Trail of the Chupacabra: An Avery Bartholomew Pendleton Misadventure (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 2)

by Randel Stephen

  “A reverse what?” Private Tango whispered to his Team Leader.

  “I don’t know,” replied Fire Team Leader Bravo. “Just run a shallow crossing route over the middle, and I’ll hit you between the linebackers.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Any questions?” the General asked. None of the men said a word. “Okay, then, obey my commands and protect yourself at all times.” Suddenly, the sound of automatic gunfire exploded from the other side of the rise. Through the din, the sounds of Ziggy’s and Private Zulu’s screams rang out. “Battle stations!” the General shouted. “Fire Team Leader Alpha, where are the weapons?”

  “In the bus.”

  “Why are they in the bus?”

  “That’s where you said to store them.”

  “Idiot! Get the weapons. The rest of you men, follow me.” The General turned and waddled his way up to the top of the rise with his troops in tow. Avery was the first one to the top. A group of six Mexican men were loading Ziggy and Private Zulu into the back of a pickup truck. The men were heavily armed. One of the men, one with long black hair, turned and looked back up toward the top of the rise.

  “Retreat,” the General whispered as he ducked down and started back to the bottom, his troops right behind him. Avery didn’t move. He just watched the men below. Once Ziggy and Private Zulu were tossed into the bed of the pickup, the man with the long hair turned and climbed into the vehicle. It sped off across the desert floor.

  “What the hell?” Fire Team Leader Alpha, halfway up the slope, his arms full of old deer rifles and shotguns in various states of disrepair, asked as the General stumbled past him toward the bus.

  “Retreat!” the General cried out again.

  “Retreating!” the men called out while running to catch up with the General.

  “Flipping pig shit,” Fire Team Leader Alpha swore as he turned around with his load and followed the group. “Make up your damn mind.”

  Meanwhile, at the top of the rise, Avery watched the truck pulling away into the distance, heading toward the farm. Over the distance, he could still hear Ziggy screaming out.

  “Nannnnncccccy!”

  • • •

  Back at the Coyote’s Lair, the dejected men stared into half-finished bottles of beer.

  “I can’t believe they got Zulu,” Private Foxtrot said.

  “And the civilian, too,” added Private Tango. “This ain’t going to look good in our mission debrief.”

  “My friends, I told you, that area is dangerous, no?” El Coyote passed out another round of beers. “Many people go missing there and are never seen again.”

  “What are we going to do, General?” Fire Team Leader Charlie asked. “We can’t just leave them behind, can we?”

  “I’m strategizing on it,” the General replied as he rubbed his head.

  “Mr. Coyote, do you have a telephone I may use?” asked Avery.

  “Sure, my friend. It is behind the bar. Feel free.”

  “What’s going on?” asked the General. Avery pulled a small piece of paper from his fanny pack.

  “I’ve got an idea. Wait here.” Avery went to the bar, found the phone, and dialed a number. After it rang a few times, someone picked up the other end.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m trying to reach Enrique Montalban.”

  “How did you get this number?”

  “Gregory Kennesaw Mountain. He’s my legal advisor, or at least one part of the numerous legal experts that comprise my crisis team. He suggested I get in touch with a Mr. Montalban, if certain unfortunate circumstances arise. Can you please put me in touch with him? Immediately.”

  “You are speaking to Enrique Montalban. Are you calling to settle Mr. Mountain’s significant gambling debt with me? I can assure you the accumulated interest is quite significant.”

  “Not my concern. May I suggest you take the matter up with Mr. Mountain personally? He is usually sober by two or three in the afternoon, except for weekends and holidays, but the window of lucidity is rather small. Don’t wait until after four.”

  “To whom am I speaking?”

  “For now, just call me Rock Star.”

  “What is the nature of your call, Mr. Star? Or should I just call you Rock?”

  “I’m in a bit of a pickle. You see, I’m here in Mexico and seem to have misplaced a couple of friends.”

  “Misplaced?”

  “They were taken, actually.”

  “Many people are taken in this country. It is not so uncommon. I suggest you contact the police.”

  “Normally, that would be my first call. Well, not normally, but I’m not the most popular person with the authorities at the moment.”

  “Are you a wanted man?”

  “Most likely.”

  “By who?”

  “The government.”

  “Which one?”

  “All of them, I think. There’s also a little problem with the appropriate travel documents for several of the members in our party.”

  “You’re in the country illegally?”

  “We didn’t exactly sign in at the front desk, if you know what I mean.”

  “What makes you think that I can help?”

  “According to Confucius, if you toss a pebble into a pond, you get a ripple. If you toss a toaster into a pond, you get a bigger ripple, not to mention a whole lot of dead fish. What I mean to say is that, according to my attorney, you are the kind of man who can make a very big ripple.”

  “You’re a very strange man.”

  “Thank you. Genius is almost always misdiagnosed.”

  “Besides you and your two missing colleagues, how many others are with you?”

  “Six others.”

  “Where are you currently?”

  “A little place outside of Piedras Negras at a house of ill repute known as the Coyote’s Lair. Our friends were taken to a large farm not far from here.” There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “I know the place you are at,” Mr. Montalban said after a few moments. “Stay there. I will make some calls and see what I can find out. Can you describe your two companions? The ones who are missing, so to speak.” Avery gave him a detailed description of Ziggy and Private Zulu. “Thank you, Mr. Rock Star. Once again, do not leave the Coyote’s Lair. Someone will be in contact with you. Someone who can help.”

  “Thank you in advance for your kind assistance, Mr. Montalban. Now, make it snappy.”

  “But of course.” Mr. Montalban hung up the phone.

  “There, that was easy.” Avery returned to the group.

  • • •

  Back in New Orleans, Mae Mae rocked in her chair. The rocking chair was hand carved by her father. It was old, and it helped the elderly voodoo priestess to relax. Something wasn’t right with Mae Mae. She felt it in her bones. It ached deep within her. Her dreams had been crazy lately. Those two white fools. Mae Mae rubbed her temple. It didn’t help with her headache. Her granddaughter, in her little white dress, came through the purple strands of beads.

  “Mae Mae, we need more whiskey.” The pretty little girl went to the back of the building.

  “It’s up in there, child,” Mae Mae said in a hushed voice. “Take it all out, sweetie.”

  “Mae Mae, you okay?” The little girl carried a case of liquor toward the front of the house.

  “Hush, child. Leave me be.”

  “Okay, Mae Mae.” The little girl looked over her shoulder with concern. The shouts from the bar in the front room grabbed the girl’s attention. “I’ll be back, Mae Mae. You just rest easy.” The girl disappeared through the purple beads.

  “I’ll be here…child.” Mae Mae exhaled, long and slow. She climbed out of her rocker and went to the table. Standing above it, she tossed the bones. A concerned look spread across her face as they settled. She sat down at the table and began to deal from a deck of tarot cards. She looked at the cards, examining them closely. A worried look spread across her face. I can’t believe
those two crazy honkies actually went to Mexico. Mae Mae picked up her cards and bones, and went back to her rocking chair. She was tired. She went to sleep…and prayed for them. For the first time ever, she prayed for honkies.

  • • •

  “Nancy…Nancy,” Ziggy whimpered in the dark.

  “Where are we?” Private Zulu asked.

  “Like, I don’t know, man. Nancy…”

  “Quiet…I don’t think we’re alone in here.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think there’s someone over there.”

  “Like, where?”

  “Over there.”

  “It’s, like, too dark, dude.”

  “I’ve got a bad feeling.” A groan came from the other side of the room. “I told you so! Help! Get us out of here!”

  “Nancy!” Footsteps came from outside the room. Suddenly the door opened, and a light was turned on. The brightness temporarily blinded the two men, who struggled at the bonds that held them firmly in their chairs.

  “Help us, mister,” Private Zulu begged the figure slowly coming into focus in the doorway. The man, wearing a dark suit and priest’s collar, lit a cigar.

  “What were you doing on my property?”

  Neither Ziggy nor Private Zulu said a word. Their eyes were riveted to the sight of the massive, bloody, naked man tied to a chair on the other side of the room. A car battery rested at his feet.

  “I said, what were you doing on my land?”

  “We wasn’t doing nothing, mister,” Private Zulu said. “According to the General, I’m only supposed to give you my name, rank, and serial number.”

  “I don’t, like, have a rank,” Ziggy mumbled.

  “Do you know who I am?” the Padre asked as he blew a cloud of smoke across the room.

  “No, sir,” Private Zulu answered. “May I use your the toilet, mister? I’ve got a real bad case of the green apple squirts. I don’t cotton too much to the chow down here.”

  “How many others are with you?”

  “Oh, a whole bunch, mister. They’re probably on their way to get help right now.” Across the room, Barquero moaned. “Maybe, if you just let us go, we can forget this whole dang thing. We was just about heading back to Texas anyway. Bygones is bygones, my granny used to say.”

  A man carrying a cell phone entered the room. Cesar followed the man. He paused when he saw Barquero.

  “Hello, my old friend,” Cesar said. Squinting through the blood in his eyes, Barquero struggled at his bonds and cursed through the duct tape covering his mouth.

  “Padre,” the man with the phone said, “you have a call.” He handed the Padre the phone.

  “Who is it?” the Padre asked. “What do you want? Really? Where? I see. I’ll take care of it. Thank you, Mr. Montalban.”

  • • •

  Back at the Coyote’s Lair, Avery and the remaining men of STRAC-BOM watched the naked women dance for the evening crowd. The bus was parked out back. The General had insisted, for security reasons. They all had their sombreros on for disguise, except the General. As usual, the main focus of attention in the building was on Esmeralda. The curvaceous brunette slowly spun her way around the main stage. She pulled a large revolver from the holster on her hip and playfully pointed it at random men in the audience. Her intoxicating smile virtually hypnotized customers into tipping her every peso they had on them.

  “Man, that babe is finer than a frog hair split three ways.” Fire Team Leader Bravo finished his beer.

  “Be careful, my friend,” El Coyote said as he placed another round of beers down on the table. “She’s a beauty, but she bites.”

  “That pistol she’s packing sure looks right legit,” Private Foxtrot said.

  “That’s because it is,” replied El Coyote.

  “Jesus!” Private Foxtrot ducked under the table as Esmeralda swung the handgun in his direction. “It’s not loaded, is it?”

  “Of course it’s loaded, my friend. What use is an unloaded gun? Lupe! Bring these men some more tequila.” Behind the bar, Lupe ignored him. “When is the man you called showing up to help find your friends?” El Coyote asked Avery.

  “I’m expecting to hear from him at any moment.” Avery yawned. “You’re absolutely positive there’s no Mountain Dew for sale in this wretched town?”

  “Positive, my friend.” All of a sudden, the doors to the club swung open, and half a dozen armed men burst in.

  “This is a message from the Padre!” one of the cartel soldiers said. “Stay away from the farm!” A long string of automatic weapon fire immediately followed his proclamation. Everyone in the building dove for cover as glass exploded throughout the room. Avery tried to hide under the table. He didn’t really fit. The men from STRAC-BOM hit the deck. Burst after burst of gunfire continued and mixed with the screams of terrified patrons. The acrid smell of gunpowder quickly filled the room. Then, as quickly as it started, it stopped. There was total silence except for the occasional tinkling of a fragment of broken glass falling to the floor.

  “Stay away from the Padre!” one of the gunmen warned.

  “I kill you!” El Coyote cried out as he leapt from behind an overturned table, jumped off the top of another, and came crashing down on a gunman, driving him hard into the floor. “I kill you dead!” From behind the stage, Esmeralda appeared with her long silver revolver and pointed it straight at the Padre’s men. Wearing a tight-fitting red corset and holding the big pistol with both hands, she fired all six rounds toward the attackers, hitting two of them. The powerful rounds blew the men backward several feet. The other gunmen dove for cover. From behind the bar, Lupe emerged with a sawed-off shotgun. She jacked shell after shell into the chamber as she sprayed the area with heavy lead shot. El Coyote picked the victim of his devastating “Flying Burrito” up over his head, spun around twice, and launched him ten feet across the room into a wall. The man hit headfirst. He fell to the floor and didn’t move again. Panicked patrons and barely clad strippers scattered for the exits. Esmeralda and Lupe continued to pull the triggers of their weapons, but they were both out of ammunition. The three surviving members of the cartel recognized the sound of hammers falling on empty chambers. They reloaded and crawled out of hiding.

  “Follow me!” El Coyote yelled as he pulled Avery out from under his table. General X-Ray and his men quickly followed.

  “Through here,” Esmeralda said as she pointed behind the stage just as the henchmen began to fire again. Bullets slammed into what remained of the mirrored walls all around her. Behind the bar, Lupe had reloaded her shotgun and popped up out of hiding. Firing away, she hit one of the gunmen with two bursts, nearly tearing him in half. The man’s partners turned their assault rifles on Lupe and cut her down. “Lupe!” Esmeralda screamed as El Coyote pulled her behind the stage, where Avery and the others huddled together.

  “This way,” El Coyote said, dragging the inconsolable Esmeralda with him. “To your vehicle.” Emerging through the back of the Coyote’s Lair, the group piled into the school bus. Sounds of gunfire continued from inside the building, followed by the sound of a large explosion. Fire Team Leader Alpha poured on the gas and ground through the gears as the rickety bus barreled down the narrow backstreets of the small village. Looking back, El Coyote could already see the flames beginning to rise from his beloved brothel. It had been his life, and now it was gone. By now Esmeralda had stopped crying and stared coldly out the window.

  “You okay, ma’am?” Private Tango asked quietly.

  “Do I look okay?” Esmeralda shot back. “Those bastards just killed my sister. No, no, I’m not okay!”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Private Tango said sheepishly.

  “And for the record, my name isn’t ma’am.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing to me!”

  “Calm down,” El Coyote said.

  “Don’t you tell me to calm down!” Esmeralda screamed. “It’s all your fault. You let these stupid gringos into the club. All they do i
s just sit around watching me dance and don’t even tip. And then, if that’s not enough, they bring the Padre right to us. Everything is gone, Lupe is dead, and it’s all your fault!” Esmeralda punched the bus seat in front of her with the butt of her pistol.

  “What are we going to do about Zulu and the civilian?” Private Foxtrot asked.

  “They’re with the one they call the Padre,” replied El Coyote. “I know where his farmhouse is. I’m sure he’s keeping them there. We’ll get them out, if they’re still alive, and then we’re going to take our revenge. I’ve had enough with these damn cartels. This town is full of good people. No more turning our backs and pretending everything is okay. Enough is enough. El Coyote has had enough.” He looked at Esmeralda and reached for her hand. Esmeralda slapped it away.

  “Mr. Coyote,” General X-Ray said, “my men are trained professionals…”

  “Your men are fools,” Esmeralda interjected before she turned her head and stared out the window.

  “As I was saying, my men are professionals, and even if we had the proper equipment and time to recon and plan a full-scale search-and-rescue mission, we’d be outmanned and outgunned.”

  “I have a plan. Driver, head toward the hills over there.” El Coyote pointed across the desert. Fire Team Leader Alpha pulled off the road and headed away from the village. “Esmeralda, you don’t have to come with us,” El Coyote said.

  “Screw you. I’m coming. Someone is going to pay for Lupe.” Esmeralda spun the cylinder on her long pistol. The group sat in silence for the next few minutes. Avery watched as the dark red sun settled below the horizon to the west. He wondered if Ziggy was okay. The little hippy was his only real friend, even if Avery rarely treated him like one. For the first time since he’d lost his mother, Avery felt genuine remorse for another human being.

  • • •

  “They’re, like, going to come and get us, right?” Ziggy asked.

  “Shhh…you’re going to wake the big Mexican.”