by Glenn Trust
“What are you looking for?” Jacinta asked.
They had driven mostly without speaking. Sandy was tense, feeling the need to put miles between them and Krieg.
“We need to get off the road for the night. There’s a place I know where we will be safe.”
“Should we not drive on as far as we can go?” Jacinta’s face reflected her concern at stopping their escape so soon. She would have preferred to put another thousand miles between them and the devil called Krieg.
Sandy spoke gently, trying to reassure her.
“I would keep going if we could, but we will need money. I know where to get all we need, but there isn’t enough time to get there today. Tomorrow morning we will move on and have all the money we need. Then we will go and keep going. I promise.”
Jacinta nodded and smiled bravely. “I trust you, Reynaldo. If you say we should stop for now, then so be it. It is only that if you hadn’t come for me, I don’t know …” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she lowered her head.
“I won’t let anything happen to you, Jacinta.” Sandy took her hand and lifted it to his lips briefly. “I promise.”
They traveled another mile or so before he slowed. “Here,” he said and turned onto a narrow dirt track that led off to the east.
The trail wound through scrub brush and down into shallow valleys between low, hills. A couple of miles in, he turned onto a second trail, this one even smaller and narrower than the first. The pickup bumped along a rocky stream bed for a mile or so then climbed back out onto level ground. Undergrowth crowded in from the sides so that at times Sandy had to slow to make sure he was still following the path.
“We’re here.” The trail came to an abrupt end.
“Where?” Jacinta looked around, her eyes puzzled.
They were surrounded by thick brush as tall as the pickup. Beyond the brush were trees she could not identify.
“Right there. That’s our home for the night.”
She leaned forward. “Where? That tree?”
Sandy laughed. “Come with me.”
He got out and helped Jacinta down from the passenger side. Holding her hand, he led her toward a dark mass that did, in fact, appear to be a tree in the dusky gloom. As they got closer, Jacinta saw that it was a small hut.
“Oh,” she said, smiling with surprise. “A house. Qué sorpresa!” What a surprise!
She laughed with delight, and the music came, filling him as it had the first time they met.
“Not exactly a house,” he said. “But for tonight it will keep us safe.”
He pulled at the wood plank door. The hinges were rusty, and the door sagged, dragging on the ground. He pulled harder and led the way inside.
“What is this place? Is this your home?”
“No.” Now Sandy laughed. “Not home, but a place I have visited many times with a friend. Don’t worry. We’re safe here.”
The hut was Sherm Westerfield’s backcountry cabin. Over the years, he had taken Sandy there on annual hunts for whitetail deer.
Hunting was really just an excuse to get away. Mostly they talked, sat around a campfire that Sherm would build in the clearing near the door, and ate steaks that Sherm packed in. When Sandy was sixteen, he had his first beer there, after Sherm made him swear that he would not tell Isabella who he was sure would brain them both him with a frying pan if she found out.
Sandy laughed and took the beer. It was a strange taste, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. Sherm said that was a good thing and not to become too fond of beer, although he sat back and enjoyed several more while Sandy sipped the one in his hand.
Sandy found the kerosene lantern Sherm kept on a shelf by the door. He shook it and was thankful there was still fuel inside. He lit the wick and then looked around for the bedding they left sealed up in plastic bags in case the place ever leaked while they were away.
It only took a minute to spread the blankets and make a serviceable pallet on the floor. He found an old hemp gunny sack that once held potatoes and stuffed it with crumpled newspaper Sherm kept around as fire starter. This he placed on one side of their sleeping pallet as a pillow for Jacinta.
When he was done, he surveyed his work and turned to her. “It’s not much. I wish it was better.”
“The walls and roof are good.” She smiled and thumped her hand on the wall, and a cloud of dust puffed into the air around them. They laughed. “This will be a good place for us. The bed is wonderful, and I am sure you will keep me warm if the night is too cool.”
Sandy blushed and nervously changed the subject, reminding her, “It’s only for the night. Tomorrow, with the money I’ll get, we can drive far away. Then you can have a nice motel room.”
“Motel?”
“Motel … like a hotel except …” He shrugged and realized that motel or hotel would be all the same to her. “We’ll get a nice hotel room far away from here.”
He helped ease her sore body down on the blankets and then took a galvanized pail hanging from a nail in the wall. In the back of the room, Sherm kept gallon milk jugs full of water that he purified with a drop of chlorine bleach and then resealed. He always said they were for emergency use in case they ever got stranded there by a flash flood in the stream. Sandy figured that Sherm would agree that this qualified as an emergency.
He opened one and sniffed. The faint odor of chlorine was no worse than some city tap water he’d tasted before, and he figured it was safe.
Pouring two jugs into the pail, he brought it to Jacinta. “You probably want to wash up. You can use this. We have more water for the night.”
“Thank you.”
She spent some time cleaning her hands and face in the pail while Sandy went outside. She heard him moving things around. When he came back, she had finished washing. He smiled down at her, and then an embarrassed look came over his face.
“I … uh … it’s probably been a while since you … well, since you …”
“I have not relieved myself in a long while,” she said to make things easier for him. “How do I do that here?”
“I’ll show you.” He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet. “When it’s just Sherm and me, there’s no problem. We go out into the brush with a roll of paper and take care of business.”
He took a roll of toilet paper from a shelf by the door and led her outside and around the side of the cabin. “I rigged this for you.”
He pointed to two old milk crates with two planks separated by a gap across the top to form a seat. “You just sit there, and … well, do what you have to do. See here, I dug a hole under the planks. When we leave, I’ll fill it in.” He was proud of his handiwork. “Everything goes back to nature.”
Jacinta grinned. “I have never had anyone build a toilet for me, and such a very fine one too.”
She laughed again, and Sandy was becoming addicted to the music it made.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to use it now,” Jacinta hinted with a twinkle in her eye.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” He placed the paper on the plank and went around the side of the cabin to wait by the front door.
After a few minutes, Jacinta hobbled around the corner. “Thank you, Reynaldo. You are very thoughtful.”
As the night came on, Sandy retrieved all the food he had in the truck, which consisted of two bags of potato chips and half a package of snack cakes. He laid the provisions on the blankets in front of Jacinta.
“Sorry. Things happened so fast I didn’t have time to get any real food.”
“This will be fine.” She smiled. “We have warm blankets, a roof, water, and dinner. What more could we want?”
He sat beside her on the blankets and they munched the potato chips and drank chlorine purified water like they were sipping fine wine. The snack cakes served as dessert.
Sandy turned the lantern flame down until it sputtered out and pitch blackness descended around them. Jacinta came close to him, resting her head against his chest. He put his arm around h
er, and held her, careful not to move suddenly and cause her pain.
They whispered in the dark, speaking of where they might go, what places they could see together. It was the dream talk of young lovers, the kind of innocent talk that made everything seem possible. After a while, they slept and the dreams became real for a time.
58.
Foolish
As the day wore on, Sole left Monterrey and headed south on the back roads, winding towards Juan Galdo’s village near the tomato farm. Late in the afternoon, he entered the narrow lane lined by small shacks and adobe structures. He slowed, eyeing each yard as he passed.
As Juan had promised, a blue blanket hung on a rope in the yard of a shack on the south end of the village’s single lane. Juan ran out of the hut, grinning and waving as Sole halted his pickup.
“Señor! I knew you would come. I said this very thing to my cousin.” Juan pulled the door open and climbed into the passenger seat. “He seems excited to meet you.” Juan leaned toward him and grinned. “And to do business with you. You have the money … the five hundred U.S. dollars?”
“I have the money. You get it after I meet with him. Where do we go?” Sole asked.
“There is a cantina in Monterrey … a place he goes to a lot. He will be there. Don’t worry, though. It is a public place. Many come to drink and eat there. Nothing bad can happen there in front of so many people.” Juan nodded, tapping the side of his head with a finger. “My cousin is very smart. He said you would not want to be in a private place since you don’t know if there should be trust between you. He was right, no?”
“He was right.” Sole nodded.
Juan chattered nonstop on the way back to Monterrey. Here and there he pointed out some landmark or a village where he knew a girl or a place where you could buy cheap tequila or the best marijuana.
The sun was setting as they came into Monterrey. Juan directed him through the winding streets. Sole made a mental note of every turn.
“It is just here.” Juan pointed ahead. “At the end of the block. You see that building with the little red lighted sign in the window that says Victoria. That means they sell Victoria beer there.” He nodded enthusiastically. “It is the best beer in Mexico. I hear that you norteamericanos drink Corona.” He wrinkled his nose in a scowl and shook his head. “Not good … piss water. Take it from your friend Juan Galdo. Victoria is the best beer in Mexico.”
“I take your word.” Sole let the pickup roll slowly toward the end of the street. “Where do I park?”
“Just there. Right in front. My cousin has a man there already to keep the space open. You park, and he will watch your truck for you.” Juan smiled. “My cousin is an important man, you see.”
“I see.”
Sole stopped in front of the cantina that had no other marking except the neon Victoria beer sign in the window. A heavyset man wearing a floral shirt and who looked like he had just stepped off a plane from Maui pointed to the curb, indicating that he should stop there.
Juan pushed the door open and grinned at the heavyset man.
“Gustavo! Qué pasa!”
Gustavo ignored him and kept his eyes riveted on the gringo. As Sole stepped out of the pickup, Gustavo put his hand out. “Keys.”
Sole shook his head. “Nope. They stay with me.”
A moment of confusion fluttered across Gustavo’s beefy face. “Keys or you don’t go in.”
Sole shrugged. “Okay, I don’t go in.” He started to get back into the truck.
“Espera un minuto por favor!” Wait a minute, please! Juan was desperate.
In an instant, he saw his five hundred dollars floating away. He looked at Gustavo, desperately reasoning.
“Gustavo, please. It is only natural. My friend comes here because I bring him, but he does not know yet that he can trust you, as I do.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “He has much money and wants to do business. Do you want to be the one to turn him away? Are you going to tell my cousin that you turned him away without letting them meet and hear what he has to say?”
Gustavo was unmoved by Juan’s pleas, but after several seconds of staring into Sole’s expressionless face, he said, “Okay. You go in, but I go with you.”
“Suit yourself.” Sole shrugged and followed Juan toward the cantina door with Gustavo hovering behind.
“Wait,” Gustavo said as Juan was pulling the door open.
“Now what?”
“Do you have a gun?”
“Yes, and it stays with me too.” Sole smiled. “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.” Gustavo nodded seriously. “More guns than you, I think.”
“So looks like you got the upper hand. We going in or not?”
“We go in.”
Inside, Juan pushed through the crowded, smoke-filled space toward a table at the rear. Heads turned to eye the gringo walking into a place so far off the usual streets where the tourists frolicked in relative safety.
“Bernardo, my cousin!” Juan stopped in front of a table where a thin man with a scruffy mustache sat with his back to the wall, reading a newspaper.
Bernardo looked up. “Cousin, Juan. I assume this is the norteamericano you spoke of.”
“Yes, yes.” Juan’s head bobbed up and down. “This is him … from the United States.”
“What is his name?”
“His name?” A sheepish grin spread across Juan’s face. “I never asked.”
“Bill Myers,” Sole said.
“Bill Myers, from the United States.” Bernardo nodded at a chair across from him. “Have a seat.”
Sole sat, aware that Gustavo continued to hover over him. The room was crowded with locals, but a few left, apparently unsure of what was happening, and not wanting any part of the trouble that might ensue.
Bernardo lifted a hand and called out to a heavyset man behind the bar. “A beer for my friend here … Victoria.”
The bartender nodded and turned to the back room.
“Where are you going?” Bernardo was annoyed.
“You drink all my good beer. I have to go open another case,” the bartender called over his shoulder.
Bernardo turned to Sole. “So, you want to do business with me.”
“If we can work things out.” Sole nodded at Juan, who beamed proudly that he had brought these two businessmen together. “Your cousin tells me you are connected to the cartel … Los Salvajes.”
“My cousin says too much sometimes.” Bernardo’s eyes narrowed, shooting an annoyed look at Juan.
The beaming smile faded from Juan’s face. “I was only trying to be helpful, Bernardo.”
“Shut up.” Bernardo scowled. “You always were the dumb one in the family.”
Sole could almost feel Gustavo’s Fat belly rubbing on the back of his neck. It was time to get down to business or get out of town.
“Are we going to do business or not?” he asked and placed his hands on the table as if he would push himself up and leave.
“That depends,” Gustavo said, smiling. “Do you have any experience in selling cocaine in the United States?”
“Some.” Sole nodded. “But I can learn more … from you.”
“It is interesting that you say that. I would have thought there was much we could learn from you” Bernardo tossed the newspaper he had been reading on the table and opened it up. Inside was a crinkled photograph from a different newspaper, taken the day that John Sole buried his wife and children. “This is you, is it not? A police detective from Atlanta in the United States?”
It might have been that Bernardo had counted on shock to immobilize John Sole. It could have been that seated at his favorite table in his favorite cantina surrounded by people who knew and feared him, he was overconfident. It could have been that he expected the hulking presence of Gustavo to cowl the American.
Those assumptions were wrong, and the moment of hesitation they created provided the opportunity for Sole to act first. He rocked his chair to the left and toppled to t
he floor, coming up with the Colt in his hand.
People scattered. Sole ignored them and Gustavo who was fumbling with the shirt under his protruding belly to retrieve his pistol. Bernardo was the most significant threat, and as the drug dealer lifted a large revolver from his lap and turned, Sole pulled the trigger twice. Both bullets struck Bernardo in the chest, and he slumped in his chair.
“No!” Juan screamed. “What have you done?”
Sole swiveled toward Gustavo the second threat. The big man was just freeing his weapon from under the tight waist of his jeans.
“Don’t do it.” Sole shook his head.
Gustavo hesitated and then relaxed his hand.
“Hold it by the barrel and put it on the table.”
With two stubby fingers, Gustavo held the Glock’s barrel and gently placed it on the table in front of Bernardo’s blood-spattered body, then stepped back. Everyone else in the cantina was either on the floor, behind the bar, or had fled through the door when the shots thundered through the room.
Sole lifted the Glock, pressed the magazine release button, and pulled the slide to eject the round in the chamber. Then he picked up the revolver from the floor where Bernardo had dropped it, opened the cylinder, and emptied the rounds, letting them scatter on the floor. He motioned with the Colt.
“Sit down.”
Gustavo sat in the chair beside Bernardo, his eyes focused on the pistol in Sole’s hand.
“Don’t move until I’m gone.” Sole nodded. “I will kill you. You believe that?”
Gustavo nodded.
“Good.”
Sole backed away at an angle that allowed him to scan for threats behind him. Everyone who remained in the cantina was on the floor or hiding behind the bar. This wasn’t their fight.
Outside, he climbed into the pickup and gunned the engine, backing down the block to the main cross street. Juan ran from the cantina, waving his arms and shouting words that Sole could not make out over the engine noise. Then he made the turn onto the cross street and worked his way out to one of the main arteries leading to the north and away from Monterrey.
Frustrated, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel one time and then forced himself to relax and think things through.
