Desert Discord

by Henry D. Terrell

  “Ohhhh,” said Timothy. He took another swig. “Making deals. A big business tycoon.” He looked over at Tank, then back at Jerry. “Did you say there were more donuts?”

  “Yeah. At least six more.”

  “Then I think I’ve changed my mind.” He pointed at Tank, sitting by the door. “Hey, garcon! More donuts, please! For me and my pal here.”

  Tank didn’t move. After a few seconds, Jerry shrugged and nodded to Tank. The big man got up slowly and left the room, returning with what remained of the donuts in the Southern Girl box.

  “Thanks, friend,” said Timothy. “There’ll be a nice shiny quarter for you later, if the service is snappy.” Tank returned to his chair by the door, never taking his eyes off Timothy.

  “Please, Tim,” said Jerry. “You need to take this seriously. This is serious business.”

  “Oh, I knew it was serious when big boy over there stuck a pistol in my ribs,” said Timothy. “And when they grabbed my girlfriend and tied her up and slapped her around. Yep. Everybody’s pretty serious.”

  Jerry sat back and shook his head. “What can I say, my friend? Yes, your grandfather made a hard decision, and those boys played it too rough. That was not supposed to happen, and I’m sorry. But you have to understand, he did it because he was backed into a corner. Because he couldn’t get his only living relative to give him the time of day, even acknowledge his existence. He tried to talk to you. Many times. Finally, he decided that something had to be done to snap you out of it. He thought you’d been brainwashed by a hippie cult.”

  Timothy smirked. “Oh, well, gee whiz. I guess I’m all snapped out of it now. No question there. Those hippies had me hypnotized. I guess I just drove Grandpops out of his mind with worry about me, and he thought he had no choice.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Okay. Let me understand the situation. If I sign document A and document B, I get a big lakeside house, and I also get to be a fat cat and make big boxes of money. What if I just want … the house? What if I don’t give a flying flip about joining Grandpops in his quest to rape the earth in the name of capitalism?”

  “If you really want to do that, then, yes, these are separate agreements. Your grandfather made it clear that you could still have the house and a generous allowance, and have nothing to do with Daisy Kay Drilling. It’s your choice. You just have to let him be part of your life again.”

  “Really?” Timothy picked up a donut and chewed it slowly. “Yum! I always loved these things,” he said. “Especially the maple glazed. Get those next time you kidnap some people.”

  Jerry said nothing. After a couple of minutes, Timothy wiped his hands on a napkin from the donut box and then licked his lips clean.

  “Okay, I get it,” said Timothy. “You’re serious. Grandpops is serious.” He leaned forward. “I’ll talk turkey. But there’s one thing I want you to do first.”

  “Okay, what?”

  Timothy gestured with his thumb toward Tank. “Tell Big Boy to take a hike. He makes me nervous. Tell him the business executives need to speak privately.”

  Jerry hesitated. Then he called over to Tank. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes?” Tank sat stone still, icy. “Just a few minutes, okay?” said Jerry.

  Tank got up and left the room. After the door shut and the thumb lock clicked, Timothy picked up both sets of documents and held them up, looking from one to the other. Then he peered over the papers at Jerry.

  “You know, you never told me your name,” said Timothy. “I recognize you as a friend of my old man’s, but we haven’t been properly introduced.”

  Well, it’s time to go for broke, thought Jerry. This is it. All in. He extended his hand.

  “Jerry De Ghetto. And yes, I was your father’s business partner.”

  Timothy put down the documents and took Jerry’s hand.

  “De Ghetto. Yes, I do remember that name now. It’s a pleasure,” he said. “Now I have a question. If my father had kept his head attached, what would he do?”

  “That’s easy,” Jerry said. “He was a smart man who recognized an opportunity when he saw it. He would have told you to take the deal, in a heartbeat. He cared about himself and about other people, and especially he cared about you.”

  For the first time in days, Timothy broke into a smile. “And what if I didn’t want the deal? Would he have used … say … oh, I don’t know … a pair of pliers to talk me into it?”

  “What?”

  “A pair of pliers. You know, in case I needed more persuading about how good the deal was?”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Jerry.

  “I’m just trying to think like my old man,” said Timothy. “Let me tell you this fond childhood memory I have. My father is in our living room at the old house back in Duro. It’s late at night, way past my bedtime. He’s there with some other guys, including Grandpops, and I think you might have been there too. I’m not sure. Mom was gone. Y’all didn’t know I was there, watching from the upstairs, in the dark. I can see it clearly, because it made a big impression at age twelve, you might say. My dad is standing there, and there’s this other guy on his knees with his hands tied behind his back. Dad’s holding this guy’s ear with a pair of pliers, and the dude is whimpering … whimpering … and he’s bigger than my dad. I don’t know what you guys wanted him to do, but clearly it was important—to his and Grandpop’s business interests.”

  “I have no memory of anything like that,” said Jerry. “Your dad was not a vicious man. He could be firm with people who stood in the way of whatever he needed to do, but I never saw him act cruel. Tough, maybe, but not mean.”

  “It’s funny,” said Timothy. “I hadn’t thought about that time in years. You know what else? I remember the big guy had this dark spot in front of his pants, and I realized—he pissed himself. My dad had this dude so scared he pissed his pants. I had forgotten that little detail. Yep, the old man could be firm with people.”

  “I definitely don’t remember anything like that,” said Jerry.

  “I guess I got over it,” said Timothy. “But it all came back to me a couple of days ago. And you know why? Because I was locked in that fucking room for four days. With nothing, nothing. Not a thing to read, not a thing to do. Just a few pieces of shitty Wonder Bread to eat. The mind tends to wander. And the whole time I’m thinking that any minute these fuckers may come in and kill me. Every time the door opened, that’s what I thought. And I had no idea what they were doing to Erycca.”

  “I’m really sorry it went that way,” said Jerry. “I had nothing to do with it. Your grandfather didn’t intend for it to go like that. They were just supposed to keep you until you … started thinking clearly. It’s a technique for …”

  Timothy laughed out loud. “Ha! Well, tell my kindly old grandfather that his plan worked. Yes sir! Oh boy, it worked. I’m the most clear-thinking bastard in the county. Nothing but clarity here,” he said, and tapped his forehead. He took several more swallows of beer and set it down.

  Jerry waited. Come on, please. Let this be the end of it. Sign the papers.

  Timothy picked up the legal-size sheets with both hands and tapped them on the table to straighten them. “All right, tell him I take the deal. I’ll sign. But you have to do something for me, or it’s not happening.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Timothy pointed at the door. “Those three fuckers out there? They are going down. I mean jail. Especially Gorgeous George.”

  “Wait … Timothy. Those guys were just working for your grandfather. I know they got rough, and I’m sorry. We’ll make it up to you, but …”

  Timothy stood up and leaned over Jerry. “No! I don’t want to hear any shit about how they got a little rough. You don’t even know!”

  “Now, calm down!” said Jerry. “We can put this all behind us.”

  Timothy paced to the window and looked out. It was getting close to sunset, and the scrubby desert trees were casting long
shadows.

  “I haven’t been able to look out a window all week,” he said. “You can’t imagine what that does to your mind.”

  “I think I can imagine.”

  “No, you fucking can’t. It makes you crazy. There’s no day or night, and you start to imagine crazy shit. You guys wanted me to start thinking clearly by … what? Driving me insane? Well, it almost worked. I thought I was here to die. I thought my grandfather wouldn’t pay the ransom, and these creeps were going to kill me and kill that little girl in there. Do you know what it’s like to take a shit with some dude holding a shotgun on you? I thought I was going to die for sure. Well … surprise! It was my grandfather all along. He just wanted to do me a favor.”

  “I’m really, really sorry …”

  Timothy turned back to Jerry. “Oh, by the way. Do you think Erycca is going to be cool with all this? That poor girl has been scared to death for four days. How about her mom and dad? Don’t you think they’re going to want somebody’s head on a plate? I know those people. Her dad’s a mean bastard, but her mom is nice, and they love their little girl. I bet they’re going crazy. What are we going to do about that?”

  “I’ll talk to them,” said Jerry. “I’ll talk to her. Of course they’ll be mad, but your grandfather can make it up to them, and to her.”

  Timothy picked up the papers again and rolled them into a tube.

  “Please, Timothy!” said Jerry. “Just sign, and we’ll go from there. Everything will work out.”

  “Yes,” said Timothy. “But those three guys are going down. Hard. I’m talking prison—or Grandpops can shove these up his ass.” He tossed the rolled-up documents back into the briefcase.

  Jerry kept quiet. Timothy was through talking too, apparently. He sat with his arms folded. He’s right, thought Jerry. The parents won’t be easy to appease. They’ve already called the cops. Somebody has to take the fall.

  “I’m not sure how we would do that,” said Jerry. “I’ll have to call Pinky …”

  “Oh, I’ll tell you how to do it,” said Timothy. “Call the police. Or the sheriff, or whoever.”

  “There’s no phone here.”

  “Well, fine. Is this your house?”

  “Yeah. My family owns it.”

  “Okay, then you tell the muscle boys out there that I’m still thinking it over. Make some excuse to get out of here, then call the cops and say you found out that two kidnapping victims are being held in your ranch house. You didn’t know anything about it.”

  “The cops aren’t going to believe that,” said Jerry.

  “Why not?” said Timothy. “Hell, I’ll back you up on whatever you tell them. I’ll say you were the hero. Erycca doesn’t know you and doesn’t know the story. She’ll believe whatever I tell her. But those three motherfuckers out there are going away. Up the fucking river. You want me to sign, that’s my deal.”

  Tank and Mitchell, standing outside with their ears pressed to the door, jumped when they heard Jerry push his chair back. Tank motioned for Mitchell to leave, and waited. Jerry knocked.

  “We’re finished now!” Jerry called. “Let me out.”

  Tank waited a few seconds, then walked up to the door quickly, as if he’d been in the other room. He turned the thumb lock and let Jerry out, then relocked the door.

  “We’ve got to wait a little while,” said Jerry. “The dude wants to talk to his grandfather directly. I think he’s going to be cool with it, but he has to hear it from the old man. It’s going to take another couple of hours.”

  “Okay, I’ll put him back in his room.”

  “No,” said Jerry. “I think he’s fine in there. Just make sure he doesn’t leave.”

  “So what are you going to do?” asked Tank.

  “I’ll drive over to town and call Mr. Kaufman. He’ll be out here later tonight, and then we can all go home. He’ll fix it with the girl’s family. You guys just need to wait a few more hours. Then we’re done and you get paid.”

  Jerry went out and got into his car, started the engine, and rolled down the window.

  “Just sit tight,” Jerry called. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes.” He rolled the window back up and pulled out onto the gravel road. The sun was just setting.

  Tank went back inside. “Mitchell!”

  The other man came out. Downs came in from the living room, beer in hand.

  “He’s calling the fucking cops!” said Tank. “It’s a double-cross.”

  “You shitting me?” said Downs.

  “He’s right,” said Mitchell. “I heard him, too. He’s going to push the whole thing over on us. He’s going to call the cops right now and say it was all our idea.”

  “Shit. SHIT!” shouted Tank.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” said Downs.

  “Wait. No. We can’t let this happen,” said Tank. “Let’s keep it together. Be very cool. No fucking way am I going back to the joint.” He pointed at Mitchell. “Get your shotgun. Go. Now. Stop him before he gets off the property.”

  Mitchell disappeared into his room, then emerged with the twelve-gauge and hurried out to the van. He started it and roared away, throwing gravel against the front door.

  Tank tried to think. They had to get Jerry back, let him know what was up, that they were on to his scam. He still owed them the money, and there was no way he was getting away with this.

  “Downs, where’s your gun?” he yelled.

  “In the kitchen drawer.”

  “Get it!” Tank then retrieved his own pistol, a short-barrel .38 Special, from where he’d hidden it in a bedroom drawer. He and Downs went outside and waited.

  Jerry stopped by the gate and got out of his car, leaving the engine running. He rolled the combination on the gate lock, unsnapped it, pulled the chain away, and swung the gate wide. He decided he would shut the gate behind him but not relock it, to make it easier when he returned. It would be dark in an hour, and the lock dial would be hard to see. This was assuming he returned tonight. It might just be the cops, depending on what Pinky wanted.

  What the hell to do? Timothy was right. Somebody had to pay for this fuck-up. Jerry had never betrayed anybody in his life, but these stupid jerks had made a disaster out of what was already a difficult job. If anybody had it coming, they did. Jerry would have to concoct a pretty elaborate lie and count on Tim Kaufman to corroborate, but he couldn’t worry about that now. First, he had to drive to the gas station in Wink and call Pinky, who was waiting to hear from him. The old man had no idea just how badly everything had gone, but Jerry needed to level with him. Together they’d decide what to do. It was Jerry who had hired Tank and had let the big man bring his own crew. It was Jerry’s problem to solve.

  Jerry was about to get back in his car when he heard the van coming. What do they want? He stood by the driver’s side and waited. The van rolled up and turned so the open passenger-side window faced him.

  “What now?” he called.

  He never saw the shotgun, and never heard the blast.

  Tank and Downs, half a mile away, did hear it. The gunshot carried far in the dry air. And they knew what had just gone down.

  “Oh fuck, he didn’t!” said Tank.

  “I think he did,” said Downs.

  “He was supposed to just bring him back! Oh, shit. SHIT!” Okay, they probably still would have iced Jerry De Ghetto, but at least they’d have time to think. Now they had no time.

  Mitchell drove back in the van, climbed out, and waited with Downs for Tank to tell them what to do. Tank didn’t bother yelling at Mitchell for being so stupid. They were down to just a few choices, all of them bad.

  “You guys drive back out there and get De Ghetto’s body,” Tank said. “Put it in the trunk of his car and drive it back here. If there’s blood on the ground, cover it up. I’ll take care of the hippie dude and the chick. Then we’ll put their bodies in the trunk too, and drive out of here tonight as soon as it’s dark. Take everything. We can’t leave anything for the cops to
find.”

  Mitchell and Downs got in the van and drove back out toward the gate. Tank made sure his .38 was loaded, then he walked into the house. Got to get this over with.

  He’d kill the dude first. At least that was going to be a little bit satisfying. He hated that smug bastard. He went to the room, turned the thumb lock, and opened the door.

  The window, which had not been secured, stood wide open. Timothy Kaufman had flown the coop.

  – 37 –

  Anita Marta Maria Castidad-Fuentes Frost

  Simon’s church wedding would have been a lot of fun under normal circumstances. Nita’s family was not a wealthy one, but they were able to call upon a lot of resources. Food and drinks at the reception, especially Mexican wine, were in abundance, and the Tejano music was loud. Jose Castidad-Fuentes produced a bottle of good bourbon he claimed to have purchased in California a week before Nita was born. He cracked it open to a round of applause, and then made Simon drink many toasts—to eternal love, to family, to the abundance of healthy children, and to the inevitability of a Dallas Cowboys Super Bowl championship.

  Simon did his best to enjoy the moment, despite having a lot on his mind lately. He’d recently experienced two major distractions.

  First, he decided that a married man with responsibilities needed to stop being a coward, and a few days before the wedding, he had made a crucial decision. Andy’s mother was right. Somebody needed to pay for hurting Simon’s best friend. Despite a strong aversion to the Duro authorities, Simon went back and talked to the cops.

  The second thing was a bit of news the day before the wedding that would have been hilarious if it had applied to someone else.

  Simon and Nita had driven thirty miles in Nita’s Dodge Dart to the Midland Airport to pick up Simon’s parents, who flew in from Tempe, Arizona. Hershel Frost did not have to pay for the wedding, but he was not happy about the cost of two tickets on a Boeing 707 and two nights at the Duro Caprock Inn. These things he complained about openly. At least he didn’t have to pay for his son’s tuxedo rental. Both Simon and his best man owned their own tuxedos, though both had required some serious dry cleaning.