The Road To Deliverance

by James, Harper

  A butcher by trade, he had expanded into more lucrative produce, the sort customers snorted rather than chewed. Nonetheless, at heart he was still a butcher. He prided himself on the quality of his steaks even if the diners cutting into them in the fancy restaurants he supplied would do well not to inquire too closely into the provenance of some of them. There were rumors about business rivals not seen recently, that sort of thing.

  His success had allowed him to expand the legitimate side of his business as well, to integrate the supply chain. As well as his butcher’s shops he owned a substantial cattle ranch. The beef carcasses provided the perfect cover to transport the drugs. Everything worked seamlessly, although he doubted they taught that particular benefit of an integrated supply chain in business school.

  The one disappointment in his life was that his two sons hated each other with a passion, the situation aggravated by Lucas’s excessive macho bravado. The impending day of reckoning weighed more heavily on him as every day passed. Lucas was on thin ice with his constant abuse, belittling his brother in front of the hired help. One day Gabriel would turn. And that boy was good with a razor, maricón or not.

  He turned his attention to the man suspended from a hook in front of him.

  ‘Jay.’

  ‘Carnicero.’

  ‘It saddens me that we have to meet again like this.’

  That makes two of us, Jay thought, becoming aware of a sudden increase in the temperature in the room. Two men wearing padded gloves had entered carrying a small brazier filled with glowing coals. At first glance it looked like the sort of thing for keeping you warm on your patio as the chilly nights draw in. But it was more utilitarian that that, no fancy metal scrollwork to complement your garden chairs. It was functional. Designed to do a job. And that job was making sure some thieving bastard didn’t steal your cattle.

  El Carnicero held something loosely at his side, something he’d brought with him from the ranch. He thrust it deep into the hot coals, not flinching as the sparks flew, peppering the back of his hand.

  Then he looked at his youngest son. Lucas was right in principle, if not in his language. There had been an unhealthy relationship between Gabriel and the man suspended from the hook. Nothing sexual as far as he was aware. Jay had been good to Gabriel. Never taunted him like the others, protected him at times. Things had been worse for Gabriel after Jay left.

  Now Gabriel had to learn a difficult lesson. Jay had betrayed them. He must be punished. And Gabriel had to learn that there is no place for sentimentality in business. Not if you want to stay in business.

  ‘Lucas is right. You must do it.’

  Gabriel stared at the branding iron in the brazier, now starting to glow red. He shook his head. Took a step backwards. Two guys moved to block him.

  ‘Pussy,’ Lucas called.

  ‘Lucas! I said enough. Gabriel, pick up the iron.’

  He nodded to the men behind Gabriel. One of them pushed him forwards until he was standing immediately in front of his father. Even though Gabriel was taller, his father was built like an ageing bull, all shoulders and massive head. He looked as if he wouldn’t notice the branding iron if it was held to his own skin.

  ‘What if I give you a choice? You choose which end of the iron you hold in your hand, which end you press against—’

  ‘His boyfriend,’ Lucas spat.

  El Carnicero froze, his breath exiting his nostrils noisily like a prize bull he so closely resembled. Everyone tensed, the beef carcasses included. Lucas took a step backwards, head bowed. A collective breath filled the room when el Carnicero’s shoulders relaxed.

  ‘Do you want to let your brother do it? Who do you think will make it last the longest? Think of your friend Jay before you decide.’

  Lucas took a step forwards, arm reaching for the branding iron.

  ‘Yeah. Let me do it.’

  Gabriel knocked his arm down. Put a hand on his chest, shoved.

  ‘Oooh. The pussy’s grown some balls. Come on then, let’s see you do it.’

  Gabriel put his hand on the iron, went to pull it out. Lucas clamped his hand on top, pushed the iron deeper into the glowing coals.

  ‘It’s not hot enough yet.’

  He went to stand in front of Jay. Slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Jay had the sense to keep any smart remarks to himself.

  ‘I hope he chickens out,’ Lucas whispered. He tucked Jay’s shirt into his belt at the small of his back, his stomach now fully exposed.

  ‘Hey, mari . . . Gabriel,’ Lucas called. ‘Can I borrow your lipstick? I want to write a message.’

  Gabriel’s grip tightened on the iron. The temptation to pull it from the coals, stab the glowing, almost-molten end into Lucas’s face, was overwhelming. He felt a strong hand on his forearm, sensed his father beside him.

  ‘Do not dignify it with a response.’

  They both watched as Lucas pulled his knife, nicked Jay’s chest with the tip. Only a small cut, no worse than a thorn in your thumb. Lucas caught the droplets climbing out of the small wound with the tip of his middle finger. Then drew something on Jay’s stomach. He stood to the side so they could all see.

  KKK

  Just the three letters, nothing more.

  ‘So Cole knows who did it,’ Lucas said, his mouth twisted, staring at Gabriel. ‘Because this pussy ain’t gonna do it in a million years. Are you, maricón?’

  This time their father said nothing, did nothing. Perhaps this was the day to let the cards fall where they may.

  Gabriel pulled the iron from the coals.

  ‘Hot enough for you?’

  Lucas’s mocking smile slipped, suddenly unhappy about the possible double meaning, the emphasis on you.

  Gabriel took a step towards where Lucas stood next to Jay.

  ‘You want to say that again, Lucas?’

  Lucas shook his head slowly, moved away.

  Gabriel stood to the front and side of Jay. From there he could see his father’s face, watching, transfixed.

  ‘What was the choice you gave me again?’

  El Carnicero shook his head.

  ‘No. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Gabriel held up the iron. And before his father or anyone else could say another word, he grasped the red-hot end.

  His scream bounced off the tiled walls, high and piercing, the echoes chasing each other in and out of the beef carcasses. Uncoiling his fingers, he dropped the iron to the floor, the smell of burning flesh sickening in everybody’s nose. He clamped his hand under his armpit, his face twisted like a demon climbing out of the pits of hell.

  ‘Happy now?’

  This to his father, standing speechless.

  He strode from the room. Dropped his shoulder, drove it hard into Lucas as he passed, spinning him, knocking him out of the way.

  And suddenly Lucas was the big man again. Now that the iron lay cooling on the floor.

  ‘See. I said the pussy couldn’t—’

  The smack of his father’s palm across his mouth rocked his head, choked off the words.

  ‘Put the iron back in the coals. Then you do it. And make it quick or I’ll string you up myself.’

  Chapter 24

  COLE JERKED AWAKE, the words of the threatening verse echoing in his mind, the pillow damp with his sweat under his head. The remnants of a nightmare slowly receded, retreated back into the bottomless depths of his subconscious, only to be replaced by the living horror of the waking world. His head snapped sideways to the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand, a painful burning sensation building strength in his chest. 02:30 a.m. He’d lost two and a half of Jay’s hours.

  That wasn’t all he’d lost. Sarah was nowhere in sight.

  He yelled her name, leapt off the bed. Stuck his head in the bathroom, tore open the flimsy closet door. Slapped angrily at the pocket where the car key had been. Gone. A quick glance out of the window confirmed it.

  Nothing.

  No police cars, no Sarah’s car,
no cars, period. She simply got the hell out. Maybe because of the way they’d grown together in some small way during the trip. Or maybe because she wanted to put a lot of miles between them before she called the cops.

  He couldn’t wait to find out.

  The room key wasn’t on the table by the door where he’d left it. He tried the door, knowing the result already. Locked. He dropped onto the bed, swung his feet up onto the covers. Dialed reception. It rang and rang and rang. The manager was most likely asleep himself, passed out in front of the TV, his snores competing with the urgent ringing of the telephone. He put the phone under his chin, smoothed the rumpled sheets as he waited.

  Fragments of his nightmare made quick forays into his conscious mind, snapping like black dogs at his heels.

  Press one for ears.

  Jay hanging from a hook.

  Blood pouring down the left side of his face.

  Him with something wet and warm in his hand.

  Press two for nose.

  The manager finally answered, sent the snapping dogs back from whence they came.

  ‘Reception. Sullivan speaking.’

  It came out half talking, half yawning, all the way pissed. He made it sound a lot like what the hell time do you call this?

  Cole put a lot of aw shucks into his voice.

  ‘I had a fight with my girlfriend.’

  Sullivan made a dry wheezing sound that might have been a laugh, might have been a death rattle. Cole smelled cigarette smoke coming down the line.

  ‘Thought so, the way she took off.’

  ‘You saw her leave?’

  ‘Heard her, more like. Burning rubber all the way down the road. What did you do to her?’

  Sullivan laughed some more. It was the most exciting thing to happen since the motel had been built.

  ‘How’d you know it was her?’

  The laugh changed to something that sounded similar only without the humor in it.

  ‘You see any other damn guests?’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About eleven.’

  He did the math. Three and a half hours away, pedal to the metal. He should never have let her take a shower. Should’ve gone in with her like he’d threatened to.

  ‘Anyway, what can I do for you?’

  Sullivan yawned down the phone, reminded Cole how late he was keeping him up. Cole produced a small embarrassed cough.

  ‘She locked me in the room.’

  Sullivan was still laughing when he came down and unlocked the door a couple minutes later. He glanced at the bed, took in the almost-smoothed sheets. A dirty smile curled his lips. Now he knew the real reason Sarah took off. Boy needed to improve his performance if you asked him. It was what he didn’t do to her was the problem.

  Despite that, he seemed a nice enough young man. He sure as hell wouldn’t think the same in a half-hour’s time.

  COLE GAVE SULLIVAN ten minutes to get back to his office and get settled. He checked his backpack while he waited, made sure Sarah hadn’t taken his gun—or anything else as recompense for the lost hours of her life. It was all still there. He left the gun where it was at the bottom of the bag. He wouldn’t be needing it. Then he let himself out of the room, his backpack slung over his shoulder. The parking lot was just as empty as before. Nobody would be checking in at this time of night. He needed to find where Sullivan parked.

  He looped around the back, made his way towards the rear of the office. Sure enough, there was a small lot right behind it. An old Ford F-Series pickup was parked there. He crept up to it, tried the door. Locked.

  In the quiet stillness of the night, he heard Sullivan snoring way before he got up to the window to take a look inside. He was stretched out on a small couch with a blanket over him, his mouth hanging open. His coat was on a hook inside the far door.

  The back door was unlocked. Cole let himself in quietly, left the door ajar. He was the only quiet thing in the room. Sullivan’s snores filled it with the snorting and wheezing of a man who’s had his nose broken a time or two.

  He tip-toed across the room, sounding in his own ears like a company of soldiers breaking step on a wooden bridge. He stuck his hand into the pockets of the coat. No keys. Damn.

  Behind him a sudden gust of wind caught the door, slammed it shut. He jumped. Spun around at the same time Sullivan jerked awake.

  ‘What the hell?’

  Sullivan sat up, dropped his feet to the floor. He stuffed his hand under the cushions he’d been lying on. Cole ripped his backpack off his shoulder, swung the weighted end at Sullivan’s head in one fluid movement, not waiting to see what it was he was after. He had a pretty good idea.

  Sullivan was tougher than he looked. He was old and running to fat, but he had a hard head. The heavy backpack bounced off it without even slowing him down. His hand came out holding a Smith and Wesson Shield 9mm pistol. Cole’s years of training kicked in. He lashed out with his foot, caught him on the back of the hand. The pistol went flying across the room, hit the wall, dropped to the floor in the corner.

  They both dived for it. Cole was younger and fitter. He got to it first, had his fingers around the grip when Sullivan landed on him. It was like the ceiling had fallen in. And then a brick wall on top of that. Sullivan got an arm around his neck, the smell of unwashed armpit mixing with his hot breath in Cole’s face.

  He couldn’t have made it easier for Cole if he’d tried.

  In the space of a second, Cole bit him in the crux of his elbow, drove his own elbow backwards into the side of his head as he jerked it away, butted the back of his head into his mouth.

  The yelp died on Sullivan’s lips, his arm suddenly limp around Cole’s neck. Cole threw him off, semi-conscious, onto the floor. By the time he started to come to, Cole had dragged him across the room, lashed him to the desk leg with Sarah’s rope.

  Cole slapped his cheek gently to bring him all the way around. He only wanted the guy’s car, didn’t want him swallowing his tongue or choking on the blood from his busted mouth.

  Sullivan was a game old boy. He managed a smile with his split lips.

  ‘You’re wasting your time, son. You see how many guests we’ve got? All you’re gonna get is your own money back. I’d have given it to you if you’d asked nicely.’

  ‘I don’t want your money.’

  Sullivan snorted, a gob of blood landing on his top lip.

  ‘No? What is it you’re after then?’

  ‘Your car.’

  Sullivan really cracked up then, his whole body shaking, the desk rattling with him. Then it turned into a long painful coughing fit, blood and phlegm spattering his shirt front.

  ‘I get it. You called your girlfriend up and said, I’m really sorry, honey, please come back, and she says screw you, asshole, you can walk. So now you need to steal my car.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘Help yourself, buddy. Keys are in the top drawer.’

  Cole found them, headed for the door.

  ‘Good luck,’ Sullivan called to his back, the words riding out on the back of a low chuckle. ‘Not sure how much gas is in it.’

  Outside, Cole unlocked the pickup and climbed in, almost retched. The whole cab smelled like a stale ashtray. Holding his breath, he jammed the key in the ignition and turned.

  Got a rapid, electric clicking sound back.

  He tried again, why not waste more time?

  Click, click, click, click, click.

  Sounded a lot like ha, ha, ha, ha, ha to him. Even the car was laughing at him.

  ‘Got a new battery coming in the morning if you want to wait,’ Sullivan said when Cole went back in the office. He thought that was pretty damn funny too.

  Cole sat on the corner of the desk, tried to figure out his next move.

  ‘Why’d she really run out on you?’ Sullivan said, a sly grin on his lips. ‘Too much to drink? Couldn’t . . .’

  Cole tuned him out as he tried to get a rise out of him. The taunts made him t
hink of bigger mocking threats. He’d have expected to hear more from Lucas by now, goading him, tormenting him. He reached into his pocket for his phone to make sure the battery wasn’t dead on that too. It wasn’t there. He tried all his pockets. Nothing. He opened up the backpack, rooted around in it, a surge of relief washing through him as he felt it in the bottom. He hoped it hadn’t gotten damaged when he hit Sullivan with the backpack. He pulled it out, the relief of a moment ago fading as quickly as it came. Sarah’s. And it was dead. He got off the desk, searched the office in case it fell out when he was rolling around on the floor with Sullivan.

  ‘Lost something?’

  A satisfied smirk crawled across Sullivan’s face as he watched Cole’s growing frustration.

  ‘Patience with you, if you don’t shut up.’

  He ran back to the room. It might have fallen out of his pocket when he was tossing and turning in the grip of his nightmare. He ripped the sheets off. Lifted the mattress. The phone wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  He dropped onto the bed, thought it through logically. There was only one other place it could be—it must have fallen out in Sarah’s car.

  He picked the hotel phone up off the nightstand, dialed his own number.

  Chapter 25

  SARAH OPENED HER EYES, looked up into a man’s face. It wasn’t a face anybody wants peering down at them. Not in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘You okay, Miss?’

  She sat up. Touched the back of her head. Winced.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘What were you doing sitting in the middle of the road? I almost hit you.’

  ‘What were you doing driving without any lights? I never saw you coming.’

  He put his hand under her arm, helped her up. His hand was cold, even through her blouse, bony knuckles against her breast.

  ‘You’re not hurt, that’s all that matters.’

  She pulled away from his grip, tried not to be too rude about it. She straightened, smoothed down her skirt which had ridden up when she fell. He watched her do it. Paid particular attention to where the dirt and grit stuck to her butt.

  ‘Need a good dust down though.’