Abaddon's Locusts

by Don Travis

  I hated to see the daylight hours pass. Come night, my lover would put himself at risk by showing up at the C&W. Nonetheless, they did pass; they always did. I arrived home as Paul stepped out of the bathroom, freshly showered and barbered. It was all I could do to keep from grabbing him and locking him in the basement. We might have all the protection we needed from Gene and his crew this evening, but what if they traced Paul back to the house? If so, then all bets were off. The traffickers could take him at their leisure.

  With all the invincibility of the young, Paul shrugged aside my concern. Even so, he allowed me to rent a car for him to drive this evening. His black Charger was very distinctive. The middle-aged brown Ford I had delivered to the house brought a curl to his lip, but he got in and headed for the nightclub nonetheless. Henry and I trailed him by half a block in my Impala.

  Wednesdays were one of the lighter nights at the C&W. Paul managed to park near the front entrance. I found a spot a row behind and slightly to the west of him. We allowed him to enter the club before us. As soon as Henry pulled open the heavy front door to the C&W, a blast of raucous music assaulted my ears, underlain by the subdued roar of conversation and alcoholic-laden laughter. The club didn’t charge an admission fee except on weekends, so we walked straight into the big joint and paused at the bar to collect a drink.

  Paul was nowhere to be seen. He’d apparently gone straight into the crowd. I panicked until Henry touched my arm and nodded. My love was talking to three college-age girls seated at a table near the big dance floor. Paul loved to dance, and the gals loved to dance with him. Some of them never tired of trying to get him into bed. But that was a privilege he accorded only to me.

  There was no live band tonight, but the sound system struck up a lively tune as the deejay announced a line dance. Before I could suggest Henry join in, he handed me his glass and dashed off to find a partner. I settled at a table on the edge of the dance floor and saw that Paul and Henry danced side by side with two attractive females lined up opposite them. Neither acknowledged the other. Gene took a chair beside me and nodded wordlessly.

  That pretty well described the night until around eleven. Paul walked up to the table where Gene and I sat and shook hands as if meeting acquaintances.

  “Anything?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “Nada,” Gene answered. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of this Juan fellow.” He glanced around casually. “But there’s some possibles. Guy over there looks like him, but he didn’t have dreadlocks in that picture you showed me.”

  He was right. The man he indicated could have been Juan absent the snaky coils of hair. “A wig?” I suggested.

  “Could be. I’d hate to spend my time weaving all those damned things. But I can hardly go over and ask him, can I?”

  “Has he taken any interest in Paul?”

  “Most guys watch Paul when he dances,” Gene said. “You got good moves, man.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Not much of a crowd tonight,” I noted. “At least not compared to the weekend.”

  A pleasant contralto interrupted us. “Cowboy, are you gonna save one dance for me tonight?” A tall woman with a complexion too dark for her long ash-blonde hair moved to Paul’s side and clasped his arm.

  He swept off his black Stetson and held it over his heart. “Why sure, ma’am. Yours is coming up next, as a matter of fact. My name’s Paul, and these other fellas don’t matter.”

  She slapped his arm lightly. “Course they do. I’m Ellen. And you are?” She pointed at Gene.

  “I’m Gene, and my feet hurt, so don’t look to me to do any dancing.”

  She transferred her gaze to me.

  “My name’s Burleigh,” I said, one of the few times this year I’ve revealed my true name.

  “No”—she pouted prettily—“I meant your Christian name.”

  “That is my Christian name. See what a burden I carry? Too heavy to waltz around on the dance floor. I guess you’ll have to rely on this Paul fellow here to carry that stick.”

  The deejay obligingly put on a polka at that moment, drawing the two of them to the dance floor.

  “What do you think?” Gene asked.

  “Damned if I know. I was expecting Juan, but maybe they sent Ellen.”

  Henry joined us from a nearby table where he had been keeping three Native American women giggling between turns on the dance floor.

  “Any sign of that Juan fellow yet?” he asked.

  “No Juan or Jose or whatever his name is, but Paul just met a gal trying to get in his pants,” Gene said, leaning back in his chair and watching the couple sweep around the floor. He sat up abruptly and put a finger to his left ear. “Hold on, I can’t hear you.” He stood and looked at us. “Too much noise in here to hear my bug. Gotta go someplace where it’s quieter. Be back in a minute.”

  Henry watched Gene’s retreating back before transferring his attention to Paul as the couple swept past our table. “Not a bad looker. If Paul doesn’t want her, maybe I’ll give her a try.”

  The music came to a stop with the couple on the far side of the floor. We watched as they spoke briefly. Then Paul took her hand and lifted it to his lips before turning and walking away. Although I was dying to hear what went on, I understood when Paul joined a table of mixed couples. Probably some UNM kids he knew. I caught a flash of movement at my side and turned to find Henry striding across the now vacant dance area toward where he last saw the blonde. Gene rejoined me at that moment.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Somebody bugged Paul’s car. My man in the parking lot watched the maneuver and got a shot of the guy. Not a good pic, but it’s enough to see it wasn’t Juan. He look familiar to you?”

  I glanced at the photo he handed me, but it was indistinct, especially in the low lighting of the nightclub. Unwilling to look at it by the small light on my keychain, I handed it back. “Can’t make it out. Anyone you know?”

  “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s the Dominican arrested with Juan for kidnapping that kid a few years back.”

  “Gaspard?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “My man said he got in a car and drove away.”

  “He get a plate?”

  “No, too far away. But it was a late model Buick LeSabre. Gold, he thought, but it’s hard to tell under these parking lot lights. Do we remove the bug?”

  “Crap. I hadn’t counted on this. If we do that, they’ll know we’re on to them.”

  “We can always drop it in the parking lot. Maybe he’ll think he didn’t fasten it securely.”

  “Maybe. Why don’t we just have Paul leave the car at some motel tonight?”

  Gene nodded. “That’s the thing to do. Let’s wrap this up. Tell Paul to leave the car in the parking lot at the Holiday Inn Express on Hotel Circle. I’ll go on over there now and wait to bring him home.”

  “Okay. Did you notice our guy with dreadlocks has vacated the premises?”

  Gene looked around. “Lots of people have vacated the premises. It’s getting late. Past my bedtime.”

  Henry arrived back at the table. “Did you catch blondie?” I asked.

  “Nope. Looked everywhere. But she disappeared. Went home, probably. Alone.”

  I filled him in on our plan before heading for the men’s room, catching Paul’s eye as I passed the table where he was sitting. After a minute or so, he joined me in the vacant toilet, where I gave him his instructions.

  HENRY AND I sat in the car until Paul pulled out of the C&W’s big parking lot. We allowed him some distance before pulling out after him. No one seemed to be following his rental, but they wouldn’t have to stay close, not with the locator bug they’d planted on his car. We followed him up Eubank until he turned off the main drag, heading for the motel. Resisting the urge to stay on his tail, I drove north to pick up Montgomery Boulevard before turning west toward my North Valley home.

  Then Henry and I sat and stewe
d for another hour before we heard a car pull into our driveway. A moment later, Paul let himself in the back door. I hadn’t realized how concerned I was until I saw his smiling face. My muscles relaxed so totally that I felt lethargic.

  “I thought tonight was a bust until Gene told me my car was bugged,” he said. “Guess I got a good looking-over.” He frowned. “But it must have been from a distance.”

  “How was that blonde?” Henry asked. “I tried to find her after you two split up, but she must have left.”

  “Persistent.” Paul laughed. “She sure wanted me to go home with her. Almost wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He sobered. “The strange thing was, I was kinda attracted to her.”

  Bolting straight up in my chair, I exclaimed, “Son of a bitch!”

  Paul caught on immediately. “Be damned. That was Juan in drag, wasn’t it?”

  Henry flushed. “No way. That was one fine-looking woman.”

  I laughed at his obvious embarrassment. After all, he had been sniffing around after her in a pretty serious way.

  “Paul, you held Juanito in your arms and let him get away.”

  Chapter 5

  “HEY, WAKE up. Need to ask you something.”

  Jazz roused from a dream as Juan shook him roughly. “Lemme alone,” he mumbled, seeking to recapture the reverie. Water Sprinkler and some other Navajo Yé’ii were in it. He grew surly when he realized the details escaped him. Wouldn’t have mattered much even if he could recall. He wasn’t raised on the old legends like most guys his age and didn’t understand a damned thing about that side of his blood. Water Sprinkler was the rain god—that much he knew. So likely that meant his parade was going to get rained on. Big-time.

  “Man, that crack shit’s taking you over,” Juan complained. “All you do’s fuck and bitch. Come on, man. Wake up.”

  Jazz pushed himself against the headboard and tried to focus. The sheet fell away to reveal his naked torso. Seemed like he was always naked nowadays. Juan reached out and stroked his pecs. Jazz had liked and encouraged his touch… once. Now not so much. He shrugged the hand away. “Lemme alone. I finally got to sleep and you wake me up. I need a pipe, okay?”

  “A shower’s what you need. Silver Wings wants to meet you tonight.”

  Jazz’s stomach did a flip-flop. “I don’t like him.”

  “Well, he digs you. Think he’s gonna want you to move in with him.”

  The idea was a crowbar jammed into the gears of Jazz’s mind. His thinking came to a halt. He needed a pipe. That was the only good thing about Silver Wings. Jazz always got good crack before the man arrived. “Smoke,” he mumbled.

  Juan shoved two photos at him. “Later. Right now, I need you to look at these pics.”

  Jazz struggled to focus as he scanned the photos. They were the same handsome man, one with a shirt, the other without. His stomach cramped, and he felt itchy. “Who’s this?”

  “You tell me. He says he knows you. Says you told him about me?”

  “I did?”

  “You know him?”

  Jazz blinked a couple of times and moved one picture back and forth until it became clearer. Struggling to get his mind to work, he rubbed his eyes before taking another look. The guy seemed familiar. But Jazz associated him with someone else. Someone he liked. Admired.

  “Dude lives here in Albuquerque,” he said at length. “Don’t remember his name.”

  “Does the name Paul mean anything to you?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. Paul.” Jazz had no idea if that was correct, but it was easier to agree with Juan.

  “Paul what?”

  “I dunno. Just Paul.”

  “You tell him about me? Send him my photo?”

  “He says I did, I guess I did,” Jazz mumbled, sliding back beneath the thin covers. His eyes were closed as Juan left the room with a warning they’d have to leave for the meeting with Silver Wings in an hour.

  But Jazz was struggling to think. Make connections. Paul. Barton! That was the guy’s last name. And they’d never exchanged emails or pictures. He’d only seen the good-looking dude once. In Farmington. In some motel room. Had they got it on? Could be. He wrinkled his nose. Had he gotten with so many men he couldn’t remember them all? He shook his head emphatically. No, he wasn’t like that. He only went with guys he….

  Jazz came upright in the bed as a shadowy figure flitted just out of reach in his head. BJ! BJ’s Paul was talking to Juan? Was the fucker two-timing BJ? His skin crawled as he shook his head again. No. No, Paul got in touch with Juan because… because BJ was looking for him! But how did he know about Juan?

  Jazz lay back and battled his emotions. Henry musta given BJ his laptop. A flush enveloped his whole body as he imagined BJ reading his mail and looking at the photos. His blood pressure rose, sending beads of sweat down his sides. “Fuckers!” he muttered aloud. Shouldn’t be looking at his private stuff.

  He let out his breath, and the pressure eased. He had ventured out of his comfort zone for the promise of a steady connection. A loving, intelligent, exciting man of his own. Looking for what BJ had with Paul. It was all right at first. Practically everything he’d dreamed of. But it all turned to ashes. Pipe ashes.

  Why had he let Juanito talk him into smoking crack? His new life was good without that crap. But Juanito promised him the pipes would make things even better. And they were—for a bit. Then it changed. He changed. The world changed. Now he pleasured men in exchange for the pipes. Men? Well, Juanito and Silver Wings. But he knew there would be more men one day. Probably when they took that trip to Mexico Juan talked about.

  His frazzled mind called up the image of BJ. BJ was a detective. He’d find him and drag his ass out of this tangled mess. His heart soared until it nearly burst before abruptly slowing, leaving him woozy. Did he want out? Yeah, it would be good to go home. See his mom and uncle Riley. Henry. His father. But if BJ got him out, the man he idolized would see what he’d become. He musta already seen the things he’d written to Juan. And the pictures. The last one was bad. Showed him manipulating himself as he smiled at the camera. His stomach plummeted as something drove him to bury his head beneath the bedcovers. Probably shame.

  Jazz sobbed and willed his heart to stop. To cease. To spare him anything that lay beyond this moment, this room, this bed. But Coyote refused to throw a rock into Black Water Lake to summon death, so his heart ignored his wishes and thudded against his ribs in a stubborn, determined beat.

  Chapter 6

  I HADN’T decided on our next move by the time Henry dragged into the office around eleven the next day from scouting for Jazz’s Jeep. He told of spying a dark-headed guy with a white spot on the crown of his head standing on the sidewalk near Louisiana and East Central.

  Thinking he might have found Juan right out on Central trolling for tricks, he parked his bike around the corner and walked back to sit down at the bus stop near where the guy was drumming up business. Sure enough, the dude came ambling over and sat down beside him.

  Henry’s a damned good-looking fellow, but he can be intimidating too. So nothing happened until he asked about the white mark on the kid’s pate. According to the spiky guy, he and some friends dyed places on the middle of his head on a dare. Now he was stuck with it until it grew out.

  Feeling low to the ground because his hopes were dashed, Henry groused aloud. “It was a total bust. It wasn’t the Juan guy. Way too young, and the skinny kid with the white stain wasn’t interested in nothing but hustling me.”

  “How’d you get away from him?” Paul asked, a tease hiding in his voice.

  “Wasn’t easy. Had to tell him three times I don’t go for that shit. Finally said if he didn’t go away and leave me alone, I’d do something about it.”

  I did some thinking while Paul tried to bring Henry off his low. “Maybe it wasn’t a bust after all. From all I’ve heard and read, some of these traffickers brand their victims. Maybe dyed hair is this gang’s brand. Do you think you can find that kid again?�
�

  “Dunno. All I can do is try. I’ll head out on my bike again.”

  “No, let’s take my car.”

  “He might not go for a twosome. Might scare him off.”

  “If you see him, I’ll let you out, and you can bring him to me.”

  “To us,” Paul said. “I’m going too.”

  Despite my reservation about three men being too intimidating, I nodded, and we took off up Central in my Impala on the lookout for a kid with a white patch in his hair.

  WE ARRIVED at the east end of the Expo New Mexico grounds—which we old-timers still refer to as the state fairgrounds—in time to see the kid get out of a gold LeSabre. It took a long second to snap to the situation.

  “Henry,” I yelled, “Get out and grab that kid. Don’t let him get away, no matter what. Paul, call Charlie and have him come pick up Henry. Take that kid back to the office and hold him there.”

  “What’s going on?” Henry asked.

  “That car he got out of matches the description of the LeSabre belonging to Florio Gaspard, the kid’s pimp. I want to follow him.”

  Without a word Henry bailed, and I did an illegal U-turn at Louisiana Boulevard, heading back down Central in pursuit of the rapidly disappearing Buick. Paul pulled out his cell and reached Charlie.

  We would have lost Gaspard had he not stopped near the University of New Mexico Bookstore to pick up another of his minnows. Even so, the car disappeared by the time I turned left on Yale, as Gaspard had done a minute before.

  “Dammit! He’s pulled off into an alleyway somewhere to collect the money his kid made.”

  “He took the other guy back to where he picked him up. Maybe he’ll do the same this time.”

  We found a parking spot on Central near the bookstore, but after fifteen minutes we concluded he had not repeated his pattern. This was confirmed when we spotted a girl with a white streak in her hair strolling down the other side of Central.