Kicks for a Sinner S3

by Lynn Shurr

  “Hundred dollars American?” Carmelita’s grandfather answered.

  “Seems to be the going rate for everything around here,” Cassie snapped. “How about a hundred for the rug, the belt, and the burro rental altogether, and I’d still say you come out on top.”

  “Okay, sure.” The man held out a wrinkled brown hand, but his granddaughter got to the offered sweat limp hundred-dollar bill first.

  “You sign it for me,” she asked Howdy. She found a pen and handed it to him. He wrote on the greenback, “For Carmelita, Thanks for saving Joe Dean. Howard ‘Howdy’ McCoy.”

  Carmelita took the bill back, went into her bedroom, and returned with two crisp twenties for her grandfather. “Maybe I never spent it. Maybe I put it up on my wall,” she said, slinking up to Howdy again. “You can come back someday and visit it, no?”

  “Look, we have no more time for this. The autograph session and souvenir buying are over. We need to get into town and find the others. Can either of you drive us there?” Cassie, still wearing the sash, put her hands on her hips.

  “For a hundred dollars American,” the old man said.

  “Oh, just give it to him if you have it, Howdy. I am worn out trying to save you money.”

  He peeled another big bill away from several others and shrugged. “I thought we might have to bribe someone so I hit an ATM when Knox stopped to get the water and you went in to use the bathroom.” He offered the bill to the grandfather who nodded at the pen. He autographed it.

  “I sell this on eBay, no?”

  “Whatever you want. Talk about bribery. Do you have a car, or do we have to ride the burros again?” Cassie snapped.

  “Carmelita drive you. My eyes are not so good no more.”

  The young woman dangled the keys from her fingers. “But I am a good driver. Come.” She led the way behind the house and drew a tarp off a polished robin’s egg blue, vintage Ford low-rider.

  “Sweet,” Howdy said.

  “You ride up front with me. She go in the back.”

  “That’s okay. You ladies ride together.”

  “Then, we not going anywhere.”

  “Howdy, don’t argue with her. Just get in. We need to find out what happened to Joe, ASAP!” Cassie opened the rear door, tossed in the rug, sank way down on the seat, and slammed it shut.

  Howdy took his place next to Carmelita who cranked up some lively Latin music before putting her foot on the gas pedal. Under the cover of the beat, he mumbled, “Sure, it’s always about Joe.”

  NINETEEN

  “At least we got everyone else to safety. I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened to Tommy?” Joe squinted through the sight of his deer rifle but decided the thugs were too well hidden to waste a shell on them.

  “Where’s the Billodeaux optimism? We ain’t lost the game yet, compadre. They have rapid fire and lots of ammo. We have long range and accuracy. By their stillness, I’m thinking they might be running low since they didn’t know they were running into armed men,” Knox assessed. “Could end up being a standoff.

  “Yeah, a Mexican standoff.”

  “We can always slip down into the ravine and make a run for it. I doubt those guys are in as good a shape as us. A man does want to see his baby born.”

  “I’m not against running. If they shoot up the truck, we might not have any other choice. Wait, is that a white flag?”

  One of the enemies had tied a handkerchief to the nozzle of his weapon and waved it above the door of the SUV. Eyes shaded by mirrored sunglasses, he stood up very slowly. Blood on the arm his flowered shirt attested that Joe had winged him. The big man was no Mexican, just a white thug with a deep tan. Cautiously, he stepped out from behind his cover and moved closer to the rocks. “We got the package. You tell us where the boy and girl are, leave the truck, and we let you walk away.”

  “The boy and the truck are mine. Bijou stole them both. I don’t know about any girl. I came here to get my son and go home. That’s all,” Joe answered.

  The negotiator conferred with the second man still under cover. “Bijou said the boy is his son. Yeah, he probably stole that truck. We don’t care so much about the truck. El Jefe wants the boy.”

  “You can have the truck. I won’t give up my son. What have you done to Tommy?”

  “Nothing. Wait, Bijou when he was drinking always said his big time football playing cousin stole his boy. You that guy?”

  “Yeah, I’m Joe Dean Billodeaux of the New Orleans Sinners.”

  “I remember that Super Bowl when you asked for help to find a runaway girl.”

  “Bijou had her, left her pregnant. Tommy is her child, but I adopted him and want him back. My cousin was holding him for ransom. We came down here alone to bring the boy home, but the police back in the states know where we are. The FBI will come looking for us.”

  “Yeah,” said Knox. “You don’t want the federales in on this.”

  “I spit on the fedrales.” For emphasis, the man did just that, but he answered, “The boy is missing. That is all I can tell you. You take the truck and go. El Jefe isn’t going to believe this. Joe Dean Billodeaux right here, and that’s his red-haired boy.”

  Knox spoke up. “Go back to your car. Throw out all your weapons. Shut your doors and stay still. If I see one muscle move, I’ll put a shot through your head.”

  “Fine, but first, would you autograph my handkerchief, Joe?”

  The negotiator laid down his weapon, removed his white flag and moved close to the rocks. He tied a stone into the handkerchief to give it some weight and tossed it up to Joe.

  “You got a pen?” Knox asked Joe.

  “I always have a pen, brother.” He stretched out the white cotton over a smooth surface, wrote “A pleasure to meet you. Joe Dean Billodeaux” and drew his trademark devil’s tail heart beneath it. Usually, he used that for women, but he wanted to make the signature as authentic as possible to impress El Jefe and hope he would leave Tommy alone if he found the boy first. He weighted the cloth again and threw it in a nice, easy arc to the henchman who snatched it out of the air.

  “I’ll treasure this. Thanks, man.”

  “You’re a good size and have pretty nice reflexes. You should change careers and try out for the football league.” Slathering on the butter never hurt.

  “You think so? If I need to change careers, I just might.” The gunman left his weapon in the sand and walked back to the SUV with the shot-out tires. The other shooter tossed down his weapon on shouted orders from Joe’s big fan.

  Knox motioned for Joe to climb down to the truck while keeping him covered, then he followed, totally alert, forever the soldier, despite his short-cropped gray hair. He kept his eye on the SUV while Joe climbed in and started their ride out. Backing to the passenger door Joe opened for him, Knox jumped inside and immediately stuck the rifle out the side window.

  “Drive along the arroyo, then veer for town. Don’t backtrack.”

  “What about Tommy?”

  “Nothing much we can do now, and no one is sorrier than me. If I don’t come home with that boy, Corazon will never forgive me. Soon as we come to a road, take it into the city and head for the border crossing. We need to bring the FBI in now, though I doubt they can do much this side of the border.”

  Joe nodded. That famous smile of his seemed gone forever. He didn’t spare the truck until they reached Nuevo Laredo and had to slow down. They crossed over the bridge again with no problems. On the other side, both noticed the red van parked at the building where they’d dined on tortilla chips and guacamole only a couple of hours ago. Seemed more like twenty-four had passed, but the setting sun only now cast long shadows as the day faded into twilight.

  “The Rev and Connor got here safely. That’s good,” Joe said in a flat tone.

  In fact, the Rev with a huge grin covering half his dark brown face moved their way, coming out of one of those shadows like an exceeding huge and friendly vampire. He reached their vehicle and towered over the guard as
Joe explained that the truck belonged to his cousin so the registration wouldn’t match his driver’s license or the passport he dug from a pocket. Knox offered his I.D., withdrawn from a holder he wore around his neck on a string. The rifles he’d stowed under the seat safely out of sight.

  “You make any purchases in Mexico?” the border guard asked, running through the routine while checking the passports.

  “No. We came to find a lost boy.”

  “And we did,” the Rev interrupted. “These are the guys we told y’all about. Tommy is here, Joe, right inside swilling down orange pop and peanut butter crackers. You won’t believe this, but the kid hitched a ride in an urn those two senior citizens who almost ran us off the road brought back. The guard found him and a few other little problems when he did an inspection.”

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” Joe said with his smile and his optimism coming back in a rush.

  “I don’t know about that. You better come see.”

  The guard told them to park next to the van until everything got sorted out, implying they had lots of sorting to do. As soon as Joe entered the building he saw one of the problems, a thin little girl wearing a sunflower-print, sleeveless dress he was fairly sure had come out of the twins’ closet. Same went for the neon orange sneakers on her feet. And damn Bijou, she had Billodeaux eyes. His cousin really had fathered a child south of the border, a daughter who was now an orphan. Talk about complications. As he came closer he noticed she smelled of urine. No wonder if she watched her parents die. The way she pushed away from the table holding her snacks, stood up, and put her hands on her hips defiantly as he approached reminded him a lot of his own daughter, Jude, tanned and taller but very feisty.

  Her first words to him, “I did not wet myself because I am afraid. His puppy peed on me.” She pointed an accusatory finger at the seat Tommy had occupied a second ago. Now only a little yellow dog stood there with his white front paws on the table as he scarfed up peanut butter crackers with his black muzzle, the pup who lured his son away, the pup Tommy would want to keep. More trouble.

  Joe felt the tug on his leg and looked down on that beloved red head, those freckled little boy arms hugging his thigh, and heard the small voice of his son say, “Daddy!”

  He knelt to Tommy’s level and took his boy into his arms. “Oh son, we were so worried about you. Never do anything like this again, you hear?”

  Tommy nodded against his shirt and after a chest-spanning hug finally looked his father in the eyes. “Papi said we were going on a vacation, and I did have fun until—until today. I got us away in some big pots, and I remembered my phone number when the guards asked me. Mama Nell knows we’re safe. I have another sister now and a dog. Can we keep them?”

  Joe ruffled the red hair that set this whole business in motion. “I’m proud that you kept a cool head and saved everyone. I think we can keep that dog, but he might have to stay with a vet for a while to make sure he’s healthy. It’s not so easy to claim a little girl.”

  There she was, right in his face, still stinking of pee and entirely undaunted. “Why I not go home with Rojito? My name is Xochi Gracia Billodeaux. I am American citizen, born in Texas. Mama says so. I want to see America. I never want to go home because—because Mama and Papi are dead and my house burn down.” And then she cried, those large brown eyes with the curly lashes overflowing with huge tears. Joe gathered her into the hug. What else could he do?

  “Look, sugar, I’ll make sure you never go back there.” Another child and a forbidden puppy added to three babies on the way, Nell might not forgive him this time for making plans without her. He’d never cheated on her, not once despite many temptations. He knew he was a good father as he’d vowed to be, but all women had their limits. Had Nell reached hers with the entire Billodeaux family? Add that to the quandary list.

  Connor lounged with one leg up on a chair by a window overlooking the Rio Grande and the setting sun. With a smile on his face, he said, “Looks like I need to take daddy lessons from you.” The smile faded. “We did report the fire and the…what happened to Bijou and his wife.”

  “Thanks. Won’t be the first thing you did for me or I do for you. Kids, go finish your food while I figure this out.” Joe turned to a guard, a short, stout woman with a Latina face. “We have two other friends still across the border and maybe in trouble. Anyway we can get someone to search for them?”

  Before she could answer, Connor called out. “Here they come now, walking across the bridge. I’d recognize Cassie’s hair anywhere. Some ride they picked up.”

  Joe went to the window and watched the couple progress across the bridge. On the far side, an attractive Mexicana leaned against a robin’s egg blue low-rider in pristine condition. She appeared to be blowing kisses Howdy’s way while he waved to her without turning around. Joe stepped outside to greet them. The young lady with the jiggling breasts jumped up and down and pointed. “Joe Dean,” she shrieked so loudly he could hear it across the water. “I save you!” He doled out one of his bone-melting smiles and shouted a “Thanks” her way, though he had no idea what she meant.

  Two more of his kids were on their way home. That’s all that mattered. He waited impatiently while Howdy presented a curled, damp passport to the guard and Cassie turned her back and withdrew hers from her bra. Howdy declared a rug he had tucked under his arm and the green sash Cassie wore around her waist. They’d gone souvenir shopping in the midst of a crisis? Young people, go figure. Who needed a rug to remember what happened on this trip?

  He moved forward as they came through the checkpoint and embraced them both. “Tommy is here, safe and sound, with the Rev and Connor.”

  Howdy stepped back. “That’s great. And look at you, not a scratch on you.”

  Cassie lingered in Joe’s arms. She pressed against him, arms around his neck, and said, “I was so worried about you and Tommy. That girl called the police for us after a little persuading and drove us here. We had to buy one of her rugs.”

  “No, we didn’t. She never asked us to, but her grandfather did want a hundred dollars for the ride and forty for the burro rental. Long story. We can tell you on the way home,” Howdy said.

  Joe unwrapped Cassie’s arms and moved aside to clap Howdy on the back. “Nice work keeping Cassie safe and getting here. I’ll pay you back for the—um, car and burro rental.”

  “No need. Happy to do it.”

  “Sure, he was. That Mexican hottie laid all over him! I had to save him from himself,” Cassie exploded.

  “Well, he is a nice looking young man, Cass.”

  “Not my type. Where’s Tommy?”

  “Inside.”

  She stomped off, but got over her mad as soon as she spotted her son running toward her. She lifted him in her arms and twirled around in happiness. “You’re safe! I love you so much, Tommy, so very much. You and I and Joe can ride home in the truck together, just the three of us.” She set Tommy down and noticed he frowned. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you glad we’re together again?”

  “Sure, but can my dog and my sister ride with us?”

  “What?”

  Joe joined their reunion. “Another long story. Cassie, I think you should go along with Connor, the Rev and Howdy tonight. Get a place to stay, a hot shower and a good meal, then go back to Louisiana in the morning. I have to figure out what to do about the dog and the new sister and even Tommy since he left and entered the country illegally. Knox has lots of law enforcement contacts. He’ll help me work it out.”

  “Do I stink? Oh! I must look awful. But, I’m good with children. I’ll stay.”

  “No, you go along with the guys.”

  “Tommy is my son, too!”

  “And always will be. Don’t be tetu, you. Do as I ask, please.”

  “Only because you asked me nicely. Come on, Howdy. You could use a shower, too.”

  TWENTY

  Despite giving in, Cassie burned like a sparkler on the Fourth of July most of the way home. The thr
ee Sinners listened without commenting until the least experienced with women spoke up. The Rev rolled his eyes, the whites showing the way they did in spooked animals. When Howdy weighed in, Connor sat very still as if they carried nitroglycerin in the back seat of the red van.

  “Yes, Joe said he cared about you. He sent you to safety. He cares about me, too. He cares about the Sinners and about winning another Super Bowl, but caring isn’t love. He loves Nell and his children. He’d die for them. You can’t make your own little family by busting up his, or at least you shouldn’t.” There, he’d gotten it out of his system after miles and miles of remembering and holding it in—the sight of Cassie pressing up against Joe and begging to stay with him.

  A deep “Ah-huhhh,” came from the Rev’s throat.

  “That’s not what I was trying to do. Tommy needed one of his mothers, and Nell wasn’t there.”

  “Because she is at home pregnant with three of Joe’s babies. Tommy gave the guards her number to call for help. Nell is who he talked to first. You have a cell phone. It didn’t ring the whole time we were in Mexico. You’re the young, fun mother, not the one Tommy turns to when he’s scared. Get over it. Get over Joe.”

  “My phone probably lost its charge.” Cassie flipped open the slim instrument she took from her hip pocket. The bars lit up brightly. “I don’t think it works in Mexico.”

  “Most likely not, but we’re almost to the Louisiana border, and he hasn’t called yet.”

  “Maybe Joe won’t let him.”

  “I understood the deal was Tommy could call you anytime, but you had to stay away from Lorena Ranch until Thanksgiving.”

  “Joe didn’t mean that. He couldn’t possibly after what just happened.”

  “Look, I understand you wanted to help, but you horned your way into this trip and only got in the way! You could have been killed, Cassie.”

  “Got in the way! I saved you from that Mexican tramp. You would have ended up forgetting all about Joe after she lured you back into her bedroom to catch who knows what kind of terrible diseases if I hadn’t scraped her off of you and bought a rug.”