Desert Discord

by Henry D. Terrell

  “There’s our problem,” said Frank. “Let’s see if it’s a break or just an open valve. Go grab the key, okay?”

  Tony returned to the truck and came back with the cross-shaped water tool. They didn’t both need to get wet, so Frank stood aside while Tony crouched down beside the hole and probed down into the water. He found the valve, then fitted the water key into position over the shutoff. He grabbed the top of the key with both hands and twisted clockwise. The valve was tight, but yielded.

  “That should do her,” Tony said. He reached once again down into the water-filled hole. “Yeah, ain’t flowing no more. It wasn’t broken, just turned on. I guess we got it.”

  Both men returned to the truck, and Tony found a towel to dry off.

  “Somebody opened that valve,” said Frank. “It was probably kids. While we’re out here, let’s check all the meters on this block. Then I’m going to send somebody out here to padlock all these suckers.”

  They drove the two hundred feet to the next property and climbed up to investigate, but there was no sign of tampering. At the next one down, however, Frank swept aside some dead weeds and frowned.

  “Somebody’s messed with this one, too,” he said. “It’s been opened recently. There are splash marks all around here.”

  They opened the heavy lid, and Tony reached down inside the hole.

  “It’s damp in here. Yeah, somebody’s been using this one, but it’s off now.”

  Frank scouted the surrounding area and kicked aside some dry tumbleweeds ten feet behind the meter.

  “Hah! We got a water thief,” he said. He reached down and pulled up the coiled end of a large, heavy-duty hose. They traced the hose to where it passed under the chain-link fence that surrounded the property. Just over a rise toward the back of the lot, through breaks in a stand of mesquite, they could see glimpses of bright green foliage.

  “Somebody’s gardening on the city’s tab,” said Frank. “Let’s go around behind and have a look. I have a hunch what’s going on back there.”

  They followed the fence along the side until they could see the back of the property with its rows of heavy green plants just starting to bloom.

  Tony laughed. “Ah hah! I knew it. Somebody been growin’ Mary Jane.”

  “Yep, wow,” said Frank. “That’s a lot of plants. And there’s another plot behind this one. It’s a big operation.” He looked all around. Could somebody be watching them? “You know, I think … we better not be here. This is a major criminal enterprise, and these boys might not be too happy with us finding their dope farm.”

  “You want to report it to the police when we get back?” asked Tony.

  “Yeah, but let’s call them on the radio,” said Frank. “First, I want to get away from here.”

  Reed, who sat on the long couch, leaned back. He looked terrible. His face was pale and his forehead purple with an ugly bruise. Dried blood was matted in his Marine Corps hair. One eye was almost swollen shut. He sat with his head back, eyes closed most of the time, and sometimes he moaned. Douglas sat beside him, and Erycca was curled up on the short couch, trying to sleep.

  Mitchell had guard duty, sitting with the shotgun across his lap, reading a Newsweek magazine. He had turned on the TV but found only two channels, both with soap operas, so he switched it off again. Downs and Tank were out back, talking about something.

  It was the third day since their lives were taken over by outside events, and they were running out of food. They were also out of cigarettes and had resorted to smoking Reed’s Tiparillos. Tank told Downs he needed to drive into town and buy some stuff to eat, and some more beer and smokes. Downs said he was tired and would do it later. Esprit de corps in the Tank crew was fraying, exhaustion unanimous among both captives and captors.

  They had pulled the van all the way around behind the greenhouse so it couldn’t be seen from the street. The night before, they had driven Jerry’s car out west and abandoned it off the highway, inside a metal shed that looked like it had not been used for months. If they kept the van out of sight, that left Douglas’s car and Reed’s Triumph motorcycle. Tank slashed the tires on the motorcycle so Douglas would not be tempted to try a getaway.

  Mitchell looked up and pointed at Douglas. “Hey, get me a beer.”

  “There’s only one left,” said Douglas.

  “So fucking get it,” said Mitchell. He put his hand on the shotgun’s grip.

  Douglas got up and went into the kitchen, returning with their last Coors. He set it down on the coffee table in front of Mitchell, then he turned and walked into the bedroom.

  “Hey! Get back here, asshole!” said Mitchell.

  Douglas returned with a blanket in his arms. “I’m gonna cover up my friend. I don’t care what the fuck you think. This man is in shock and needs a hospital.” He leaned over Reed and tucked the blanket around him, discreetly placing the .45 automatic behind Reed’s back.

  “Thank you,” said Reed, weakly. He pulled the blanket close around his chin and closed his eyes, teeth chattering.

  Douglas sat right beside him and put his arm around his friend. “You’re gonna be okay, buddy. We’ll get you to a doctor soon.”

  Mitchell opened his beer and returned to his magazine, unaware that among Reed’s talents was the ability to chatter his teeth at will.

  Tank stuck his head in the back door. “Hey, man, get out here a second! We need to decide some shit.” Mitchell rose and joined the other two just outside.

  Reed whispered, “Hey … we have to kill that guy and get the shotgun. Reach around behind me real slow and get the gun. Cock the slide and hold it behind your back. As soon as he sits down again, shoot him, then I’ll go for the twelve-gauge.”

  “Me?” Douglas whispered. “Hey, you’re the ex-marine. You shoot him.”

  “I was a marine cook,” whispered Reed. “I’ve barely shot a gun since basic, and besides, they broke my glasses. I can’t see. You shoot him.”

  “Fuck,” whispered Douglas, but he reached behind Reed with his left hand and retrieved the pistol, cocked it quickly, and slipped it behind the small of his own back. He didn’t know how to engage the safety, and there was no time to learn. Douglas hoped the huge pistol wouldn’t go off while it was pressed against his lower spine.

  – 48 –

  Leary Come Home

  The music came again while Andy was motoring west out toward Jupiter Lane. It was Bach’s “Concerto in D Minor” for two violins. Although he had fingered the notes with his left hand for Mrs. Kellogg, he hadn’t actually played the piece since high school. He knew only the first-violin part, but now he heard both parts in his mind, and the piano accompaniment as well. He drove out FM 994 with the little air-cooled engine putting away, hearing the music as loud and clear as a concert hall. He’d forgotten how much he loved that piece.

  What triggers the music? Stress? He had definitely been experiencing some of that lately. The daily Piedman soap opera had only grown more complicated. The unbidden music reveries usually came in the evenings when he was tired. When they did come, he would shut his eyes and go with them. But he couldn’t do that while driving, so he kept both eyes wide open and his hands firmly on the wheel at ten and two. Everything seemed to be going okay, and Bach played on.

  Andy had tried to call Douglas several times for the past two days, but nobody answered the phone. What was going on out there? Did they get busted? It seems like he would have heard something.

  The spritely vivace section was almost finished, leaving Andy to wonder if his brain would serve up the largo movement, go on to something else, or let the tunes rest for a while. As he came to the intersection of the farm road and Jupiter Lane, he spotted something halfway down the first block. It was a large dog, trotting a devious course from one side of the street to the other, head down, sniffing. When Andy turned up the street, he got a better look at the brown, short-haired dog with floppy ears and a stubby tail.

  That looks like Leary, he thought.


  He drew up next to the dog, slowed down, and called out.

  “Leary! Leary! Hey, boy!” The D Minor stopped abruptly. It was Leary. What the hell was he doing out here, blocks from home? Andy pulled over and climbed out of the car. The dog saw him and trotted over. Andy patted his head, and Leary licked Andy’s hand. He let out a soft whimper and wagged his stub of a tail. All dogs liked Andy.

  “You’re hungry, aren’t you?” said Andy. “Aren’t those guys feeding you? Let’s go home.” He took Leary by the collar, led him around to the passenger side, and opened the door. While he was briefly wondering how he was going to wrestle a fifty-pound mongrel into the car, Leary simply hopped up into the seat of his own accord.

  Okay. Andy got back in the car and pulled away slowly. Leary shook his immense head, and a long dab of spittle flew out, landing on Andy’s shirt.

  “Hey, get up!” said Tank, addressing Douglas. All three men had come back inside, and there had been no opportunity for Douglas and Reed to make their move.

  “Hey, man,” said Douglas. “Why don’t you guys just get the fuck out of here while you can. What would we do? We don’t want cops crawling around here any more than you do. Just leave. Make a clean getaway.”

  “Because we’re not fucking leaving without something to show for it,” said Tank. “That dumb fatass didn’t pay us a dime and had a whole twenty bucks on him. You stupid hip-shits don’t have any money. We need a payday, and you’re gonna help. It’s harvest time.”

  “Oh, I get it. You’re gonna cut down our plants. That’s stupid. They’re not even close to mature.”

  “I don’t fucking care,” said Tank. “And I don’t need your dope-farmer’s wisdom. We’re going to cut it all down and bundle it now, today. I know some people who will buy it even if it’s not up to your standards. Now get up!”

  Douglas turned sideways toward Reed and made a show of carefully tucking the blanket around him. As he did, he slipped the .45 behind Reed’s back.

  “I’ll be right back, buddy,” he said. “You hang in there. You’ll be okay.”

  Reed mumbled but didn’t open his eyes.

  The afternoon dragged. Tank had left Downs in charge of the prisoners, while he, Mitchell, and Douglas drove around the block to the dope field. They brought a machete, a large pair of gardening sheers, and a dozen jute gunnysacks. They would cut down and bundle the outdoor plants first, then return for the better crop in the greenhouse. It was risky to do in daylight, but it couldn’t be helped. They had to get out of here, tonight.

  Tank had decided there was going to be a fire. It was a desperate plan, but it made sense the more he thought about it. He knew how to make a simple delay fuse out of a couple of Tiparillos. Soak the corner of the couch with a little lighter fluid, and the fire would start there, fifteen minutes after they had taken off in the van full of dope. If they left plenty of trash around to stoke the fire, the place would be a conflagration before anyone noticed and burn to the ground before the fire department could even get their hoses unrolled.

  The people? They’d be found in their beds, two men and one teenaged girl, all burned beyond recognition. So sad. The tragic result of careless smoking, and a good story for the American-Post’s afternoon edition.

  Downs waited in the house for the other three to return. At first, he was fretful and anxious. Then he was just bored. While he pretended to read a magazine, Downs kept an eye on the girl. She was a little too skinny for his taste, but he liked her long black hair.

  She doesn’t know she’ll be dead before the day is through, thought Downs. What a waste. He hadn’t gotten any good tang in a long time, way too long. Well, now was his opportunity.

  Downs stood up and walked over to Reed, slouched on the couch, unmoving. He poked him hard in the chest with the barrel of the shotgun.

  “Hey, wake up, shithead!”

  Reed moaned and moved a little bit, but his eyes didn’t open. His mouth dropped open, and a bit of spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. This guy is not going to be a problem. Downs carefully set the shotgun down on the dining table, then turned his attention to Erycca.

  “Come on, honey,” he said. “Let’s dance a little bit.” He grabbed her by the arm and stood her up.

  “Get AWAY from me!” screamed Erycca. She tried to push him off.

  “Oh, come on, baby!” laughed Downs. She tried to punch his chest. Downs stepped aside quickly, then brought the back of his hand down hard across her face, knocking her down. Erycca screamed and tried to get up, but Downs was on her, overpowering her. He punched her again and she shrieked.

  “Let’s go!” he commanded. “The bedroom! Now!” He got her in a rough headlock, stood her up, and started to drag her while she screamed and threw ineffectual punches. He turned her around and pushed her through the doorway into the bedroom.

  “Get undressed, bitch! Now! Unless you want me to knock you out cold and do it to you that way.”

  Something in his peripheral vision drew his attention.

  It was Reed. Terrifying and demonic, he stood there with one eye swollen shut and purple. He swayed unsteadily, but he was pointing a heavy automatic pistol.

  Downs froze, hands in front of him. He glanced around and spotted the shotgun on the table, behind where Reed stood.

  “All right, man!” said Downs. “Be very cool.”

  “Get out of here,” said Reed.

  “Now, just a second. Be very, very cool. Let’s talk. But you gotta stop pointing that thing at me. You’re making me fucking nervous.”

  “Get out of here or I’ll kill you,” said Reed.

  “Okay!” said Downs. “You win! I’m leaving! Just don’t point that thing at me.”

  Reed stepped closer, the gun shaking in his hand. Downs could see the hammer was back. The chance of the gun going off accidentally was quite high.

  “Hey!” said Downs. “It’s okay now. Just stay right there and I’ll be out the door. Just don’t point it at me, please.”

  “Hey, girl,” said Reed. “I want you to come around behind me and get that gun that’s on the table. Bring it to me.”

  Erycca tried to comply. As she walked past Downs, he suddenly grabbed her and pushed her hard toward Reed. She staggered forward, losing her balance.

  “Whoa!” shouted Reed and raised his pistol toward the ceiling as Erycca stumbled into his legs.

  Downs lunged at him, grabbing his wrist. Reed ducked and twisted, trying to keep control of the pistol. The gun went off with a deafening bang. Erycca screamed as bits of ceiling plaster came down on the three of them.

  Downs was on top of Reed, holding his wrist on the floor and punching him with his right hand.

  “STOP IT!” screamed Erycca. She grabbed Downs by the back of his collar and jerked upward, trying to pull him off.

  Downs struck backward with his elbow, knocking the girl aside, then snatched the gun from Reed and stood up.

  “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill you!” he yelled.

  The front door opened. Downs whirled around to find a thin young man standing in the entranceway, eyes wide and mouth open. There was also that damned mongrel dog, who lunged straight at Downs.

  Unbeknownst to his current masters, Leary’s previous owner’s erratic training methods had not only failed to make him into a hunting dog, but had also instilled a deep antipathy toward strangers with guns.

  Andy had heard the loud gunshot just as he started to open the door. He had hesitated, but Leary had hit the door with considerable force, pushing it wide open. The dog saw Downs and bounded straight for him, teeth bared.

  Downs tried to aim the .45, but Leary got him by the hand. Yelling curses, Downs pulled his hand away and stepped back, but he tripped backward over the supine Reed, and the pistol went skittering across the wooden floor. He turned and stood up, Leary snarling and clinging ferociously to his right wrist. Downs shook the dog off, leaving a bleeding, slobbery wound. He gave up on the pistol and went for the shotgun on the table.


  Reed was up in a flash, grabbing Downs from behind as the bigger man picked up the shotgun. Reed struggled to pin his arms to his body.

  “Andy! Help me!” Reed yelled. Andy jumped into the fray, attempting to wrest the shotgun from Downs while Reed bear-hugged him and Leary snapped at his lower legs.

  Downs brought the butt of the shotgun up against Andy’s face and he fell, stunned. Reed tried to grab the shotgun, but Downs whirled quickly and whacked his adversary on the side of the neck with the barrel; Reed lost his balance. The only remaining enemy combatant was Leary, staying behind Downs and biting at his legs. He pumped the shotgun and tried to point it down at the dog, a rapidly moving target. Downs turned and turned, kicking, making three full rotations before finally breaking free. Leary ran back a few feet, then turned to face his adversary, snarling viciously.

  “Drop the gun!” Erycca yelled. Downs turned to see the willowy seventeen-year-old holding the huge automatic, standing five feet away and waving the gun in his general direction.

  “Okay, baby, be cool!” Downs yelled. “We can …”

  The .45 went off with a terrific blast, and Downs was knocked backward as if he’d been kicked. Erycca screamed and tossed the pistol onto the couch. Downs fell hard to the floor and thrashed.

  “I didn’t mean to!” she yelled. “I didn’t mean to! It just went off.”

  Still gripping the shotgun, Downs lay on his back and put one hand on the floor as if he intended to stand. His body rolled to one side, then fell back, and after a slow exhale, he was still. Reed got up and checked on him. Downs had a dark, bloody hole the size of a nickel in the center of his chest, right over his heart. Reed retrieved the shotgun and slipped on the safety.

  “I didn’t mean to!” screamed Erycca. She came a little closer, then saw Downs on the floor and quickly covered her face. “Oh God! It just went off, I promise!”

  “It’s all right, girl,” said Reed. “Get a grip. It was self-defense. That guy was going to kill us.”