Kicks for a Sinner S3 (16 page)

“All the more reason to drive faster, my dear.”

“Well, at least I got my Mexican vanilla and that special Coca-Cola you like in the bottles before you got the runs.”

Inside his urn, Tommy snickered. The sound amplified in the small space.

“Are you laughing at me, Harve?”

“Never, dearest. Only farting.”

Behind them, the noise of pottery shattering and Mr. Gonzales shouting shivered in the warm air. “Good Lord, Harve! Look back there. We’re in the middle of one of those Mexican drug wars. No wonder he can afford to sell so cheap. Pedro must deal on the side.”

“Mind if I drive a little faster, my love?”

“Chipped pots be damned. Get us out of here!”

The ride got rougher then. Tommy prayed the urns wouldn’t break, they rattled so. He’d have bruises for sure. Macho barked then stopped suddenly. The people in the truck didn’t appear to notice. The vehicle veered suddenly, nearly toppling his pot.

“Hell damn, Harve, the driver of that red van thinks he owns the road. Louisiana plates. It figures. Well, he’ll get his when he drives into that firefight.”

Red van, could the daddy who raised him be coming to the rescue? Tommy was sorely tempted to rock his container over and stand up in the back of the truck to see, but he recalled the advice Knox Polk gave him when him and Dean played paintball. Stay low and don’t give a good target. Not likely Daddy Joe would come here for him when Bijou sent a card saying he’d be home by Sunday. No, best to lay low until they reached the border.

SEVENTEEN

Nothing but delays and frustration since the rescue party arrived exhausted in Laredo. Everyone agreed they should get some rest and food before going into Mexico. Joe wanted to plow ahead, but outvoted, they’d gotten rooms and slept half of Thursday away just wasting time. Knox said they’d best go in fed and refreshed, so he tried to wait patiently while the Rev wolfed down a huge enchilada platter for lunch. Then, the ranch manager insisted on taking a case of bottled water along, so they’d had to stop for that.

Joe hadn’t counted on this being spring vacation for some colleges. Despite warnings not to play in Mexico, scantily clad coeds with tramp stamps on their backsides and young men in ripped jeans and snarky T-shirts clogged the border crossing. Why were the guards so slow, checking every car? Hell, the students would try to bring weed back into the States, not take it to Mexico.

When their turn finally came, despite all the licenses that cost two-hundred dollars each,
their
van got pulled aside.
Their
group got hauled inside while the authorities contacted the manager of the hunting rancho who had provided the documents. That man had gone out hunting peccaries of course. So they sat sharing the guacamole made in a blender by a woman who had tried to bring back a crate of uninspected avocados and wanted to get her money’s worth out of them. Joe paid for bags of tortilla chips from the vending machines—his treat. Snacking passed the time until the game manager returned the call and cleared them with the guards. Unfortunately, he also made clear their identity. Before they could leave, a line formed for autographs. Cassie fumed, but Knox simply sat back and enjoyed more guacamole as the Sinners passed scraps of paper from Joe, to Connor, to the Rev, to Howdy to satisfy their fans.

Good they’d filled up on chips because dinnertime arrived before their crew crossed into Mexico, and Joe had no intention of stopping until he found Tommy. He paused for directions to Bijou’s house and place of employment, then drove on, nearly being forced off the road by two near-sighted geezers in an old truck driving right down the center of the lane. Texans always thought they owned the right of way. He hoped those two big jugs in the back cracked on the return to their damned enormous state. Way they were driving, it was a good possibility.

“Slow down, Joe. We have trouble ahead. A house down there is on fire, and someone is shooting up a pottery shop.” Knox removed the rifle by his side from its case and prepared it for use.

A rotund Hispanic man had his hands in the air. A steady stream of words issued from his fat lips under a thin mustache. Joe brought the van to a stop in the shelter of a lone shade tree and pressed the button to slide the windows down. Knox got out and took up a post behind the tree’s trunk.

“Anybody know what he’s saying?”

Silence, then Howdy spoke. “He’s asking the man not to kill him. Says he doesn’t know where the children are.”

“Impressive,” the Rev said.

“Not so much. High school and college Spanish and a lot of spring breaks spent down here. We had a hired man who spoke the lingo, too. Do you figure the shooter is looking for Tommy?

“I don’t believe you said lingo,” Cassie sneered.

“We don’t need the snark now, Cass,” Joe reprimanded. “We need to find Tommy.”

She sobered instantly. “Yes, sorry. Do you think he really means Tommy?”

The muscular man with the Mayan face put a pistol with a silencer under the potter’s wobbling jaw, and then that timeless face shattered like an ancient artifact used for target practice.

“He ain’t looking for Tommy anymore,” Knox said.

The obese man, covered in gore, sank to his knees.

“Dear Lord in heaven be with us this day,” the Rev murmured. “Did the other gun go off when you shot?”

“Nope,” said Knox. “I think the fat man is just shittin’ those white pants he’s wearing. Close call.”

Cautiously, Joe allowed the van to drift forward until they came up next to the kneeling Mexican. “Howdy, ask him about Bijou and Tommy.”

“I speak English.
Gracias
, you save me. Miguel would kill anyone for
El Jefe
. The man called Bijou, he is dead down there. They burn his house. Miguel tell me so. The children, I don’t know. They played here. Now, they gone. I must go
rapidamente
before the others come for me.” Without stopping to change his brown-stained pants, Pedro Gonzales waddled to a truck packed with clay vessels and abandoned his business in favor of his life.

“We’d better go down to that house and check. Tommy might be hiding nearby. If he sees us, he’ll come out. Could be Bijou is still alive.” Joe drove on very slowly searching for red hair among the gray-green bushes.

Everyone got out at the burning house. “You sure that’s Bijou?” the Rev asked.

“I’m sure. Look at those rings he’s wearing. And the gold tooth.”

Cassie agreed quickly with Joe before going behind a large cactus to puke up the guacamole.

“Pretty woman,” Connor remarked, keeping his eyes on Pilar’s less gruesome corpse. The flies attracted by any moisture in a dry land buzzed around the wound in her chest. One crawled over the crease in her red lips. “Seems like the killer didn’t want to mess up her face. Sad, very sad.”

“War always is,” Knox remarked as if he hadn’t shot a man minutes ago.

Joe glanced at the dead woman’s face. “Jesus God, she’s wearing Nell’s earrings.”

“You want me to get them?” Knox asked.

“No. I’ll get Nell a new pair, a different kind. I don’t want to remember this.”

Cassie went to the van, cracked open a bottle of water, and rinsed her mouth. Keeping her eyes off the carnage, she leaned against the side of the vehicle. Howdy went to stand beside her and swilled half a bottle as if trying to keep his own barf down. Joe kicked the dirt.

“Shit, what do I tell Aunt Flo now? Always knew my cousin would end up this way. I hope my not paying the ransom into his account had nothing to do with it. Anyhow, we have to find my boy. Could be he’s at this Rancho Miro down that way. And damn you, Bijou, I’m taking my stolen truck back, too, you hear wherever in hell you’re burning!”

“Easy, Joe,” the Rev said. “No use in speaking ill of the dead. Only God gets to judge.”

“Now, there you and I disagree. Look, if this fire spreads to the brush, it could be bad for all of us. I want you and Connor to go back into town and alert the police, the fire department, whatever. Howdy, you and Cassie go with them. I’ll take my truck down to that ranch and see if they know anything about Tommy. Meet you at the border crossing. Knox, you’re with me.”

“I’m going with you, Joe. He’s my son, too.” Still a little shaky, Cassie made her way to the truck and climbed into the back of the double cab only because Knox had silently transferred the weapons from the van and taken the shotgun seat again before Joe finished talking.

“Count me in.” Howdy slung himself in beside her.

The Rev climbed into the driver’s seat of the van, adjusted it to his comfort, and leaned across to help Connor with his bad leg into the other seat. They set off on their humanitarian mission into the city with no more need for further instruction than when running a frequently practiced route.

Joe shaded his eyes. “Appears we won’t have to drive down here. A black SUV is on its way from the ranch. We can wave them down and ask about Tommy. On second thought, they’re coming on pretty fast and might not stop. I’m gonna pull across the road so we can get some answers. Would you look at all the crap on this floor?” The big engine roared to life. At least, God-damned Bijou had kept the engine in good condition. Joe drove the truck aslant across the lane.

“Wait a minute! They have guns. Automatic weapons. Get us the hell out of here, Joe!” Not a suggestion, but an order from Knox, punctuated by the rapid rat-tat-tat of bullets leaving a barrel and singing through the air

The quarterback swung the vehicle around as if he were executing a trick play and burned rubber back toward Laredo. In the back, a bulky package flew out from under the seat to join the other junk on the floorboards. Howdy snagged it with one long arm and peeled back the brown paper.

“Ah, Joe, I think I know what they might want. Looks like we got a kilo of cocaine back here.”

“Figures. It just fuckin’ figures. Anything Bijou could do to make a quick buck, he would do. Probably what got him killed, and now us.”

“Maybe not.” Knox took a careful aim leaning out the truck window but only blew a side-view mirror off the Escalade. “Shit. Howdy boy, climb across Cassie and try your luck on getting the driver.” He handed over a second rifle. “Girl, you get your head down. They’re getting closer.”

Howdy showed the same coolness he displayed on the football field when attempting a fifty-yard field goal. He steadied the rifle as best he could, used the scope and squeezed the trigger, but a sudden bump in the road threw his aim off, the only casualty, the front windshield of the pursuing vehicle.

“I got another idea. Joe, if you can put some distance between us I’ll send them what they want.”

“Veer off! Don’t take this into the city,” Knox shouted. “Aim for that little outcrop of rocks.”

Joe took the truck off-road and silently thanked God-damned Bijou for the huge, deep-treaded tires he’d purchased or stolen to outfit his rig. Doubtful the Escalade, all shiny and new, had ever left a paved road. It followed, but the space between the two vehicles increased as Joe churned the desert landscape.

Nearly at the mound of rocks, Howdy called, “Here is good.”

Joe braked hard, and his kicker scrambled out with the sack of cocaine clutched tightly against him like a football recovered from a fumble. He sat it upright in the dirt and stepped back to go through his paces. One-two-three, the instep of his athletic shoe connected hard with the sack. It flew upward and arced, trailing a white tail like a comet from a hole punctured in the plastic. The SUV slammed to a stop when the bag landed a few feet in front of it. From the passenger side, a rider emerged and, using the door as a shield, the Escalade moved slowly forward until the sack could be easily retrieved and tossed inside the vehicle.

Howdy dusted his hands and headed back to the truck, smiling ear to ear. “That should do it.”

Their pursuers didn’t think so. Shots peppered the ground behind him.

“To the high ground,” Knox commanded. Taking the rifles and ammo with them, they evacuated the truck, dashed for the outcrop, around its back, and up its side where the ranch manager quickly took up a prone position and sent two shots into the front tires of the Escalade. The SUV stopped rolling forward, but the men within again used the doors for cover and continued firing. Knox surveyed the terrain.

“There’s a little arroyo back here. Probably carries water down to the Rio Grande in the wet season. It will make good cover and lead you back to the border. Get going, all of you. I’ll cover and come along once I finish business here.”

“No way. I got you into this, Knox. I stay with you. Howdy, get Cassie to safety.” Joe took up a loaded rifle, aimed and put a sizeable hole in one Escalade door. The bullet might have punched through since one of the enemies fell back but got up again.

“I’m not going!” Cassie hunkered down behind a boulder with Howdy who prepared his own shot.

“See here, girl, you can’t handle a rifle. You’re a liability. Now go on. Get us some relief soon as you can. Howdy, carry her if she won’t move. Leave the rifle,” Knox directed. He squeezed off another round to keep the gunmen from advancing during a lull.

“I’m asking you to go, Cassie. I care about you. If this turns out badly, you tell Nell and the kids I love them.” Joe stopped talking and aimed his rifle again.

“Same message to Corazon,” Knox said. “Now get.”

EIGHTEEN

“I don’t want—”

Howdy put his rifle on the ground, wrapped his arms around Cassie, and tugged her backwards off the far side of the outcrop. She dug her feet in when they hit ground, but he continued to drag her toward the ravine. It wasn’t very deep, so he hugged her close and jumped off the edge, landed in a crouch, and continued shoving her along like one of the huge Sinners’ linemen practicing on the tackling sleds.

“Stop it! Stop shoving me, Howdy.”

“I will if you move along on your own. Joe and Knox are saving our lives. The least we can do is make sure their stand isn’t for nothing.”

“Joe said he cared about me. How can I leave him?”