Vengeance Is Mine

by William W. Johnstone

  Finally Elaine took a couple of deep, quavery breaths and seemed to calm down a little. She lifted her head and looked up at Stark. “Are you all right, John Howard?” she asked.

  “As all right as I can be, under the circumstances,” he answered. “What about Julie?”

  “She’s asleep. Doug Huddleston gave her something to help her.”

  Huddleston was a doctor in Del Rio, a friend of the Starks who had a place up near Lake Amistad. John Howard was glad Doug had been there to give Julie a sedative. Sleep was the best thing for her, although, when you got right down to it, that wasn’t going to change a thing. She would still be a widow when she woke up.

  “I put her in David’s room,” Elaine went on. “The children are in Pete’s room and the guest room.”

  Stark nodded. “That’s good. Do they know?”

  “Not yet. I’m sure they’re aware that something is going on, something bad, but they haven’t been told about . . . about Tommy.”

  “If Julie’s not up to it tomorrow, we’ll have to do it.”

  “I know,” she whispered. “In its own way, that’s going to be even worse.”

  Stark nodded. He had lost his own dad, of course, but only after Ethan had lived a long, full life. Stark’s mother had followed soon after her husband, as so often happened. It had been a hard, painful time, but at least there was some sense of life unfolding in its proper fashion, at its proper pace. A relatively young man’s being ripped away from his family the way Tommy had been was made even more tragic by the very unnaturalness of it.

  “How could anybody do such a thing?” Elaine asked.

  “Something has to be missing inside them,” Stark said. “I don’t know what it is. The thing that makes them human just isn’t there.”

  Elaine gave a ragged sigh and leaned against him. “You mind holding me some more, John Howard?” she whispered.

  “Just try to get me to let go,” Stark said as his arms tightened around her.

  Seven

  Norval Lee’s mouth was drier than west Texas during a drought. That was a common reaction for him on the rare occasions when he paid a visit to this fancy, well-guarded compound outside Cuidad Acuna. Today was even worse because he had come down here on his own, instead of being summoned as he had been all the other times. As he sat nervously on the front edge of a thickly upholstered chair in a rustic den with a woven rug on the floor and guns and animal heads hanging on the walls, he thought about bolting. Just getting up and leaving. He knew he couldn’t do that, though, because the elderly majordomo who had let him into the house had already gone to summon Senor Ramirez.

  This morning Norval Lee was dressed in a western-cut suit, shiny boots, a white shirt, and a string tie. A white Stetson was balanced on his knee. He had unclipped his .38 from his belt and left it in the Blazer, knowing that he would not be allowed anywhere near Ramirez as long as he was armed. A bodyguard stood at one side of the room, near the fireplace that was cold at this time of year. The man had patted down Norval Lee to make sure he wasn’t carrying any concealed weapons.

  Ramirez strolled into the room wearing a short robe. His thick dark hair was wet. He smiled as he said, “Buenos dias, Sheriff Hammond. Welcome to my home. I hope it is all right I finished my morning swim before seeing you.”

  Norval Lee was on his feet without any real memory of standing up. He felt bad for reacting with such deference to Ramirez. The man was unimpressive physically, slender and a little under medium height. Yet people just automatically snapped to attention around him, as if he were the commander of an army.

  Which, of course, he was in a way. An army of drug smugglers and killers. Like the man Ryan who drifted into the room after Ramirez, moving smoothly and soundlessly, more like a ghost than a human being. Norval Lee had heard rumors about Ryan, and as he looked at the man’s weathered, craggy face and cold eyes, he could believe every one of them.

  “It’s perfectly all right, Senor Ramirez,” Norval Lee said. “I appreciate you seeing me without any notice like this.”

  Ramirez waved his visitor back into the chair. “Please, sit down. I rather expected that you would come here today, Sheriff.”

  Norval Lee hesitated as he sat, stopping halfway down. He forced himself to relax and sank the rest of the way into the chair. “You . . . expected me?” he said. He didn’t like the sound of that, didn’t like it at all. Even though logically he had known better, a part of him had desperately hoped that Ramirez really didn’t have anything to do with the awful thing that had happened to Tommy Carranza. Ramirez’s comment pretty much blew that hope out of the water.

  Ramirez sat down in another chair and crossed his legs. “I’m told there was trouble on your side of the river last night,” he said. “A man was killed?”

  “That’s right. A rancher named Tomas Carranza.”

  Ramirez nodded. “Yes, of course. I know of Senor Carranza. A very proud, stubborn man. It would seem that his pride and stubbornness caused a very evil fate to befall him.”

  Norval Lee felt himself sweating. He wanted to wipe the drops from his forehead, but he didn’t want to call attention to how nervous he was. Not that it really mattered. Ramirez never missed anything. He would already be well aware of how his visitor felt.

  Norval Lee hesitated, unsure of how to go on. He couldn’t just come out and ask, Did you have Carranza killed? Did you tell your men to slaughter him like an animal? He had to take his time about this, had to be discreet and cautious.

  “I, ah, I was wondering, Senor Ramirez, since you’re always so well informed about what goes on in the area, on both sides of the border, if you might have . . . well, if you knew anything about . . . could tell me anything about what happened.”

  Fool! he yelled at himself. Stammering fool! Buck up, man. Grow a damned spine.

  But it was too late for that.

  The majordomo came into the room carrying a heavy silver tray on which sat two cups. Norval Lee smelled coffee, strong and sweetened with chocolate. The servant gave one cup to Ramirez and brought the other over to Norval Lee. Ryan and the bodyguard declined.

  “Please,” Ramirez said. “Let us sit and enjoy our coffee before we talk of less pleasant things.”

  The last thing Norval Lee wanted to do was drag out this visit, but he had no choice. He sipped the coffee, but even though it was excellent he barely noticed. It did keep his mouth from being so dry, though.

  After so long a time, Ramirez set his cup aside on a little table and said, “I would imagine there is considerable pressure on you to solve this horrible crime, Sheriff. To establish the identity of the killer and arrest him.”

  “Well . . . yeah. Carranza was well liked.”

  “And naturally the citizens of Val Verde County would like to see justice done.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Unfortunately, this will be impossible.”

  “Why . . .” Norval Lee had to stop and swallow hard before he could go on. “Why is it impossible?”

  “Because no doubt Carranza was killed by a drifter who has already moved on and is long gone from the Del Rio area. A serial murderer who deals out death and then vanishes into the night, never to be seen again.”

  Norval Lee couldn’t help but stare. When he got his voice back he said, “What?”

  Ramirez smiled thinly as he repeated, “A serial killer. America is famous for them, you know.”

  Was he joking? Both of them knew good and well what had happened to Carranza.

  “I am trying to help you, Sheriff,” Ramirez went on. “Go back across the river and tell the newspaper and television reporters that Tomas Carranza was murdered by a serial killer. Say that you have some leads and expect to make an arrest shortly if you like. But of course, you will make no arrests.”

  Suddenly, something welled up inside Norval Lee. Some pride and stubbornness of his own, maybe. To his own surprise he heard himself saying, “I’ll make an arrest if I find the man responsible for this. And I
’m not so sure it was a serial killer. It doesn’t fit any pattern I ever heard of.”

  Ramirez’s outwardly placid expression didn’t change, but his dark eyes flashed and then hardened at this display of defiance, mild though it was. “Be careful, Sheriff,” he said.

  “I’m not the one who needs to be careful. Whoever killed Carranza—” He still maintained that facade of ignorance, no matter how angry he was. “He’s the one who needs to be careful. Whoever did it really crossed the line this time.” More words rushed out, while he had the momentum from that surge of unexpected courage. “People on the other side of the river are talking too much. There’s gonna be another election over there before too much longer, and I want to win. You need for me to win it, Senor Ramirez.”

  “I saw to it that you won the last one, did I not, Sheriff?” Ramirez asked tautly.

  “I appreciate your support,” Norval Lee said. “Our arrangement, it’s good for both of us, good for everybody concerned. If you want it to continue, I can’t have a bunch of wild-ass stuff going on in my jurisdiction. Ranchers being slaughtered, I just can’t have it, senor.”

  He glanced nervously at Ryan. The man wasn’t watching him. Ryan’s eyes were on Ramirez, Norval Lee realized. Ryan was just waiting for a command, waiting to be told to kill this impudent visitor.

  Norval Lee had a couple of inches and at least thirty pounds on Ryan. He had a bad feeling, though, that it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. All Ramirez had to do was snap his fingers. Hell, even lifting one finger might be enough to set Ryan on him. After a long moment, Ramirez said quietly, “I see that I must speak plainly, Sheriff. You take my money, so you must do as I say, not the other way around. You give no orders here. Go back across the river and tell the press that Tomas Carranza was murdered by a serial killer. Put on as much of a show as you need to put on, and then let the matter drop. If you do not . . . life will become unpleasant.”

  It couldn’t get plainer than that, no, sir, Norval Lee thought as he struggled with the fear and anger coursing through him. Fear won out. Ramirez was right, of course. Ramirez was always right. Norval Lee swallowed hard again and said, “A serial killer.”

  Ramirez nodded.

  “Yeah. I think it . . . it was a serial killer. Had to be, to do something that crazy.” Then he realized how that might sound and added hurriedly, “I mean—”

  “I know what you mean, Sheriff.” Ramirez uncoiled from the chair, smiling again now. “Please, finish your coffee, and then Hector will escort you out. You will excuse me if I return to the pool. This is a dry country. I find myself drawn to water.”

  “Sure. And thank you, senor.”

  “No thanks are necessary. Just remember everything we have spoken of here today.” Ramirez started to turn away, but then he stopped and added, “And please convey my best wishes to your lovely wife and your children.”

  Norval Lee went cold inside. He didn’t want Ramirez mentioning Willa Sue and the kids. He wished Ramirez didn’t even know they existed. That was impossible, of course, as Ramirez knew everything about the people who worked for him. From this he got his power.

  Norval Lee managed to smile weakly and nod. Ramirez left, trailed by Ryan, who didn’t even look at Norval Lee as he went out of the room. The old servant came up beside him and said, “You wish to finish your coffee, senor?”

  “No. No, thanks. I . . . I’ve got to get back.”

  “Very well. This way, please.”

  Norval Lee followed the majordomo out into the sunshine. It was bright, so bright it almost blinded him at first, and it already packed a potent, energy-sapping heat despite the early hour.

  The heat didn’t reach inside Norval Lee Hammond. His guts stayed ice-cold all the way back across the river to Del Rio.

  John Howard Stark had heard the old saying about how sleep knitted up the raveled sleeve of care. Sleep on it, people always said. Things will look better in the morning. When somebody was deep in grief and shock, sleep was what they needed more than anything else, according to some folks.

  And maybe there was some truth to that. The idea that the earth was still turning, that the sun goes down at night but also rises the next morning, well, there was some comfort in that.

  But in its own way, sleep was a trickster, too, because it fooled a fella into thinking that everything was all right. For just a moment, maybe only a few seconds, when the mind emerged from sleep it didn’t quite remember everything that had happened, didn’t quite grasp the depth of the tragedy, the loss that had occurred.

  For just a heartbeat, as Stark woke up, it seemed as if his friend Tommy Carranza were still alive.

  But then, crashing down on him like a blow, came the memory of what he had seen in that blood-soaked barn the night before. He sat up in bed, heaved a heavy sigh, and muttered a heartfelt “Damn!”

  Elaine was already up, of course. She had always been an earlier riser than him, even though the ranch work usually dictated that he be up and about before dawn. Today it was later than that; sunlight already slanted in through the windows of the master bedroom. Stark swung his legs out of bed and stood up, trying to recall just when such a simple thing had started causing him to groan. Must’ve been about the same time he got old, he decided.

  When he came downstairs twenty minutes later, freshly showered and shaved, he felt some better. Though the horrible images of Tommy’s death still lurked in his mind, he had shoved them all the way to the back of his brain. He wouldn’t forget, but he couldn’t let himself become mired in anger and grief. He had to move on. He had things to do.

  The twin smells of coffee and bacon perked him up. He went into the kitchen and found breakfast waiting for him on the table. Elaine was at the stove, cooking more bacon. Stark came up behind her, rested his left hand on her shoulder, and used his right to caress her butt, which was still very nicely rounded in a pair of blue jeans.

  “Good morning, John Howard,” she said as he leaned over and kissed her neck. “If you want a second helping of bacon, you’d better let me get on with cooking it and not distract me.”

  Elaine lifted the bacon from the pan onto a plate with a paper towel on it, to soak up the grease. “Go ahead and eat,” she told Stark. “I imagine you’ve got plenty to do.”

  He nodded. “Newt and the boys can keep things running just fine here on the ranch. I’ll go into Del Rio and talk to Father Sandoval, see about making arrangements for the funeral.” The Starks were Baptists—backslid for the most part, but still Baptists—but of course Tommy had been Catholic. “Then I plan to go see Hodge Purdee.”

  “Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “To see if something can be done about all this drug smuggling. It’s bad enough that that damn poison comes through here and gets spread all over the country. Now it’s been responsible for what happened to Tommy.”

  “A lot of other people have probably died from it, too. It’s just that we never saw them. They weren’t our friends.”

  Stark knew she was right. “I know we probably should have gotten more worked up about it before now. It’s too easy to just let things go until they finally get bad enough to hit close to home. When there’s evil loose in the world, we need to take steps to stop it before it winds up right in our own backyard.”

  “You sound like you’re talking about terrorists now.”

  Stark looked at her and said, “What else would you call somebody like Ramirez? He rules by fear and thinks he’s a law unto himself. He’s just as much a terrorist as any of those assholes David and Pete are dealing with in the Middle East. What Ramirez needs is for a company of marines to go in there and blow his sorry butt off the face of the earth.”

  Elaine moved closer to the table. “Take it easy, John Howard. It’s not going to help anything for you to get all riled up.”

  “Somebody needs to get riled up enough to do something.” He couldn’t shake the memory of that ghostly visitation he’d had the night before, when he was alone in the pickup.
When Tommy Carranza had pleaded for someone to avenge his death.

  “Whose sorry butt are you talking about, Mr. Stark?”

  The childish voice made both Stark and Elaine jump. They looked around to see Tommy and Julie’s daughter, Angelina, standing just inside the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily. She still wore the same clothes she had worn to the party the night before.

  “Nobody, sweetheart,” Stark said quickly in reply to her question.

  “But I heard you say—”

  “Would you like some pancakes, darling?” Elaine asked. “And some bacon?”

  “Yes, please,” Angelina said. She looked around the kitchen. “How come we didn’t go home last night? Where’s my mama and daddy?”

  Stark hadn’t had that second helping of bacon, but he drained the last of his coffee and shoved his chair back anyway. “I’ve got to get going,” he said.

  “John Howard . . . ” Elaine said, a faint note of desperation in her voice.

  He stepped over and kissed her quickly on the forehead. “Honey, I once stood up to a whole howlin’ horde of kill-crazy Vietcong, but there’s some things I just can’t do.”

  And with that, although he felt like shit for doing it, he hurried out of the kitchen and left his wife there with the little girl who wore a quizzical expression on her face.

  A little girl who had to be told that she would never see her precious daddy again, would never hear his laugh or feel the loving touch of his hand.

  I can’t make it right, Tommy, Stark thought as he went outside. But I can see to it that they pay for what they did.

  Somehow, I’ll see to it.

  Eight

  Hodgson “Hodge” Purdee was a barrel-chested man in his forties with a pugnacious jaw and a close-cut brush of iron-gray hair. Even in a suit, he looked like a boxer, which in fact he once had been. Champion of the entire crew of the aircraft carrier on which he had served as a young man. Later he had refined his technique as a Shore Patrolman stationed in San Diego. Knowing how to knock out a man with one punch came in mighty handy when dealing with a bunch of drunken sailors. After leaving the navy he had become an agent of the United States Border Patrol, and his years of service there had seen him rise to become the head of the office located in Del Rio, one of the Patrol’s busiest areas. Stark knew Hodge Purdee to be an honest man.