Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery (21 page)

“
Do you mean the DEA? No.
Not us.” “Then who?”

“
Probably the drug
runners. I’m sure they were curious about how much you really knew.
Will you promise me you’ll go back to Houston and let us handle
this? Just keep a low profile and don’t talk about what went down.
They are watching you. The bugs prove that.”

I’ve never wanted to believe somebody so
much, but somewhere at the side of my mind lurks a nasty niggle of
distrust.

“
It shouldn’t be too much
longer, I promise,” he says. “The minute I’m out of this, you’ll
know it.”

“
Do you know how to
contact me?”

He grins. “I know more about you than you
can ever imagine.”

It’s then I realize he isn’t going to make a
move. So, I stand and say the only thing I can without betraying my
feelings. “Please, be careful.”

He doesn’t answer, instead he turns and
leaves without looking back.

“
Ready?” Ray Gibbs stands
in the doorway.

I nod and re-pack my briefcase. “I guess
there’s nothing else for me to do here.”

He ushers me past the dozing secretary, then
down the hall to the elevator. “I’m sorry I can’t take you to the
airport myself, but I have a client. There’s a cab waiting for you
in the parking lot.”

THE FIRST RAYS OF LIGHT stab the horizon as I enter
the waiting cab. It is still too dark to make out the cabbie other
than he’s a male, but the Mexican music blaring on his radio gives
me a lead and I take a crack at Spanish. “Aeropuerto, por
favor.”

A muted, “Sí” precedes the rev of the motor
and we pull out of the parking lot into the deserted street.

I barely notice where we’re going, still
daunted and breathless from my meeting with the sheriff. Then, too,
the streets that were jammed the previous afternoon are now empty
and look quite different in the approaching dawn.

I check my watch, 5:30, plenty of time to
make the 6:10 flight. I lean back and close my aching eyes, hoping
to catch a few winks before we get to the airport.

The cab swerves, then shudders to a
screeching stop, pitching me out of my doze. I fully expect to see
the Continental Baggage Check-in. Instead, the muzzle of a
nine-millimeter pistol is balanced on the lowered window in front
of Luke Hansen’s ugly face.

“
Remember me,
sweetheart?”

The response I will make means life or
death, but for some reason I am strangely calm as I take in the
situation.

The road is clear in front of us. A second
man has a pistol pointed at the driver’s head. Did the cabbie,
unaware we were being followed, opt for a shortcut to the airport?
At least that’s what I hope. If he’s part of it, it’s all over
anyway.

I zero in on Hansen’s forehead. “How dare
you stop an officer of the court. Do you have a warrant?”

The puzzled look on his face is the payoff.
“Don’t you know who I am?”

“
I’ve never seen you
before in my life. Step on it, driver.”

Luke’s gun doesn’t waver. “Hey, hombre, turn
off the fucking motor or you’re dead meat. And can that goddamn
music.”

The driver shrugs and the engine dies, but
the music booms until Luke’s bullets drill the dashboard into
silence.

My door opens and Hansen gives an
exaggerated bow and a flourish. “Step this way, ma’am.”

Since Hansen is being annoyingly polite, I
give him a rather haughty, “No thanks. I prefer to stay just where
I am.”

He looks at his accomplice. “Come here and
watch the bitch while I demonstrate what Miss High ’n’ Mighty will
get if she doesn’t step out of the cab.”

The man moves my way, gun still trained on
the driver. “We don’t have time for this.”

“
Shut the fuck up and do
as I say.” Luke waits until the man has his weapon aimed at
me.

When Luke moves to the driver’s side and
raises his pistol, I lunge forward hoping somehow to protect the
innocent.

Too late. A deafening report fills the car
and the driver jerks to the right as a fine spray of red splatters
across the windshield.

I scream, covering my face to escape the
burning consequence of my misguided reaction.

The sting of Hansen’s hand on my cheek
brings me up short. His next words start low, but by the time he’s
through, he’s shouting. “If I had my way, bitch, I’d pull you into
that thicket over there and show you what a real man can do, then
get rid of you once and for all. But I got orders I have to follow.
Now get your goddamn ass out of the fucking cab.”

He grabs my briefcase and yanks me to him.
When I struggle he smiles. The stench of whiskey almost makes me
gag as he whispers, “Keep it up, bitch, that really turns me
on.”

“
Hey.” The other man calls
out. “Hold off on that stuff. We got things to do here.”

Luke whirls to face him. “Listen, asshole,
I’m running this show. Get it?”

“
Okay, okay, but you
better tell me what to do with the body.” “Do I have to tell you
everything, asshole?
Put-the-fucking-body-in-the-trunk-and-pull-the-fucking-car-over-there-behind-those-fucking-mesquites.
Get it, fuck-head?”

Luke pushes me toward his Bronco as the cab
swerves off the road, bumps across the ditch, and disappears into a
low stand of mesquite trees. Minutes later the man emerges and
trots toward us.

I manage to stammer, “Where are you taking
me?”

He shoves me and my briefcase into the back
seat, slams the door, then slides behind the steering wheel as his
cohort enters the other door.

“
None of your fucking
business, bitch. Just keep your trap shut.”

With that, our exit covers the murder scene
in a pall of roiling dust.

The numbing scene replays again and again as
I stare hopelessly into the endless brown landscape that
characterizes that part of South Texas. One gravel road turns onto
another and it soon becomes plain Luke is avoiding the main
arteries. To make matters worse, the skies have grayed, and I have
no way to tell if we are going north, south, east, or west.

Any prospect of rescue or escape dies when
we come to the first gate and the sidekick hops out, picks through
the ten or twelve locks, and rolls through a combination.

When the gate swings open, my throat
constricts. No one will find me now. Duncan knows I’m in Laredo,
but what does he care? Bill and the Gibbses? How do I know this
isn’t part of their plan?

Fighting back tears, I try to gather some
semblance of order, but my head is throbbing too much to form a
decent thought. I take several deep breaths in a small attempt to
relax, but my muscles, crabbed with fear, refuse to give up their
spasm. Escape. Escape. There is only one escape.

I pull my briefcase onto the seat to use as
a rough pillow, hoping sleep will provide some sort of temporary
release from the sure doom that lies ahead. None comes. Staring at
the ceiling is all the relief I’m afforded.

The braking car throws me almost to the
floor. I struggle to regain my balance and see Luke leaning over
the front seat, his face so close to mine, I have to turn away to
avoid his fetid breath. “Better get up. Seeing you laying down is
mighty tempting.”

I suppress a shudder and sit up. We’re in
front of a melting adobe building with a rusty tin roof topped by a
crazily bent pipe belching smoke. This misbegotten wreck is
surrounded by pickups and a few broken-down cars. To the right of
the entrance, a crudely lettered sign, hanging by one end, says,
“Pulquería.”

I check my watch. Two-thirty. “Where are
we?”

“
It don’t matter where we
are. I’m ready to eat. Best migas in the Valley.”

Valley? Are we heading toward the Gulf or
away? “Migas? What’s that?”

“
Scrambled eggs and tired
tortillas,” Luke says. “Add salsa and it’s the best.”

My captor seems in better spirits so I try a
timid, “If you don’t mind, I could use a cup of coffee and a
restroom.”

“
That can be arranged.
Just don’t do anything dumb or I’ll shoot you on the spot.” He
grins and chucks me under the chin. “If you think I won’t, remember
what happened to Señor Stupido back there.”

He opens the glove compartment and pulls out
a Beretta Tomcat. Mine.

“
Recognize this?” Luke
palms it and shoves it in his pocket. “Nice little piece of
insurance for close-range action.”

The café is dark and smoky, but I realize
I’ve waded into a sea of testosterone.

We slide through the crowd to an empty booth
at the back, where Luke manhandles me into the corner of one side
and squeezes in beside me. “If you got to take a leak, you’ll have
to use the only head in the joint.”

I see “Caballeros,” no “Damas.”

Luke leers. “Don’t be afraid, girlie. Ol’
Luke’ll come with you.”

I turn away, no longer brave enough for a
confrontation. “I’d rather go alone.”

Luke jams into my ribs. “Then, wet your
pants, bitch.”

His accomplice gives an exasperated sigh.
“Give it a rest, Luke. If she has to pee, let her go by
herself.”

My Beretta is out of Luke’s pocket and in
the man’s face. “What did you say, asshole?”

“
Asshole” jerks back, then
gives a dejected, “Whatever.”

The exchange is blunted by the arrival of a
Latino wearing a soiled waist apron wrapped over a tattered shirt
and worn jeans. He speaks border dialect, but I pick up the gist.
No women allowed.

Luke pulls out his wallet and flips it open.
“Official, comprende?”

The man looks me over, then motions Luke to
follow.

When the two disappear through the swinging
door leading to the kitchen, Luke’s minion points toward the
restroom. “Hurry. I’ll stand outside.”

To my relief, the stench-filled latrine is
empty and we are back at the table several minutes before Luke
emerges.

Once he settles, he gives his buddy a
triumphant grin. “All I had to do was drop the name.” He gives me a
swift look, then rises. “I’d better let them know we made a
successful pickup. I gave Rosario the order, so eat up when the
food gets here. I can eat in the car while you drive.”

When three orders of scrambled eggs arrive
accompanied by what looks like a steaming bowl of chili, Luke’s
accomplice urges with his fork. “Dig in. We don’t have long.”

“
Do you mind if I ask your
name?” “Jed... just Jed, okay?”

“
I’m Allie.”

“
I know who you
are.”

We concentrate on the eggs, which are
delicious. I take a little of the sauce, which adds a pleasant tang
to the mixture. “Mmmm. Good. What did he call this?”

“
Migas. It’s a local
dish.” He takes a quick survey of the room, then says, “Look,
Miss... Allie, I wouldn’t give Luke any more lip. He has a real
short fuse.” He pauses to scan the room, then says, “I don’t know
if I can control him much longer.”

“
I promise to behave. I
just don’t want...”

“
Want what, bitch? A
little of this?” Luke slides in beside me, using my thigh as
leverage, then his fingers begin to move slowly upward.

I gasp and Jed looks up from his half-empty
plate. “We’re running way behind schedule. Better get a take-out
container.”

Luke’s hand jerks away and goes for his
pocket. “I don’t need no advice from you.”

My Beretta is in Jed’s face once again and
this time Luke’s finger is on the trigger as danger crowds his
voice. “I told you not to push me. Asshole.”

Sudden silence freeze-frames the other
customers. Forks poise and cups pause halfway to their mouths.

Jed raises his hand. “I was just worried
about the crossing schedule, that’s all.” He gives a knowing
chuckle. “You’re calling the shots. I know that sure as I’m sitting
here.”

Luke’s trigger finger relaxes. “Pay
attention to what I say.” He turns to me. “You too, bitch.”

He grips the handle, then presses the weapon
into Jed’s chest. “Next time you get one-fucking-inch out of line,
you’re dead.”

For the next few hours the Bronco follows a
gravel road fenced on each side. Now and then, a gate blocks worn
tire ruts that fade in the scrub, but there’s not a house or even a
shack in sight.

Luke’s, “Blindfold her,” jerks me back to
reality as Jed slides over the back of his seat and motions me to
turn.

I allow him to cover my eyes with the red
cotton bandanna. And though he ties it loosely, I’m rendered
helpless and afraid. The squeeze at the base of my throat begs for
tears, but I’m too depressed to cry.

Without warning a hand grabs my arm followed
by a needle stick and a brief sting.

Jed’s protest explodes above me. “What in
hell are you doing? He didn’t tell you to drug her.”

The last thing I hear is Luke’s muzzy,
“Relax. This is just a little insurance.”

I’M NOT SURE IF MINUTES or hours pass when there is
a tremendous thud and I slam to the floor.

“
Holy Jesus, Luke, you
almost did it then.” Jed screams.

Luke’s voice is shaking, “Sonovabitch, I
never saw the damn thing.”

His door opens and I hear his feet hit the
ground. “Shit. Looks like the damn wheel’s busted.”

The blindfold drops from my face but it is
difficult for me to focus. My mouth is parched and my head hurts.
Then I remember the stick in my arm, lift my sleeve, and gasp. An
angry spot in the middle of my upper arm trails the brownish maroon
of dried blood.

I struggle to the seat to see the windshield
smeared with blood. To the right of the Bronco lies the brutalized
carcass of a deer.