by L T Ryan
Downburst Chapter 1
He looked down at his watch for the second time in as many seconds, as if checking again was going to make him any less late than he already was. It was the bus driver’s fault, but he couldn’t use the excuse even if it was true. She never accepted anything but punctuality, and recently, he’d failed in that area more times than he cared to admit.
Juan picked up the pace. His backpack was loaded to capacity and the weight tugged down on his shoulders. His stomach rumbled and he thought about stopping to retrieve the granola bar from the bottom of the pack. Precious seconds would be lost to the effort. He decided against appeasing his belly’s audible protest and continued on without sustenance. Maybe Miss Garcia would give him a little time to snack before they began today’s session. Doubtful, but the thought of it, regardless of its probability, gave him hope.
Rounding the corner onto Serrano Drive, a cold gust of wind blew his hat off. Juan spun to grab it as the brim bounced off his fingertips. It was a valiant effort, but like most of his athletic endeavors, he came up short. Trotting back, he picked his hat up, cinching it down to prevent a repeat episode.
As he turned to begin his jog toward his tutor’s house, he heard the pulsing bass of a subwoofer. The thumping shook him to his core, and Juan stopped dead in his tracks. He turned as the boxy front end of an older model Cadillac slowly eased around the corner of the street he’d just come from. The vehicle rolled to a stop alongside the curb.
The car’s windows were heavily tinted and reflected the deep purple of the evening sky. It was impossible to see inside. The thumping continued, brake lights giving the plume of exhaust an eerie red hue, like the peel of a blood orange. He’d become all too familiar with the fruit when helping his father pack the crates at Gonzales’s Grocery. His father’s work had left their family with little in the aftermath of his death, so Juan picked up where he’d left off, stocking the store’s shelves. At fifteen, he’d become the man of the family and what little money he earned went to putting food on the table for his three younger sisters. He knew his only chance to help his family would be to graduate high school. But with the hours spent at the store, his grades slipped, and now he spent his evenings with his teacher, Miss Garcia, who provided him with extra help.
The Cadillac idled. Juan’s heart began jackhammering uncontrollably. His fingers trembled, the tips went numb. In his haste to get to his destination, he hadn’t initially connected the dots. But he knew who was in the sedan and that knowledge paralyzed him with fear.
Juan sucked a cool gulp of air mixed with exhaust, turned and began running at a dead sprint. His thin legs carried the gangly lank of his frame. The load on his back slowed him down as he pushed the limits of his physicality.
The engine behind him roared, the sound momentarily drowning out the boom of the music. His feet couldn’t move across the cracked cement of the sidewalk fast enough. He looked ahead and could see the black metal guide rail leading up the steps to Miss Garcia’s home. It would be close.
Without looking back, he knew the car was gaining rapidly. Juan shed his extra weight, releasing the burdensome straps without breaking stride. The bag fell behind him. Books spilled out on the ground as the zipper split open on impact.
Just ten steps to go and he’d be inside the house. He wheezed under the exertion and regretted not taking a blast from his inhaler before getting off the bus.
Out of the corner of his left eye, he saw the car parallel to him. The rhythmic drumming reverberated in his rib cage, louder now because the back-passenger window was down. His peripheral vision picked up the long barrel of a gun.
Somebody from the car yelled, “You don’t never mess around with an Outlaw’s girl.”
He’d walked Sophia home from school once. Juan knew she was Macho’s sister, head of the local gang. She was nice, and they talked about life outside of Luna Vista. Nothing happened on the walk. He’d dreamed about her afterward and fantasized about running off with her and starting a new life. But he hadn’t told her or anyone else. Running for his life, he wished now he had kissed Sophia or at least tried.
Two more steps and then the stairs. Optimism gave way to reality with the deafening roar of gunfire.
Juan was slammed sideways with the impact as he toppled over less than a foot from the first step leading up to Miss Garcia’s. He smelled an acrid smoke and tasted the metallic burn from his lung’s exertion. The sour bitterness of blood overwhelmed his senses, filling his mouth and choking him.
Another blast of wind lashed at him, again knocking his hat free. This time he made no effort to retrieve it. He couldn’t. His motionless body yielded to the trauma.
The tires from the car squealed as it raced off down the street.
Juan heard the screen door open followed by a scream he could only assume was Miss Garcia’s. He couldn’t be certain because of the dark veil shrouding his view. A coldness wrapped him. He thought of his mother and sisters. What would they do without him to help out? Who would now stock the shelves?
It was a question he would never learn the answer to.
“Did you see him go down? Like he got hit by a Mack truck. Punk bitch never had a chance.” The boy rested the Remington 870 pump-action shotgun across his legs, looking down at it with admiration. He stroked the long black barrel with his hand as if petting a lap dog. Although his face was hidden beneath the blue cloth of the bandana, it was obvious from the crinkled lines around his eyes that the boy who had just fired the gun was smiling.
Xavier Fuentes looked over at the gunman. Feeling his body shake, he worried the other boy would notice. Apparently, he didn’t. He was focused on the shotgun.
“Yo, X. Hit this shit.” The front passenger pinched a fat joint between his thumb and forefinger.
Embers glimmered at its burnt end, the smoke adding to the hazy layer already present in the car. Xavier took it. Putting it to his lips, he could feel the previous user’s moist saliva. He pulled in hard, drawing a deep hit of the marijuana. The smoke burned his lungs as he held his breath. He was already high, higher than he could ever remember being, but it wasn’t enough to block the image of the dying kid from his mind.
Releasing the aromatic smoke from his lungs, the heat of it tickled the back of his throat and caused him to cough. He handed the joint to his right, passing it off to Blaze, who pulled his face mask down before taking it. Blaze’s real name was Juan Rivera, but it had been years since anybody had called him that. He’d been a grade above Xavier before dropping out of school in the eighth grade. The Outlaws had claimed him and, as was the practice, gave him a new name.
The front passenger, Psycho, was a few years older. A big, wild-eyed kid with long hair he kept in tight cornrows. He was the right-hand man to the gang’s leader, Carlos “Macho” Ortiz. The two were inseparable, and Psycho would do violence to anyone who challenged Carlos. Thus, his name and reputation were forever intertwined.
Macho drove, putting distance between them and the dead boy. Sirens sounded in the distance. Xavier’s hands shook and he tucked them under his thighs. He wasn’t scared about the cops catching them. Even if there had been a witness, nobody in Luna Vista would speak to the police. Not unless they had a death wish. His hands shook. He’d just watched his best friend since third grade get gunned down.
He knew the shotgun in Blaze’s hand would be given to him soon and a similar task would be asked of him. It was the way things were. A rite of passage in becoming an official member of the Outlaws.
Macho eyed him through the rearview mirror. “You ready for tomorrow, right? It’s the first step in coming up.”
Xavier tried to look tough. Puffing up his chest and sitting up straight, he gave a smile. He wondered if Macho bought the act. Tomorrow night would be when he proved himself worthy. Everybody in the gang had to go through it. Some fared better than others, but nobody came out unscathed.
One thing was certain. Tomorrow night, regardless of the outcome, there would be bloo
d.
Downburst Chapter 2
She sat listening to the rising and falling buzz of the V8 engine. The air freshener clipped to the vent was supposed to make the older-model Camry smell like a new car. Instead, it barely masked the stench left behind by the previous renter, who’d clearly violated the rental company’s non-smoking agreement. The end result smelled as though potpourri had been heated in a used ashtray. Hatch lowered the windows a crack, letting the cool breeze purge the air around her, and then turned off the car.
Sitting in silence, Hatch evaluated the exterior of the building. It stood out amid the bleak desert backdrop. One road, an arterial spurt from the main one, led to the dead-end where she now waited. She was parked just past the building, behind a utility shed. The nose of the Camry poked out a couple of inches, but the vehicle was positioned opposite any arriving traffic, making it difficult to spot unless looking for it. The muted beige of the car helped it blend with the bland, sandy surroundings.
There was little need to worry about visitors. The place looked long-since abandoned. Hatch wouldn’t have been shocked to see a tumbleweed roll by while the leitmotif of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly rang out in the background. The lock had been cut on the fenced entrance leading in and it appeared local vagrants had long since ignored the Keep Out sign posted to it.
Spray paint adorned the boarded-up windows and walls, giving an unwelcoming vibe to any person who might have accidentally ventured out this way. To Hatch, these overt displays of dominance were a sign of weakness. Those boasting in colorful epitaphs proved to be more bark than bite. When or if she bumped into those responsible, she expected to validate her assumption.
Over an hour had passed since she first pulled up to the location, and she still hadn’t seen a single person come or go from the building. Experience had taught her observation was an underutilized skill, and patience to do it for long durations even less so. One hour wasn’t long for Hatch. During a sniper course, she’d once remained in position for three days waiting for the target to arrive. Three days of minimal movement and sleep, all in the hope of hitting a passing target that would present itself for less than thirty seconds. Hard to describe the release of pulling a trigger after seventy-two hours. In its crudest of terms, and the way she relayed it to one of her closest teammates, it was orgasmic. So, in comparison, sitting idle for an hour in a climate-controlled vehicle was a drop in the bucket.
She picked up the letter and traced the return address, which was for this exact location. A place that most likely looked very different twenty-one years ago. That or it was the most impressive attempt at urban camouflage she’d seen.
Hatch pulled the door handle. She was met with a resistant blast of sand-filled wind as she pushed the door open and stepped onto the packed earth. As the wind subsided, she heard a rhythmic drumming sound off in the distance. At first, the repetitious beat sounded like a Blackhawk, but after giving it more attention, she realized it was music. The source of which was an approaching car.
Shifting over to the utility shed’s nearest wall, Hatch stepped out of view and waited. The noise amplified, announcing the arrival. A black Cadillac, the cause of the commotion, pulled up within a foot of the boarded double-door entrance of the main building. Hatch knew if they looked to the right, her car would be spotted. She’d worked up a non-violent contingency plan in which she’d pretend to be meeting a boyfriend out here for a private rendezvous. She always had an action plan, should the easy route fail. But she hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Things worked out better for other people if they didn’t choose option B.
She wasn’t here to pick a fight. Today was about gathering intelligence. Nothing more. And by the looks of the four exiting the sedan, these were not the people she’d get it from. Their outer garments were all similar in color, dark navy blue from head to toe. One of them carried a shotgun. Hatch deduced these young men weren’t an up-and-coming boy band looking for a quiet place to practice their routine.
Of the four, one stood out from the rest. He looked younger, less dangerous than the others. His face hadn’t yet been hardened by crime. He stayed a few steps behind the three larger guys. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his baggy jeans as he followed them into the building.
None of them paid any attention to the beige Camry or the woman standing along the wall of the utility shed. Hatch gave serious thought to making an uninvited visit into the gang’s hangout, but quickly dismissed it, realizing the futility of such a move and the high probability of a negative outcome. Her fight was not with them.
The address listed this location as Las Cruces, but the official name for the town on the eastern outskirts of the city was Luna Vista. Hatch decided she’d need to do a little digging around the local area and see if she could find anyone who knew what this place used to be, and if anybody from those days was still around.
Loud music disturbed the still night again, similar to the car’s, but this time the noise came from within the building. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky into a dazzling wash of purple and pink. The mountains to the east darkened in contrast. On the other side of those high ridges lay the expansive White Sands of New Mexico, a vast, desolate area used by the US military. The proximity of it to the now abandoned address of her father’s last connection to a private covert operations group made more sense in that context.
Hatch used the noise from the building to mask her departure. She got back into the Camry and started it, pausing for a ten count. No movement. Nobody exited. She shifted into reverse and backed out from her concealed position.
The Camry exited past the open fence and she accelerated toward the main road. Hatch turned right, heading toward the town of Luna Vista.
Neon battled for attention against a bright skyline. VACANCY glowed at the sign’s base. The Moonbeam Motel was as good a place as any, and Hatch liked the fact the lot was empty except for a few scattered cars. Rooms were lined in a strip with the manager’s office on the far left as she pulled the Camry in.
The motel was set back from the main road and was partially shrouded by a cluster of desert willows. A man wearing a lightweight buttoned-down short sleeve shirt was sweeping the walkway near the entrance to the main office. Dust kicked up with each stroke of the broom, surrounding the man like Pig Pen’s cartoonish cloud.
As Hatch pulled into an empty parking spot, the man stopped mid-stroke and looked up. His skin, the dark color of chestnuts, was coated in a film of sweat. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and set the broom against the wall. Smiling broadly, he walked over to the office door and held it open for Hatch.
“Looking for a room?”
“I am.”
The man tipped his head and outstretched his arm in a welcoming fashion. “Right this way.”
Hatch walked through the open door and into the small office. A rectangular space heater on the floor at the base of the counter on the customer side pushed out a barely noticeable amount of heat. She looked down at it and hoped the rooms had more efficient units. Hatch had several exposures to hypothermia during her time in the military and was now more sensitive to the cold. She endured when necessary but preferred not to go into survival mode while staying in guest quarters.
The man must’ve noticed her examination of the heater because, as he walked around her to the other side of the counter, he said, “Don’t worry. The rooms are equipped with a wall unit that will keep you nice and toasty.”
“Good to know.”
The man grabbed a small hand towel from his back pocket and wiped the remaining sweat from his face. Single threads caught and hung in his stubble. “How many nights will you be staying with us?”
“Not sure. Can I pay as I go?”
“Sure.” He paused, giving hatch a measured look. “First time in Luna Vista?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you visiting from?”
“Everywhere and nowhere.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sorry, just something I say.” Hatch absently brushed back a piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “I travel a lot.”
“Oh, I see. I just saw the Colorado plates on the car and wondered. I’ve got family out that way. Beautiful country.”
Hatch’s recent experience in the Rocky Mountains left her bittersweet. She thought of her sister’s kids, Daphne and Jake. Then her mind drifted to Dalton Savage and the offer he’d made. Giving her a chance at normal. An offer she’d turned down. Did she really have a choice? She looked at the man in front of her who expectantly waited for a response, obviously hoping for some type of connection.
“It’s just a rental.”
“Well, if you ever get a chance, I highly recommend you take some time and check it out. The mountains are amazing, much different from the range here.”
Hatch nodded. She hoped when closure was reached, she would return. “I’ll try to get out that way someday. Hopefully, sooner rather than later.”
The man’s smile faded, and he sighed. “You seem like a nice person, and I don’t like to push paying customers away. By the number of cars in the lot, you can plainly see I could use the business.”
“But…?”
“But this isn’t the safest place to be.” He lifted a crucifix attached to the simple chain around his neck and kissed it. “God knows I’ve done my best. But this area of town is extremely dangerous. Especially for outsiders.”
“Doesn’t seem so bad. I’ve seen worse.”
“I’m just saying there are plenty of better places not too far away in Las Cruces. I can get you a map and show you, if you’d like?”
