Devils and Dust (8 page)

“Which was the one that Oscar’s boys were on?” Keller asked.

Miron looked away. “The second one.”

“So you knew,” Angela said. “You knew there’d been trouble. And you took Oscar’s money, and you arranged for his sons to be put on a truck, and…” She rose to her feet. Her face was red with growing rage.

Miron didn’t stand, nor did she meet Angela’s eyes. “I thought maybe it was an accident. It had only happened once.”

“So what happened when the second truck went missing?” Keller asked.

“The one with Oscar’s sons on it,” Angela added bitterly.

“He said he was going down there,” Miron said. “To the entry point. And he was going to find out what had happened. He was going to find the boys.”

“So where is this place?” Keller asked. “This entry point.”

Miron shook her head. “That, I can’t tell you.” She held up a hand as Angela began to speak. “Because I don’t know. All I have is a phone number. And an e-mail address.”

Keller tried not to grit his teeth in frustration. “So who are these people? Sounds like they’re the ones we need to talk to.”

Miron shook her head again. “I can call them. See if they’ll agree to meet with you. But I can’t make any promises.”

“Can you call them now?” Angela said. “Please.” She said the last word as if she hated it.

Only then, did Miron look up and meet her eyes. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll try. But you’ll need to wait outside.”

“Okay.” Keller stood up. “Come on, Angela.”

She stood up as well. Angela took a card out of the pocket of her blouse and laid it on the edge of the desk. Miron made no move to pick it up. “This is where I can be reached,” she said. Keller followed her out the door.

Outside in the hallway, Angela leaned her head against the wall. “She knew,” she whispered. “
They
knew. They knew something was wrong. That it might not be safe. And they put people on the truck anyway.
Children
.”

“I know,” Keller said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “But we have to work with them. At least for now.”

Angela reached up and put her hand over his for a moment. Then she straightened up. “I need to use the restroom,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m going to step outside and get some air,” Keller said. “Come get me.” She nodded.

Keller passed the kitchen and went out on the porch. He took a seat on the top step. The men had moved over to the picnic table and were wolfing down the food. The basketball game was still going on.

He agreed with Angela. Putting those people, including children, in danger was unconscionable. But they needed the information only Miron could give them. Without it, they were at a dead end.

“Hey,” he heard someone said. He turned to see the teenager, Magdalena, taking a seat on the step next to him. She was smiling broadly.

“Hey,” Keller said, as noncommittally as he could.
This I absolutely do not need.

If the girl noticed his chilly tone, she gave no sign of it. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jack,” he said.

“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Maggie.” She stuck out a hand.

Keller took it. “Short for Magdalena, right?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that name. It’s so…
old
sounding.”

“It’s not so bad,” Keller said. She was still holding on to his hand. He pulled away.

“So that lady you’re with,” she said, “is she your wife?”

“No,” Keller said. “Just a friend.”

“Maggie,” a male voice said. Keller looked up. The tall young man from the basketball game was standing at the foot of the steps. He didn’t look happy.

Maggie sighed theatrically. “What is it, Cesar?”

He said something to her in Spanish, low and fast. Keller didn’t catch all of it, but he thought he heard the word
puta,
and that gave him the gist. He saw her jaw clench. She replied to him, also in Spanish, practically spitting the words back at him. The other young men had begun to gather, and Keller heard one of them snicker.
Goddamn it.

Cesar bent over and tried to grab the girl’s wrist. She yanked it away. “You keep your hands off me!” she said. Cesar reached again.

“Hey,” Keller said quietly, “knock it off.”

Cesar straightened up, eyes narrowed in rage. “Stand up, asshole.”

Keller stayed put, looking up at him. “Really?” he said. “You’re really going to do this?”

“I said get up,” the young man yelled. “You fucking
pussy
!”

Keller sighed and stood up. “I’m not going to fight you, kid.” He noticed that the group of older men had left the picnic table and were hurrying toward them. He hoped they would get there in time to short-circuit the confrontation the kid seemed determined to have.

Cesar nodded. “Yeah,” he sneered. “That’s what I figured.” He started to turn, as if to walk away, then came back, fast, throwing a hard right at Keller’s jaw. He was quick, and fired up, but the feint was so obvious, the kid might as well have sent Keller a postcard. Keller threw a cross block that directed the punch past him, the kid’s momentum spinning him around and leaving him off-balance and sideways to Keller, his ribs exposed. Keller fought down the reflex to step forward and break those ribs with a short jab to the torso. Instead, he grabbed the young man by the shoulders from behind, turned him the rest of the way around, and shoved him hard. As Cesar stumbled, trying to get his footing back, Keller raised his leg and gave him a shove in the ass with his boot. Cesar went sprawling on his face in the dirt. The girl screamed. Cesar rolled to a sitting position, glaring at Keller with hate in his eyes. He started to get up.

“Kid,” Keller said, “if you stand up, it better be to shake hands. Because if I have to put you on the ground again, you’re not getting up. At least not on your own.”

“Son of a bitch,” the young man said. He struggled to his feet and crouched as if ready to charge.

“CESAR!” a voice barked from behind him. Keller didn’t take his eyes off the kid. He sidled to his right to put the speaker in his field of vision. It was Rosita Miron. She spoke to the kid rapidly in Spanish, her voice a scourge of anger and outrage. He tried to answer her, but she overrode him, the words and the tone lacerating the young man until he stood, head down and sullen. One of the older men, the one who’d spoken to him earlier, came up and put a hand on his shoulder. Cesar shrugged off the hand and stalked away.

Keller looked around. The group of men, young and old, stood in a rough semicircle, staring at Keller, their faces hard and unfriendly.

“Sorry,” Keller said. “A little misunderstanding.” He turned to Miron. He didn’t see any friendliness there, either.

“I think you should leave,” she said.

“I agree,” Keller said. “But what about the information we need?” He saw Angela come out on the porch behind Miron. “The information
she
needs,” he pointed at Angela “to help find her husband?”

Miron shook her head. “I can’t help you,” she said. “My contacts don’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s not acceptable,” Keller said.

“Not…” Miron’s dark face grew even darker with anger. “How dare you come to
my
house, and tell
me
what’s
acceptable
? You people…you think you own everything.” She pointed at the cars in the lot. “Get out,” she said in a hard, angry voice. “Now.”

“Jack,” Angela said, “let’s just go.”

He turned to her. “We can’t…”

“Jack,” she said quietly. “Please.” She came down off the porch. “Come on.” She led the way, moving with slow dignity behind her cane. The circle of men parted to let her through.

He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, feel the rush of adrenaline ramping up, but he followed her to the parking lot. “Look,” he said, “stay here. I’ll go back and try to talk to her again.”

“No,” Angela said. “We need to go. Now.”

“But if we do that,” Keller said, “we’re stuck. We’re at a dead end.”

“Not exactly,” Angela said.

“What does that mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“It means that while she was running outside to see about the commotion, I stole her cell phone,” Angela said. “We can look at the last number called. And it may have the numbers and the addresses of the people she does business with.”

“Okay,” said Keller. “I see your point. Let’s go.” They got in the car. When they were almost at the end of the driveway, Keller said, “She’s really not going to be happy when she finds out you’ve got her phone.”

Angela looked back. “I think she just did.”

Keller looked in the rearview mirror. The big Ford truck was barreling down the driveway after them.

“S
HIT,”
K
ELLER
said. He punched the gas and the tires on the rental squealed as they hit pavement. The car fishtailed for a few heart-stopping seconds before Keller got it back under control. He headed down the two-lane road that cut through the rolling countryside.

“He’s gaining,” Angela said. The rental was comfortable, but underpowered. Keller saw the big truck growing larger in the rearview mirror. He gritted his teeth and pressed the gas pedal down all the way. They only pulled ahead a little before the truck accelerated and began gaining again. Keller looked down at the speedometer—85…90…95. The rental’s engine was beginning to strain.

“What do they think they’re doing?” Angela said as the truck drew within inches of their back bumper. Then she yelped as the truck sped up and rammed them. The car shuddered from the impact, but Keller held it under control.

“Guess they really want that phone back,” he said.

“What are you going to…” the truck hit them again, causing them to swerve slightly.

“Guess we’re going to have to give it to them,” he said. He saw a sign up ahead and put on his signal.

“Jack,” Angela said.

“Listen,” he said. “We don’t have much time.” As he began slowing, he told her what to do. They reached a wide spot in the road where an abandoned gas station stood. The front plate glass windows were long gone and boarded up and rusted stumps of piping stuck up through a crumbling concrete island where the pumps used to be. Keller pulled to a stop on the time-shattered concrete slab of the parking area. Weeds grew up between the cracks, brushing against the bottom of the car as they stopped. The truck pulled in right on their tail. Keller took the phone from Angela and got out. Three men got out of the truck. One was Frank, the older man who’d greeted Keller when they’d first arrived. The other was a squat ugly man with acne scars on his face and muscles bulging against his tight T-shirt. The third one was Cesar. He was grinning and holding an L-shaped tire iron.

“Howdy,” Keller said. “How can I help you fellows?”

“Your friend took something that didn’t belong to her,” Frank said. “And we need it back.”

Keller held up the phone. “You mean this?”

The man nodded. “Yes. That.”

“And if I give it back,” Keller said, “We can go on our way?”

Frank shook his head in apparently sincere sorrow. “I’m afraid not,” he said.

Cesar broke in. “We’re going to fuck you up, bitch.” He slapped the tire iron into his palm for emphasis. Acne Scars had come up to stand on the other side of him.

“Cesar,” Frank said impatiently. He turned back to Keller. “Tia Rosita says you need to be taught a lesson. And warned to stay away.” He nodded at the car. “Your lady friend will not be harmed.”

“She’s too messed up to fuck, anyway,” Cesar said nastily.

“Oh,” Keller said. “Well, that’s a relief. I guess. Still, I’m not sure I can give you what you want.”

“Then,” Frank said, “we’ll have to take it. Cesar. Mateo.” The two men advanced on Keller, grinning.

“Oh, all right,” Keller said when they were a couple of feet away. “Here.” He tossed the phone underhanded at Cesar’s face. Startled, the young man stepped back and instinctively swung the tire iron as if he was trying to bat the phone away. He missed, the wild swing almost catching Mateo in the chest. Keller stepped forward, seized the iron with his left hand, and punched Mateo in the face with his right. Mateo’s head snapped back, but he recovered from the blow quickly. He swung at Keller, who was twisting to his right, grabbing the iron with both hands now and using Cesar’s grip to pull him sideways into Mateo and throw off the aim of the punch. In the tangle that followed, Cesar loosened his grip on the tire iron and Keller ripped it out of his hands. He used the momentum to spin around, drop to one knee in front of Cesar, and smash the iron into the younger man’s knee as the counterpunch went over his head. Cesar screamed and fell to the ground, clutching the shattered knee in both hands. Keller stood up, reversing his grip on the iron, and jammed it into the gut of Mateo, who was charging forward, arms outstretched to wrap Keller up and bear him to the ground. Mateo grunted in pain and doubled over. Keller raised the iron above his head, ready to bring it down in a blow that would have crushed Mateo’s skull. He checked himself at the last second, tossed the iron aside, and waited for Mateo to try to straighten up. When he did, slowly, Keller finished him with a short, chopping right to the jaw that dropped him next to Cesar, who was still writhing on the ground, holding his knee and keening in a high, thin voice.