Broken Lullaby

by Tracy, Pamela

  She started to move but then remembered his orders.

  “Right,” Kenny said, finally. “And I should do this because you’ve made my life so much easier?”

  “You should do it because you love your nephew.”

  Justin didn’t say anything. He looked up at Kenny, but Kenny didn’t look back.

  “Oh, Kenny,” Mary hissed under her breath. “This is soooo wrong.”

  “Let Justin go,” Mitch suggested. “He’ll get on his quad. I’ll get on my quad. And the boy and I will leave. You’re right. Your days harboring illegal immigrants are over. But by the time I get to a working phone, you can be miles away.”

  “If I kill you,” Kenny responded in a too-calm voice, “I won’t have to worry about you ever getting to a working phone.”

  “Are you going to kill me, too?” Justin asked, squirming, trying to get away.

  Kenny held on tight and shrugged.

  “No,” said a strong voice in Mary’s ear. “Kenny won’t kill the young boy.”

  Mary had never before felt a gun in the small of her back, but she’d never doubted the possibility of such a thing happening to her.

  Roberto Herrara grinned. “Señor Santellis will have me kill him.”

  “Kenny!” Mary screamed.

  Roberto pushed her out into the open. She saw Justin start to cry and she saw the pain on Mitch’s face.

  “I cannot believe you led them here,” Kenny snarled. He was looking at Justin. “Why did you do this?” He’d been holding the gun behind him where Mitch couldn’t see, but when Roberto stepped out into the open, Kenny aimed the gun at Mitch.

  “Sure,” Mary said. “Do what you always do. Blame somebody else. It was this jerk’s fault.” She stomped on Roberto’s foot. He stumbled, but only for a moment and then he muttered a curse and squeezed her upper arm as hard as Eddie used to.

  Good thing Mary was used to the tough-guy act. It only showed the real underbelly of this guy, how weak he was. She glared at Roberto and said, “He took his own stepdaughter’s baby. Did you know that, Kenny?”

  Kenny didn’t even blink. He knew.

  “Why, Kenny? Why are you doing this?”

  “Oh, I had so many choices,” Kenny spat. “When Tony and Sardi died, no one wanted to deal with me. I’m the baby brother. The one nobody trusts. Dad’s sick, so no help there. Look at this ghost town! Eric gets a cabin, you get the used car business and I get ramshackle buildings in the middle of the desert. Well, guess what? I started my own business.”

  Mitch looked at Roberto. “Illegal crossings?”

  “Yup.”

  Roberto was moving Mary closer to her brother. It’s exactly what she wanted. She needed to be close to Justin so she could shield him. She needed to be close to Kenny so she could look into his eyes.

  Maybe her baby brother was in there somewhere.

  Then, as he kept talking, she knew he was. The Kenny whose diapers she’d changed, who’d played trains so many times with Justin, was still there. Otherwise, he’d have already shot them and he’d have stopped talking.

  It occurred to her as she dug in her heels, forcing Roberto to slow then march her toward the porch, that if this thing were going to end with anyone left alive, it was up to her. Mitch was in the cross fire. Both Kenny and Roberto could, and would, shoot him. Justin was helpless. She was the only one who didn’t have Kenny’s attention. No, she was his big sister.

  Oh, Father, this is my little brother, the man I love and my son! What have we done? Please guide me. Please send help. Please…

  “How did you go from there to baby brokering?” Mary asked when she came within about five feet of him.

  “Quite by accident.” Kenny started talking again and Mary knew he was telling them what they needed to know because he was trying to convince himself he’d done what he had to. “See, there was a family who couldn’t pay. They offered the baby. At first I said no. Then, Roberto said he thought he knew someone who wanted a baby. I couldn’t believe how much money we made.” He sounded incredulous. Next to Mary, Roberto chuckled. He wasn’t incredulous. No, he was gloating.

  “People willing to give up a little baby,” Kenny restated.

  “Desperate people,” Mary said softly. “You preyed on desperate people.”

  Roberto pushed her toward the bottom step of the hotel. She looked at the porch hoping for a piece of wood, a rock, something to use as a weapon. She took one step up. Time was running out. She had to do something. She glanced at the hotel’s open door.

  “Kenny! Is that my kitchen table?”

  He swung around, used to obeying his sister, and looked into the main lobby of the old hotel. Mary’s antique table, make that Eric’s, was in the middle of the room.

  The momentary distraction was enough. Mary dropped low to the ground, surged forward and knocked Justin down, too. Her purse hit the top step, opened, and its contents spilled across the wood.

  Mitch drew his gun, hesitated just a moment and shot Roberto, who dropped to the ground and didn’t move.

  Kenny might be easily distracted, but he regrouped well enough. His gun came out and he, unwavering, aimed at Mitch.

  Mitch was already cocking his gun.

  “No,” Mary yelled. “Don’t shoot.”

  Mitch hesitated; Kenny did not. Looking up, Mary thought it looked like he was about to thank her. Thank her for instructing Mitch not to shoot instead of vice versa.

  “No, Kenny. No.” She sprawled across the porch and her hand curled around the antique scissors that had spilled from her purse. Without hesitation, she sprung to her knees and with a firm, fluid motion, buried them in Kenny’s upper leg, bringing him wailing to the ground beside her and giving Mitch enough time to make it to the porch and handcuff her little brother to a pole.

  Then Mitch Williams, tough guy extraordinaire, gathered her and Justin in his arms and Mary felt his hot tears on her neck.

  “You should have seen Mom stab Uncle Kenny,” Justin said for the tenth time.

  “I’ll bet that was really something,” Eric replied for the tenth time before he walked out of the tent to check on Kenny.

  They were sitting inside tent number three. A generator pumped somewhat cool air and Mary tried to remember to breathe. It had all happened so fast and now all she could do was watch Justin and pray.

  Both actions soothed her soul. Of course, Justin acted like he wasn’t affected by all that had gone on, but Mary knew better. For one, he didn’t stray too far from her. And with all that was going on—one police helicopter, five news station helicopters, the local authorities and the border patrol—well, suffice it to say, Kenny’s ghost town was seeing more action that it had since its heyday. Her Justin, on any other day, would be itching to be in the thick of things.

  Counseling would help. For both of them. And they’d start going to church. Counseling from up above would help even more.

  Mitch finally left the medical tent and walked toward them. Mary and Ruth had literally dragged him to the paramedic station. His head was newly bandaged.

  He looked a little lost.

  He stopped by one of the police cruisers parked on Main Street. Kenny was in the backseat, and Eric leaned against the car. Maybe he was telling Kenny that his sins could be forgiven.

  Mary finally believed that was true. Maybe Kenny would, too, someday.

  Mitch glanced their way but didn’t come right over. Instead he stayed by the cruiser, occasionally ducking down to say something to Kenny, but mostly talking with Eric. Suddenly, Eric’s whole face lit up and he hugged Mitch. Mary watched as Mitch stiffened but then managed a brief hug back.

  What had just happened? Mitch suddenly walked a little taller, smiled a little brighter.

  Hmm.

  Finally, Mitch left Eric, briefly stopped by a border patrol officer, said a few words, got a pat on the back and then headed toward Mary’s tent.

  “Here comes Mitch,” Justin announced eagerly.

  Mitch ducked in a
nd put an arm around Justin. “I’ve never seen a kid so brave,” he said. “If you hadn’t kept your head and stayed so still, I wouldn’t have been able to focus on Roberto.”

  Justin beamed, then sobered. “Is Uncle Kenny all right?”

  “He’ll have an interesting scar and a war story he’s not willing to tell, but he’ll be all right.” Mitch hunkered down. “I just spoke with Kenny. He isn’t talking much, not even to Eric, but he wanted me to tell you something. He says he never would have hurt you or your mother.”

  Justin nodded slowly and Mary wondered how much her son was willing to believe.

  “He say anything else?” Mary asked.

  “No, but the police are already putting things together.”

  “Like?”

  “Like the phone he gave Justin because it was a chaperone phone. Parents use them to keep track of their kids. This phone allowed Kenny to track your movements. Unfortunately, it has a boomerang effect and now it will allow the government to know where Kenny has been.”

  “I didn’t even know they had phones like that.” Mary was shocked. “Why did he want to know where we were?”

  “Mary, in spite of it all, he loves you and Justin. I think he honestly thought he was helping make sure you were safe.”

  “You’re sure starting to sound all forgiving,” Mary accused.

  “And so should you,” Mitch said gently.

  “I called him a lot, Mom. Told him where we were and what we were doing and that we had enough money still.”

  “How were we doing?” she asked slowly.

  “Okay, but you were sad a lot, especially when your fingers hurt, and then in Florida when that family next door started asking us to dinner and church.”

  Mary remembered. They were living in a junky apartment. It had no heat and she felt so lonely. They had the greatest neighbors or at least neighbors with the potential to be great. The mother of the brood next door invited them to cookouts, church, camping trips. Mary said no each and every time, afraid to let anyone close, but missing the potential friendship so much.

  That had been four months ago. Justin had told Kenny how sad Mary was, and Eddie was killed right after.

  Oh, dear.

  “So that chaperone system will tell where Kenny was also?” Mary repeated, still dazed.

  “Yes, and Kenny must have realized that one or more of those calls would place him in locations he’d rather not have a connection to.”

  “Justin, why didn’t you tell me about the cell phone Kenny gave you?”

  Looking sheepish, Justin stared out the opening of the tent. “Uncle Kenny said you wanted no ties. He said this was a guy thing just between us and that it was to help you.”

  Mitch patted Justin on the shoulder. “You wanted to help your mother. That’s admirable.”

  Mary nodded, opened her arms and, just like that, the kid who no longer hugged her ran to her.

  “What were you and Eric talking about that made you so happy?”

  “God. Faith. Forgiveness.”

  Mary swallowed. Dare she hope? She’d been thinking about God ever since Alma started bringing Him into her home, ever since Justin started asking questions. Dare she hope that Mitch might understand? Might want to find some of the same answers?

  It was definitely something to pray about.

  “Do you have any other news?” Mary asked as she stroked Justin’s hair.

  “The doctor’s lead panned out, and both Angelina and Alma have their sons back. Plus, there’s definitely hope that we can now track down the other missing children. And most of the illegal immigrants who were being held here have been rounded up. Guess who was among them? Alma’s mother and brother were kept here by Roberto the whole time! I’m thinking by the time we piece together their stories we’ll have leads for the missing Williams baby and a few more.”

  “Oh, what an answer to a prayer that they are found! Alma’s going to be thrilled.”

  Mitch blinked and Mary said sadly, “You know, I did not pray for Alma’s mother and brother. But I did pray that her son would be found.”

  “How like Our Heavenly Father to answer our prayers and so much more,” said Eric from the tent’s opening. “Let’s pray now that Alma and her family get some peace. Justin, Kenny wants to talk to you. I’ve gotten permission.”

  “No,” Mary said, standing.

  “They both need it,” Mitch muttered in her ear. When had he gotten so near, right beside her, close enough to reach for her hand and clasp it?

  “Please, Mom?”

  She glared at Eric. “You sure this is a good idea?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Then, Mary was left alone with Mitch.

  “So you prayed about those babies?”

  “Probably too late.”

  “You prayed today, right before you fell across those steps and pushed Justin out of the way.”

  “I did,” she agreed.

  “Good thing, because I hesitated. I’m still dealing with the last time I shot a gun and killed a man. For a minute, I wasn’t sure I could do it.”

  She squeezed his hand. This big, powerful man was telling her he thought he was weak. Not a chance.

  But he wasn’t done. “You prayed over me back in your cabin when Raoul hit me over the head.”

  “I did,” she agreed.

  “I guess you’re starting to believe prayer works.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Think it will work for me?”

  Instead of answering, she let go of his hand and fell into his arms. He pulled her even closer. She felt the hard ridges of his back, the toughness of his shoulders and the lumpy bandage on his head. Then, she heard his heartfelt words, “God, I don’t really know how to do this, but I guess I saw you answer some prayers today, so I want to believe. I do. Thank you for keeping this precious woman safe. Amen.”

  “Guess you’re not getting rid of me,” Mitch murmured in her ear after he finished.

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “You know, I’m out of work. I gave notice and told my boss this would be my last case.”

  Mary pulled away from him, scrutinizing his face and smiling. “I promised myself that if I ever fell for a man again, he’d be something nice and boring. Any chance you’re thinking about becoming a barber?”

  Mitch threw back his head and laughed, yanked Mary to him and gave her a liplock like she hadn’t had in years.

  “Do I kiss like a barber?” he asked.

  “Hmm, I’m not sure. Maybe you need to kiss me again.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-1440-2

  BROKEN LULLABY

  Copyright © 2008 by Pamela Tracy Osback

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Steeple Hill Books.

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