by Glenn Trust
“Who’s that?” Isabella asked.
“Looks like K and Z Trucking are trying to contact me,” he said and put the phone on the console.
“What about?” Isabella’s brow furrowed in concern. “About this … about Sandy?”
“I doubt it,” he said reassuringly. “Krieg doesn’t know I’m out here with you. Probably work-related … one of their all-hands-on-deck calls to get everyone there.”
“You going to answer?”
“Nope. They can leave a message. I’ve got more important business.”
65.
Words Were Cheap
“What the hell is he doing here?” Raul Zabala squinted under the security lights that lit the K and Z lot at night.
A pickup he recognized pulled off the main road and stopped on the far side of the lot. It was after midnight, and their crew had a busy day ahead. They didn’t need any distractions.
Tom Krieg turned to stare in the direction of Claude Brainerd’s personal vehicle and scowled. “He’s here to see me … personal business.”
“What sort of personal business?”
“Not your affair.” Krieg shot a warning look in Zabala’s direction. “Stay out of it.”
“If it affects what we do here, it is my business.” For once, Zabala put aside his easy-going façade and met Krieg’s domineering defiance with his own. “Brainerd here, today, when we have a shit storm about to hit, and it makes me think something is going on I should know about.”
“There’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Bullshit.” Zabala nodded at the line of men standing in front of a row of assorted unmarked pickups, SUVs, and vans. “In case you forgot, we’re going to war today.”
Krieg glared but said nothing. Zabala turned to the men.
“Alright. Everyone listen up.” Zabala eyed the men up and down the line. “We have good information that today’s the day. You know your job. When Diaz shows his hand, you come in and end things. Put them down hard and fast. Any questions?”
Zabala waited, watching the faces before him. There were no questions.
“Good.” He nodded. “This ends today. When it’s done, there’s a five thousand dollar bonus in it for each of you.”
Zabala turned to Krieg who stood staring at him. They had not discussed the bonus money in advance. Tough shit, Zabala thought. Krieg’s preoccupation with his personal affairs had left Zabala to make decisions about the operation, and he made this one, knowing Krieg would be pissed.
“Anything you want to add?” he asked his partner.
Krieg shook his head, working to control his temper in front of the men.
“Everyone accounted for?” Zabala asked the team leaders, Stu Pearce and Sid ‘Shorts’ Culper.
“Everyone except Myers,” Stu responded.
“He get the call?”
“Everyone got the call.” Stu nodded. “He never answered. Left him a voice mail but no response.”
Zabala shot Krieg an annoyed look. No doubt, Myers’ absence was related to whatever personal business was on Krieg’s mind.
“Alright. He just lost his job. If we can’t rely on him today, we can’t rely on him ever. Besides, one less gun won’t matter. You boys have all the firepower you need.” Zabala grinned at the men. “Tequila and beer on me when you get back. Now, get it done.”
They loaded quickly, jostling each other, joking and making cracks about the bonus. That was something they had not expected. The bosses must really want this done right, and done right meant they wanted Diaz and his sons dead. They had every intention of doing things right and earning their bonuses.
The vehicles pulled away, and Zabala turned to his partner. “Let’s hear it.”
Krieg stiffened, unaccustomed to being challenged, even by Zabala. “Mind your tongue, Raul.”
Zabala was not backing down. “I’ll mind my tongue when you put your dick back in your pants and tell me what’s going on.” He smirked. “That’s right. I know about the girl. Heard the rumors that Sandy Palmeras came and took her away. Doyle’s been talking to some of the boys.”
“I said it’s none of your business,” Krieg said through gritted teeth.
“It is absolutely my business. Your whoring around with one of the girls is one thing. You going on a rampage is something else.” Zabala jerked a thumb toward Brainerd who waited by his pickup, intent on the body language between the two men. “What did you have him do? I want to know now. If we have to fix things, I’m the one with the cool head, not you.”
Zabala motioned to Brainerd to wave him over. The deputy shuffled in their direction, unsure about what was happening or whether he wanted any part of it.
When Brainerd stopped a few feet away in a weak attempt to avoid the line of fire, Zabala looked at him. “You’re going to tell me everything.”
Brainerd looked at Krieg and swallowed. “I, uh …” He hesitated to say more.
“Fuck it,” Krieg said suddenly. “Tell him. What’s done is done. Best he knows anyway.”
The deputy reviewed the recent assignments he had received from Krieg. Zabala had approved, along with Krieg, the murder of Lucky Martin, so that information came as no surprise. Brewer was another matter.
“You killed a Border Patrol agent?” Zabala’s face was incredulous. “Are you insane?”
“Don’t say that.” Krieg stiffened. “Don’t ever say that. He was onto us. Found him prowling around down by the river. It seemed pretty clear that he knew we were involved in getting rid of Martin and shooting the Mexican. It was just a matter of time before he proved it. Evidence always turns up. I had to make sure he didn’t find it.”
“You mean couldn’t find it, so you added another body for them to investigate. How does that make things better?” Zabala shook his head. “You are insane.”
“I said, don’t say that.”
Zabala ignored him and turned to Brainerd. “What else?”
The deputy looked at Krieg, confusion and fear on his face. He had never seen Krieg and Zabala at odds like this. He felt like a child walking in on a fistfight between his parents, not knowing which side to take or who would win.
“I’ll tell him,” Krieg said, disgusted. He faced Zabala defiantly. “I had him kill Sherm Westerfield.”
“What?” Zabala reached out and grabbed the front of Krieg’s shirt.
“Get your hands off me!” Krieg’s fist came up and knocked his hands away. “No one touches me like that, not even you.” He thumped Zabala in the chest with a forefinger. “Had to be done. He found out about our operation. Said he was going to the sheriff. If we had waited, it would be too late.”
Raul Zabala stood open-mouthed, shoulders sagging under the building’s security lights. He looked up into the sky and took a deep breath, staring at a distant cloud sailing past the moon, then lowered his head and looked at Krieg.
“You couldn’t just fuck her and send her off like the others, could you? You made it personal. Your ego got us into this mess.” Zabala shook his head in disgust. “I’ll handle the fight with Diaz today. You take care of your personal business … all of it. You know what that means.
“I know.” Krieg scowled. “Don’t worry about my end of things.”
There were three more witnesses, Isabella, the girl Jacinta, and Sandy Palmeras. All were a threat if they talked, and they surely would at some point. He stared into Krieg’s eyes.
“Can you do it?”
“I said I’d take care of business, and I will.” Krieg stared back.
“I’m sure you will.” Zabala shook his head. “You are one cold motherfucker, Tom Krieg.”
He turned and walked across the lot to the office building. Ella wouldn’t be in for hours to make the day’s coffee, but he had a bottle of tequila in his desk drawer and could use a nip now. “One more thing,” Zabala called over his shoulder.
“What’s that?” Krieg stood motionless, fists clenched at his side.
“Start thinking about how yo
u want to divide up the company. Once this business with Diaz is settled, and you clear up your personal affairs, we’re done.”
As Zabala walked through the office door, Krieg stepped closer to Brainerd. “I know where they’ll go. You get there first, find them, bring them to me, and there’s another twenty thousand in it for you.”
Claude Brainerd was no runner, but he moved across the gravel lot to his pickup like a galloping hippo and roared off into the night. Tom Krieg followed, driving away from the business he had built with Raul Zabala. His partner’s words echoed in his ears. “We’re done.”
Words were cheap. It was what you did that counted, and Tom Krieg would do anything to hold on to what was his. Of all people, Zabala should have understood that.
66.
The Streets of Laredo
It was just after five AM when they arrived in Laredo. Sandy drove by the bank to check the opening hours. The sign on the door read nine AM to four PM. He planned to be long gone by closing time.
“¿Dónde estamos?” Jacinta said, yawning—where are we?
She looked around, stretched, and sat up straight. “Is this the bank with the money?”
“It is, but we have time to kill.”
“Killing time … that is a funny expression.” She smiled and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I should be practicing my English.”
“Your English is good, getting better all the time. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, very.”
“Good. We passed an all-night diner on the way into town. I’ll backtrack, and we can grab some greasy bacon and eggs—tocino grasiento y huevos.”
“Perfecto,” she grinned.
Sandy made a u-turn in the bank parking lot and pulled onto Guadalupe Street. The diner was several miles back at the point where Highway 83 comes out of the backcountry and enters the city limits.
Traffic was light this early in the morning. Laredo is a good-sized city of a quarter-million people, but the pace of life is slower than in the Texas megalopolis regions of Dallas and Houston. Most locals were just waking up to sip their morning coffee.
Except for three cars belonging to the night cook, a waitress, and a lone customer, the diner lot was empty. Sandy pulled in and opted for a parking space across the lot from the building so that he could watch the activity inside without being seen.
A customer sat at a table in a corner away from the door, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. The waitress leaned against the counter, chatting with the cook.
“Looks good.” He pushed his door open. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
***
Claude Brainerd let out a long, howling yawn followed by a belch and a fart, both of which came from deep within his expansive gut and bowels. He lifted his ass and tugged at his shorts to straighten things out and make sure he hadn’t shit his pants.
His gut had been rumbling for two days. The work Krieg had him doing was upsetting his system and regularity. At some point, he was going to have to find a place to take a dump. What then?
He’d been staring at the bank from the parking lot of a closed office building across Guadalupe Street since three AM. Focus, he told himself. There is no way you can tell Krieg you missed them because you had to take a shit.
He looked around the interior of his truck for something he might use as a bedpan if it came to that. There was nothing, just some old papers strewn on the passenger side floor. He eyed them only for a moment. There was no way his fat ass was going to squat on some papers in his truck and drop a load.
He shook his head. Focus.
When they pulled into the bank lot, he almost thought he was dreaming, watching through one eye and slumped back in the seat. That lasted a second before he sat bolt upright, leaning over the steering wheel.
“Son of a bitch,” muttered. “They’re here.”
Krieg had told him they would come here, that Sandy had money in a bank in Laredo and would go for it if he had any brains. He had no idea how Krieg had that piece of information, but he didn’t argue with him. The promise of an extra twenty thousand dollars provided all the motivation Brainerd needed.
The ride from the K and Z lot was an easy drive, if monotonous. Highway 83 paralleled the Rio Grande from McAllen to Laredo. Traffic at that time of night had been almost nonexistent. He arrived at the bank three hours later after leaving Krieg.
He was familiar with Sandy Palmeras’ pickup, had even stopped it a couple of times to warn the kid to slow it down. In the early morning dusk, he couldn’t make out the occupants, but there was no mistaking the pickup.
After a few minutes, the truck rolled through the bank lot, turned around and pulled back onto Guadalupe Street, heading back the way they had come. Now what?
He might catch a break. If they went back to Salvia County, he could wait until they were back in his territory and get some help from Krieg before stopping them. The worry was what if they didn’t stop?
How would he stop them here in Laredo? It was one thing for Krieg to give orders and tell him to bring them to him. It was something altogether different to find a way to take two people into custody, on his own and acting without legal authority. As it turned out, they made it easy for him.
***
“Looks good.” Sandy pushed his door open. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.”
He barely had time to recognize Claude Brainerd. The deputy roared up beside them. His window was down. Sandy’s eyes widened for a moment when he saw the taser in Brainerd’s hand pointing at him from just a few feet through the window.
The darts flew into Sandy’s chest. He collapsed in the open door of his pickup.
Jacinta screamed. The Brainerd sent the taser’s backup shot into her stomach. She writhed in pain on the seat.
Unlike the department-issued tasers that had a charge limit of five seconds to prevent abuse, the private version offered a thirty-second charge. Fifty thousand volts for that length of time was more than enough to put down the baddest, meanest son of a bitch. Brainerd used all thirty seconds on both of them until they were nothing more than quivering masses of human ectoplasm.
He moved quickly, checking the diner window. No one was paying attention to the parking lot. After handcuffing both, hand and foot, he grabbed Sandy by the back of his pants and shirt and tossed him into the crew cab of his pickup. A few seconds later, he did the same to Jacinta. She landed on top of Sandy who had just begun to recover enough of his faculties to struggle against the shackles.
After closing the door on Sandy’s truck so it would not attract attention from the diner patrons or a patrolling cop, Brainerd climbed behind the wheel of his own pickup. In the back, Jacinta moaned. Sandy began to stir, kicking his feet against the door.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Brainerd said over his shoulder. “Settle down, or the girl will pay the price. I’ll let her ride the lightning again. How about that? Another taste of fifty thousand volts for her. You want that? You just lay there still until I say you can move.”
“Let us go you son of a bitch.” Sandy could barely speak, his voice strained and breathless, still feeling the effects of the taser.
“You know that’s not gonna happen,” Brainerd said matter-of-factly. “You’ve got an appointment.”
“With who?”
“I always thought you were a smart boy. Who do you think?”
Sandy settled down on the floor with Jacinta lying half on top of him. Shackled hand and foot, he was trapped. Anything he did to escape would be too slow to prevent Brainerd from stopping the truck and kicking his head in, or Jacinta’s.
He wanted to shriek out his anger, but the effort would be pointless. He had to remain calm. Think, analyze, assess, he told himself, and wait for that one small instant when Brainerd was careless. Then be ready to act.
In the front, Claude Brainerd sang a classic old western song off-key.
“As I walked out on the streets of Laredo, as I walked out on Laredo one day. I spied a poor cowboy wrapped in w
hite linen, wrapped in white linen as cold as the clay …”
67.
Possibilities
They arrived in the city limits as Laredo was stirring about and beginning its day. On the outskirts of town, they passed near an all-night diner where a confrontation had taken place not an hour earlier. They never saw the large man in a dark corner of the diner’s lot struggling to load two heavy bundles into the back of his crew cab.
Isabella directed Sole to the bank on Guadalupe Street. They pulled into a parking lot across the street, followed by Reggie Prince. It was almost the exact spot where Claude Brainerd had waited and watched the bank.
Sole, Isabella, and Reggie pushed their doors open, stepped out, and stretched. Then they gathered between the two trucks.
“What now?” Reggie craned his head to look over the top of his truck to the bank lot.
“We wait,” Sole said.
“For how long?”
“That’s a good question.” Sole gave a wry smile. “I don’t have a good answer.” He looked at Isabella. “How about you?”
“The bank opens at nine. Knowing Sandy, he won’t just wait there in plain view. They’re probably somewhere in the area, planning to come back at opening time.”
“Okay.” Sole nodded. “So we wait until the bank opens.”
The next two hours passed in excruciating slow motion. Isabella walked across the lot to a nearby convenience store and brought back cups of black coffee. It tasted terrible, but it was black and hot and helped wash the fatigue from their brains.
As the bank opened and customers began to come and go with no sign of Sandy, they became restless. Forty-five minutes after the opening, they were standing between the trucks again.
“What do we do now?” Reggie asked.
“I could have been wrong,” Isabella said. “Maybe he decided not to come for the money.”
Sole was quiet, thinking through their options. After a minute, he said, “The way I see it, they had two options. If they didn’t chance coming here, Sandy might have figured he could earn money along the way.”
