zack nodded slowly. "So you helped Jorge, stored his drugs, allowed his boats to land, probably got him his job with Rufus?"
"Good old Rufus. His workers comin' and goin' really confused him."
"Then a rival gang tried to move in on your operation?"
Barnard raised his hands in protest. "Not mine. I'm just an employee. The marijuana crops in the National Forest were Jorge's idea. I was opposed. It made us vulnerable. The cartel was all for it, though. By then, I didn't have much choice. That's when I recruited Dom. He was a natural. He had a flair for cruelty, and he needed money. He already worked with the rangers from time to time." Barnard laughed. "He enjoyed busting the growers. He kept an eye on their activities for me."
Zack was confused. "But the rival cartel, the assassins. Where'd they get their information?"
Barnard raised his eyebrows. "The only thing more remunerative than a payoff from one cartel is from two."
Zack stared at him. "You played one cartel off against the other. That's ballsy."
"Yeah, it was delicate. Dom helped me with that. He'd tell the one cartel where to find the grow, I'd warn the other they were coming." Barnard paused. "You know, I think Dom might have been triple dipping. Someone started killing off the killers."
They both looked up at the sound of two shots, one after the other. They came from somewhere up in the pines.
"Handguns," Zack said.
"Two different ones," Barnard agreed. "I think we'll know which man is best
soon."
Zack stared at Barnard. "You figure you can eliminate four people––one a distinguished college professor, one a not so distinguished FBI agent, a respected Navajo hunter, and one of Rufus' workers and go on like it's business as usual?"
Barnard sighed. "Probably not. Of course, I'd make it look like a cartel hit. With Jorge and the other Mex dead––they are dead, I expect––it gives the right flavor. Realistically, though, it will likely be time to retire. I've set aside a retirement fund that should suffice."
A man stepped out of the shadow of the forest. He walked slowly toward them, a rifle in the crook of his arm, a handgun in the other. Part way, he stopped.
It was not Eagle Feather.
Zack could not see the man's face; he did not look familiar.
Barnard chuckled. "I guess I win this wager." He lifted his voice. "Señor Brown, there is a man in that car who requires your attention. While you're there, please turn off those annoying headlights."
The man stood, looked at them.
"Señor Brown, did you hear me?"
The man didn't respond. Slowly his legs buckled, he fell to his knees. The handgun and the rifle fell from his hands. He pitched forward on his face.
That same moment Zack stared into the barrel of a small gun.
"I'm sorry, I lied," Barnard said. "I was armed, in case of something like this. I'll need you to remove your gun."
Zack slid his jacket open to show the empty holster.
"Ah, a trusting man." Barnard reached across, patted Zack's jacket pockets, swept his back under the jacket. "Very well." He turned his eyes toward the headlights. "You, in the car. Turn off those headlights. Come out where I can see you, hands in the air."
They waited. The headlights went off. After their bright glare, the opaque curtain of dusk turned black. When his eyes adjusted, Zack saw a man in front of the car. He wore a wide-brimmed hat with a single lopsided feather.
Zack groaned. "I told you to stay in the car."
"¡Me disculpe!" It was Eagle Feather's voice.
Some sixth sense warned Barnard. He stared, whipped his gun around, fired.
Everything happened at once. A bright stab of light came from Eagle Feather's position. Barnard spun behind the balustrade. Zack dove from the porch steps. He heard the thunk of a bullet hit the top step where Barnard had been seconds before. A muzzle flare and report came from Barnard's position, the car windshield exploded. Another shot from Eagle Feather, this time from the other side of the car. The creak and snap of the screen door––Barnard was inside.
Zack scurried to the corner of the cabin, heard Eagle Feather call.
"White Man, you forgot something."
He saw movement. Something arced into the air toward him, landed two feet away with a thud. Zack reached for it, pulled it to him, his Sig-Sauer. He checked the barrel for dirt, checked the load. The sound of breaking glass came from above and behind him, a shotgun blast. Zack felt the wind of it. He dove around the corner to the other side. Glass broke out of the other window above him, the shotgun roared. This time Zack heard a sound of punched metal––the car.
Zack fired two rapid shots up at the window. He was next to the building, the angle too steep to be effective. It silenced the shotgun momentarily, anyway.
"Cover me," Zack yelled, ran away from the cabin across the grass toward the woods. He heard rapid fire from Eagle Feather's gun. He counted to five, zigged left. The shotgun roar came. He heard the shot go by. More shots sounded from Eagle Feather. Zack saw the hired killer's body just ahead. He dove, rolled behind it just as another shotgun roar sounded. The shot whistled overhead.
Zack saw what he'd come for, the rifle. He stayed low, pulled it toward him. Another shotgun blast dug up the ground in front of him, sprayed the body with dirt. He checked the load in the rifle, laid the barrel across the body, sighted the window. He saw light reflect off something metallic, centered on it, pulled the trigger. There was a groan. The window was empty. There was silence in the cabin.
He heard Barnard's voice. "I'm coming out."
The car headlights came on, flooding the cabin porch with light. The screen door pushed open. Susan came through it, her hands bound in front of her, mouth gagged. Barnard came behind, pistol to her head, holding her close. He walked to the center of the porch, stopped in the full glare of light.
"Time to negotiate," he said.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
The windshield burst, sagged inward. Jesus tried to squeeze deeper into the foot well; there was no more room. He covered his head with his arms, held on. A shot sounded right next to him, at the driver's door. His ears rang with it.
He heard a voice. "Stay down, amigo."
He realized it was Eagle Feather. He saw a hand reach in, take the gun from the seat, heard him yell. A loud roar came from the house, a big gun sound. He heard glass break, more shots. Something hit the car, shook it. Shots sounded from the Navajo's position. He heard another loud gun, this one more distant. Then––silence. Jesus waited, terrified.
He heard the gringo in the house call out.
Eagle Feather's arm came into the car, pulled on the headlights.
Señor Zack's voice came from somewhere, his voice strong, authoritative.
The other man's voice again, insistent.
Jesus realized Eagle Feather was gone. He raised his head, tried to peer through the windshield. It was punched inward, a thousand tiny pieces held by hair-thin cracks, a hole in the middle. Jesus couldn't see. He needed to know what was happening. Despite his fear, he crawled across the seat to the driver side, raised his head inch by inch until he could see through the crack between the open door and the car body.
The car headlights shone on the cabin porch. The man from the house held the blonde woman Susan in front of him, a gun to her head. He didn't see Eagle Feather. He heard Señor Zack's voice come from the direction of the woods. He couldn't see him either.
Jesus felt a touch from behind. Startled, he whipped his head round. He gasped in surprise. It was Tomasa, his angel. She smiled down at him. He could see her clearly, even in the dark. She seemed to glow with her own light. Her face was soft with compassion and kindness. Jesus felt relief––Santa Tomasa had come to save him once again.
"Do not fear. You will be safe." She moved past him, seemed to glide across the grass toward the cabin.
* * * * *
"You are in no position to negotiate." Zack tried to sound confident, yet he was filled with fear for Susan. Barnard must see the end was near.
"I will kill her. Drop your weapons to the ground, clear away from the car. We are going to walk to it. If you don't do as I say, I will have no choice. I have nothing to lose. I will die here rather than become a prisoner. Your friend will be the price of my death. It's your choice."
Zack knew he meant every word of it. He sighted the rifle on Barnard's head, the only part of him he could see. The shot was too uncertain, a chance he couldn't take. He looked toward the car, in hopes Eagle Feather might have a better vantage, couldn't see beyond the bright headlights.
"You know I can't let you leave," Zack said.
Barnard pushed Susan ahead of him, took a shuffling step across the porch, stayed tight to her body. "Your choice," he said again.
From the corner of his eye, Zack saw movement near the car. He risked a quick glance that way. His jaw dropped in surprise.
Tomasa stood there. Where the hell did she come from? Zack could see her clearly, almost as if she was illuminated by her own glow. She moved down the slope toward the cabin.
Zack returned to his aim, kept the rifle on Barnard's head. If he moved the pistol toward Tomasa he would shoot, regardless. He heard Barnard's surprised voice.
"Who the hell are you?" Then, "Don't come any closer."
Tomasa didn't stop. She kept coming.
In one motion Barnard clutched Susan's head tight against his shoulder with his right arm, took the pistol away from her head, pointed it at Tomasa.
Zack still had no shot.
There was a blur of motion. Zack saw Eagle Feather throw himself at Tomasa just as Barnard fired. Eagle Feather gave a cry, slumped to the ground.
"Eagle Feather." Moved by sudden rage, Zack jumped to his feet, charged down the slope. Barnard pushed Susan out of his way. She stumbled, fell down the porch steps. Barnard leveled his gun at Zack.
In those seconds during his blind attack Zack's brain registered several things: Eagle Feather seemed to fall through Tomasa, who came on completely unaffected, Barnard's gun was on Zack at point blank range, something huge loomed behind Barnard.
* * * * *
Jesus watched Tomasa move toward the cabin. He saw the gringo register her presence, saw his surprise, heard his harsh words. The man clutched the woman Susan closer to him, turned his gun on Tomasa.
Jesus did not consider himself a brave man. He forgot that now. When the man's pistol leveled at Santa Tomasa he ran to save her. Almost immediately his foot caught on turf and he sprawled forward on his stomach. From there he saw Eagle Feather leap at her. The man's gun sounded, Eagle Feather cried out, fell to the ground. Tomasa continued on as if nothing had happened.
The man pushed the blonde woman forward out of his way. She fell. He turned, pointed his gun up the slope at Señor Zack who ran right toward him.
He saw something else. Behind the gringo stood a giant figure, a huge man, with bare chest, in breechclout and leggings. Jesus never saw him arrive. The giant reached a huge hand around the gringo's face, lifted him off the ground by his head. His other hand held a knife. He sliced upward into the man's abdomen––cut him open like a watermelon with one long slash. He held the gringo, feet dangling above the ground while he glared at Señor Zack, who stopped his charge mid-step. The giant turned his head to stare at Eagle Feather where he lay on the ground, then at Jesus.
When the giant's angry red eyes came to rest on him, Jesus felt a chill that froze his heart. The gringo's body twitched in the huge Indian's grip, his intestines slithered out of the gaping wound.
ZACA (Zack Tolliver FBI) Page 21