by Lynn Shurr
“He ain’t looking for Tommy anymore,” Knox said.
The obese man, covered in gore, sank to his knees.
“Dear Lord in heaven be with us this day,” the Rev murmured. “Did the other gun go off when you shot?”
“Nope,” said Knox. “I think the fat man is just shittin’ those white pants he’s wearing. Close call.”
Cautiously, Joe allowed the van to drift forward until they came up next to the kneeling Mexican. “Howdy, ask him about Bijou and Tommy.”
“I speak English. Gracias, you save me. Miguel would kill anyone for El Jefe. The man called Bijou, he is dead down there. They burn his house. Miguel tell me so. The children, I don’t know. They played here. Now, they gone. I must go rapidamente before the others come for me.” Without stopping to change his brown-stained pants, Pedro Gonzales waddled to a truck packed with clay vessels and abandoned his business in favor of his life.
“We’d better go down to that house and check. Tommy might be hiding nearby. If he sees us, he’ll come out. Could be Bijou is still alive.” Joe drove on very slowly searching for red hair among the gray-green bushes.
Everyone got out at the burning house. “You sure that’s Bijou?” the Rev asked.
“I’m sure. Look at those rings he’s wearing. And the gold tooth.”
Cassie agreed quickly with Joe before going behind a large cactus to puke up the guacamole.
“Pretty woman,” Connor remarked, keeping his eyes on Pilar’s less gruesome corpse. The flies attracted by any moisture in a dry land buzzed around the wound in her chest. One crawled over the crease in her red lips. “Seems like the killer didn’t want to mess up her face. Sad, very sad.”
“War always is,” Knox remarked as if he hadn’t shot a man minutes ago.
Joe glanced at the dead woman’s face. “Jesus God, she’s wearing Nell’s earrings.”
“You want me to get them?” Knox asked.
“No. I’ll get Nell a new pair, a different kind. I don’t want to remember this.”
Cassie went to the van, cracked open a bottle of water, and rinsed her mouth. Keeping her eyes off the carnage, she leaned against the side of the vehicle. Howdy went to stand beside her and swilled half a bottle as if trying to keep his own barf down. Joe kicked the dirt.
“Shit, what do I tell Aunt Flo now? Always knew my cousin would end up this way. I hope my not paying the ransom into his account had nothing to do with it. Anyhow, we have to find my boy. Could be he’s at this Rancho Miro down that way. And damn you, Bijou, I’m taking my stolen truck back, too, you hear wherever in hell you’re burning!”
“Easy, Joe,” the Rev said. “No use in speaking ill of the dead. Only God gets to judge.”
“Now, there you and I disagree. Look, if this fire spreads to the brush, it could be bad for all of us. I want you and Connor to go back into town and alert the police, the fire department, whatever. Howdy, you and Cassie go with them. I’ll take my truck down to that ranch and see if they know anything about Tommy. Meet you at the border crossing. Knox, you’re with me.”
“I’m going with you, Joe. He’s my son, too.” Still a little shaky, Cassie made her way to the truck and climbed into the back of the double cab only because Knox had silently transferred the weapons from the van and taken the shotgun seat again before Joe finished talking.
“Count me in.” Howdy slung himself in beside her.
The Rev climbed into the driver’s seat of the van, adjusted it to his comfort, and leaned across to help Connor with his bad leg into the other seat. They set off on their humanitarian mission into the city with no more need for further instruction than when running a frequently practiced route.
Joe shaded his eyes. “Appears we won’t have to drive down here. A black SUV is on its way from the ranch. We can wave them down and ask about Tommy. On second thought, they’re coming on pretty fast and might not stop. I’m gonna pull across the road so we can get some answers. Would you look at all the crap on this floor?” The big engine roared to life. At least, God-damned Bijou had kept the engine in good condition. Joe drove the truck aslant across the lane.
“Wait a minute! They have guns. Automatic weapons. Get us the hell out of here, Joe!” Not a suggestion, but an order from Knox, punctuated by the rapid rat-tat-tat of bullets leaving a barrel and singing through the air
The quarterback swung the vehicle around as if he were executing a trick play and burned rubber back toward Laredo. In the back, a bulky package flew out from under the seat to join the other junk on the floorboards. Howdy snagged it with one long arm and peeled back the brown paper.
“Ah, Joe, I think I know what they might want. Looks like we got a kilo of cocaine back here.”
“Figures. It just fuckin’ figures. Anything Bijou could do to make a quick buck, he would do. Probably what got him killed, and now us.”
“Maybe not.” Knox took a careful aim leaning out the truck window but only blew a side-view mirror off the Escalade. “Shit. Howdy boy, climb across Cassie and try your luck on getting the driver.” He handed over a second rifle. “Girl, you get your head down. They’re getting closer.”
Howdy showed the same coolness he displayed on the football field when attempting a fifty-yard field goal. He steadied the rifle as best he could, used the scope and squeezed the trigger, but a sudden bump in the road threw his aim off, the only casualty, the front windshield of the pursuing vehicle.
“I got another idea. Joe, if you can put some distance between us I’ll send them what they want.”
“Veer off! Don’t take this into the city,” Knox shouted. “Aim for that little outcrop of rocks.”
Joe took the truck off-road and silently thanked God-damned Bijou for the huge, deep-treaded tires he’d purchased or stolen to outfit his rig. Doubtful the Escalade, all shiny and new, had ever left a paved road. It followed, but the space between the two vehicles increased as Joe churned the desert landscape.
Nearly at the mound of rocks, Howdy called, “Here is good.”
Joe braked hard, and his kicker scrambled out with the sack of cocaine clutched tightly against him like a football recovered from a fumble. He sat it upright in the dirt and stepped back to go through his paces. One-two-three, the instep of his athletic shoe connected hard with the sack. It flew upward and arced, trailing a white tail like a comet from a hole punctured in the plastic. The SUV slammed to a stop when the bag landed a few feet in front of it. From the passenger side, a rider emerged and, using the door as a shield, the Escalade moved slowly forward until the sack could be easily retrieved and tossed inside the vehicle.
Howdy dusted his hands and headed back to the truck, smiling ear to ear. “That should do it.”
Their pursuers didn’t think so. Shots peppered the ground behind him.
“To the high ground,” Knox commanded. Taking the rifles and ammo with them, they evacuated the truck, dashed for the outcrop, around its back, and up its side where the ranch manager quickly took up a prone position and sent two shots into the front tires of the Escalade. The SUV stopped rolling forward, but the men within again used the doors for cover and continued firing. Knox surveyed the terrain.
“There’s a little arroyo back here. Probably carries water down to the Rio Grande in the wet season. It will make good cover and lead you back to the border. Get going, all of you. I’ll cover and come along once I finish business here.”
“No way. I got you into this, Knox. I stay with you. Howdy, get Cassie to safety.” Joe took up a loaded rifle, aimed and put a sizeable hole in one Escalade door. The bullet might have punched through since one of the enemies fell back but got up again.
“I’m not going!” Cassie hunkered down behind a boulder with Howdy who prepared his own shot.
“See here, girl, you can’t handle a rifle. You’re a liability. Now go on. Get us some relief soon as you can. Howdy, carry her if she won’t move. Leave the rifle,” Knox directed. He squeezed off another round to keep the gunmen from advancin
g during a lull.
“I’m asking you to go, Cassie. I care about you. If this turns out badly, you tell Nell and the kids I love them.” Joe stopped talking and aimed his rifle again.
“Same message to Corazon,” Knox said. “Now get.”
EIGHTEEN
“I don’t want—”
Howdy put his rifle on the ground, wrapped his arms around Cassie, and tugged her backwards off the far side of the outcrop. She dug her feet in when they hit ground, but he continued to drag her toward the ravine. It wasn’t very deep, so he hugged her close and jumped off the edge, landed in a crouch, and continued shoving her along like one of the huge Sinners’ linemen practicing on the tackling sleds.
“Stop it! Stop shoving me, Howdy.”
“I will if you move along on your own. Joe and Knox are saving our lives. The least we can do is make sure their stand isn’t for nothing.”
“Joe said he cared about me. How can I leave him?”
“Darn it, Cassie. We don’t have time for ‘He loves me, He loves me not.’ Move your sweet bippie.”
“Bippie. Really?”
“You know what I mean.” He shoved her forward.
Resentfully, Cassie started down the ravine. A few more shots sounded from the outcrop and more rapid gunfire answered.
“If we hurry, we might be able to get help.”
Thankful for all that exercise on the treadmill she began to jog, and then run full out. Howdy stayed right behind though she suspected he could have passed her easily. His stupid cowboy code probably decreed he had to take a bullet in the back for her. She pushed herself harder. Her mouth went dry, damp strands of hair clung to her face, and she began to pant. Glancing back she saw Howdy coming along, silent and strong, his pale blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up plastered to his heaving chest with sweat. They’d run way more than the length of a football field.
The arroyo curved a little to the right, and they came up fast on a tiny pool of water, a patch of shade, and two grazing burros taking advantage of slightly greener vegetation than above the rim. The animals eyed them suspiciously, determined they were only loco humans, and went back to their meal.
“Finally, some luck. Looks like we got transportation.” Howdy stopped her with a hand clamped on her sweat-soaked shoulder.
“Those tiny things?”
“Small but tough. My guess is like any domestic animal, they know where their barn is. Climb on one.”
“What if they’re wild?”
“They would have run away if they were wild.”
“We don’t have a saddle or bridle.”
Howdy stared hard at her, clamped his hands on his hips, and splayed his legs wide like John Wayne without a weapon facing down a gunslinger. “Get on the burro, Cassie, before I throw you over one of them. I’ve about had it with your attitude, your mouth, and your sass.”
“You just make me.”
He did. Despite his lankiness, he had some muscle and it showed through that sweat-soaked shirt as he upended her and slung her over the back of the closest donkey. He swatted its rear and shouted, “Andale, burro!” rolling his Rs ferociously. The small beast of burden took off at a trot. The other followed. He caught up with it quick and used its mane to lever himself aboard. Cassie, meanwhile, had struggled upright and clung to the bristly hair on her donkey’s neck. Behind them came a sudden shout of ladron, ladron! An old man with skin nearly the color of the clay forming the arroyo limped after them waving a thick walking stick every few steps. A plain straw sombrero toppled from his head and hung by its leather thong around his wrinkled neck.
Howdy called out over his shoulder, “No ladron, not thieves, just borrowing, comprende?”
But the accusations continued to follow them until they came to a narrow path leading upward. Once up on the rim, they could see a small farm in the distance: a white cinderblock house with a corrugated metal roof, a shed sheltering an old tractor, a corral and lean-to for the burros, all surrounded by acres of irrigated tomato and pepper fields. Ignoring their long-legged riders whose feet nearly bushed the dust beneath their small, sure hooves, the donkeys headed directly for the corral in short, choppy strides. Cassie’s burro arrived first. She dismounted much more gracefully than she’d gotten on and opened the gate for the animal whose large brown eyes looked longingly at the vegetable fields for a moment before resigning itself to a manger with a few wisps of withered hay.
Howdy slid off as they passed the green door of the farmhouse and let his mount go on without him. He pounded with both fists on the sun-blistered wood and yelled, “Se llama policia!”
The door cracked open just enough to expose the double barrels of a shotgun. A youthful female voice hissed, “Donde esta mi abuelo?”
“The old man? He’s fine. Our friends are in trouble. Some gunmen have them pinned down a couple of miles along the arroyo. Comprende?”
“Si, sus amigos anger Don Esteban. He the only one who kill people here. You get us in trouble. Go away, gringo.”
“One phone call, por favor. Don’t give your name. Say shooting is going on by a rocky outcrop near the arroyo.” When the woman did not answer, Howdy played the celebrity card. “The men are American football players from the New Orleans Sinners. If they die down here, there will be a big investigation.”
“Which players?”
“Joe Dean Billodeaux and a friend.”
“I like Joe Dean, a handsome man with a smile like El Diablo. I will save him. Come in after you put the burros in the corral. They eat everything they see.”
Cassie had already taken care of that and dashed over to stand by Howdy. Then, she saw the shotgun. “I don’t believe this.”
“It’s okay, Cassie. She’s going to help us.”
The barrel of the weapon jerked upward. “Inside, pronto!”
The woman, quite young enough to be susceptible to the charms of Joe Dean Billodeaux or the movie stars she read about in Spanish language tabloids, gestured them to a set of chairs around a carved wooden table. They sat as she got her cell phone and made a call speaking so rapidly, Howdy had no idea what she said. For all he knew she could be notifying this Don Esteban of their presence in her living room. Sometimes as the Rev would say, you simply had to trust in God and the basic decency of people.
“Done. I have save Joe Dean. You want some coffee?”
“Any form of liquid would be mighty appreciated right now, ma’am. We ran a long way. Your burros came in handy. I’ll gladly pay you for their use.”
Their hostess gave him a beautiful, white smile. She wore her black hair parted in the middle and drawn back in the traditional bun but had on snug, white Capri pants and green rubber flip-flops. A yellow tank top worn braless allowed for a lot of jiggling from her small, firm breasts. Large, crescent-shaped earrings swung when she tossed her head. “I like you. I think I know you, no?”
“Well, ma’am, I do kick for the Sinners.”
She clapped her hands and chanted, “Howdy, Howdy—Doody, Doody.” Her bobbing breasts helped keep time.
“Yes, I wish folks wouldn’t do that when I come out to kick. I especially wish they wouldn’t shout ‘doody, doody, doody’ when I miss.”
“You don’t miss much. My brother watches the American football. He is far out in the fields today, but he be back in a while for dinner. I am not married, but I keep the house for him. I am called Carmelita Gomez.” She sat a pottery mug before him and leaning very close, poured the coffee.
“If you two would like to be alone, I could go outside and talk to the burros,” Cassie sniped.
“Pump some water for them while you out there, gracias,” Carmelita said. She turned her shining, dark eyes back to Howdy. “They are the pets of mi abuelo. He go into town and put on a big sombrero and a serape I make for him and pose with the burros for the tourists. He sell my weavings, tambien. You like to see my weavings? They are in the other room.”
Cassie stood up. “I’d love to see your weavings. Howdy, you
sit and enjoy your coffee.”
“I think you want to visit the burros, no? I can give you a carrot for them.”
“No, no, I’m much more interested in weaving. Howdy, stay put.”
As Cassie figured, the large handloom filled half of a bedroom with celebrity pictures taped to the walls and a dozen bright pillows scattered across a single bed centered beneath a small window. She fingered through a pile of handwoven rugs and some colorful sashes draped over the back of a chair.
“Very nice work.” She selected a rug with wide turquoise and terra cotta stripes and a vibrant fringed green sash with a metallic sparkle. “How much for these?”
Carmelita sized her up and said, “Hundred dollars American.”
“Way out of my budget. How about forty?”
“Maybe seventy-five.”
“Fifty.”
“Sixty. Your boyfriend, he is rich football player.”
Cassie started to deny that, but swallowed her words. “Done deal.”
She threw the rug and sash over her arm and walked back to the table. She held up the rug for Howdy’s inspection. “Won’t this look great in your apartment? Pay Carmelita sixty dollars, honey. Honey, that’s like querido in Spanish, right? I got a little something for myself, too.”
Cassie wound the sash around her slim waist and modeled it by twirling around with her arms held gracefully above her head. Her hair might be stringy with sweat, her makeup gone and revealing her freckles, and she probably had raccoon eyes from running mascara and liner, but by damn, someone had to save Howdy from this Latina vixen.
“Pretty,” said Howdy, carefully keeping his eyes focused on a space between the two women.
The door burst open. Carmelita screamed and ran for her shotgun, but the old man held up his hands. Gasping, he asked where his burros were.
“In the corral, Abuelo. We have a famous visitor, Howdy McCoy of the Sinners.”
“Es verdad? Howdy Doody McCoy steal my burros?”
“No, only borrowed them. Look, I’m buying some of your granddaughter’s weavings. How much for the time we rented those animals?” Howdy took a leather wallet molded to the curve of his butt from his hip pocket.