A Thousand Falling Crows (31 page)

Of course, there was no telling if the Clever, Clever boys would come this way, or be in a different car. It was all a hunch based on Frank Hamer's experience. No one was going to argue the plan, not even Jesse.

Hamer and Sonny were off the side of the road, the black Ford sedan hidden behind some scrub trees and some brush they'd pulled over and covered the shiny parts of the car with. Jonesy was hidden in the same fashion, down the road about twenty yards, and Hugh Beaverwood's ambulance was down another parcel, sitting on the side of the road. The coroner wasn't armed.

There had been no traffic since they had all got in place. A thin line of gray light was just starting to break along the eastern horizon, and a lone robin had whistled once or twice, hoarse like a bluebird, like it was just practicing, just waking up.

“Might be a few of these kind of mornings,” Frank Hamer said. “If they don't show. Evenings, too.”

“You sound certain they'll come back, and come back soon,” Sonny said.

“These boys, from what I can tell, are small-time. Something set Bonnie and Clyde off. Might have been the papers and the radio. Once they got a taste of fame, they wanted more. These fellas, they ain't got the marquee that those two had. Pretty blonde out for a joyride with a bad boy.”

“There's a girl with them.”

“Jonesy will give them a chance, Sonny.”

“I know, but . . .” He let his words trail off.

“They're Mexican, Sonny. Now, I don't have nothin' against them for that, but a lot of folks do. Be hard to overcome in this county and in this state. You know how those things go. There's no mercy for a greaser, especially two that are thieves and killers. Plain and simple.”

Sonny nodded and stared in the distance toward Jesse. A pair of headlights crested the hill, cutting into the darkness like a beacon set against a fresh set of mirrors. There was no time to dispute what Hamer had just said.

Not that he would have anyway—but he was concerned about the welfare of the girl, of Carmen Hernandez. He was pretty sure Frank Hamer couldn't care less if she lived or died. But Sonny did. Not only had he made Aldo a promise, but Carmen was just sixteen, a year away from being a little girl. He didn't think he could live with himself if he killed a child—unless he was forced to—in self-defense. If she shot first. Then there would be no choice. He would have to save himself and the rest of the men who had come out to see justice served for Tom Turnell's cold-blooded murder.

Sonny held his breath and waited for the signal.

When it came, three quick flashes from Jesse's light, Frank Hamer raised his rifle—the same Remington Model 8 that he'd used to kill Bonnie and Clyde—aimed it at the car, and put his finger on the trigger.

Sonny said nothing. He followed suit, with one exception. He lifted the shotgun, slid his hook against the metal trigger, and lodged the butt of the gun up against his right shoulder—where it belonged. The action clinked slightly, like a funeral bell had been rung miles away.

CHAPTER 30

Tió slowed the car as he came over the hill, and then, without a reason why, he brought it to a stop. The Model A‘s engine idled roughly, a piston missing on occasion. He had never had the time to make the car run faster, boost the performance. From the sound of things, they were lucky it had got them this far.

“What's the matter?” Carmen said. She was sitting as close to the door as she could. Mercury sat on the floorboard. Up until that moment, it would have been easy to believe that the hood ornament really was a good luck charm. They had hardly seen a car on the road since leaving Oklahoma—and the burning shack—behind.

“I thought I saw a light.”

Carmen looked around and saw nothing but darkness. Dawn was breaking on the horizon, and she hoped she would be home, in her own bed, by daylight. She wanted to leave the night and everything that had happened behind. She pushed the burning shack, with Eddie's body inside, as quickly out of her mind as she could. “I don't see anything.”

Tió acted like he hadn't heard a word she said. He stared straight ahead, past the reach of the headlights, into the night that still existed, like he was lost and looking for his way. After another long second, he put the car back into gear and inched forward.

Two seconds later, a pair of headlights appeared in the middle of the road ahead of them. A car had stopped and was sitting in the middle of the road, pointing right at them. It blinked the lights three times. Fast. A warning. Carmen was certain of it.

Tió slammed his foot on the brake and glanced in the rearview mirror. “Uh-oh. Bad trouble.”

Her stomach fluttered at the first sign of the headlights. She was praying to make it home. They were close, so close she could almost run there from where they were and climb in her bed like she had never been gone.

Carmen looked behind them, over her shoulder, and slipped her hand on the door handle at the same time.

There was another car back there. It had appeared out of nowhere, just like the first, its lights directly on them. This car had a spotlight attached to the driver's door, and it suddenly lit up, illuminating the inside of the Model A like it was the middle of the day. The other car set a red flare in the road. They were trapped.

Panic flashed in Tió's brown eyes. “We gotta get out of here.”

“Get out of the car, and you will not be hurt,” a voice, amplified by a bullhorn, demanded from behind them.

Tió shook his head. “Not going to jail. You can't go home, Carmen. Not now.”

Tió switched his foot from the brake pedal to the accelerator and slammed it down as far as it would go.

The tires spun into motion and the car lurched forward, throwing Carmen back against the seat. She hadn't been expecting the move. Her hand fell away from the door handle. She lost any chance she might have had of jumping out and making a run for it.

Tió wrenched the steering wheel and turned left off the road, jumping over the berm, bouncing them both around like they were on an out-of-control carnival ride. Carmen held on to the seat as tight as she could, but she rolled sideways, toward Tió.

Over the clatter of the engine and the bounce and bump of the car making a path off the road, Carmen heard what she thought was distant thunder. But there were no clouds in the sky, only stars and a widening gray horizon, offering more light to the world by the second.

Metal ripped through metal, and the thunder was not thunder at all. It was a gunshot.

The first bullet slammed into Carmen's leg and went right through it like it was nothing but a piece of paper. She barely had time to scream before the passenger window shattered and shards of glass rained down on her.

The smell of gunpowder infiltrated Sonny's nose, and for a moment he thought he was at war, in a battle, transported back to France one more time. Except no one was shooting back. It had been a problem since he'd returned from the distant shores, mistaking where he was, jumping at the sound of a gunshot. But the shock of the war, of all he had seen and done, had worn off over the years. He knew it was because this was fresh. He'd been off of his feet and without a gun in his hand for a long time.

Frank Hamer had a fifteen-round clip on his Remington, and he was firing one shot after the next. Sonny eased the hook off of the shotgun's trigger and stood back.

Hamer noticed and stopped shooting. “What's the matter, Burton?”

“They're not shooting back.”

The last shot from the Remington echoed over the hill, but there was still firing. It was Jesse. Orange flashes popped out of the end of his rifle, exposing his position.

As dawn ate away the night, the Ranger car in the ditch would become more and more visible. Grayness covered half the sky. Daylight was coming on fast.

Sighting the beat-up Model A was easier, clearer. It had careened off the road, gaining speed, and was just about out of range when it came to a sudden stop. The car teetered on its side like it had struck something unseen.

Frank Hamer eased the rifle down onto the hood of his car. They had stood behind it for protection. He picked up a flashlight and blinked it on and off three times. Cease fire. “We might have got them,” he said.

“There's no need to pulverize them,” Sonny said. Hamer shot him a harsh look, and Sonny almost regretted saying it but offered nothing to retract the statement.

There was no question that Bonnie and Clyde had needed to be stopped when they were. They would've just kept on with their killing spree. No man who wore a badge within three states would have been safe. But what Sonny had learned of the shoot-out troubled him then—and now. He saw no need to overdo it. And he still held out hope to rescue Carmen. At least save her from the same fate as Bonnie Parker.

“All right, let's see what they do.” Hamer set the flashlight down, produced a pair of binoculars, and directed his attention to the Model A. “No movement. Doesn't look like the car's going anywhere soon. The axle's broke. We got 'em stopped at the very least.”

The second shot had barely missed Tió, but it might as well have hit him. Once Carmen screamed, Tió began to wail and tremble. He drove wildly across the field, trying to dodge unseen bullets but to no avail. The car was a target.

All hell broke loose. The windows shattered. Mercury's head flew off, deflecting the bullet. It whizzed by Carmen's ear. If it hadn't have been for the hood ornament, the bullet would have slapped her between the eyes . . . but she was hardly aware of that. Once she had taken the first shot in the leg, she had slid to the floor and buried herself as tight against the firewall as she could. After that, shock came fast. She was slightly aware of where she was, that she was still alive. Pain was the only confirmation of her mortality.

The air was filled with all kinds of noises. Mechanical groans as the car sped across a hard field, gunshots, thunder, glass breaking, Tió yelling, crying, babbling. And then the car came to sudden stop, like it had hit a wall. It jerked and then slammed down, a great breaking sound coming from underneath it.

The gunshots kept on peppering the metal doors, the roof, the radiator. The smell of steam, gas, and blood all mixed together, but Carmen couldn't puke—there was nothing left in her stomach to vacate. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. She felt like she was going to lose consciousness, pass out. Maybe this was her death, what it felt like to die. The angels were coming for her. Tears drained down her cheeks, but she couldn't even hear herself cry.

Then silence came, and to her surprise she was still alive, still awake. She could feel the pain in her leg growing worse, blood rushing from her body. The bullets had bounced around her, but had not hit her anywhere else.

Tió was slumped against the door, his eyes open, staring straight ahead, bloodier than anything she had ever seen.

Carmen knew that Tió was dead. The agony of living, of knowing what he had done to his brother, to her, was over for him. He would be second-best no longer. There had never been anything she could have done to save him. Something deep inside told her she should have tried harder.