NO EASY WAY OUT a gripping action-packed thriller (Johnny Silver Thriller Book 4)

by PAUL BENNETT

  ‘I’ve been away too long,’ I said. ‘One thing isn’t going to be enough.’

  There was a commotion from outside. I put my coffee back on the table and went to see what it was about. Four men were carrying the effigy of the saint on some form of contraption like a sedan chair, two poles joined by sacking on which the statue sat. They were finding it heavy work and were weaving down the street.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ I said. ‘Let’s give them a hand.’

  Bull was excused, since he was so much taller than the rest of us that the contraption would be unbalanced. The rest of us took the poles from the four men and made our way along the street. It was surprisingly heavy and I could see now why the men were struggling. Chico ran up to me and walked alongside.

  ‘Where are we going Chico?’ I asked.

  ‘To the church, senor. Our Lady will sit outside the church while the fiesta takes place and then be put inside for the service. After that there will be the fireworks.’

  As we approached the church, Padre Patrick came up to me. ‘So they’ve found you some honest work for a change,’ he said.

  ‘Good to see you, too, padre,’ I said.

  ‘I didn’t say good to see you,’ he replied. ‘I heard there was more killing while I’ve been away.’

  ‘You heard right. Did you hear, too, that we had rescued Maria?’

  ‘Who didn’t need rescuing. Hardly a plus point when it comes to your day of judgement.’

  We put the statue down and I exhaled in relief. I guessed we would be needed later when it came to putting Our Lady in pride of place in the church.

  ‘I may have killed people in the past and then again in this village, but my conscience is clear. They all had the opportunity to walk away and turn from evil. I never killed anyone who didn’t deserve to die. It was the same here. It was us or them. What would you have done in that situation? Turn the other cheek? That doesn’t work in real life, padre. The watchword is shoot faster and more accurately than your opponent. That’s the only way to survive the dirty world we’re in.’

  ‘Do you just see the bad in people? That must be a heavy load to bear.’

  ‘Just like this statue, but you need to fight for the opportunity to put it down and return to normality.’

  ‘I suppose there is some hope for you,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Just as I try to see the good in everyone. I wouldn’t like the responsibility of your kind of life. To be the judge, deciding what punishment is due to whom.’

  ‘In the end, we’re both on the same side, padre, but our methods are different. Someone has to stop bad people doing bad things to good people. Just regard us as unofficial police officers, protecting the innocent.’

  ‘Beware, Silver. Those that live by the sword may die by the sword.’

  ‘It’s a chance I have to take. I long for a life like everyone else, but that has not been my destiny. You must learn to judge us for the good we do, not the bad that goes with it. I seem to remember the church fighting for what they thought was right in the Crusades. Wasn’t there something about beams and motes in the Bible? I may not be proud of what I do, but I’m certainly not ashamed by it. Now, if you forgive me, I have a fiesta to attend and I plan to enjoy it as a proper culmination of what we’ve done here.’

  I walked away from him and joined the others.

  ‘Preacher giving you a hard time?’ said Bull.

  ‘Never debate metaphysics with a preacher. You can’t win.’

  ‘That’s because he’s got God on his side.’

  ‘I like to think that about us, too. Reckon we wouldn’t have survived so long otherwise.’

  The crowd went silent and I saw a figure moving in the distance. It was Rosa. She was wearing a nun’s habit, but I could recognise that beauty anywhere. From the back of the church, four men arrived. They were wearing wolf skins complete with the heads. There was a doll — a baby — in the middle of the square. The wolves began to circle it.

  Rosa got closer and I could hear her singing softly. The wolves stopped as she approached and watched her. She carried on with her plaintive song as she approached the baby. When she was just a few yards away the wolves lay down and curled up in sleep. Rose picked up the baby and the crowd cheered. The fiesta had started for real. For Mexico Real if Estevez was paying.

  A band started up. A few men with guitars and some trumpets. Mariachi, I guessed. Someone thrust a small glass in my hand and I took it. The free booze was flowing. A few people went into the centre of the square and started to dance. Rosa took off the nun’s habit to reveal a dress of the deepest red, financed, I had no doubt, by Chico’s earnings over the last week or so. She walked up to me, took my hand and dragged me into the middle of the dancers. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Bull grinning. But not for long. One of the village women grabbed his hand and gave him the same treatment as me.

  We twirled around and when Bull and I were close enough to talk, he said, ‘What a difference a day makes. Village ain’t so bad now. Reckon it can get by without us.’

  The music changed to a slower tempo. A man dressed as a bull ran amongst us. The women stepped away and held the hems of their long dresses, twirled them like a matador’s cape. We men, I gathered by watching the example of the male villagers, were supposed to mimic the bull, rushing toward our partners. It was some local variant on the paso doble. Not that that made any difference to how badly I was dancing. The innate sense of rhythm I had when fighting or balancing myself to shoot deserted me on the dance floor. At the end of the dance I took Rosa’s hand and led her outside the bar where there was a free table. I called for some tequila and we sat down to watch the spectacle before us.

  ‘Chico will miss you when you go,’ Rosa said. ‘He found a new father figure in you.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m a good role model for him. But he’s a fine boy. His heart is in the right place and that is what counts.’

  ‘He will leave this village soon,’ she said sadly. ‘There is nothing to keep him here but me and back-breaking work on the farm. He will go to Sonora and seek work and I will only see him at weekends and then not even that. It will not be long until the village dies, only old folk left here. When there is no future for the young, there is no future at all. Even Estevez and his generosity will not keep the village alive for ever.’

  ‘Today is not the day to think of such things. There should be happiness only at a fiesta. Come, let us give the villagers a laugh by watching me dance again.’

  I led her this time onto the dance floor and we swirled and twirled to the best of my ability, which was limited to say the least. Soon I was rescued by the band taking a break. The smell of pork wafted into the square. Rosa led me towards it. There was a huge pig rotating on a spit and two men basting it with long brushes. I suddenly realised how hungry I was. One of the men sliced off some meat and wrapped it in a tortilla after a generous splash of chili sauce had been poured over it. I took a bite. Unctuous, the meat falling apart in my mouth. It may not have been Padre Patrick’s vision of heaven, but it would do for me.

  The others gathered around, Bull arriving with an armful of beers which he distributed. Rosa took her leave to prepare for the next stage of the proceedings and the five of us grinned at each other as meat juices washed down by beer dribbled from the corners of our mouths. Every once in a while it’s good to let the animal side of one’s nature emerge into daylight. We had earned this.

  And then he had to spoil it by showing up. The man who had started the whole damn mess. The man who liked to use blackmail. Toomey. Agent Toomey, DEA. I didn’t know how he had the nerve.

  ‘Buenos dias, Silver,’ he said.

  ‘And the same to you,’ I replied. ‘Didn’t expect to see you.’

  ‘How could I miss such a celebration? You did it, Silver, although I never doubted it for one moment. Estevez is pleased. He’s been singing your praises. If the DEA had a medal, I would it award to you.’

  ‘And what about those that di
ed? Do they get an honorary mention?’

  ‘They were just petty criminals. Got in the way of the main act.’

  Funny, I thought. No one seemed to care for the bit players. They were just collateral damage.

  ‘I’ve got a present for you,’ he said.

  He took a small rucksack off his back and dug inside. His hand came out clutching a manila folder and a thick wad of dollars. He handed both to me.

  ‘Do what you will with the folder,’ he said. I looked inside. It was the file on Anna.

  ‘Nothing goes any further,’ he said. ‘Call it a just reward for a job well done.’

  The folder was thick. Someone had put in a lot of work. I didn’t want to know the details. I tore it in half. I would have torn it in half again, but that was something that only someone with the strength of Bull could do. I placed the folder on the ground and took out my emergency supply of a box of marches. Lit one and placed the flame under the paper. It caught light and burned brightly for the few seconds it took to consume it.

  ‘I guess we can go home now,’ said Bull. ‘Amen,’ said Red.

  ‘Just one request,’ I said.

  ‘Anything for you on a day like this,’ Toomey said.

  ‘Don’t ever let me see you again.’

  ‘I’m hurt,’ he said. ‘But that’s fine with me. I shall leave in the morning. You did everything I asked. I have no more use for you. Hope the twenty-five grand is some compensation for your time and effort. If not, bad luck. Adios, amigo.’

  ‘Make that plural, pilgrim,’ said Bull. ‘We all feel the same as Johnny. If I ever see you again, I’ll blow your brains out, DEA or no.’

  He shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked away.

  We were still watching his exit when the patron of the fiesta arrived. Estevez and his wife came up to us, followed by Miguel and Maria holding hands, and a glum Paco trailing in their wake. The helicopter pilot was last in line and he looked happier than Paco, although that would not have been difficult.

  ‘Enjoying yourself?’ Estevez asked.

  ‘Very much so,’ I said. ‘This village is lucky to have a benefactor like you. This will be a day to last them for another year.’

  ‘That’s all I can ask for,’ he said. ‘These are good people. They deserve a break from their hard lives. I am fortunate to be able to help them in my own small way.’

  ‘You’re too modest,’ I said.

  Maria came up to me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘For what?’ I asked.

  ‘For bringing our relationship into the open. For taking the heat out of a combustible situation. For giving us a chance to be together.’

  It seemed a hell of a price to pay for such an insubstantial thing. Young love purchased by so many deaths. I hoped it would work out for them in the future and that those lives lost had not been in vain.

  ‘I think I’ll have a glass of tequila,’ Estevez said, looking at the revellers outside the bar.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t have the coffee,’ I advised.

  And then I had the epiphany. It was the coffee. It was all about the damn coffee. How could I have been so blind?

  ‘Red,’ I said when we were out of earshot. ‘Go back to the house. Get the handguns and your shotgun. We have work to do.’

  The others stared at me, but I made them wait until Red had arrived back. Then I explained what I planned to do, although not the complex reasoning behind it, and told them to trust me.

  ‘Jesus, Johnny,’ Bull said. ‘You better be right about this or it just might get us lynched.’

  I looked around the crowd and saw Chico. ‘I need your help,’ I said. ‘I’ve something important to say and you have to make the people here understand.’

  ‘Si, senor. I will do my best. But you could get Senor Estevez to translate. He is much better than me.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ I said.

  Together we walked up to the band and told them to stop playing. Then, with Chico at my side, I stood where Our Lady sat in all her papier mâché glory.

  ‘Listen to me,’ I shouted.

  I had to repeat it twice to make myself heard and then let Chico translate. The excited voices went quiet. Everyone stared at me. The gringo who had gone mad. If they didn’t think it now, then they would in a moment.

  ‘You have been deceived. Nothing is as it seems.’

  I gestured at Red for his shotgun. He threw it across to me and I caught it deftly. You could hear a pin drop. I told Chico to step away and asked him to translate that the crowd should move away, too. I took two steps back, aimed and then fired.

  I blasted the effigy to hell. Blew its head clean off.

  There was a gasp, followed by a rising murmur. The natives were restless. I had to act now before Bull’s prediction about a lynch mob was proved right.

  I stuck my hand inside the statue and pulled out what I had known would be inside. One of many bags of white powder. Our Lady had been harbouring heroin. Stuffed to the gills with it. That was the reason why it weighed so much and the men had struggled to carry it.

  As directed, Pieter came up to me and took the bag I was holding. He slit it open with his knife and walked around the crowd showing them what Our Lady had been hiding. Estevez stood outside the bar with his mouth open. He threw his cup of tequila to the ground and tried to push his way out of the crowd. Horrified, the mass of bodies parted and he rushed at me. Or, rather, Chico. He grabbed Chico, his arm around the boy’s neck, and placed a gun to his head. It was a small gun, ladies’ model, more shine than power, a .22 possibly. Wouldn’t normally do much damage, but would still be deadly at that close range.

  Estevez called into the crowd at the helicopter pilot. ‘Get it running,’ he shouted.

  I knew one thing for sure. Estevez had planned for this day. He would have his exit route prepared for the moment he was unmasked. Practised it even. There would be money aplenty stashed away in some foreign land. The family, the Mexican riches, the ambassadorial kudos, could all be abandoned for a future life of luxury.

  ‘Don’t anyone move,’ he shouted. ‘If anyone tries to stop me, I’ll kill the boy. Make no mistake, I will blow his brains out.’

  I looked at Bull and he shook his head. Too difficult a shot — the boy was the same height as Estevez and provided a human shield against our bullets.

  The helicopter pilot ran from the square. Estevez backed up, following him. He didn’t have to move quickly. It would take a minute or two to get the helicopter going.

  I watched helplessly, noting that Toomey was nowhere in sight. I started to weigh up options and settled on a possible solution. I followed him and gestured for the others to join me. As he backed up through his gates, I could hear the sound of the helicopter’s rotor blades spin into action. Bull reached my side.

  ‘Still too risky a shot,’ he said. ‘Chances are that I can take him out before he kills Chico, but it’s not a certainty.’

  ‘I had the same thought, then I reckoned there was an easier target.’

  I was interrupted by Estevez reaching the helicopter and starting to climb inside. At the very last moment he threw Chico to the ground and shut the helicopter door. It rose into the air.

  ‘Forget about the helicopter,’ I shouted. ‘Aim for the pilot.’

  That was my plan. Kill the pilot and the helicopter crashes, Estevez and all.

  There was a hover while whatever propelled the helicopter fully engaged, and then it started to rise. We all shot at the nose of the Plexiglas that was the front. Although we had each taken aim, where our bullets actually landed inside the helicopter was uncertain since the plastic would bend the angle of penetration like looking at a fish in a lake — it wasn’t where you thought it would be.

  The helicopter continued to rise while we pumped as many bullets, and Red’s shotgun blasts, as we could in the limited time before it got out of range.

  I could just make out Estevez looking down on us. He seemed to be lau
ghing. He’d outwitted us, although it had been close for a while.

  Suddenly, I thought I saw the pilot lurch forward. We’d got him. He must have fallen on the controls. The nose dipped down rapidly and the helicopter started to plunge to earth at an angle of forty-five degrees. It smashed into the ground and there was a satisfying explosion and a yellow fireball of flames leapt into the air. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but I thought I saw, in the instant before it hit the ground, Estevez tugging at the handle of the door. There would be nothing left of him by the time the fire had gone out. Poetic justice, after all. Hubris followed by nemesis.

  I sat down on the manicured grass of his lawn and watched the plastic form a giant globule and drip down to the ground. Bull came and sat by my side and then the others drifted over.

  ‘You’re either a very lucky sonovabitch,’ Red said, ‘or you worked out something that the rest of us missed.’

  ‘I’m only sorry I didn’t work it out sooner.’

  ‘What did we miss?’ Bull asked.

  ‘It was the coffee. The damn coffee. I knew from the first taste that it was Latin American, but stopped thinking about it before I got to guess the country. It was Columbian. Then, when we took Maria home, Mrs Estevez said something about her husband complaining that Columbia was uncivilised. What reason would he have to go to Columbia? His restaurant chain was built on the claim that all the ingredients were authentic Mexican. He was using his trips to bring in heroin.’

  ‘It’s one thing getting the heroin here where the authorities are lax,’ said Red, ‘but a whole lot harder to get it across the border into America.’

  ‘That’s where the restaurant chain comes in.’ I said. ‘He was doing what Miguel was planning — shipping the heroin into Texas hidden by the fruit and chickens and God knows what else. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that the restaurants weren’t as profitable as the books made it look. He was using them to launder the drug money.’

  ‘That explains it,’ said Bull.

  ‘That explains what?’ said Stan.

  ‘The two men we shot in the restaurant . . .’