“I am.”
Chapter 27
Paco Espinoza Rivera, also known as Loco, forked more scrambled eggs into his mouth as a tall man with elaborate facial tattoos and a puckered scar running from above his milky left eye to his upper lip approached the circular wooden table at which the cartel kingpin was sitting and pulled up a chair. Loco, who had created the eponymous cartel as a teenager, was thirty-six years old, a sociopath who had killed more men by the time he was seventeen as a gang hit man than he had fingers.
He’d spent time in Chula Vista and East San Diego, building support for his group with the gangs there and, with his contacts on the other side of the border, had established an informal collection of vicious lowlifes who’d claimed El Paso as their turf. He’d been arrested countless times, but no charges had ever stuck, what with witnesses disappearing or refusing to testify.
After the collapse, when El Paso had erupted in an all-out turf war between more powerful interests, he and a group of enterprising gang members had moved east and settled in Pecos, which was small enough to control and defend but large enough to support his aspirations. Over time he’d taken over the town, the population a fragment of its earlier size after the flu and starvation had worked their magic, and Pecos was now owned and operated by his group, which numbered several hundred strong – or had, until they’d lost a quarter of their membership in the last two days from disastrous operations to the north.
The tall man was Garret, a representative of the Crew, who’d arrived with a small group of men at the start of the week to work a cooperation deal with the Locos – they would provide the muscle in recovering the woman and girl, and in return would keep the spoils of their raids. They wanted trade assistance from Houston as well as protection from the Crew cartel while retaining their autonomy.
Loco had jumped at the deal, but was now having second thoughts. Some of his best fighters had died taking the town, and he’d gotten word only minutes ago that the entire war party that had gone after the child when Garret’s tracking device had pinpointed her location had been vaporized in a powerful explosion.
The report had come in via two-way radio from the site to a waiting messenger with another two-way to the transmitter that the Locos controlled in their headquarters at the Pecos courthouse. The operator had demanded details twice, unable to believe that all but one lookout who’d been posted above ground had been killed.
“Garret, want some huevos?” Loco offered. “Coffee? Freeze-dried instant, but it’s not terrible. Never goes bad.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
Loco snapped his fingers, and a short woman with the face of a prizefighter ducked into the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the newcomer. Garret watched the cartel boss munch his eggs like a farmhand, his smacking as loud as a pig chowing slop, one arm on the table to protect his food – the unconscious posture a giveaway of his time behind bars, where everyone ate that way to avoid another prisoner making a grab for it.
The woman brought a steaming cup of coffee and a plate piled high with scrambled eggs, and Garret picked at them as he waited to hear why the gang leader had summoned him.
“We heard back on your girl,” Loco said, as though discussing the weather.
“And?” Garret asked.
“Didn’t go so good, man.”
Garret stopped eating. “How exactly didn’t it go so good?”
“Complications.”
“Like what?”
“We lost everyone. Place blew up.” Loco dropped his fork onto his plate and clapped his hands together with a manic expression, his eyes huge. “Boom! Like that.” Loco laughed.
“And the girl?”
Loco shrugged. “No sabe, kemosabe. My boy thinks it was a booby trap, and if he’s right, she’ll turn up alive sooner or later, right? You got that scanner. We just got to wait.”
Garret fought to maintain his composure. “I told you that she was to be taken alive.”
Loco sat back, a dangerous expression replacing his grin. “You asked she be taken alive, homey. Not dissing you, but nobody tells Loco nothin’. Not on my turf. Don’t step to me like that or there gonna be problems, you understand what I’m saying?”
“She’s very important to my boss. He would be…disappointed…if she got hurt, or died, while in your territory.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t do nothin’ about all that until we know more. But what I do know is we need to talk about things. I lost fifty men on this goose chase. Didn’t sign up for that.”
No, Loco had signed up for a walk in the park, Garret thought. It was inconceivable that fifty fighters were dead; but then again, nobody had factored in the mystery man the woman had told them about. He was an unknown variable, but things had gone south since he’d gotten involved, and Garret was unsure how to best proceed. What he did know was that he didn’t want to have to report to Magnus that they’d lost the girl again, much less that she’d died. If he did, he might as well slash his own wrists while he made the call, because he’d be a dead man walking.
“I hear you made quite a score on weapons and ammo in Loving. Got yourself a bunch of fine horses, too. Seems to me you’ve done pretty well,” Garret observed, returning to his meal.
Loco’s stare was gangsta hard. “We coulda done that anytime. Way I see it, they was just holding all that for us. I was fine with it like that.”
Garret resisted the urge to mad dog Loco. The little puke had no idea who he was dealing with. But Garret had other fish to fry, so he held back, absently tracing the scar on his face, a souvenir from an attempted shanking by a rival. The man had blinded him and stabbed him six times, but that hadn’t stopped Garret from beating him to death, using his head as a hammer against a cell-block wall. If Garret had been so disposed, he could have reached across the table and offed the punk with no more effort than snapping a chicken’s neck, but he wasn’t there to stir up trouble.
He needed the girl.
“Sounds like you have some ideas about how to even things out, huh?” Garret said, choosing diplomacy over brute force.
“That’s right. What can you do for me, man?”
Garret made an offer: homemade methamphetamines Magnus cooked up to keep his troops alert. More advanced weaponry. Training in explosives for ten men Loco could hand select and send to Houston.
They eventually arrived at a deal. Garret’s relief was hollow, though, and the eggs tasted like cardboard in his mouth as he finished his food. A straightforward exercise had turned into a major problem for him, and if he didn’t stop the bleeding soon, Magnus would express his displeasure in an unmistakable way – and then Garret would be replaced by one of the warlord’s other lieutenants.
Garret couldn’t let that happen.
He would return to interrogating the woman to see what else she knew. He believed she’d told him the truth, but with women you could never be sure. He didn’t trust the female of the species, likely a byproduct of his mother abandoning him when he was three, and he’d had considerable difficulty controlling the black cloud of rage that had threatened to overcome him as he was questioning her. He’d wanted to hurt her in ways she couldn’t even imagine when she eyed him with her superior glare, but that wasn’t his mission.
At least, not yet.
Magnus might decide to reward him when he was successful.
Garret knew exactly what he would ask for.
Chapter 28
Ruby hummed as she brewed herbal tea over a butane stove while Lucas and Eve slumbered. She’d awakened with first light and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. The prior day’s events had so disturbed her psyche that her rest had been filled with horrifying nightmares, each more awful than the last, and she wondered if that was how she’d spend the remainder of her sleeping hours on earth. So many innocents, many of them her friends…
She was as realistic as anyone, but she’d been sure that this many years after the worst of it, things were improving. She had to believe that, or what was
the point of going on? If humanity was nothing more than evil running roughshod over good, what hope did anyone have? But the town’s sacking had been worse than anything she could have imagined, and when she closed her eyes, her thoughts were filled with the screams of children, the dying moans of the old, the desperate entreaties of the panicked.
No stranger to history, she knew that what had happened barely registered on the human scale of suffering. The same had happened to the Native Americans, with villages eradicated right down to the chickens. And the Mexicans had done that much, and worse, to the white settlers in Texas, who’d returned the favor by embarking on campaigns on the other side of the Rio Grande and slaughtering anything that moved. Misery was the fuel that powered the engine of humanity, and she couldn’t think of a time when one group wasn’t butchering another over political or nationalistic differences, religious disagreements, or when all else failed, the color of their skin. No, this was nothing new; but knowledge wasn’t the same as experience, and after seeing her fellow travelers claw their way back from the abyss and build a tiny slice of civilization from the ashes, she’d had hope. Foolishly, she now knew.
Lucas stirred and groaned in his sleep, and Ruby shook her head. That poor man had lost everything. As had she, but he was haunted by ghosts she couldn’t fathom, whereas she was already thinking about how to start over – and where. Her optimism was completely unwarranted, but her faith in God and in her own abilities was strong, and even if she didn’t understand everything about what transpired on this earth, she was confident she would persevere.
She looked over at the girl, and her heart melted. So young, so pure, Eve radiated goodness and possibility and hope. If there was evil so dark it blotted out the sun, then it was surely countered by good so obvious and promising.
But Lucas? He was an enigma. The one thing she was certain of was that he wanted revenge – thirsted for it – and would exact it in a terrible manner. He was only one man, but he had an energy, an inner fire that burned white hot, and she didn’t envy those who’d incurred his wrath.
He shifted on the old horse blanket he was using as a mattress as she poured her first cup of tea of the morning, and then sat up as she stirred the mixture.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Morning.” He checked his watch and yawned. “I needed that.”
“I figured you did.”
He stood and stretched his arms over his head. “Any sign of the bad guys?”
“Fortunately not.”
Lucas regarded Eve’s sleeping form. “I’m thinking I’ll head out this morning. Can I ask you to watch her while I’m gone?”
“Of course. Where are you going?”
“Stop by the ranch and see if I can salvage anything, and then…south.”
“Can I talk you out of it?”
“Not hardly.”
“Didn’t think so.” She sighed. “I’ve got some honey you can put in the tea if you want. And later I’m planning to do some work with my garden. I have a feeling I’ll want as much to barter with as I can carry.”
“Nobody to trade with here anymore,” Lucas observed.
“No. And now that I don’t have a home…”
He moved to the door and stepped outside. “Nice day for a ride.”
“I knew you’d say that. You really think you can take on the entire Pecos cartel by yourself?”
“Doesn’t seem like a fair fight, does it? Maybe I should wait till they can get reinforcements.”
Ruby smiled in spite of herself. “Do you have a plan?”
“I’ve avoided the place since the collapse, but I still remember the layout. Figure I’ll stop in at Duke’s and see what I can learn, and then make it up as I go along.”
She frowned. “Not much of a plan, Lucas. No offense, but you can’t just ride in with guns a-blazing.”
“I’ve got the broad strokes. Just need to finesse the details.”
Half an hour later, Lucas was packed and mounted up. He said his goodbyes and rode off, Tango refreshed after his night’s rest and full of energy. Ruby and Eve watched him go, and when he was out of sight, the little girl tilted her face up toward the older woman.
“Is he coming back?”
Ruby thought about all the possible answers and settled on one a five-year-old would accept without questioning.
“I hope so.”
Chapter 29
The ranch was as deserted as a graveyard at midnight, and Lucas wasted no time on sentimental strolls down memory lane, sticking to his agenda, painfully aware of minutes ticking by. Pecos was a good thirty-five miles from Duke’s, and he was many hours away from the trading post, so he was already racing the clock and losing.
He first scrounged the last of his grandfather’s white lightning and packed six jars wrapped in cloth into his saddlebags. He next did a hasty search of the house and was relieved that the floor compartment beneath his bed hadn’t been discovered. In it was a Walther PPK in an ankle holster and a spare magazine, as well as a hundred-round box of ammo for the M4. Finally, he withdrew a portable solar panel with a battery charger and three spares for the night vision scope. Those would be priceless if he was forced to stay on the road for an extended period.
Reality slammed into him with the force of a blow. Of course he’d be traveling for the foreseeable future. He couldn’t return to the ranch and live as he had – without anyone to trade with, he’d eventually run out of staples, and he couldn’t very well stay awake around the clock to stave off any assault attempts. So what would he do?
Lucas concentrated on filling a sack with the remaining dry fruit and jerky in the back of the pantry, packed two bags of white rice into his saddlebags, filled his empty water bottles from the well, and was in and out in little more than ten minutes. He stopped at Hal’s grave and offered a silent prayer, and then made for Tango, who seemed as anxious to be clear of the ranch as he was.
He rode all day and was relieved when he arrived at the trading post by dusk and saw Aaron minding the gate. Lucas waved to him, and he opened the barrier to allow him to pass. The cavity from the grenade blast had been filled in with fresh dirt, and if Lucas hadn’t been there during the attack, other than the bullet pocks peppering the wall, he’d never have known anything had happened.
Duke called out to him from the main building as he tied Tango to a hitching post by the water trough. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said with a grin.
“You don’t know the half of it. Got a few minutes?”
“For you? Always.”
Duke led him into the house, where a swarthy man Lucas had never met was sharpening a bowie knife on a whetstone. The man looked up at him and Lucas took his measure – late twenties, already whip-hardened by life, probably ex-military.
“Lucas, this here’s Slim,” Duke said. “He’s the new man.”
Lucas touched the brim of his hat. Slim nodded wordlessly and continued sharpening the knife, the scrape of steel against the stone as rhythmic as a clock.
“You eaten?” Duke asked.
“Not for a spell.”
“Well, come help me in the kitchen and we can talk. What’s on your mind?”
Lucas waited until they were out of earshot to recount the story of the ranch and town. When he was done, Duke’s ruddy complexion was gray.
“You sure it was cartel?” he asked softly.
“Oh, yeah. Tattoos made that pretty obvious.”
Duke stirred a pot of fish stew with a wooden spoon, the only light now the lamp in the living room. “What are you going to do?”
“I need intel. Anything you can give me on Pecos. Where the cartel’s holed up, what their numbers are, any habits.”
“I’ll tell you everything I know, but it’s precious little.” Duke didn’t have to ask Lucas what he intended to do – the look in his eyes made that obvious.
“I’d appreciate it. I’ll also need a fresh horse I can push hard. I’ll leave Tango as collateral. And as many rounds
of 5.56mm as you can spare.”
“I’ve got some 5.56mm M855A1 ball that fell off a truck. About three hundred rounds. Might want to use that until you run out – more stopping power with that popgun you carry around than civilian ammo.”
“I’ve used it before. I’ll take it all.”
Duke nodded and considered his face. “Stretch between here and Pecos isn’t safe at night. Stay, and hit it at dawn.”
“I expect you’re right.” Lucas paused. “Still got that night vision monocle?”
“I might. Why? You want to borrow it?”
“If it works and has a decent battery, I’ll buy it. I’ve got six jars of lightning for your trouble.”
Duke shook his head. “Which will all be here when you get back. Just take the NV gear and return it in good shape.”
“Don’t want charity, Duke.”
“It isn’t. I never properly repaid you for saving our bacon.”
“I did no such thing.”
“One of the guys you shot had four more grenades. That would have been it, Lucas, if you hadn’t bagged him.”
“Did he have cartel tats?”
“Oh, plenty of ink, but didn’t see any of the Loco’s markings. Then again, that doesn’t mean much. Only the original members have ’em.”
“You’d think they’d have known better than to try to take you.”
“Yet they almost did. Which is why I’m feeling all generous. Enjoy it while it lasts.”
Lucas looked over his shoulder. “Where’d you find the new guy?”
“Doug’s buddy. Lives west of here a day’s ride. Big family, meaner than pit vipers. He wanted more stimulation than home offers. So now he’s in the big leagues.”
“You tell him what happened to Clem?”
Duke’s eyes hardened. “All he cared about was there was a vacancy.”
Dinner was quiet. Lucas wasn’t predisposed to talk, and the others showed no interest in listening. The men limited their interactions to requests for more stew and to pass the salt, which Lucas was fine with. When they’d cleared their plates, Duke showed him to a guest room, and after tending to Tango and loading a dozen magazines with the military-spec ammo and stowing them in his saddlebags, he lay down in the dark, plate holder still cinched tight, M4 with night vision scope beside him like a lover, safety off, and the Kimber on the nightstand within easy reach.
The Day After Never (Book 1): Blood Honor Page 16
