Desert Exposure (26 page)

Hell, we’ve only known each other for a few days. And he’s never said he loves me.

But what an amazing few days they’d been. She figured some couples wouldn’t go through what they’d been through in a lifetime. And while she knew the improbability of any lasting union after knowing someone for such a short time, she had to admit, they really did fit well together. And making love to him filled her with happiness beyond anything she’d ever thought possible.

When the pale shades of daylight showed in the strips of light around the blinds, and she’d worried herself more than enough about her feelings for Michael, and their future, she decided to get up. Fred snored somewhere toward the back of the apartment. She wouldn’t disturb anyone. A walk on the beach would help to settle her thoughts. Ralph opened one eye and looked at her. She picked up his leash, uncertain. She could leave him here and know he’d be safe. If he followed her downstairs, fine.

She tiptoed down the creaky old steps, and sitting on the bottom one, put her shoes on. The light click of toenails on the stairs told her Ralph was ready for a walk. Good, she wanted his company. She slipped out through the back door of the bar, closed it behind her, and hurried past the hulks of the rusting cars, not putting Ralph down until they were well past all of the junk and filth.
What a crappy place to live.

A mile or so down the beach, Rachel realized she’d headed to where the craziness of the last couple of days had first happened. Remembering that morning, she turned her cell phone on in case she ran into danger. Within minutes, it rang, and she nervously glanced at the number. Manuel. Michael had warned her not talk to anybody. But this was Manuel.

She hesitated long enough to let it go to voice mail. Sitting on a rocky outcrop, she waited a moment, and then tried to retrieve the message but got static. Okay, so he must be out of range, but where? And what did that mean? Why would he call her at this hour? She checked her missed messages: Three from Manuel in the past thirty minutes, and they all begged her to call back, one from Jack, another from Debbie.

Her cell phone rang again, and Ralph cocked his head to one side and focused intently on her face. This time she took the call.

“Hello.”

“Rachel, thank God. Stay with me for a moment, we might get more static.”

“Manuel—”

“There’s something bad going down. My roommate, Arturo Suarez…ah geez…listen I don’t know how to say it, but he’s into some heavy stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Not sure…exactly. I picked up the house line at the same time he did. I think somehow you and your grandfather are involved. Talk of gang wars, drugs, something big that went down at midnight. And some of his friends came into the bar last night, and they all seemed puffed up with excitement, like pre-date jitters. Then he asked to leave early, even though I know he needs the money. Something else is going on right now. I thought maybe you… maybe you were in danger.”

“I’m okay.” Rachel’s heart pounded, and Ralph squirmed closer to her side. She hesitated in saying more. What if Michael had been right? What if Manuel attempted to find out her location, or Michael’s? “Why would you think I was in trouble?”

“I couldn’t get you at home, so I went there. I hate to tell you this. Ah, your house has been trashed. I could see through the back windows, and—”

“Yes. That happened the night before last. The police know about it.”

“Oh?” Manuel went quiet for a few seconds. “You didn’t say anything. Hang on.”

Rachel waited while static crackled around them. “Where are you?” she yelled.

“On Highway 86. I’m going to Ocotillo Flats, where Arturo is.”

Rachel’s whole body froze.
Okay. So he got that right. What did this mean?
She looked along the edge of the sea, and then on to the bait shop. It seemed like forever, but she knew it had only taken a second or two to decide. “I want you to turn back. Go to Debbie’s place first. Pick up Jack. I’ll call him and give him a heads up.”

“Okay, but—”

“Do it. You’re two minutes from them. Then pick me up. I’m in Desert Scapes. I’ll be near the old bait shop.”

“It could be dangerous.”

“Pick. Me. Up.”

“See you in five minutes, boss.”

Manuel ended the call, and Rachel dialed Jack’s number. She brought him up to speed, but not before she had to yell at him to shut up and listen.

“My pants and shoes are on,” Jack said.

Rachel could hear him huffing as he dressed.

“I’ll jog to the front gates so Manuel won’t have to turn up the long driveway,” Jack said. “We haven’t got a second to lose.” His cell phone went dead, and Rachel left hers on but shoved it into her jacket pocket. She scooped up Ralph and ran up the shore like her life depended on it. Maybe Michael’s life did. Whatever happened in Ocotillo Flats she knew that the good guys were going to need all the help they could get.

If the same gang, the one that had turned Grandpa’s cabin into a sieve, were going there to back up the Suarez brothers then Michael was in even greater danger. She wondered if Manuel was armed. She knew Jack would be, and maybe he’d have several guns.
Suarez?
She stopped.
Arturo’s last name is Suarez
?

Her heart pounded
. Hell
. She always referred to her workers by their first names, but she also made out the paychecks. He must have used an alias. She had him listed as Arturo Managa. Many Latino workers had two last names—their mother’s, and their father’s family name—probably Arturo Managa-Suarez. A lot of the guys this close to the Mexi-Cali border walked through life dropping one name, using the other, sometimes using both. But with her insistence that nobody in her employ, nobody in her life, was a bad guy, she’d placed Michael in trouble.

If she’d only insisted that he examine her books, and interview everyone she knew, maybe he’d have found a clue. She wiped her sweaty brow and jogged on. If anything happened to him, she doubted she would ever forgive herself for her foolish pride. She stopped, leaned a hand against the wall of the bait shop, and caught her breath. Ralph licked her face. Damn. She’d forgotten that the little guy would have to go along with her.

Dear God, what do I do
? The silent prayer had barely been formed when the answer hit her. It came in Grandpa Henry’s voice.
Trust your gut
. Her gut said,
trust Manuel
. “We’ll be okay, Ralphie. We’ll be fine.”

Headlights shone on the exit road from the freeway. She moved out of the shadows of the bait shop and waved. She’d stayed hidden, on the off chance that Fred might wake early and raise an alarm. She felt guilty. She should have left him a note.

Chapter Sixteen

The river bed was shallow but Michael didn’t feel like spending however many hours they’d be here in wet boots. He pulled them off, then peeled off his socks, and rolled up the legs of his pants. He stuck his feet into the cold water and a slow hiss slipped through his lips. Stanton glanced his way.

“Arterial spasm,” he whispered.

Michael looked around for Mantis. Like a freakin’ nature spirit, he’d blended in with his surroundings. He heard the faintest snap of a twig, and turned to look in that direction. Mantis slid out from behind a skinny tree trunk, grinned, and shook his head. “There are rocks you can step on to get across,” he whispered. Then he beckoned for them to follow.

Now he tells me
. Michael put his socks and boots back on. They took their time making sure not to alert anyone. If a twig snapped, they stood still for a few minutes; the dark and the trees their only protection. Out in the opening it was lighter, and at almost five o’clock, the sky showed the first signs of daybreak. He hadn’t contacted the chief yet. First, he needed to document that the men were in the cabin, and that they were indeed the Suarez brothers. How he’d go about doing that, he had no clue.
It will all work out
.

They made their way to where, as Mantis had mentioned, large rocks provided a path across the water. Easy, unless of course those rocks were slimy and covered with moss. Mantis indicated he would cross first. Stanton followed. About to step across, Michael heard a sound.

The guys stood on the other bank urging him over with their hands. He held up one palm, facing them. The creek was narrow enough that he could see their pale faces. They knew enough to trust him. He tilted his head, listening, waiting, almost not breathing.

A thud broke the silence, then a sound like a grunt followed by another thud. It repeated every few minutes. Michael sensed Mantis heard it also. His wiry body had turned in that direction and he seemed to strain toward the sound. It could be a wild animal digging in the ground. It seemed to come from the other side of the water and to Michael’s right. He stepped carefully across the stones and pulled out his gun. He indicated the guys should stay back. He crouched and moved forward in a hunched position to investigate.

Minutes later, the back of the cabin came into view. A glimmer of light shone around the edges of the window, followed by a flicker of blue light. It took a second for him to realize the television was on. He beckoned the guys. About to proceed, he heard the thud again, and this time it was combined with an even deeper grunt. That was no animal rooting around in the underbrush. Michael motioned for the guys to get low, and to stay down. He dropped and inched forward on his belly.

Even though they were low lying mountain ranges, and some denser vegetation closer to the base of the mountains, this was essentially desert. The sandy ground pleased him because it made it easier to traverse. Michael lay still, peering down. He slowly turned his head. A couple of old bar-b-que stands and a rough looking picnic table and benches were nestled beneath several tall shade trees. Beyond that, where the river made a lazy turn, about fifty feet from the back of the cabin that had the lights on, a shadowy figure stood in a hole. He heard the grunting sound again. Then a shovel full of sand upended on the embankment above the long, dark rectangular shape in the ground.

Michael’s mouth went dry.
They’ve killed Henry. This is where they plan to bury him.

He eased back to the guys and whispered his find. They couldn’t contact the chief from out here. Not while the guy was a short distance away. Besides, Michael had not yet identified him as one of the Suarez brothers. He needed to get closer. They all moved stealthily forward. The guy climbed out of the hole. He was short and stocky, but too far away to discern any distinguishing marks. He fit the body type of the younger Suarez brother. The man took the shovel back to his car and tossed it into the trunk. Then he went inside the cabin via the front door.

There was something propped against the side of the vehicle. It looked like a large, lumpy sack. A chill ran up his spine and fear tickled the nape of his neck. He shook off the feeling of dread, wriggled his shoulders, and kept his surveillance. His gaze strayed back to the sack. Many of the drug dealers, and their men, held no qualms about dismembering their victim’s bodies, he knew that.
Dear God.
He grabbed his forehead with one hand, and closed his eyes for a second or two.
Do not let that sack contain Henry
.

Stanton jabbed him in the ribs, and Michael opened his eyes.

The same stocky guy walked out from a door at the back of the cabin. He pushed another person, with a cloth or a bag over the head, in front of him. Michael noticed the elderly stumbling gait, it looked like a man. It had to be Henry. The man’s hands weren’t tied, and he held them clasped in front of him. This one man firing squad seemed confident, like nobody would stumble upon him. Did that mean the other brother was dead? The old man stumbled. The stocky guy cursed and pushed a gun into the old man’s back and shoved him toward the gravesite.

To hell with orders.
“I’m going in. Call the chief,” Michael whispered to Stanton, and tossed him his cell phone. “Then get my back.”

“I’ll do that,” Mantis said, and produced a pistol.

Michael raised his gun, and as fast as his legs could pump, he ran down the slope. He could hear Mantis running along the ridge on his right. Crashing through the underbrush, Michael yelled. “Police. Freeze. Get your hands up.”

When he got close enough, he fired wide, as a warning. The stocky guy fired back. Someone came out of the cabin. Bullets whizzed past Michael’s head. The old guy fell forward then disappeared into the hole in the ground.
Shit
. Michael continued to run, firing as he went. He had to get to the old man.

A bullet hit Michael’s upper arm, and he stumbled, grabbing at the pain, feeling the sticky blood, and then a shooting pain ripped up his leg. Had he been hit twice? Somewhere behind more shots were fired. Thank god for Mantis. He looked down, and saw his right foot had twisted against a tree root, and with a searing pain his knee had buckled.
Shit, shit, shit
. He stayed low for a minute, and scanned the area, gently working his knee cap. He couldn’t see anything, or any movement. Others were firing, but at what, he couldn’t be sure. Stanton had crashed past him minutes before. He could hear the sound of what might be an AK 47 coming from the direction of the cabin.

Jesus, what had they got themselves into? Is Stanton dead?

He thought he heard the sounds of a vehicle approaching, or departing. He squinted into the dim light. There were no headlights. But it could have been imagination.
No!
He saw the red of taillights. The Suarez brothers were escaping. Exhausted and weak, he pulled himself forward. The gun fire had diminished, and at the same time, everything went hazy and dark around the perimeter of his vision. A couple of choppers roared in over the mountain range, and Mantis yelled something from his right side. Michael felt a tight fabric being wrapped around his upper arm.