She shook her head. “No. At least not while I was there. But it was like I said. As we were leaving, Delgado called Oscar back in and closed the door. I wasn’t real happy about that, but it was only a couple of minutes.”
The receptionist came back out. The professional smile was back in place. “Mr. Delgado can give you a few minutes. This way.”
Delgado stood up from behind his own huge desk as they entered. The desk was empty except for a gold-and-mahogany pen and pencil set and a single file folder. A picture window behind him gave a view of the buildings all around.
The lawyer looked to be in his early thirties, younger than Keller expected. He was a small, neat man, impeccably groomed, expensively dressed, and his demeanor was as calm and serene as the office. “Come in,” he said, flashing them a brilliant smile. He extended a hand to Keller. “You must be Jack Keller. I’m Perry Delgado.”
Keller took the hand. “Jack Keller.”
Delgado turned to Angela. “And Mrs. Sanchez. So good to see you again.” His eyes didn’t look as happy as his words. She only nodded.
“Please,” Delgado said, motioning to a pair of leather client chairs before the imposing desk, “have a seat.” They sat.
“The lady outside said that you might have been expecting to see me,” Keller said.
Delgado took his own seat. He clasped his hands on the table in front of him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Mr. Keller, but I had rather hoped I wouldn’t. See you, that is.”
“I get that a lot,” Keller said.
“That’s what I understand from Mr. Sanchez.”
“What exactly did he tell you?”
“Mostly that if you showed up, it meant that he was in some kind of trouble. I assume that’s what’s happened?”
“He’s disappeared,” Angela said.
Delgado blew out a long breath. “Well,” was all he said. He picked up the file folder and took a piece of paper out. “Mr. Sanchez signed this when he left. It’s a release allowing me to give any information to you regarding him. If you came looking.”
“So, you’re covered. You won’t get in any trouble,” Keller said.
“Not with him, no.”
“But maybe with some other people?”
Delgado put the paper down and looked at Keller. “Mr. Sanchez said you could be trusted. Completely. Those were his words. ‘I trust Jack Keller completely. And you can as well.’”
Keller felt a tightening in his throat. His voice felt strangely hoarse as he said “I’m not a cop. I’m not Immigration. I don’t care about whatever you might be up to. I just want to find my friend.”
Delgado nodded. He stood up and faced the window. “I couldn’t help him. Not like he wanted. Since he’s married a citizen, maybe…and I stress maybe…I could have gotten him back in, if he’d left and gone back to Colombia to reapply. But that could take a year, maybe more.”
“He was worried that the boys weren’t safe,” Keller said.
“Yeah,” said Delgado. “I get that. There’s been an uptick in violence. Kidnappings. Drive-bys with innocent bystanders killed. He was worried, and I don’t blame him. But getting them here, as fast as he wanted? There was no way.”
“Not legally,” Keller said.
Delgado turned away from the window. He was smiling. “Surely you’re not suggesting that I would do something illegal. Even to help a man as nice as Mr. Sanchez and,” he inclined his head to where Angela was sitting, “his lovely wife. And his sons who he felt were in so much danger in Colombia.”
“Surely not,” Keller said. “But.”
Delgado sighed. “But.” He looked down at the desk for a moment, tapping his fingers absently. In the silence, they could hear the muted sounds of traffic in the streets below. He looked up. “Leave me a number,” he said. “I have to talk to some people first. Tell them what Mr. Sanchez said about talking to you. I’ll encourage them to do that.”
“I need the information now,” Keller said.
Delgado looked at him steadily. “I can’t give it to you now. Not without permission.”
Keller stood up and started toward him. “Jack,” Angela said.
Delgado didn’t back away. The window left him no place to go. “Mr. Keller,” he said, “all I can do is give you my word that I will do everything in my power to help you. But some of this is out of my hands.”
Keller stopped. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll be back.”
Delgado shrugged. “And maybe you will beat the names out of me, and maybe you won’t. But if you do, they still won’t talk to you. And they will not take kindly to it. These are people, Mr. Keller, who it is better to have as friends than as enemies.”
Keller stood there, feeling his heart pounding in his chest, the blood pulsing in his temples. He felt his hands curling into fists. He remembered the relaxation exercises Lucas had taught him. He took a deep breath, then another, deliberately uncurling the fingers.
“How long before you know?” Angela’s voice seemed to come to him from far away.
“Tomorrow,” Delgado said. “At the latest.”
She stood up and handed him a card. “Please call at this number,” she said. “It’s my cell.”
Delgado bowed slightly. “I promise,” he said, “I’ll get back with you as soon as I hear. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
“Come on, Jack,” she said, “Let’s go.”
AS THEY waited for the elevator, Angela stole furtive glances at Keller. He seemed outwardly calm, in contrast to how he’d looked when the lawyer had implied he might not be able or willing to help them. She’d seen the tightening of his jaw, the narrowing of his eyes, the telltale signs of the rage in him fighting its way to the surface. For a moment, she’d been afraid he was actually going to try and beat the information he’d wanted out of Delgado. Then he’d brought it under control. But she wondered if he’d be able to do it the next time. She wondered what she’d awakened when she’d brought him out of the desert.
The elevator arrived, and they stepped in together. “So,” she said, trying to sound casual, “it may be tomorrow before we know anything from Delgado. We should probably get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “But I need to make a stop first.” He glanced at her, then gave her a longer look. His voice softened. “You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she felt the weight of the long and sleepless hours on her. Her legs ached, and her eyes felt raw, red, and full of sand.
“Lucas should have found us a hotel by now,” Keller said. “Call him. Then you go rest.”
“What are you going to do?” she said.
“I may need some things,” he said.
“Like guns.”
“You heard Delgado,” Keller said. “We may be dealing with some pretty sketchy people soon. I want to be…” He stopped as he saw the look on her face. “What?”
She shook her head. Her shoulders sagged. “I want you to go home, Jack. Back to that bar, and that job, and that nice girl who’s falling in love with you. Go be boring. And be happy.”
The elevator had reached the ground floor. The doors opened onto the lobby, all glass and concrete and well-tended plants. Neither of them moved. “What the hell brought that on?”
“The way you reacted when that lawyer looked like he was trying to stonewall us. The look on your face when you talked about arming yourself so you could go deal with, as you put it, ‘sketchy people.’”
“And how was that?”
The door started to close. Angela stepped out, with Keller following. They stood in the lobby of the office building, the flow of people parting around them in their way to the elevators. “Jack, tell me how you feel. Right now.”
He smiled. “Now you sound like Lucas.”
“I’m serious. Tell me.”
“I feel fine, Angela.”
“Just fine?” His brow furrowed for a moment. He’s so beautiful. The sudden feeling pierced Angela like a dart.
“I feel good,” he said. “I feel…great.”
“You’re as alive as I’ve seen you since you walked into that bar,” she said wearily, “because you’re hunting again.”
“Yeah. So?”
“So that’s not the path you need to be taking. You took that way out of the desert once, and it nearly destroyed you. I feel like if you go that way again…I’m afraid of what might happen to you. You’re an addict, and I’m giving you the needle again.”
“Look,” Keller said, his voice rising. “You looked me up, okay? You came to me. If you didn’t want me to—”
“Hey,” a voice said. They turned to see Lucas Berry walking their way. He stopped and regarded them for a moment. “Am I interrupting something?”
“No,” Keller said. “I was just telling Angela she needed to get some rest.”
“We all could stand a good night’s sleep,” Lucas said. “I for one am jet-lagged to hell and back. What did the lawyer tell you?”
“He apparently sent Oscar on to some other people,” Keller said. “Not exactly legal.”
Lucas nodded. “Smugglers? Coyotes, I think they’re called.”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “And he’s going to see if they’ll talk to us.”
“In the meantime,” Angela said, “Jack wants guns.”
“Ah,” Lucas said.
Keller sighed. “I know what that ‘ah’ means.”
Lucas shook his head. “You always read too much into it. Whatever. I suggest we table the issue of guns, have an early dinner, and get our heads down for a few hours of sleep. We’ve got a lot of miles to go.” He saw the look on Keller’s face. “You have to eat, Jack,” he said. “And sleep. Tired men make stupid mistakes.”
Keller sighed. “Okay,” he said. “But after dinner—”
“Sleep,” Lucas said firmly.
DELGADO WAS standing at the window, talking into the Bluetooth headset that allowed him to move freely while talking on the phone. “A man was here,” his voice was steady; only the way he drummed his fingers on the window betrayed his agitation, “looking for Sanchez. Or whatever the hell his name was.” He listened for a moment. “Yes. Keller. That was it. So Sanchez told you about him, too?” Another pause as he listened. “What the hell happened out there?” Delgado demanded.
THE MOUNTAIN was burning.
The acrid smoke filled Keller’s eyes and nose, choking him. It was redolent with the sweet aromas of pines and fir, but underneath was the ever-present reek of burning flesh. He looked up into a sky with no sun, no stars, only the smoke flowing and writhing above him as if it were a living thing. Black birds whirled and dipped through the clouds, cawing in harsh rusty voices. He looked down to see a group of figures surrounding him, each with a hand raised and a finger pointing accusingly. They were burning as well, their flesh blackening and melting away as the flame wrapped around them. He saw Marie, the woman he’d loved, her son Ben clutching his mother’s leg as the fire devoured them both. He saw DeGroot, the man he’d shot in cold blood, kneeling a few feet to her right. On his face was a mocking grin that slowly dissolved, the fat sizzling and popping as the flesh melted, revealing the equally mocking grin of the skull beneath. He saw Lisa, the young Hmong girl who’d tried to help him. She was looking at him with the same expression of shock she’d worn when the sniper’s bullet had taken her. Behind her was the man who’d killed her. He was the only one not burning. His face was covered with the camo mask that was all Keller had ever seen of him. He stepped forward, seeming to pass through Lisa’s body as she fell apart into ash and blackened bone.
You bring death, the man said, and hell follows with you.
“That was wrong,” Keller thought. It had been Harland, Lisa’s adoptive father, who’d made that accusation. It didn’t make it any less true. “I know,” he whispered.
“KNOW,” one of the birds above him called down in its derisive, croaking voice. The others took up the call. “KNOW. KNOW. KNOW.”
“Jack,” a voice said.
“No,” Keller moaned. “No. No.”
“JACK!”
Keller’s eyes opened. Lucas Berry was bending over him. “Jack,” he said again. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Keller sat up slowly. “I’m…” he said, then took a deep breath.”I’m awake.” He looked around to get his bearings. He was in a hotel room. He was lying in one of the beds.
The other was unmade, and Lucas sat down on it. He was clad only in a pair of plaid boxer shorts. “Bad dream,” he said.
Keller ran his hands over his face. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about it.”
Keller laughed weakly. “You always do psychoanalysis in your underwear?”
“It’s a new technique. I’m thinking of writing an article on it. Now talk to me.”
Keller swung his legs off the bed. “Can I take a piss first?”
When he returned, Lucas had pulled out a ragged blue terrycloth robe that looked as big as a tent and wrapped it around him. “Better?” he said.
“Much.” Keller sat on the edge of his bed and pulled on his jeans.
“So what was the dream?” Lucas said.
“I don’t remember.”
“Bullshit,” Lucas said.
Keller sighed. “Okay. I was on the mountain.”
“The mountain?”
“Where it happened. Where I shot DeGroot.”
“Let’s start by reframing that. The mountain is where you saved Marie’s life. And her son’s. And your own. She told me all about it.”
“Did she tell you that I shot DeGroot when he was on his knees? Unarmed? Helpless? Did she tell you I shot him again and again, until the gun clicked empty? Did she tell you I was laughing like a goddamn lunatic while I did it?”
“Yes,” Lucas said softly. “She did. And she told me why. She told me DeGroot had some sort of juice. Someone high up looking after him. He was going to get out. He’d told her was going to come back after her. And her boy. He was going to torture them to death because that’s what he did. And he’d get away with it, because that’s also what he did. He had that juice. So he had to die. She also told me that you took the gun from her to keep her from shooting DeGroot in front of her son. You did it so she wouldn’t have to.”
Keller looked down at the floor. “Angela says she’s afraid of what this will do to me.”
“Are you?”
Keller thought for a moment. “A little.”
“So don’t do it,” Lucas said. “We’ll find Oscar some other way.”
“No,” Keller said. “This is something I have to do. Oscar’s my friend. I owe him.”
“You’ve said that. But is that the only thing that’s going on here, Jack? Just duty? A sense of obligation?” Keller didn’t answer. “Back in Arizona,” Lucas said after a few moments. “How was your life?”
“It was fine,” Keller said.
“Looked like it. You had a job. A place to stay. That girl Jules…she seemed nice.”
“She was. I mean, she is.”
“So why leave?”
“I told you—”
“Yeah, yeah, you owe Oscar. But I couldn’t help but notice how much more engaged you seem now than you did back there. Your eyes are brighter. There’s a spring in your step that wasn’t there before. Face it, Jack, you’re enjoying being on the hunt again.”
“Angela says the same thing,” Keller said. “But so what? Are you saying that’s a bad thing?”
“No,” Lucas answered. “Not at all. But you need to recognize that about yourself. You’re a hunter. A warrior. Not a killer. Embrace it. Don’t try and run from it. You tried to run back to the desert. And it didn’t work for you. If it had you wouldn’t have come back.”
“Embrace it?” Keller said, his voice rising. “I killed a man, Lucas. And I liked it.”
“Not the first man you’ve killed,” Lucas observed. “Maybe not the last. But as far as I can tell, you never killed anyone that didn’t try to
kill you first. Maybe that’s why you enjoyed it so much. How does the song go? ‘It ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive’? It doesn’t make you the monster you apparently think you are. You did what you did to protect what you love.” He looked at the clock and sighed. “It’s almost six thirty. I’m going to grab a shower and try to find some breakfast around here. How about you?”
“Yeah,” Keller said. “Breakfast sounds good.”
There was a knock at the door. Lucas got up and answered. Angela stood there, holding a cell phone. “I just got a text…from Delgado.”
“He gets up early.”
“His contact will talk to us. And she’s seen Oscar.”
“She?” Keller said.
She held out the phone. “Rosita Miron. She’s Delgado’s aunt. And she lives a few miles from Fayetteville.”
THEY HAD started out as ten men and five women; now there were only eight men. The women were kept separate, in another one of the long, narrow barracks. The men rarely saw them, but they knew what was going on in that sealed building. They saw guards going in and out, heard the crude comments and jokes they made. It was making them all crazy, but none dared make a move against their captors. Not after what had happened to Diego.
They worked every day from just after dawn until just before sunset, in the blazing heat of summer. Some worked the fields, some were marched to the forest at the back of the compound to cut down trees and clear-cut land. A sawmill built at the edge of the cleared area turned the usable trees into lumber. Every morning, they’d be rousted from their beds by one or the other of their guards banging a metal ladle on a galvanized bucket, which he’d then leave inside the door. The bucket held their meager breakfast, usually thin oatmeal, occasionally a white corn porridge, similar to the mazamorra they’d grown up eating. Diego, who’d been north before, told them the dish was called “grits.”
That was before he was executed.
They’d been working the field three days after their arrival, always under the watchful eyes of two men with guns, radios, and belts hung with equipment that Ruben couldn’t identify. The guards varied, but the most common one was the blond man who’d been among the group that had first taken them prisoner. He liked to walk up and down the rows, weapon loose in his hands, and carry on a conversation with his fellow guards about what he’d done the night before, inside the women’s barracks. He always pitched his voice loud enough for the workers to hear. Most of them didn’t speak English, so the words meant nothing to them, but Blondie’s hand gestures and the kissing and slurping noises he made with his thick, wet lips were enough to get the message across. Ruben understood most of it, but he kept his head down. The guards also carried stiff hide whips like the one Blondie had wielded the night they were taken. The whips were used to “smarten up” anyone who lagged in their picking or “eyeballed” a guard, which was the word for anyone daring to look them in the eye. He’d heard Blondie refer to the crop as a sjambok, and he claimed it was made of rhino hide from South Africa. Whatever it was made of, it left nasty painful welts with even the lightest stroke. No one wanted to feel what it could do with real force behind it.
Devils and Dust Page 4