by Tom Ellis
“That was clever. I’m looking forward to meeting Miguel. Carson, we are going to check out the motorhome. Then we can follow you over to the casita.”
“That works for me.”
Burns and Hadfield drove over to the motorhome in the Nissan SUV.
“That was an interesting story. Do you get the idea Carson is not telling everything?” Jolene asked.
“I do. We’ll talk about it when we get to where we are going. Let’s look at the RV and make sure it is ready to travel. I’ll drive it, and you drive the SUV. Keep your eyes open on the way to the casita.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Twenty minutes later, with Carson Bell leading the way in a King’s Ranch Edition Ford F250, a three-vehicle convoy left the Double B Ranch. It was five miles on the forest service road before Bell stopped and opened a gate. They followed ranch road behind the gate another mile up a hillside and came to a plateau with a small house and larger barn beside it. Bell parked in front of the house, and Hadfield parked beside him. Carson directed Burns to the RV hookup and spotted for him as he maneuvered the motorhome into place.
“As you know from the information Russell sent you. The casita is an old line shack. The original structure was one room. I added a second room and a bathroom with indoor plumbing when we put in a septic tank. You folks come on inside and take a look.”
Burns and Hadfield made the appropriate comments as they toured the small but nicely furnished in the rustic western house. From the house, they could see the barn and the windmill which pumped water into a large tank.
You will probably see my hands, Butter Billy Three and TR from time to time. Miguel comes to the barn twice a day to feed Don Cameron. Estella will come with him this evening and bring you a meal. It’s the way we welcome guests on the Double B.
“What kind of nickname is Butter Billy Three? That doesn’t sound very cowboy.” Jolene said.
Carson Bell smiled. “His real name is William Edward Butterfield the Third. He claims to be a descendant of the Butterfield Stagecoach family. Butter Billy is one of the best windmill men in the valley. He is a damn fine cowboy for his size. You will see where the butter part comes from when you meet him. I’ve got a windmill broke on the eastern side. He and TR are over there. TR is good with windmills, but he’s not in Butter Billy’s class.”
“I thought stagecoaches were Wells Fargo.” Jolene said.
“Carson smiled again. “Wells Fargo wasn’t the only stagecoach line in the old west. The Butterfield stage was primarily in the southwest.”
“Any ghost towns around here?” Hadfield inquired.
“Sunnyside east of here. It is near Fort Huachuca’s old south gate.”
“Wow, the history here is cool. At home, it’s a green sign called a historical marker. If you can see it, there is a fence around it or somebody charges money to look at it.” Jolene said.
Carson laughed again. “Get Andy to take you to Tombstone. It’s best-known tourist trap in the state.”
“Would you show me the stud horse?” Burns asked.
“He’s over to the barn. I’ll walk you over there. But don’t expect a friendly pet looking for a treat. He is as close to a wild horse as you will get.”
They walked the twenty-five yards to the barn.
“What was this horse's disposition before he showed up on your doorstep?” Burns asked casually.
“He was alert, sort of standoffish, not a pet by any means. Cam is a working ranch horse. Lyon worked cattle on him, took him to ranch horse competitions and stood him at stud. I can’t figure what caused the change in him and Jazz. Jazz is out of a championship line of border collies. Watching Lyon work cattle with Cam and Jazz, was.” The old rancher hesitated, almost choking up.
“Was like art in motion. That horse and dog were world class. Lyon Hamilton was just along for the ride.”
The barn had the center run and stall corrals on one side a tack and storage room was on the opposite side followed by large pipe corral turnouts. All of it under one roof.
“Nice barn,” Burn said when they entered the open runway.
“Burns Cam and Jazz are in the first turn out on the left side past the tack room. You can see Hamilton’s saddle on the top pipe next to the tack room. You need to stay on the right side because if you get too close to the fence both of them will charge the fence and Jazz will try and bite you if you get close enough. They let Miguel come to the fence and feed them. And it took a while for that to happen.”
Burns walked to the tack room and went inside. Jolene and Carson Bell stopped, wondering what he was doing. An angry whinny sounded a warning from the corral. Burns came out of the tack room carrying a rag, and a can saddle soap. He walked over to the saddle paying no attention to the angry horse.
Andy admired the saddle. It was a heavy working rig, an A-fork Wade tree, slick seat high cantle. The leather was dark, and tastefully basket stamped, well cared for and dusty.
Don Cameron whined reared his hooves pawing the air and snorted shaking his head. The long tangled mane waved in the air adding to the menacing appearance of the horse. Jazz joined in alternating between barking and teeth bared growls.
Burns hardly glanced at the horse and dog. He began wiping the dust off the saddle. While discreetly raising his eyes toward the equine and its canine backup. The pair decided one more demonstration was in order. It was impressive. Complete with bared teeth and snot slinging with his manhood on display Cameron pawed the air angrily snorting his displeasure. Jazz made a warning attack run advancing half the distance to the pipe fence with his teeth bared and best available growl. Jolene and Carson were impressed enough they backed up. And they were ten feet behind Burns.
Both said, “Burns!”
Andy wiped the saddle and acted as if he paid no attention to the display. The quarter horse circled and bolted toward Burns and the saddle making a sliding stop about ten feet from Andy. The angry dog right beside his giant friend. Don Cameron treated Burns to snorts whinnies head shaking more snot slinging. The stud made a half-hearted rear and dropped his hooves back in the dirt. He glared at Burns baring his teeth. Andy opened the can of saddle soap. Put some on the rag and began rubbing it into the saddle seat.
The horse and dog loudly voiced their opinions about Burns working on the saddle. Neither one moved any closer to the fence. After he had finished the seat, Andy started cleaning the skirt. He would look at the horse and dog now and then while he worked. And it appeared to Carson and Jolene that he was paying no attention to the animals. Who, apparently thought the same thing because they stopped their obnoxious behavior and stood watching Burns. Andy continued working on the saddle. He lifted the saddle off the rail turning so he could finish up the off side. The horse and dog watched from their spot ten feet away.
When he finished cleaning the saddle, Andy returned it to its original position on the fence. He put the rag and saddle soap back in the tack room.
“Nice looking horse,” Burns said rejoining Bell and Hadfield at the barn's entrance. “He needs grooming and shoeing. I see Miguel keeps hay and feed up here. I want to meet Miguel, and if you don’t mind, I’ll take on the feeding duties for Don Cameron and Jazz.”
They didn’t notice the horse and dog sticking their heads out of the corral watching the stranger walk away.
As they walked back to the casita Bell said. “Burns that is as close as that horse has gotten to a human since he let Miguel unsaddle him. I don’t mind you feeding them and don’t think Miguel will either. But he will look over your shoulder until he is happy with how you do it.
“Just be careful around that damn horse I don’t want a paying guest hurt. I believe Russell a little more about you knowing horses. But I can’t get near him and neither can my hired help. I’m taking a chance even letting you around him. With the way, folks sue each other these days.”
“I hear what you are saying Carson. Trust me, I value my hide more than you do. We are going to get settled. And
we will look for Estella and Miguel this afternoon. I would appreciate your recommendation who has good horses for sale around here.”
“I’ll get your names, and I’ll call ahead with an introduction for you. I’ll also have Miguel bring up a couple of well-broke geldings this afternoon along with saddles and tack.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
They watched Carson Bell leave. He was out of sight before Hadfield said a word.
“Burns you’re not going to buy a horse. You are going to ride up to Carson Bell’s ranch house on Don Cameron.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“That misdirection about horse sellers.”
“Remind me never to accuse you of not listening.”
“The story of that horse and dog showing up at Bell’s house doesn’t bode well for Lyon Hamilton.”
“No, it doesn’t. Nothing Bell has told us sounds good. That guy Bradford is up to something. And I still wonder what Carson Bell is holding back. Russell and Cruz will be here in a couple of hours with that truck and trailer. I want to get the motorhome hooked up and everything ready.”
“You want to share your plans for that old truck Burrito is bringing out here.”
“Sure, I plan on going over to Rocking H Bar under the pretense of being an out of work cowboy. That truck looks the part. And those geldings Bell is sending over will fit in well for that ruse. I plan on asking Burrito to go with me and do the talking while I look around.”
“I guess that is why you have forgotten to shave for the past few days.”
“You noticed.”
“Hard not to.”
Chapter Eleven
Ron Kroll rode with Ashton Bradford south on I-19 toward Nogales Arizona and the US Border with Mexico. Bradford drove the GMC Suburban 4X4. He picked Kroll up earlier at the extended stay motel Kroll called home. It was a non-descript place that served transient people. Kroll preferred it because they took cash and he operated off the grid, something Bradford liked. According to Bradford, they were crossing the border for a special meeting at a deluxe restaurant in Nogales Sonora Mexico. They were meeting El Jefe the Sonora cartel boss. One of the most dangerous and ruthless men in Mexico.
“You’re quiet Kroll. I like that. But something is on your mind. What is it?”
“Same thing I said when you invited me to this meeting. I don’t want my passport recorded crossing the border. I expect those assholes at the bureau have it flagged. And what I do is none of their business.”
“You still worried about getting indicted for knocking Skinny Winnie on his ass?”
“Yeah. I would rather cross back and forth under the radar. Don’t tell me El Jefe doesn’t have a tunnel we could use.”
“I expect he has several. He even digs some for the Border Patrol to find. Just keep the five-million-dollar payoff in your head. And remember I don’t trust the US government any more than you do. An El Jefe sure as hell doesn’t.”
Kroll settled back and watched the interstate signs; that displayed distances in kilometers instead of miles. An example of the immigrant takeover of his country. The lights of Nogales shown as they turned off into the town and made their way south. Bradford explained they would park and walk across the border. There was a special parking lot for those doing just that. Complete with a fee to park, even late at night.
“If you’re packing there is a lock box under the seat. El Jefe’s men will pat us down. We couldn’t win a gun battle with them.”
“I left it at home,” Kroll said sourly.
They left the suburban and walked across the parking lot. Kroll didn’t notice Bradford nod to the driver of a beat-up Toyota. Pauli Dumas was discretely following his boss. Dumas would not make the crossing tonight. He would watch the car. When Bradford and Kroll reached the sidewalk to the port of entry, a Mexican male walked up to them.
“Senor Bradford, Senor Kroll follow me Por favor.”
They followed the man away from the port of entry and across the street. They walked for a block then turned down a side street. The man stopped and rang the doorbell of an Asian Massage Parlor. A voice asked that they look at the camera above the door. All three men looked up, and a buzzer sounded. A short, plump Oriental woman opened the door and silently motioned them inside. They followed her down a dimly lit hallway to a locker room. Another silent motion for them to enter. She left closing the door behind her. The Mexican locked it from the inside. He turned to a bench in front of a row of lockers. He lifted the end of the bench. Kroll saw the bench concealed a trapdoor. The Mexican gestured for them to enter. They descended a ladder to a concrete floor surprisingly one could walk upright in the tunnel. The tunnel lights were better than those in the hallway above. A rough looking hombre waited in the tunnel. When the door closed above them, the man spoke.
“Silencio Por favor.” He gestured for them to follow him.
Kroll could not estimate the distance; he glanced at his watch when they started. Twenty minutes later they stopped at another ladder. This one appeared to go up for several stories. Their guide led the way. Kroll went second; Bradford was last. As they neared the top, Kroll heard dance music. Their guide activated another trap door and climbed out. Ron saw they had entered a small cubical with a chair. The guide held a door open from the outside. Kroll stepped into a Mexican Gentleman’s Club. Bradford soon joined him, and their guide went back into the cubical.
A pretty Latina stepped up to Kroll, she smiled and seductively licked her lips as she stroked his manhood through his trousers. The tiny woman, maybe in her teens turned away. Besides her bra, she wore thong panties. Kroll squeezed her round butt. She giggled and wiggled her finger for him to follow. They reached the front of the club and another man, this one in a sports coat and open collar, asked to see their passports. He inspected the documents and returned them.
“Senor Kroll, Senor Bradford, follow me Por favor.” They followed him out of the club and down a flight of stairs. Kroll was glad to get away from the loud thumping music. Outside on the street, their new guide waved to a cab waiting down the block. The driver flashed his headlights acknowledging the gesture and pulled away from the curb. A moment later the cab stopped in the street in front of them. The escort opened the back door for Bradford and Kroll. Once they were inside, he got in the front seat. The cab took off. Kroll casually tried to get his bearings.
“Did passport control meet with your approval?” Bradford asked.
“Yeah, you could have eased my anxiety and told me we were going under the fence.”
“El Jefe’s rules.”
“The chicka at the bar checked my gun. She didn’t look for a pistol either.”
Bradford thought for a moment and then burst out laughing. “If you grabbed her ass look out on the return trip!”
Kroll was not surprised to see there were no customers in the restaurant. El Jefe had the reputation of paying for every patron’s meal when he entered a place and then asking them to leave. They got a free meal check for another night. No one complained. A couple of bodyguards searched Bradford and Kroll, and led them to a table where Bradford introduced Kroll to El Jefe.
In person, the short, plump Mexican cartel boss was anything but the stereotype drug lord. He was jovial and smiled easily, an excellent host. Kroll remembered the man was a stone cold psychopathic killer, who favored torture and long drawn out deaths. Rumor had it that El Jefe built a cross where he occasionally crucified those who displeased him.
“Senor Brad, tell me of this border ranch you have purchased.” El Jefe asked in surprisingly good English.
“It’s in the San Rafael Valley only a few miles from Lochiel. A farm service road that runs parallel to the border runs across the southern part.”
“And you feel it will serve our mutual needs.”
“Yes, it even came with a large flatbed truck used for hauling hay. The former owner had a long-standing agreement with a hay grower in this country sell him hay. His hired hands would cross
the border at the old point of entry at Lochiel and pick up a truckload. There is a large barn on the property used for storing hay. It will serve our purposes well.”
“I understand. And you have quarters for drivers can wait for the trucks?”
“Yes, a bunk house. And I also have a cheap source for cargo trucks.”
“Excellent, Senor Brad, excellent. Can you handle human cargo as well via the same route?”
“Humans can be transported on the hay truck. It will not be first class seats, but it will work. They can be housed in the barns as well. My truck source can also provide buses if need be.”
“I like the way you think Senor Brad. Will Senor Ron be supervising these operations for you?”
“Yes, and he will serve the special project as well.”
“Ahhh yes, the special project. Tell me, Ron, what was it like to knock your superior on his ass as Senor Brad tells me you did.”
“El Jefe it was better than sex.”
“Better than sex with the chicka who grabbed your package in my club?”
“I admire your information sources El Jefe. You know all.”
The drug lord smiled in a manner that left no doubt evil lurked behind the friendly façade he was presenting.
“But Senor Ron you did not tell me why knocking this Winston Glover on his ass is better than sex.”
“Sex you can have anytime. Knocking a jerk like Skinny Winnie on his butt happens once in a lifetime.”
“Why not just shoot him.”
“I would have enjoyed doing that. But not in an office with witnesses. I do not wish to spend the rest of my life behind bars. I have enough life left to get even for everything those assholes have done to me. And shooting Skinny Winnie would be too good for him.”
“If not shooting, what would be good for this Winston Glover?”
“I suppose one could shoot him slowly. One part at a time?”
“Ahhh, I like that Ron Kroll. How do you say it? I like how you think.”
“Yes, El Jefe.”
“Perhaps I can help you get your chance.”