Vengeance Is Mine

by William W. Johnstone

  “That’s because we didn’t commit any crime,” Stark said. “Those men were heavily armed, they were on my land, and they shot up my house. Not even you and Wilfredo can make this look like anything other than an open-and-shut case of self-defense.”

  Hammond’s face flushed, and his jaw was tight as he replied, “Like I said, I’m still conductin’ my investigation. In the meantime, I’ve got a deputy stationed right outside your door.”

  “To make sure I don’t escape?” Stark held up his bandaged left arm, which had an IV line attached to it. Several monitors were hooked up to sensors stuck to his body in various places. His right shoulder was heavily bandaged and immobilized. “I don’t think I’m goin’ anywhere in a hurry.”

  “The deputy is there to stand guard and make sure nobody bothers you,” Hammond explained. “Don’t waste your breath saying thanks.”

  “I won’t.”

  Hammond started to turn angrily toward the door, but he stopped and said, “Look, Stark, I know you don’t like me and don’t think much of me. To tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn what your opinion of me is. But no matter what you think, I’m tryin’ to do my job the best way I can.”

  Stark just looked at him for a long moment and then said, “If you really believed that, Sheriff, I could almost feel sorry for you. But I don’t think you do. I think you know better.”

  Hammond just glared at him for a second and then walked out.

  After a moment, Elaine said, “Far be it from me to say anything good about the sheriff, but I’m glad he put a deputy on the door.”

  “Why?”

  She stood up and went over to the window. The blinds were closed and the curtains had been pulled all day. Now she opened them and stepped back so that Stark could look outside.

  “So that somebody will keep the locusts out,” she said.

  Stark stared in disbelief. The room was on the ground floor of the hospital, so he had a good view of the street outside. It was clogged with vans that had TV station call letters and logos plastered on them. Several of the vehicles had tall antennas raised so that they could beam satellite transmissions directly back to their home bases. The lawn in front of the hospital was packed with people. At least three field reporters were doing stand-ups, talking solemnly into hand-held microphones while cameramen with video cams on their shoulders trained the equipment on them.

  “Good Lord,” Stark said. “They’re gonna run out of hair spray and mousse at Wal-Mart.”

  Elaine broke up laughing as she closed the blinds again. “Tell me about it,” she said. “You’re news, John Howard, big news. The story is all over Texas by now.”

  Stark winced. “I never wanted that.”

  “No, but it’s the twenty-first century, so you’ve got it. Nothing like a little information overload.”

  “They can yammer all they want to, as long as they leave me alone.”

  “In other words you’re glad I’ve turned down the dozens of interview requests so far.”

  Stark couldn’t fathom why that many journalists would want to talk to him. He said, “Keep turnin’ ’em down.”

  “I intend to.”

  For the next twenty-four hours, Stark drifted in and out of sleep. The IV pumped fluids and antibiotics into him, and his own natural strength, the iron constitution that a lifetime of hard work had given him, began to assert itself. By the next day he felt better. By the day after that he was starting to get restless. All this lying around in bed got on his nerves. He wanted to be up and doing something.

  Elaine had kept her promise to stay by his side, sometimes carrying it to unreasonable levels. But even she had to leave to eat and sleep and make sure the ranch was functioning. She never went back and forth from town to the Diamond S alone, though. Stark had talked to Devery and arranged things so that Elaine would always have an armed escort. If she chafed under that restriction, she gave no sign of it. She wanted Stark’s mind to be as easy as possible while he was recuperating.

  She was gone during the afternoon of the third day while Stark sat up in bed and read the newspapers that had been brought in earlier. Although his battle with Ramirez’s men was still front-page news, the aftermath of it was below the fold now. Liberal politicians squawking in Washington and anti-American sentiment and violence overseas had reclaimed their usual top-of-the-page spots.

  Stark read that day’s story about what had happened on the Diamond S and learned that the five dead men had been identified. All of them were Mexican nationals, in the U.S. illegally, and they all had criminal records on the other side of the border. That came as no surprise to Stark. The Mexican government had issued a statement deploring the American vigilantism that had cost the lives of five of the country’s citizens. That stance wasn’t unexpected, either, thought Stark. It went right along with the postmodern, politically correct thinking that said people should never take steps to protect themselves from violence and evil; that was the government’s job, and if the government couldn’t handle it, well, that was just too bad.

  A sidebar to the main story was headlined: SHERIFF WARNS SO-CALLED CITIZENS’ PATROL. The story said that Sheriff Norval Lee Hammond had called a press conference to announce that vigilante activities would not be tolerated in Val Verde County. “If you’re thinking about taking the law into your own hands, you’d better think twice,” Hammond was quoted as saying. Devery Small, the spokesman for what he described as a citizens’ activist group, had replied that there would be no need for such organizations if only the sheriff’s department would do its job the way it was supposed to.

  Stark chuckled as he read that. Devery and Hammond both liked to talk, and he figured they could go back and forth at each other like that all day. He grew more solemn as he read that there were already unofficial reports of shots being exchanged between the citizen patrols along the border and smugglers who were trying to bring drugs across. No one had been killed, at least not as far as anybody knew, but the potential was there.

  Stark lowered the newspaper as the door of the hospital room opened. He expected to see Elaine, but instead a stranger stepped into the room and let the door swing shut softly behind him. Before it closed completely, Stark caught a glimpse of the deputy standing stiffly on guard in the hallway.

  The man who had just come in was tall and slender, a little stoop-shouldered, in his forties. He had brown hair that was thinning and carefully combed over a bald spot. He wore a gray suit and a dark blue tie, and he might as well have had a neon sign on his head announcing that he worked for the government. “Mr. Stark?” he said.

  “I reckon you know who I am,” Stark said. “Who’re you?”

  The stranger reached inside his suit coat and took out a leather folder. “My name is John Kelso,” he said as he opened the folder and held it out toward Stark. The folder contained a badge and an identification card, both of them quite official-looking. “Please take this and have a good look at it. I want you to be certain I am who I say I am.”

  Stark took the folder and studied the card. Kelso’s photograph was on it, as well as the words DRUG ENFORCEMENT ADMINISTRATION. That explained how Kelso had gotten past the deputy. Stark closed the folder and tossed it on the foot of the bed, within easy reach of his visitor.

  “What does the DEA want with me?”

  Kelso picked up the folder and slipped it back inside his jacket. “We want you to stop what you’re doing,” he said bluntly.

  Stark smiled and lifted his left arm so that he could gesture gingerly at the hospital bed. “Stop recovering from being shot, you mean?”

  “You know what I mean, Mr. Stark,” Kelso said. “We want you to put an end to this war you’re fighting against alleged drug smugglers from across the border. You’re putting a strain on relations between the United States and Mexico.”

  “You mean I’m embarrassing the government because all the news stories point out that you haven’t been able to do a damn thing about the flood of drugs coming across the Rio
Grande.”

  Kelso’s face flushed angrily. “You don’t know what the DEA can or can’t do, Mr. Stark. You’re not privy to the inner workings of the organization. But it’s the job of the government to stem the tide of drugs. It’s not up to private citizens like you and your friends.”

  Stark couldn’t help but grin. He said, “There must be some truth to those rumors about Devery and the boys shooting it out with drug runners.”

  “I’m not here to confirm or deny rumors. I believe you were formerly a member of the Marine Corps, Mr. Stark?”

  The sudden shift in the direction of the conversation took Stark by surprise. “That’s right. I was a leatherneck. Served in ’Nam.”

  “Then you understand the concept of serving your country and doing what’s best for America. Unless, in your zeal to cause trouble, you’ve forgotten.”

  Stark breathed heavily, struggling for a few moments to rein in his temper before he trusted himself to speak. “I haven’t forgotten anything, mister. And no chickenshit little bureaucrat is going to come in here and tell me I caused this trouble. It came to me.”

  “Oh?” Kelso said coolly. “What about the altercation in a Mexican nightclub known as the Blue Burro, approximately a week ago? That’s a long way from your ranch, Mr. Stark, and yet you killed three men there.”

  “You don’t know that,” Stark snapped.

  “I may not be able to prove it, but I know it, and so do you. That’s where all this trouble started, and you started it, Mr. Stark.”

  Stubbornly, Stark shook his head. “That’s a damned lie. It started in Tommy Carranza’s barn. He was the first one to die, and I didn’t have anything to do with that. Tommy was my neighbor and one of my best friends.”

  “And now his family is in hiding. Somewhere in the Cheyenne, Wyoming, area, I believe.”

  How the hell did Kelso know that? Then Stark remembered that the man worked for the government. They had a way of finding out whatever they wanted to know, but only when it suited their own purposes.

  “Leave Julie and the kids out of this,” he said. “Let them grieve for Tommy and get on with their lives.”

  “We have no intention of involving Mrs. Carranza and her children in this matter,” Kelso said. “But we’re not going to tolerate a bunch of so-called vigilantes breaking state and federal laws.”

  “Nobody’s breaking any laws except the drug smugglers. Why don’t you crack down on them?”

  Kelso ignored the question. “There could be charges of conspiracy, racketeering, incitement to violence, violations of international treaties . . .”

  “You’d really put men in jail for trying to defend themselves?” Stark stared at the government man in disbelief.

  “We have a legal system to deal with criminals—”

  Stark snorted in disgust. “And it deals with them so well that killers and rapists go free every day of the week on technicalities, while innocent people put more bars on their windows and more locks on their doors. A few rich folks who can afford it live in gated, guarded communities, while everybody else who just wants to live a safe, law-abiding life has to take their chances with all the two-legged animals running loose.”

  “You’re exaggerating, Mr. Stark. It’s not that bad.”

  “It’s gettin’ there,” Stark said heavily. “And you and the rest of the bureaucrats like you aren’t doing a thing to stop it.”

  “Well, we can stop you,” Kelso said, “and we can stop your friends. You’d better pass along that warning to them. You’re rocking the boat—”

  “Lord help us!” Stark exclaimed.

  “You’re rocking the boat,” Kelso went on doggedly, “and we won’t put up with it.” He gave a curt nod. “Good day, Mr. Stark.”

  Stark’s lips drew back from his teeth. “Get the hell outta here, you weasel, before I get up outta this bed and beat you to death with an IV stand.”

  Kelso smiled thinly. “Threatening a government agent isn’t going to help your case. Or have you forgotten that you’re still facing manslaughter charges?”

  “Get out,” Stark said again. He started to swing his legs off the bed.

  Kelso backed quickly toward the door. “Remember what I told you. You’d better use your influence to put a stop to this, or you’ll be in deep trouble, Stark.”

  Stark’s bare feet hit the tile floor. The hospital gown gaped open in the back, but he was too mad to care about his butt hanging out. He grabbed the IV stand with his left hand and stood up.

  Kelso hustled out of the room. Stark was glad to see him go. The sight of the smarmy bastard made him sick. He was dizzy, too, since he hadn’t been on his feet that much in the past few days.

  He sat down slowly on the edge of the bed and took several deep breaths. Gradually, the spinning in his head settled down. He hoped Elaine wouldn’t find out about this. She wouldn’t like it that he had gotten out of bed without her there to make sure he didn’t fall. She probably wouldn’t be too happy about him threatening to wallop a government man with an IV stand, either.

  Kelso had deserved it, though. The very idea of him coming in here and talking like that to a wounded man!

  Still, Stark knew he was going to have to discuss this with Devery and the others. They all had homes and families. They couldn’t afford to have the government after them. But the decision would be up to them; Stark couldn’t make it for them.

  What had happened to the world? he asked himself as he leaned back in the hospital bed. The government was supposed to uphold the law, protect the country’s borders, and keep its citizens safe. Instead, in a mindless quest for “tolerance” and “diversity” that in reality was neither tolerant nor diverse, it was opening the borders, letting lawlessness run unchecked, and the only real protection a citizen had for himself and his family was what he could provide with his own two hands.

  Despite all the good in the country—and Stark was still convinced that the United States was the greatest, most decent nation on the face of the earth—there were still dark alleys where evil lurked, and that evil was protected by incompetent, vainglorious government toadies like Kelso who were more concerned with their own image than anything else. It was a sorry state of affairs, and as long as the elitists on both coasts had an iron grip on the media and controlled as much of the political climate as they did, nothing was going to change unless it was for the worse. Stark struggled not to give in to the despair that he felt creeping into his soul.

  There was always hope as long as good men fought the good fight, he told himself. They might be outnumbered, but they couldn’t give up. He would tell Devery, W.R., and the others what Kelso had said, but he knew they wouldn’t abandon what they had started. He knew because if he had been in their place, he wouldn’t have quit. He couldn’t quit.

  Not as long as there was breath in his body.

  Twenty-one

  When Elaine came back in, Stark didn’t say anything to her about Kelso’s visit. He could tell she was upset about something, though, and finally she said, “A government man came out to the ranch today, John Howard.”

  Stark sat up in bed. “A tall, skinny bastard named Kelso?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. He said you were going to get in bad trouble if you didn’t stop causing problems with Mexico. He wanted you to persuade Devery and the others to give up their patrols, too.”

  “That son of a bitch!” Stark burst out. “If I’d known he’d been out to the ranch bothering you, I really would have bent that IV stand over his head!”

  “He came here, too?”

  Stark nodded. “Yeah, and gave me the same line of crap. The DEA is embarrassed that we’ve been calling attention to all the drug smuggling going on along the border.”

  “You didn’t promise him anything, did you?”

  “Of course not. I still respect the government, I guess, whether it always deserves it or not, but not some flunky who’s just trying to protect his ass and his budget.”

  Stark was
angry, but he forced himself to calm down. He had already started thinking about getting out of the hospital, and he knew if he got too upset, he might cause himself a relapse and be stuck here that much longer. He told Elaine to ask Devery to come see him tomorrow.

  “We’ll hash it all out,” Stark said. “The boys deserve to know what they’re letting themselves in for. I don’t expect any of them to give up, though.”

  “They won’t,” Elaine agreed. “They’re too stubborn . . . just like another old rancher I know.”

  “If I didn’t have all these wires and lines hooked up to me, I’d show you just how old I am, woman,” Stark said with a mock growl.

  “You get a little stronger, John Howard, and I might just hold you to that.”

  Stark watched the TV news that night before going to sleep and was glad to see that there was nothing about him on it. The media were gradually losing interest in him. The newspaper stories had moved to the inside pages. There was nothing about the citizens’ patrols, either. Evidently, everything was quiet along the border right now. A fella could almost believe that Ramirez had decided it was all too much trouble and moved his operation elsewhere.

  Stark knew better than to think that, however. Vultures were patient birds, able to circle for a long time before they finally swooped down on their prey. Ramirez was just waiting for the right time to strike again, but that time would come. Stark was sure of it.

  The TV news trucks were gone. So were the newspaper and magazine reporters. The mob had moved on at last, Silencio Ryan thought as he surveyed the dark, quiet street in front of the hospital.

  The mob had moved on—and it was time for him to move in.

  He walked along the street, just a guy in a baseball cap. Nobody who saw him would remember much about him. When he was a block past the hospital, he turned into a side street and strolled past an assisted living center. Nearly all the windows were dark at this late hour. Ryan kept an eye on them anyway as he walked by, watching for the telltale flick of a curtain. A lot of old people didn’t sleep well at night, and they didn’t have anything better to do than to look out their windows and remember a time when they were young and vital.