The Right Side of Wrong

by Reavis Wortham

  “This is your nephew?” Capitán Guerrera asked.

  “Yes.”

  “I do not think so. This lunatico is obviously a Mexican, not a gringo, or one of the indios from up in the mountains of Chihuahua. Look at his dark hair, his eyes, his skin. I believe he is indio.”

  For the first time since Ned had laid eyes on Cody when he was only five years old, he studied the features the officer had described. “All right, he favors y’all in some way, but he’s American.”

  “He is indio.”

  “All right. He’s Indian, but that’d be Choctaw, not from any of the tribes down here. He’s my kin.”

  “You are not indio.”

  His frustration mounting, Ned barely managed to contain himself. “No, I ain’t. But we got Cody when he was little and raised him as one of our own. He’s been ours since his daddy died, and his no ’count mama never knew him. He calls me Uncle, and every now and then he’ll say dad, and I reckon that’s what I am.”

  “Do you have his certificado de nacimiento?”

  “His what?”

  Guerrera thought for a moment. “His birth papers.”

  “I didn’t think I’d need his birth certificate. It’s back in Texas, in Chisum. I’ll have to send for it.”

  “That will take too long, my friend.”

  Cody finally had enough. “Hey, I’m right here.”

  Angry at the interruption from a prisoner, Guerrera snapped an order in Spanish at the skinny guard with a thick mustache. “Ordaz, silence this man.”

  The sadistic guard grabbed Cody’s shackled hands and jerked them sharply upward, causing him to hiss with pain as his shoulder joints took the stress. He bent forward to relieve the incredibly sharp pressure, his head bouncing on the table.

  The room virtually exploded. “Hey!” Ned bellowed and started toward Ordaz.

  “Ned, no!” Cody shouted and gave into the pressure. The other guards brandished well-worn billy clubs and showed they weren’t afraid to use them. The door behind Cody slammed open at the bark and more guards poured into the room.

  John yanked Ned back, putting his body between him and the threat. With no weapon at all, Big John doubled up his ham-sized fists and prepared to take a sure beating, knowing that at least a few of the federales, as he’d already come to think of them, wouldn’t look the same the next morning.

  “Alto!” Cody shouted over the rising noise of angry officers, his cheek against the table. “Alto, goddamn it! Ned, John, back off!”

  Hearing Spanish from Cody was almost effective as an ice water bath. Everyone hesitated. At least two of the Mexican officers were grateful for the interruption. They found themselves on the leading edge of the charge into the giant black man who’d already set his jaw for battle and appeared perfectly capable of singlehandedly clearing the room.

  “Everbody calm down,” Cody spoke conversationally, his wrists still high above his head. He blew a fly out of his mouth.

  Guerrera spoke quickly to his men, and they warily backed off.

  Ordaz released the pressure on Cody’s wrists. Sure they were finished making their point, Cody slowly straightened, chin bloody from his reinjured lip. “Capitán, can I speak?”

  Guerrera nodded, his authority reestablished.

  “Since there’s enough of us in here, Capitán Guerrera, can you please take off these cuffs so I can wipe the blood off my face. I prefer not to visit with my relatives looking like this.”

  After a moment, Guerrera coughed out a phlegmy, arrogant laugh. He issued a series of orders. Ordaz fished a ring of keys from his baggy pants and unlocked the cuffs.

  With a flick of his wrist, Guerrera ordered the others to leave and assumed a relaxed stance against the wall. “You all may speak.”

  “Yah ta hey,” Cody said, again. He wiped the blood away with his palm and cleaned it on his pants.

  The Navaho greeting startled Ned a second time. Cody and Ned called it John Wayne Indian language after seeing the movie McClintock! at the Grand theater in Chisum. Mixed with the little Choctaw they learned from Miss Becky, the Parkers sometimes used it when the mood was light. In this instance, though, their spirits were anything but free.

  Guerrera was equally surprised, and annoyed. He was used to conversing in Spanish to keep conversations private between his men and the Anglos they arrested who rarely understood their language. He also used it to make deliberations difficult for Americans when they came to bail out relatives and friends.

  He didn’t like the reverse tactic one bit.

  For a long moment, no one said a word. Then Ned put both hands in his pockets and nodded. “I reckon I don’t need to ask if you’re all right. You look like hell.”

  Cody kept his eyes on Ned, refusing to acknowledge Guerrera’s presence. “This is a rough place. Glad you made it. They’re taking me out of here tomorrow.”

  “I heard.”

  “To a prison. They tell me it’s a lot deeper in Mexico.”

  “What’s the charge?”

  “The charge is murder and moving illegal drugs across the border.”

  “Who’d you kill?”

  “Nobody.” He cut his eyes to Guerrera, but decided not to tell the whole truth. “Whitlatch and his men were murdered in the desert and they hung it on me, because I was there when it happened.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s what I told them.”

  Guerrera spoke up. “Enough talking. You are not allowed to discuss the case at this time. It is over. He was caught with drugs and the pistol he used to murder four turistas norteamericanos.

  Arguing was useless. Cody stared hard at Ned and switched to what little Choctaw he’d learned through the years. “No na hullo anumpa. Keyu oka, keyu tanchi impo.

  No English language. No water. No corn to eat.

  For the first time in his life, John saw Ned shocked into silence. What were they talking about?

  “What did you say?” Guerrera asked sharply.

  Cody struggled to recall the words. “Aki, this ofi. Tubi, ah, me.”

  Ned processed the broken Choctaw mix, especially the familiar word tubi, kill, and translated it into terms he understood very well, My father, this dog will kill me soon. Very clearly it was get me out.

  “Son, I’m barely keeping up with you…”

  “Tubi, ah, me,” Cody reemphasized. He’ll kill me.

  “You will speak English in my presence!” Guerrera snapped, and slid his own chipped billy club from the ring on his belt. It slithered through the metal with a promise of pain.

  Ned ignored the man. If Cody was desperate enough to communicate in a language they barely knew, he’d try to understand. “When?”

  “Tombi. Oni.”

  Ned frowned, worrying with the translation. Then he realized Cody meant “ray of light.” Tomorrow morning.

  Ned jammed a trembling finger at Guerrera. “How much will it take to get him out of here and home?”

  The capitán smiled, showing brilliant white teeth. Here was the conversation he’d been waiting for. Now he was on familiar ground, the business he knew best, extorting money. He shrugged expansively, playing his role to the hilt. “This man broke our laws, the laws of my country. He killed Mexican citizens. He must be punished.”

  “The man asked how much?” John growled.

  “Much dinero.” Guerrera spread his hands as if sharing in their problem.

  “Oh, so I can buy him out. So much for the law.”

  Guerrera acted sympathetic, but the hunger for money twinkled in his eyes. “It is our way here, amigo.”

  “All right. Give me the price to bail him out.”

  “Ten thousand dolares, dollars, in cash por favor.”

  That price shocked the three Americans. None of them imagined the cost would be so high. Ned o
nly had two thousand stuffed into the top of his sock. There was no way to get the other eight thousand by daylight. It was legalized robbery, plain and simple.

  “How about I give you a thousand now and take him with me?”

  Guerrera sadly shook his head, feeling Ned’s pain. “There are many people to satisfy. It takes much more to pay for what is…necessary.”

  “Two.”

  Guerrera’s eyebrows rose. “You have that money with you? Now?”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t bring it in here like this, but I can get back with it in the morning.”

  “I am sorry. It will be too late. Tomorrow will be probably,” he spread his hands again, “fifteen thousand.”

  In desperation, Ned rested his shoe on the wooden chair and yanked the cash from his sock. He pitched the wad on the table. “Two thousand, right now, and we leave with Cody.”

  The clump of money lay there, slowly unfolding. The young capitán licked his lips and jerked his head to Ordaz to pick it up. The younger man quickly counted the bills while John shifted back and forth to bleed off nervous energy. “Dos mil.”

  Two thousand.

  Guerrera issued an order and Ordaz disappeared through the door. Another guard took his place behind Cody. Ordaz returned empty handed in less than a minute. All eight men stood in uncomfortable silence.

  The tension was too much for John. “Well?”

  Again, the brilliant white grin. “Well what?”

  “Is that enough? Can we take him now?”

  “Is what enough?”

  In horror, Ned realized he’d been robbed, and there wasn’t a thing they could do about it. “You. Son. Of. A. Bitch!” He reached for Guerrera’s collar.

  John barked over the roar. “Mr. Ned!” He knew exactly what was happening. For the second time that day, John pulled Ned away from the man he intended to kill.

  The room again filled with warning shouts and threats, thickening the fetid air with tension thick as smoke. Guerrera uneasily backed against the wall and twitched the baton in his hand.

  Ned gained control and stepped back. The room quieted and everyone waited for the next scene leading to the climax. John smelled the fear radiating from the guards, who wanted to be anywhere but in the room with the furious Americanos.

  “He’s right, Ned.” Cody squinted out of his good eye. “Y’all go on ahead and get out of here. Now you know how these people are. See what you can do from the outside, ’cause you ain’t gettin’ nowhere in here.”

  It was a costly lesson, but one that Ned knew he’d earned. He was ashamed, and fighting mad. “Guerrera, it’ll be me and you one of these days.”

  “Is that a threat, señor?”

  “It’s a promise that I’ll be visiting you again one day.”

  “Come by any time. I’ll make you a guest in our…hotel.”

  Cody jerked his head toward Guerrera. “Tanampi, me.” Guerrera was hostile, at war with Cody. “Not you!”

  Ned’s blue eyes flashed at the Capitán. “It’s both of us now. Tanampi humma.”

  Cody noticeably sagged with relief when he realized Ned understood his situation. “Yes. Chi pisa lachike.”

  Goodbye, I’ll see you soon.

  Lips tight, Ned nodded at John. “Let’s go.”

  The big man was already prepared for a fight to get Cody free, so he was surprised that Ned backed off from the battle. In his experience, the old constable never, ever gave up.

  “We’re done here, John.”

  “Whatever you say, Mr. Ned. Cody, you hang on. We was in worse not too long ago.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing, John.” Cody didn’t turn his head from Ned. “Capitán, can I hug my uncle goodbye?”

  “Of course,” the capitán answered expansively. “By all means. Tell him goodbye. He is family.”

  Ned stepped around the table and Cody met him halfway. The old constable wrapped his arms around the young man and felt him tremble. Cody barely raised his arms, resting his hands on Ned’s hips.

  “Hang on, son.”

  “I will.”

  The hug was brief, and they stepped back.

  Cody cleared his throat. “Tell J.T. Boone I’ll drop by as soon as I get back home. He and I have a lot of catching up to do.” He raised a lip in what could have been a smile, or a snarl. “Lot’s to talk about.”

  Without missing a beat, Ned nodded. “I will.”

  Cody stepped back and put his hands behind him. Ordaz snapped the cuffs back on.

  Ned took two steps toward Guerrera who was leaning against the door leading into the hall. “Move.”

  With an insolent gaze, Guerrera slowly shifted his weight and stepped to the side.

  Their eyes were locked as Ned reached for the handle, opened it, and started through.

  Cody once again spoke in Choctaw. “Chi hollo li!”

  Still maintaining eye contact with the crooked Mexican lawman, Ned paused when he heard the rusty steel door creak open behind Cody. Footsteps told him they were through, and then the door slammed with an echo. Through two heartbeats, he and Guerrera squared off.

  John’s deep voice rumbled in the silent room. “Let’s go, Mr. Ned.”

  With Cody gone, there was no reason to stay. Ned paused. “We’ll speak again some day, Guerrera.”

  The capitán smiled. “I look forward to it.”

  John put his hand in the small of Ned’s back and gently shoved. The pressure was enough to send Ned out the door. As he passed, his shoulder caught Guerrera hard enough to let him know it wasn’t an accident. Slightly off balance, Guerrera placed his hand on the wall and thought about arresting Ned for assault. That thought disappeared quickly when John moved past like a dark thundercloud, filling the space with much more than the threat of violence.

  Guerrera watched them walk down the hallway. The guard rose from the rickety table when Guerrera flicked his hand, and unlocked the metal door.

  Ned and John found Yolanda and George still waiting in the reception area. The young guard had been talking with them, but he stopped suddenly, picked up his magazine, and winked at Yolanda.

  When the lawmen were almost to the exit, she snapped a long string of Spanish that caused the guard to frown. She started to leave, and halfway to the door, she stopped and unleashed another verbal assault until he slapped the magazine down and stood. Aware she’d pushed the man to his limits, Yolanda grabbed George’s hand and joined the numb Americans in the vacant, dusty street.

  Back in the sunshine, the men unconsciously sucked in deep breaths of free air to empty out the poisonous fumes of misery and corruption. John felt empty, and Ned shook from fear and anger, leaning against the rough wall.

  John barely registered the kids’ presence with them in the street. “What was that y’all was talking in there, Ned?”

  Ned took a deep, calming breath. “Choctaw.”

  “Didn’t know you talked it.”

  “We don’t. Every now and then when we set in the yard, Miss Becky’ll teach the kids a word or saying she learned from her Mama and her people, more for fun than anything else. I’ve picked up some through the years, up in the Territories. Cody was always good at remembering what she said, and Top and Pepper both know some, so they like to trade words. I’m not sure I understood everything Cody told me, but I understood enough.

  “John, they’re gonna take him out of there tomorrow morning and kill him, not take him to a Mexican pen. I believe Cody found out where them drugs are coming from, and probably who’s running the whole shebang, and it starts with some of these people. They think he knows something that’ll bring the laws down on ’em, and they intend to stop it. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. We have to get that boy out tonight.”

  John studied the building’s crumbling stucco facade for a long moment. “We’ll take
care of this.”

  “I hoped that’s what you’d say.”

  “We will. Let’s go.”

  The kids stuck right on their heels as the Texas lawmen silently retraced their path to Main Street, each alone with his own thoughts. When they reached the bridge, Yolanda tugged on Ned’s pants. “You’re leaving now, señor?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Did you forget anything?”

  Feeling bumfuzzled, Ned unconsciously rubbed his face. “I don’t know what…”

  John remembered. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thin, worn wallet. He thumbed it open, withdrew two limp bills, and handed one to each child.

  Their eyes widened, because instead of five dollars each, they held ten-dollar bills.

  “Hold it, John. That was my deal.”

  “You done spent a sight of money, Mr. Ned. Let me do this. Besides, I might not need it later, and they shore do.”

  Understanding John’s meaning, Ned deflated. He knelt beside the youngsters. “C’mere and give me a hug.”

  Without hesitation, George and Yolanda stepped into Ned’s arms. They recognized the grandfather for what he was. He held onto the kids for a long moment and then released them, his eyes wet with tears. “Now listen to me. You two hide what’s left of that money after you buy your shoes, hear? Don’t let your mama know you have it.”

  “Si. After we buy some pepitoria.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Peanut candy.”

  “All right, then. Now, y’all go on back home.”

  Ned rose, dusted the knees of his pants and glanced toward the bridge. The guard who warned them away from Boy’s Town gave them a smile that was more of a leer.

  Understanding the implied meaning, Ned felt his temper flash once again. He choked it down and started across the bridge. “Damn this country, and damn these people.”

  “Looks like some of them already are.” John stepped quickly to match his pace. He glanced back at the prison over Ned’s hat. “What was that last thing, that chi thing, Cody said back there when we was walking out the door?”

  Ned’s eyes glistened once again. “I love you.”