Devils and Dust

by J. D. Rhoades

  “Then there,” Angela said.

  “But I’m not American,” Esmeralda protested.

  “There may be some people there ready to overlook that,” Angela said. “If you’re willing to talk to them.”

  “Talk…you mean inform?” The girl shook her head. “No. I won’t do that.”

  “Esmeralda,” Angela said, “you may not have a choice. You won’t be able to come back here. You know that.”

  Esmeralda’s eyes grew wide. “I…I…”

  “When you opened that door for me,” Angela said, “you crossed a line. Miguel finds out you did that, he’ll hurt you. Badly. Maybe kill you. He’ll almost certainly kill me. And he probably won’t do it quickly.”

  The girl was beginning to panic. “She didn’t really think this through,” Angela thought. It came to her that, despite her outer hardness, she was a terribly young girl. “Come on, honey,” she said. “We can talk about this in the car. You do have a car, don’t you?”

  Esmeralda nodded. “Outside. In the alley.”

  “Okay.” Angela heard the sound of footsteps on stairs, the clamor of upraised male voices.

  “Mierda,” Esmeralda said. “They’re back early.”

  KELLER DROVE, with Oscar in the passenger seat studying the stolen GPS, which he held on his lap. In his other hand was the map they had printed out on a computer in the Hearken Library. Both of them had their pistols, Keller’s stuck down into the gap between his seat and Oscar’s, and Oscar’s between his seat and the door. The long guns were in the backseat, under a rough blanket they’d taken from the trunk. Occasionally, Oscar would look up from the GPS as they approached one of the infrequent crossroads. At each one, he’d quietly call out a direction: “Left. Straight ahead. Right.” The Glock Keller had taken from the warehouse in Mexico was shoved down alongside Oscar’s between his seat and the passenger door.

  Outside of town, the terrain turned to pine forest that crowded in on the sides of the narrow road. From time to time, the land on either side of the road fell away and they drove along a raised roadway with blackwater swamp on either side, the water stained to the color of strong tea by decaying vegetation. The trees seemed closer, arching over the road as if they contemplated making their final move and blocking them from in front and behind. Then, as suddenly as they’d entered, they’d burst out into sunlight, the swamp giving way in its turn to open fields thick with crops—soybeans, cotton, tobacco, and corn. They saw farmhouses set back from the road, surrounded by trees, some bright and shiny and new, some looking as if they were frozen in the midst of their collapse.

  “We’re getting closer,” Oscar said. “This is the beginning of the church’s lands.”

  “I can tell,” Keller said. Where the other fields had been open, here a chain-link fence ran between the road and the open land. The fence was high, at least twice the height of a man, and topped with a double strand of barbed wire. Every few feet, a sign was wired to the chain link, stating POSTED. NO TRESPASSING in white letters on a black background. Other signs, bright yellow in color, warned DANGER. HIGH VOLTAGE.

  “An electric fence?” Oscar said.

  “That cop was right,” Keller said. “They really don’t like visitors.”

  The fields behind the fence had been mowed, but not planted. Then the pines took over again, blocking their view of what lay beyond. Keller slowed as he saw something up ahead. “There’s the gate,” he said.

  It was a double gate, made of dark, heavy wood, standing as tall as the fence. More signs announced PRIVATE PROPERTY. NO TRESPASSING. But it was the Odin Cross painted on each wing of the gate that interested Keller.

  “Yep,” he said, “this is the place.”

  It was then that they noticed the man behind the fence. He was dressed in khaki pants, a light-brown shirt, and heavy military-style boots. He wore a ragged boonie hat pulled low, and dark sunglasses that hid his eyes. He carried an AK-47 rifle loose in his hands.. As they slowed, he pulled a radio from where it was clipped to his belt and raised it to his face. They could see his lips move as he spoke.

  “Don’t think we’ll be getting in that way,” Keller said. He sped up and pulled away. He checked the rearview to see if anyone was following, dropping his hand to the pistol beside him.

  “Next crossroads,” Oscar said, “take a right. We’ll see if there is another way in.”

  They never got the chance. As they neared the crossroads, a brown and white sheriff’s car, like the one they’d seen in town, came up behind them, fast. Almost as soon as Keller saw it, the blue lights came on.

  “Damn it,” he said. He thought of punching the accelerator, trying to outrun the sheriff’s cruiser. He could have made a go of it in his old Crown Vic, itself a former police car. But the car they’d bought in Texas was a tame, civilian model of his car, which Keller had last seen burned out on a mountainside in Western North Carolina. The cops would run them down, force them off the road, and things would go downhill from there. He pulled the car over to the narrow dirt shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Oscar said.

  “Just follow my lead,” Keller said. He saw the officer getting out. It was Castle, the deputy they’d met in town. He didn’t look happy. Keller rolled the window down. He kept his hands on the wheel in the ten and two position.

  “I thought I told you two to leave this place alone,” Castle said as he reached the car window.

  “We’re on a public road,” Keller said. “We’re not breaking any laws.”

  Castle hesitated. “Out of the car,” he said finally.

  Keller saw the hesitation. “You know I’m right.”

  Castle’s face reddened. “I said, out of the car.” He reached down to the Taser riding on his belt.

  Keller felt the adrenaline rising in him, that exquisite, knife-edge excitement that always came over him at moments like this. His senses seemed especially acute. He could hear Oscar stirring restlessly in the passenger seat. They both had guns within reach, cocked and locked, ready to fire. He could see it playing out in his mind—pull the weapon, come out of his seat, take the shot, put this small-town cop down, and…then what? Then you bring death, a voice said inside his head, and hell follows with you.

  “Okay, okay,” Keller said. He opened the door and slowly got out. Oscar started to do the same.

  “You!” Castle barked. “Stay where you are.”

  Oscar looked at Keller, who nodded. Oscar slid back into the car. Keller straightened up.

  “Turn around,” Castle said. “Hands on the roof of the car.”

  Keller did as he was told. “You know something’s wrong here, Deputy Castle,” he said as Castle patted him down.

  “You need to be quiet, sir,” Castle said. He finished his frisk. “Okay. Hands behind your back.” He took a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

  “Wait,” Keller said, “you’re arresting me? For what?”

  “I said be quiet,” Castle snapped. “And I’m not going to tell you again. Put your hands behind your back.” Keller took a deep breath, but complied. Castle fixed the handcuffs around his wrists, tight but not too tight. He walked around to the other side of the car and motioned Oscar out.

  Keller stood by the driver’s side door, watching. He heard the passenger door open…and then the sound of something clatter to the ground.

  A look of shock crossed Castle’s face as he looked down. He leaped backward, drawing his weapon.

  No, Keller thought. No. Not Oscar. Please.

  “OUT OF THE CAR!” Castle bellowed. “GET ON THE GROUND! NOW!” Keller heard Oscar’s soft answer. He couldn’t make out the words, but he saw Castle’s weapon lowered to point at something on the ground, so he assumed Oscar was complying. Castle holstered his weapons and knelt down out of Keller’s sight. In a moment, Keller saw Oscar jerked upright, hands behind his back. He looked at Keller with an apologetic smile.

  “Castle,” Keller said.

  “Shut up,” the officer replied.

/>   “There’s another gun between the seats. It’s mine. Two long guns in the backseat.”

  Castle stared at him, then bent to look inside the car to confirm. He straightened back up, holding Keller’s Glock. “You’re both under arrest for carrying a concealed weapon, going armed to the terror of the people, and trespassing. You have the right to remain silent…”

  “We could have taken you out, Castle,” Keller said. “You know it’s true. You never would have seen it coming. But we didn’t.”

  “What the hell do you want for that?” Castle said, his voice tight with tension. “A medal?”

  “No,” Keller said, “but maybe you can hear me out.”

  “You can say whatever you want, back at the station,” Castle said. “Right now, you have the right to remain silent…”

  MIGUEL WAS the first one down the stars. He was calling out Esmeralda’s name, irritation evident in his voice. He trailed off in midshout as he saw the machine gun in Angela’s hand. He was wearing a pistol in a fancy tooled-leather shoulder holster. Another man was following him down the stairs, a kid with unruly hair who looked no more than sixteen. Miguel’s sudden stop caused the kid to pile into him from behind. Miguel stumbled forward and Angela raised the gun higher to point at his face.

  “Stop,” she said in Spanish.

  “What the hell,” the kid said. His hand went to the gun stuck in his waistband.

  “Don’t,” Angela said. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  Miguel’s eyes narrowed. He looked back and forth from Angela to Esmeralda. “What’s going on, baby?” he said to the younger woman.

  “She doesn’t want to end up beat all to hell and left for dead like I did,” Angela said. “So we’re getting out of here.”

  “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” Miguel said. He looked back at Esmeralda. “Baby,” he said in a soft voice, “is this what it’s about?” He gestured at Angela. “What kind of nonsense has she been putting in your head?”

  Angela stole a look at the girl. She was holding the pistol out in front of her with both hands, but her hands and arms were shaking visibly. Her voice trembled a little too, but from anger. “You beat me,” she said. “You beat me like a fucking dog. Then you said you wouldn’t do it again. But you did.”

  “Okay,” Miguel said, holding out his hands, palm open. “I know. I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me. I was wrong. But this…this is crazy. This is going to get the both of us in trouble, more trouble than you can imagine. The both of us are going to get hurt.” The girl didn’t answer, but a single tear rolled down her face. “If Zavalo knows I let her get away, he’ll blame me. And you know what that means. I could even live with that, baby. But he’d find you. You know he would. And you know what he’d do.”

  Angela felt sick. The girl was weakening, she knew it. She knew that calm reasonable tone, that persuasiveness. She’d heard it all before. And she’d fallen for it.

  “Take the guns out,” Angela said. “Two fingers. Thumb and forefinger. Drop them on the ground.”

  Miguel ignored her. He never took his eyes of Esmeralda. “You know I love you, don’t you? It would kill me if anything happened to you.” He put one hand on his chest. “You’re my heart.”

  Angela almost pulled the trigger on him right there. He sounded so much like her husband Jeff, just the sound his voice sent a hot bolt of rage through her. She saw the kid smirking. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.

  The kid looked at her and his smile widened. “Fuck this,” he said. “She won’t shoot us.” He reached for the pistol stuck in his waistband. Angela’s gun bucked in her hands. She saw the first round strike the kid in the chest, knocking him back into the stairwell. The gun rode up with the uncontrolled recoil and the second round struck him in the face. The third splintered the wood of the stairwell. Angela had no recollection of pulling the trigger.

  Miguel roared with rage and yanked his own gun from the shoulder holster. Angela heard the blast of Esmeralda’s pistol, saw Miguel stagger backward clutching his belly. He looked at Esmeralda, his eyes wide with shock. “You BITCH,” he shouted. “You fucking SHOT me!” He raised the gun, and Esmeralda sobbed and fired again. Her second shot was spoiled by the tears in her eyes. It went into the doorjamb. Miguel and Angela fired at the same time. She was ready for the recoil this time and all three rounds struck Miguel in the chest and neck. He fell backward and lay still. Angela looked at Esmeralda.

  The girl was sitting on the floor, clutching her belly with one hand. The other still held the gun. Blood stained her white blouse and covered her fingers. She looked up at Angela reproachfully, as if to say this was your fault.

  “Oh no,” Angela said. She knelt by Esmeralda’s side. “Esmeralda, can you hear me?”

  Esmeralda nodded, but didn’t speak.

  “We have to get you out of here, honey. Someplace safe. Someplace with a doctor. Can you get up?”

  “I don’t know,” the girl whispered. “It hurts. It hurts bad.”

  “I know,” Angela said, “I know. Come on.” She got herself under Esmeralda’s arm on one side and tried to stand her up.

  The girl cried out in pain with the first attempt. The second one, she whimpered, but struggled to her feet. “I feel dizzy,” she said.

  “Stay with me, girl,” Angela said. “Stay awake. You’re not dying today. Not if I have anything to say about it.” She guided Esmeralda toward the stairwell.

  When they reached Miguel’s body, Esmeralda looked down and started to cry. “You shot him,” she sobbed. “You killed my man.” She reached out to him as if she wanted to sink down beside him to mourn.

  Angela was panting with the effort. “We don’t get you to a doctor, Esme, he’ll have killed you. Now move.”

  “Noooo,” Esmeralda wailed. “Let me be with him. Let me die with him.”

  “Goddamn it,” Angela said. “I said no. Now come on.” She half dragged, half carried Esmeralda to the stairs. The climb seemed endless, Esmeralda a dead weight on Angela’s shoulder. The gun in her other hand seemed to weigh a ton as well.

  The door at the top of the stairs opened onto a kitchen. Dirty dishes were piled in the sink, and the stovetop looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years. There was a back door, leading to the outside. Angela tried it. It had been nailed shut.

  “I want to sit down,” Esmeralda whined.

  Angela was tempted to just let her do it, leave her burden on the floor, and get out of there. She fought the feeling down. “When we get to the car, you can sit down,” she said. “Where’s the car, Esme? Come on, stay awake, and tell me where the car is.”

  “Other door,” Esmeralda mumbled.

  “Where?” Angela demanded. There was no answer. Esmeralda’s head lolled. Angela gave her an angry shake and she cried out in pain. “Wake up,” Angela said. “Where’s the fucking door?”

  A young girl entered the kitchen, dressed only in a short white robe. She was Latina, but her hair was dyed a brilliant blond not found in nature. She squeaked in surprise at the apparition she saw before her.

  “We are probably a rare sight,” Angela thought, “two women covered in blood, one toting a machine gun.”

  “Who are you?” the woman asked in Spanish. “Where’s Miguel?”

  “Miguel’s dead,” Angela replied. “His little buddy, too.”

  The blonde’s hand went to her mouth. “Dead?”

  “Yeah,” Angela said. The girl just stared. Angela raised the gun. “How do we get out? Show me.”

  “This way,” the blonde said. She led them down a back hallway, Esmeralda staggering and mumbling protests all the way. There was a door at the end, which opened onto a landing above an alleyway. There were two cars parked in the alley—the black Mercedes they’d seen in town and a lemon-yellow Mini Cooper. Angela figured the Mini for Esmeralda’s car, but there’d be more room for the girl in the Mercedes. “You,” she said to the blonde, who was staring at them, trembling. “Check that
black car and see if the keys are in it.” The girl complied immediately, running down the stairway to the alley, her short robe flapping. Angela could see she wore nothing underneath. The blonde reached the car, looked inside, then looked up and nodded vigorously. “Good,” Angela said. “Now come up here and help me get her in.”

  A few minutes later, Angela was in the front seat, Esmeralda strapped in and semiconscious in the passenger side. Angela looked at the blonde. “I don’t suppose you know where the American consulate is, do you?”

  The girl looked blank. “The what?”

  “Never mind,” Angela said. “But if you or any of the other ladies have been wanting to leave, now might be a good time.”

  The blonde looked back at the house, then out at the end of the alleyway, where traffic was rolling by on a busy street. She looked back at Angela. “Did you really kill Miguel?” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” Angela said. “I kind of had to.”

  The woman leaned into the car window, grabbed Angela’s head, and kissed her full on the mouth. Angela tried to pull away, but was blocked by the seat’s headrest. The woman broke the kiss and looked into Angela’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Angela said. “You can come with us if you want.”

  The woman looked at the mouth of the alley. “Go,” she said, “before anyone else comes. I need to get the other girls. Vaya con Dios.”

  “Vaya con Dios,” Angela replied as she started the car.

  THE AMERICAN consulate in Ciudad de Piedras looked more like a prison than a diplomatic post. It was a plain, three-story building made of smooth gray concrete, located far back from the street behind an equally featureless high concrete wall topped with concertina wire. A line of metal bollards set into the concrete kept vehicles away from the wall, funneling all traffic into a two-lane driveway. White-painted guard posts flanked the metal gate.

  It had taken Angela a half hour to find the place. She’d fled the neighborhood of the brothel at high speed, barely stopping at intersections, constantly checking the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. As soon as she was satisfied that no one was behind her, she pulled over to where a man was standing on the corner, as if looking for a ride. As Angela motioned him over, the man approach with a smile on his face. The smile died as he saw the unconscious girl in the front seat.