Day of the Dead

by R. Allen Chappell

  “Must be making a pickup, I guess.” Thomas pursed his lips and narrowed an eye. “Or a delivery.”

  “Maybe.” Charlie, too, was beginning to think all was not right. The first man, now standing at the front door, seemed to be waiting for someone…or something.

  Charlie started the engine.

  ~~~~~~

  Inside the mortuary’s rather somber reception area Abe spotted a small desk nearly hidden among a grove of potted plants. Tressa and Abe both jumped slightly as a timorous voice called across the foyer. “You must be the couple who’ve come for the cremains. The Coroner’s Office called ahead…” An older man in a dark suit—small of stature and with a slight limp—crossed the small space rubbing his hands together, as though he might be cold…or nervous.

  Tressa Tarango eyed him with the same caution she reserved for anyone she thought might present a problem. Nonetheless, she took the man’s proffered hand, cold and limp though it was, and introduced herself with as much confidence as her state of mind would allow.

  Little Abe, eyes slow to adjust to the dim light of the funeral parlor, clasped his new knife more tightly in his pocket and revealed his cautious nature by standing back, ignoring the odd little person entirely. There was something wrong—even he could see that.

  The funeral director, if that was what he was, spoke almost in a whisper, as though afraid he might wake someone. “You people wait right here while I nip back to the repository for the box. We’ll soon have you fixed up,” he assured them, as he turned anxiously toward the back of the room and a door standing slightly ajar.

  As the man walked away Little Abe nudged Tressa. “I don’t like this Tressa. There’s something wrong about that little man, I think.”

  Tressa, without turning, nodded, and not taking her eyes off the doorway, said, “You may be right Abraham. Something smells fishy to me too.” She watched as the man partially closed the door behind him.

  “Oh, I think that’s just the formaldehyde. My cousin worked in a place like this in Sinaloa, and he always smelled like that.” Abe was nervous and didn’t try to hide it.

  She turned to him, gritted her teeth, and said severely, “I didn’t mean it that way Abraham. I was only agreeing…something’s not right.”

  “That’s what I said Tressa…something’s off.” Abe had no more than uttered the words this second time, when the old man reappeared in the doorway holding a container smaller than a shoebox. Coming toward them he handed the container to Tressa without even a mention of paperwork. Still not saying anything, the man quickly turned and retraced his steps, again disappearing through the half-open door. The faint sound of a scuffle was heard from the back room, then silence. Abe and Tressa looked at one another but remained rooted to the spot

  A very different figure appeared in the doorway, big and ominous, face hidden in the shadows. Tressa was just making out the man’s face when the lights clicked off leaving them in virtual darkness. Almost instantly the room brightened as the front door of the establishment flew open to reveal yet another person—one quickly lost in the darkness as the door swung closed behind him.

  Little Abe pushed Tressa behind him, shielding her with his own body, knife already in hand, blade open and moving in a small circle.

  “I think they got guns Abraham?” Tressa, now wide-eyed, was thinking the knife might prove a poor defense at and was about to offer Abe her pistol but was so stricken with fear she could hardly speak.

  Abraham Garza followed his first instinct, which was to draw back his good right arm, and with all his might, throw the big folding knife at the shadowy figure blocking the front door, the nearest and most obvious route of escape. Abe had a powerful arm and could send a projectile to its target with amazing force; a skill learned as a boy growing up where rocks and sticks were not only the implements of a playful pastime, but also, should things get out of control, a handy weapon. Unfortunately, he was unpracticed in the more delicate balance of a hunting knife. The heavy butt of the weapon struck the man above the right eye; bringing him to his knees, pistol skittering across the polished floor to hide among the potted fronds.

  Little Abe yelled, “Stay down Tressa,” just as a shot rang out from the back of the room—the bullet clipping off a large palm leaf above their heads. Abe grabbed Tressa’s hand and dragged her toward the front door, where he paused only long enough to kick the fallen man in the stomach as the assailant struggled to regain his feet. As Tressa opened the front door, she looked down and pointed to Abraham’s knife, lying in the thin shaft of light. Little Abe scooped it up as he pushed his way out dragging the panicked Tressa behind.

  Yet another shot was fired—this time from somewhere behind them, but too late. The pair had spilled out across the steps and the heavy door swung shut behind them. The gray Suburban was nowhere in sight, but their old pickup was.

  The pair made a run for the Ford.

  Little Abe snatched open his door, but dropped the keys and fell to one knee to retrieve them; by the time he leapt into the cab and had the engine started, Tressa, was already inside with her door locked.

  The white pickup truck seemed to come out of nowhere and pulled alongside with Thomas Begay at the window.

  Wide-eyed, Abe recognized both Thomas and Charlie and despite being suspicious couldn’t help feeling a wave of relief.

  Thomas leaned out the window and shouted, "Follow us!" as Charlie Yazzie urgently motioned them to go.

  Abe's foot was already on the accelerator as he shot Thomas a wary look.

  “Sorry we're late," came the yell as the Chevy truck pulled slightly ahead. Head hanging out the window, Thomas’s wild grin left Abe thinking the man might have lost his mind.

  Abraham gunned the engine and the Ford again pulled even with the Chevy. Tressa glanced back at the funeral home in time to see the front door open and a momentary glimpse of a familiar face. She smiled to herself. They were not alone in this...at least there was that.

  “We almos' got killed in there!” Abe announced, as though Tressa might not understand the full gravity of the situation. He shifted gears, gaining speed as they headed, he supposed, out of town. "You know that was Chewy Mariano covering us back there, right?" Abe was panting.

  "I do now, Hombrecito. Once again, we owe him...and his father… our lives. As long as old Sancho lives I think we will be under their protection.”

  Tressa didn't appear nearly as worried as Abe thought she should be. He gave her a questioning shrug and jerk of his head toward Charlie’s accelerating truck. "Do we keep following those two?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer but hoped he was wrong.

  "I don't see we have any choice," she said without looking him in the eye.

  In the white pickup, Thomas frowned as he turned to Charlie. "If the cops had gotten there first, those two would be in jail right now," then grimaced to himself and thought, “Well, that might happen yet—we’ll see how this next part works out for them.”

  Charlie couldn't put his finger on it, but something about Abraham Garza irritated Thomas and it was only getting worse.

  14

  Salvation

  Chewy Mariano was not at all pleased with himself. Twice in two days he had let the Sinaloa assassins slip through his fingers. Granted, it was mostly of necessity, dictated by circumstances beyond his control. Still it was not the way he would have handled it given better options. He had, at least, stopped them and probably been the instrument of salvation for the woman and Abraham Garza. That was good enough for now. He was certain the one quick round he got off had clipped the main shooter and just in the nick of time, too.

  There had been a third person outside in the Suburban; seriously wounded, and burning with fever; the man carried the putrid odor of death. He was no longer a problem and Chewy knew he had done the man a service. His Papá, a deadly adversary under any circumstance, had put his mark on that one, and Chewy knew the old man would expect no less of his son.

  In any case, there was now one
wounded, a second with a cracked head along with a couple of broken ribs, and a dead man they would have to get rid of, and quickly, too. These people were no longer a priority as far as Chewy was concerned, but he would be foolish to count them out.

  His job now was to get the woman and Abraham Garza to Sonora and into the hands of his brother, Gato. He, himself, would settle with those last two assassins when the time came. Even in their present condition they would not simply go away, not empty-handed and knowing they would suffer even greater pain in Sinaloa should they fail. In any event, they wouldn’t be hard to find. He would let them come to him, and he knew for a fact they would. They were professionals and though they’d had bad luck today, these cabróns would stay with it to the last man.

  Chewy watched from hiding as the two pickup trucks sped away from the front of the building, growing gradually smaller even as he bobbed his head and smiled.

  The Suburban in the alleyway roared to life and headed in the opposite direction. Chewy ran to the corner, thinking he might risk a last shot. But the locals were likely already on their way and in the end he decided against it.

  The tall Mexican walked calmly around the corner to his own truck and drove away unnoticed.

  That night in his cut-rate room at the edge of town Chewy tried again to telephone his brother. He’d had no news of his father since the attack in Colorado, and while convinced there was little hope for his Papá, he would still have liked to know one way or the other. He had much to prepare and many plans yet to be made. When Gato was ready…he would be ready, too. Only one other person remained above them in Sonora State now, and that uncle was old and might not be in charge much longer—not if Gato had his way. The elder Abraham Garza would be the key to bringing down the Sinaloa Cartel, and for that they would need Little Abe.

  Chewy didn’t bother trying to tail his Papá’s old Ford. He’d seen the logo on the white Chevy and knew all he need do was watch the offices of Legal Services. The white truck would lead him to someone; it was just a matter of time.

  15

  The Offer

  Charlie hoped Thomas was right about Alfred Nakii’s old place being empty. Isolated, and a good distance out of town, it was perfect for anyone who had nowhere else to go. After Alfred died, one of his cousins had moved in and remained for almost a year. Thomas claimed the cousin cleaned the place up and left behind a nearly full propane tank, a huge plus as far as Thomas Begay was concerned, not to mention the two barrels of water, which he considered an even greater inducement. Harley Ponyboy told Thomas the cousin was a school bus driver and allowed to keep the bus right there at the trailer. The county even plowed the drive from time to time. It only made sense, Harley said, as that was the beginning and end of his route.

  “It’s all just temporary,” the cousin told anyone who asked. His ultimate goal, he said, was to find a job in Albuquerque. “I’m too young to waste my talents on the reservation; the city’s where the people are.” Even his mother was unable to think what talents her son might be referring to. The entire family was skeptical and surprised, when they heard he’d actually done it—moved to the city and found a job in an all-night eatery off Old Town Plaza. As the son later assured his mother in a one-sentence letter, “I’m in Albuquerque—that’s the main thing!”

  In the beginning Charlie had been a bit apprehensive about Alfred Nakii’s place as a hideout. It had, after all, been a woman that led to poor Alfred’s death there two years ago, and even now the investigator was left a little queasy by the thought of it. But after hearing how the cousin had fixed the place up he thought it might serve the purpose. They wouldn’t need it for long.

  When the two trucks drove up to the mobile home the sun had slipped to one side of the valley, putting the shabby dwelling in a warmer light.

  Tressa Tarango got out of the truck clutching her box of ashes and stood a moment, one hand on her hip, chin tilted to one side, as she considered. She surprised everyone by saying, “I’ve seen worse. At least it’s nice and quiet and I don’t plan on being here that long.” This was more for Charlie’s benefit than anyone else.

  Little Abe had grown up in one-room houses where you could see through walls and might sometimes share space with a curious chicken or goat—he had not the slightest concern.

  Charlie immediately sent Thomas down the hill to Harley Ponyboy’s place to see what sort of grub he might rustle up. They could replace it later, he assured Thomas.

  Harley was known to be a frugal shopper but generally kept something on hand, even if it were only beans and rice. When he was working it might even be more than that. The door was always unlocked at Harley’s place and everyone knew he was a soft touch should a person be in need.

  Harley’s truck wasn’t there, and Charlie hoped their business would be finished before he returned. Charlie was still not sure what sort of humor Harley would be in after their earlier little set-too.

  Tressa and Abe sat down on the couch. Tressa, still clutching the box with Luca Tarango inside had refused to leave the ashes in the truck. Thomas mentioned it was not a good thing to have burial remains in a house owing to the likelihood of attracting Chindis or other evil things. He glowered silently when the woman, not knowing what Chindis were, acted like she didn’t hear.

  The Legal Services Investigator brushed Thomas’s complaint aside and began relating the latest happenings in Colorado. Stressing the fact Tressa and Abe might now be suspects in the double homicide of the missing Espinosas. He proposed, again, they cooperate with agent Bob Freeman and his DEA task force. Bob was someone, he assured them, who would do everything in his power to help.

  “So, Carlos and his Uncle Hector are dead?” Tressa looked over at little Abe and grimaced, then sneered, “I’ll bet it wasn’t easy for ‘em either.”

  Charlie was a little surprised by the comment. “You’re right, it wasn’t easy for them…and it won’t be easy for you two either if the people who killed them, catch up to you. They are looking, you know… probably the same gunmen you ran into at the funeral home.”

  Abraham looked pensive. “It’s the Sinaloa people isn’t it?” Little Abe had known all along it might go this way, and again thought of his old father in Mexico. His head would now be on the chopping block, as the old man liked to put it.

  “That’s how it looks right now.” Charlie thought this a good time to ask, “You two didn’t have anything to do with killing the Espinosas…did you? If you did, it’s going to come out—no doubt about that. Sancho Mariano has been talking.”

  Tressa gave a little jerk of her head and coughed. “No. Not really, we were more or less just along for the ride.” She frowned, “Those two were still alive the last time we saw them. I’m glad to hear they got what they deserved though. They had it coming…the both of them.”

  Little Abe was more diplomatic, hoping to lessen the impact of Tressa’s possibly incriminating opinion. “They were bad people and we weren’t the only ones to have it in for them. Plenty of people will be glad to see those two are gone.”

  This reminded Charlie Yazzie of his own thoughts when Bob Freeman informed him Robert Ashki was dead. Everyone was glad to see him gone, too. Charlie couldn’t help wondering how Billy Red Clay was coming along with his inquiry out at Emma Bitsii’s place. He was more than a little curious what might come of that—just one of several reasons he should have already been back at the office. He knew Thomas was anxious to get home as well. He still intended going along with Lucy Tallwoman to see if the Episcopalians knew anything about her father; he’d once worked for the missionaries, off and on. Hopefully the old Singer had already shown up somewhere, but if not, Thomas would probably be in trouble.

  Fixing Tressa with as stern a gaze as he dared, Charlie Yazzie made the thrust of his final argument. “At the moment, Tressa, you seem to be a minor player in this. The authorities are most concerned with Abraham. No one, other than Thomas and me, know where you are—certainly not whoever’s trying to kill you. Some ve
ry competent people are trying to find those men and when they do, they will stop them. In the meantime, you’ll be safe here. Should you take it in your head to leave—then all bets are off. You understand that, don’t you? You will be on your own, you and Abraham.” He looked over at Little Abe. “You understand all this, don’t you, Abe?”

  Little Abe made a face. “Yes, I understand...” Secretly Abe was thinking …and you Señor, seem unaware someone else may be looking out for us, too.

  Charlie allowed himself to sound slightly more optimistic when he said, “Hopefully everything can be quickly sorted out and you two will be in a position to get your lives back in order,” then the investigator’s voice took on a slightly more ominous note. “Make no mistake, you are in danger, and cooperating with Bob Freeman and his people appears to be your best way out.”

  Thomas returned with what little food he could find at Harley Ponyboy’s place. Bacon and eggs, along with a half-stale loaf of bread and a few potatoes made up the bulk of his find. It would have to do until they came back for the pair.

  While Charlie went on with his recruitment plea inside, Thomas took the opportunity to ensure the old Ford truck wouldn’t start should the fugitives become fidgety. He and Charlie had discussed disabling the vehicle on the way there and the investigator had agreed it was a good idea. Thomas didn’t even get under the hood—only slammed a raw potato up the exhaust, then kicked it in good and tight with the toe of his boot. Thomas had no idea what sort of engine the truck had under the hood now, but he knew it wasn’t the original. Either way, whoever next tried to start that truck, would be in for a big surprise.

  ~~~~~~

  On their way back into town, Thomas couldn’t help mentioning that Harley would be unhappy when he returned home to find himself without the makings for his breakfast.