Pardners

by Roy F. Chandler

  "Oh God, Byrne, that would be about the worst thing possible. He will spill his guts, and we will have local law all over us."

  "Well, the odds are good that he hasn't made it out. They are even better that if he is picked up somewhere, he won't say a word about anything. Why would he? Anything he says will make him guilty of attempted murder and involved in all sorts of crimes against us that I can't even name.

  "As I see it, he is hurting bad. He is in strange country, and his friends are gone. He won't know if they are dead or trying to find him.

  "What he will know is that they haven't gotten me yet. Hell, those MS-13 guys might have a plan to meet at some special place before they leave for good. The Scarecrow might stick to that plan expecting others to show up. If he can function, I figure he will stick around here. He will be searching for a way to finish me—and you as well, pardner.

  "I want it understood that I am not looking forward to flushing him out. A shotgun impresses the hell out of me. So, I figure I will sleep the night, and in the morning I will police up what's left of Christus.

  "Then, we will figure out a way to draw the Scarecrow into our sights and end all of this foolishness."

  Bravo said, "Nice plan, Alpha, but you haven't gotten us anything to eat except those Spanish American War rations. How about putting decent food into your scheming."

  — — —

  The Scarecrow was out there, but he was not living cold and suffering in the wilderness. He had broken a window in the doctor's house, scrunched his fevered body inside and was dozing in the doctor's bed. His shotgun was near his hand, and he had balanced a broom against the closed bedroom door to rouse him if someone tried to enter,

  Jose Dominguez believed that he might kill the cursed doctor before Jesus Christus could even get close. When he succeeded, Christus would be grateful and pleased to help him escape into his favorite city where medicines were available.

  Jose knew he had blundered badly when he had woken to discover the killer doctor staring directly at him. Of course, Christus would be furious at his panic and exposure of their hide, but he had gotten away, and so had Christus. Dominguez had confidence in the old fighter's survival abilities.

  Dominguez had stumbled a mindless, befogged route back to the house where everything had first gone wrong. He had become lost, and he arrived well into the night.

  No one had been there, and the bodies of his friends were gone. So, he had made himself at home. When the doctor appeared he would blast him into hell. Then he would wait for Christus at their agreed upon meeting place.

  Dominguez had chosen clothing from a closet. He had managed to eat, and he believed the food had given him new strength. Fever still lurked, and he did not like the appearance of his wounds, but they could wait. Soon, very soon, the doctor would return, and Jose Dominguez would shoot. Until then, he would rest and become even more ready.

  Jesus Christus would have to recognize that he, Jose, was the best soldier of them all. Dominguez slept with visions of the respect he would gain. Jose, the tattooed, had become Dominguez, the warrior.

  — — —

  Alpha did not return to the mine until afternoon. An easy route up the mountain's far side had eluded him. Logging roads ended abruptly, and trails narrowed and disappeared unexpectedly, but he eventually worked them out. He reached the ridge top, looked over, and there was Christus sprawled on the rubble.

  Alpha led a rope down to Christus and lashed it about the body's middle. He tied the line to the pickup's trailer hitch and eased the vehicle ahead. Christus bounced and scraped to the summit he had once struggled so desperately to gain.

  Alpha unfeelingly heaved the battered and shot-through carcass into the pickup bed and covered it with a tarp. He had brought Christus' rifle up, and the old gun appeared little damaged. The rifle had been reloaded, and Alpha racked it behind the truck's seat.

  The ride home required more than an hour, and Byrne used it to study his remaining problems. He first called his clinic, diverted the many curiosity-informed questions, and arranged for an explanatory call to Shepard's sheriff. There were no pregnant pauses or implied wonderings. His people were used to their doctor.

  He had already worked out disposal of the accumulated human remains and the permanent disappearance of the green car and the faithful pickup truck. For now, he would keep the trailer. No one would have interest in yet another sport camper parked in a backyard.

  The wounded Scarecrow was more difficult. The thug had probably survived, and he had been last seen heading toward Byrne's home place.

  Alpha suspected he had already used up any good luck coming his way. He could not imagine himself slipping patch-to-patch among the hills and dales until he cleverly discovered the ambushed killer before the man saw him. Leave that to Hollywood.

  What he and Bravo had to do was suck the villain into exposing himself. Lure him close and kill him. Nice, but why would a wounded man choose to leave wherever he was hiding to fight an OK Corral kind of battle with his enemies?

  He wouldn't, so Byrne worked on another method. By his return to the mine, he believed he had a scheme that would work. What would Bravo think of his plan? Not much probably, but before his partner rejected the idea, Shepard would have to come up with something better.

  — — —

  Jose Dominguez had seen the doctor climb into his pickup and depart. Where he had come from was mystery. One moment no one was visible. The next instant, Jose heard the truck parked in front of the old mine start up. Yet the mine entrance remained closed, so Dominguez had no answer. Jose prepared food and relaxed to wait. The doctor would not have gone far. He would return and that, Dominguez decided, would be that.

  — — —

  Byrne said, "If the Scarecrow is alive, he should be near and watching what goes on. He might be waiting for Christus, or he might just be choosing the right moment to use his shotgun.

  Alpha said, "He does not know about you being in here, of course, but I plan to make sure that he sees me." Then Alpha outlined his scheme.

  Bravo said, "It should work, but in case things don't go your way, I want a shotgun in my own palsied hands. You aren't always on time or especially efficient, Alpha. I remember how long it took you to get behind the wheel of the old Mercedes and get down to me—waiting there on the road with a horde of gunmen breathing on my back."

  Byrne shrugged away the ancient complaint.

  "My part is simple and swift. My worry is that you don't get shot because you stretched your scrawny turkey neck up to look around."

  Alpha's preparations had required him to park the truck on a side road from which he could walk unseen to the mine and enter the way he had gone out.

  With Bravo's acceptance of his scheme, Byrne returned to the truck. Night had fallen before he drove in his road and directly to the mine entrance with headlights on. He opened the gate and backed the truck bed into the mine tunnel. He doused the truck lights and turned on the tunnel's interior lights. If the thug they called Scarecrow was out there, he would see and wonder. It would probably take more to lure him in, and Byrne was prepared to give him all the invitation he might require.

  An outside watcher could not see Alpha drag the dead Christus from the truck and dump him into the green car's trunk to join the bodies already there. Byrne closed the trunk lid and doused the tunnel lights. He began raising the weighty stone ceiling plug, and Bravo's light and CD music flooded the tunnel.

  Byrne crawled in and examined Bravo's new position. His partner occupied a bed behind stored ammunition and ration boxes thick enough to stop any normal rifle or shotgun munitions.

  Bravo shifted his shotgun out of line and asked, "How do you like my music?"

  Byrne was disdainful. "When did you start listening to biker songs? I'll bet you've been secretly watching Easyrider."

  Byrne left the giant plug in its high and open position. "That music will probably drive Scarecrow away."

  Bravo examined the three-foot spac
e between the plug and the tunnel ceiling. "And you think that leaving that front door open will draw him in? He will smell a trap and start hitchhiking to Mexico."

  Byrne made his voice sound positive. "If he hears it, and if he can move, he will come. What a chance, Bravo. One stupid gringo playing music in a lighted tunnel and him in the dark with his shotgun ready—how could he resist?"

  Alpha examined his watch. "I'll give him a full hour. He won't want to wait too long for fear of losing the opportunity."

  "He is probably far away and sleeping soundly."

  "If he isn't, and he takes the bait, he will sleep even more soundly."

  Bravo did not bother to answer. He liked that reasoning.

  — — —

  Jose heard and saw. The truck had returned and the mine tunnel had flooded with light. Then the light had dimmed as if it had moved much deeper within the mine.

  He heard music from the house porch. No wonder the doctor had not returned to his home. He was living in the mine. When they had scouted the mine tunnels, they had found nothing of interest, but obviously they had missed something important. The doctor had a secret place. Probably he had stores in there. Jose wondered if that was where he kept his money?

  Dominguez discovered that he was licking his lips in anticipation. If he killed the doctor and found money before Christus returned, it would be his.

  Jose thought about it. They had searched the house carefully. They had found a few dollars, but they had left them so that the doctor would not discover their search. When he entered through the window, Jose had immediately pocketed that money

  Doctors were rich. There had to be money hidden somewhere. Now, the mine with its secrets seemed the place to find it. The doctor was alone, and he was unsuspecting.

  How could that be when men had died here only days before? Yet, the bodies were gone, and posses had not searched for them. Gringos could be strange, and they believed themselves above all others. The doctor was alone. Perhaps . . .?

  Jose tested his muscles and judged his durability. With surprise, and the shotgun, the doctor would be his.

  Dominguez shrugged aside his doubts. He would be careful and hold the doctor at a distance. If the fool came at him, Jose would shoot his knee away. In fact, if the doctor resisted in any way, he would shoot a knee away. He would not shoot to kill until the doctor had given him real money. Jose remembered the mine shaft with deep water at the bottom. He would dump the doctor's body in that almost bottomless hole.

  Dominguez wondered if he should even tell Christus what had happened to the doctor? It might be best to know nothing and claim intent to return later with Christus and new helpers—when his health had improved.

  The distant mine music changed to a Latin beat. Jose believed he should act now before the doctor closed down for the night. He might have a heavy door or even a secret one that Jose could not find. Dominguez checked his shotgun and made certain of extra shells in a front pocket. Not that he would need extras, but . . .

  To husband his limited strength, Jose approached the mine slowly. He reached the parked pickup and edged along its side until he could see into the tunnel. The light was coming through the ceiling only a few yards within, but Jose was sure that no one had seen such openings during their search.

  Dominguez did not like the taste of it. He listened, and the music was coming from a mine level above the light reflecting downward into the tunnel. What on earth had he discovered? Could this be a treasure horde secreted within the ancient mine, or . . .? Jose's heart picked up its pace.

  Dominguez had experienced a rough and brutal world, and not becoming a victim had been drilled into his being. He made himself cautious. He crouched, but the bending hurt and weakened his balance. He knelt and looked under the pickup. He felt in the truck bed for anything concealed. There was nothing.

  He could see the old green car parked where it had been when their team had checked the mine. The ceiling opening was closer, and Jose knew with certainty that it was a secret opening that they had not suspected.

  Jose Dominguez was a short man, and his strength had been greatly diminished by his wounds and his fever. Standing on the tunnel floor, he could not see into the room with the lights. He heard something scrape, and the music stopped. Then it began a different song featuring a sultry-voiced singer.

  An old wooden crate lay along a wall and Jose tested its strength. Solid as the day it was made, he decided. Standing on the box, he would be able to see into the lighted room.

  Jose repositioned the box and crouched, bent-kneed on it. His shotgun pointed upward with his finger on a trigger. Slowly he straightened and found that he could see most of the floor and the furnishings of a storeroom with boxes and shelves all around.

  A throat cleared, and Jose placed it as behind stacked boxes at a far side. The doctor was there, but Dominguez could not see him. Jose gripped the edges of the ceiling opening and inched his upper body over the lip. He slid his shotgun ahead, his eyes focused on the boxes behind which the doctor lingered.

  He hunched himself forward, edging his chest and belly onto the lighted room's floor. He made no sounds, and he suffered astonishment when the music cut off and the doctor spoke in English.

  "My God, you are slow. We thought you would never get here." The man's head appeared above the boxes, and Jose snatched his shotgun and fought to point it.

  The gringo's expression did not turn fearful, and Jose Dominguez was wondering about that when Alpha, unseen against a wall, released the pulley system holding the great stone plug aloft.

  Dominguez did hear the vast tonnage swish the rope as gravity took hold and the descending stone picked up momentum. His eyes turned upward to the sound, and he may have believed that the ceiling was falling, but there was only an instant. The tons of skillfully-fitted stone thudded solidly into its seat.

  If the meat and bones of Jose Dominguez slowed the plug, neither watcher registered it. Dominguez' body from the armpits up bulged grotesquely and flopped loosely onto the secret room's floor. All else, except his legs, was crushed and pulverized between the massive stone and the tunnel ceiling.

  From above, Alpha and Bravo could not see them, but the severed legs dropped to the tunnel floor.

  As if they could not fully digest what they had seen, the Alpha/Bravo team sat silently. They viewed a horror that had been so swift and final that there had been no measurable transition from the tensions of waiting until the reality of sudden and ultra-violent death and dismemberment.

  Bravo spoke first. Although his words were meant as humor, his voice was hoarse and did not hold amusement.

  Bravo said, "Do you think he is dead?"

  In a powerful exhale meant to relieve tension and restore normalcy, Byrne blew over-held air from his lungs.

  As he meant them to, Alpha's words did add macabre humor. "I don't know, he hasn't said how he's feeling."

  The sick joking helped only a little. Neither man had experienced death as suddenly and as violently as the Scarecrow's. Minutes were needed to determine how each would handle it.

  Alpha began their recovery by re-engaging the pulleys and drawing in the rope that again raised the stone plug. The massive stone had fallen heavily and wedged itself solidly. For a lengthy moment it resisted the pull of the complicated lifting tackle, and the plug grated loudly as it broke free and began its slow climb to full opening.

  Bravo picked his injured and delicate way into full view and only then set aside his shotgun. He chose a chair and eased into it. His eyes remained on the Scarecrow's upper third collapsed and almost instantly bled out on their floor.

  Byrne made the necessary move. He stuck out a foot and nudged the dead body piece into the hole so that it joined its legs on the tunnel floor.

  After a while Byrne said, "Well, that's the last of them by my count."

  Bravo said, "We don't really know that."

  Alpha nodded agreement. "We don't know for sure, but I am through for now. We'll close up
here and go down to the house. I want a shower and a shave. I want to sleep in my own bed in my clean pajamas, and I do not want to think about this mess until tomorrow morning."

  He looked to Bravo. "You coming along, pardner?"

  Bravo nodded. "I'm coming, but I'll need the ladder. My ribs are on fire—I think from breathing too heavily. My God, what a scene. Who would believe it?"

  Alpha grumbled, "Who would want to even know about it?" He repeated, "What a mess. What a miserable, lousy, rotten mess."

  Bravo delayed comment. He peered down the hole before looking up at the dangling plug. "You sure that thing is secure, Byrne? I wouldn't want to go through what the old Scarecrow experienced."

  Bravo looked some more, then suggested, "You go down first, Alpha, and move those legs out of the way. I don't want to stumble over them."

  Chapter 34

  It was noon before Byrne finished cleaning. He had loaded all of the bodies and their parts into the green car. He had used his John Deere dozer blade to push the car over the edge of the long drop into the depth of the flooded mine shaft.

  The water had always been deep at the shaft bottom. When he had first measured it years earlier the depth had been almost forty feet. The water had since risen to flood another mine level. Deep enough to hold more than he intended hiding, Byrne figured. The green car splashed loudly and a few gurgles could be heard as the car settled and was gone.

  The pickup was a lot harder. The truck was too high to slide through the mine's main tunnel to reach the vertical shaft, so Alpha punctured the tires to lower the truck before he tore off the light bar and beat the cab roof flat with a sledge hammer.

  Crouched within the battered cab, he drove the truck to the edge of the abyss. Then he used the tractor to push it into the shaft.

  There was waste stone and earth in all tunnels, and Byrne dozed a ton or so into the main tunnel and spread it across the floor to grind in, and hopefully obscure the massive blood spill from Scarecrow's squashed and severed body. He spent another hour pushing earth and rocks into the shaft to completely bury the two sunken vehicles.