Stalking Moon

by Неизвестный

  He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small Beretta.

  “Twenty-five caliber, nine rounds. If you have to do something up close, drop the shotgun and use this.”

  “Rey, you're really scaring me. Why don't we call the Border Patrol?”

  “Because they might send Jake Nasso.”

  He started moving down the slope, keeping his body behind mesquite trees and creosote bushes. Twenty yards down, he turned to look at me. I hadn't moved. I was paralyzed. He came back up to me.

  “Laura. That's my daughter down there. It's a hostage situation. I know how to handle these things, but I need you with me. And I need you now! Oh Christ!”

  He raised the binoculars briefly.

  “Those two guys in the barn, they just came outside with plastic gas cans. They're dropping the cans, they're picking up two more. Now, Laura. Now!”

  “I don't think I can do this,” I protested.

  “It'll be over so fast you don't have to think about it.”

  “I am thinking about it.”

  “Don't think. First, last, only rule of dealing with a hostage situation. Don't take time to think. If you have to, just unload everything in that shotgun, take out the Beretta and unload everything in it. I'll be directing your fire, thinking for you.”

  “I can't kill somebody.”

  “Don't think about it. I'm going down there. Now. Be ready for me.”

  “Hello the barn!” Rey shouted.

  A man stepped outside, recoiled when he saw Rey standing fifty feet away, and ran back into the barn.

  “Hello the barn!” Rey shouted again. “Come on out here.”

  Garza stepped hesitantly through the door, a Tec 10 in his right hand. Zamora came out behind him, accompanied by two men in biker leathers. One of them had a pistol against Amada's head, the other had his arm around Alex's throat. Rey held up his arms, showed them the M-16, and laid it slowly on the ground. Reaching inside his shirt, he carefully removed a large, thick envelope and held it up.

  “I've got all of Winslow's papers. I've got the tape recorder, I've got everything right here. No copies, no computer files, nothing except what I've got right here.”

  Zamora made a slight motion with his hands.

  “You must be Villaneuva,” he said. Garza started drifting to his right.

  “Let's trade.”

  “Why would I trade anything with you?”

  “All these papers, computer disks, the recorder.”

  Rey dropped the hand with the envelope. Garza had now fanned out twenty feet on Zamora's left side. The two bikers remained where they were.

  “You're a fool. What could I possibly have that I would trade?”

  “The girls.”

  “I've got two men up on the slope,” Rey said. “You're in their sights. Any move other than to make this trade, they take you down.”

  Garza looked up to where I lay behind some rocks. He held his hand over his eyes against the sun behind me.

  “Thirty seconds,” Rey shouted, pumping his left arm up and down. “That's their signal. If you don't send the girls over in thirty seconds, they'll take you down.”

  “Can we talk about this?”

  “Not with me. Twenty seconds.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “All right!”

  Garza protested, but Zamora cut him off and motioned to the biker holding Alex. The biker lowered his pistol and shoved Alex forward. She staggered and regained her balance, not sure what to do. Zamora waved for her to walk toward Rey.

  “Both the girls!” Rey shouted.

  “There's a matter of trust here.”

  “Trust has got nothing to do with this. Hey, motorcycle guys. All that gasoline you've been spreading around, you realize that Zamora's going to burn you up?”

  The bikers looked at each other, confused, looked at Zamora, who shook his head in disgust.

  “No, really,” Rey said to the bikers. “Let's talk trust here. Do you two really trust Zamora? You're nothing to him except the power you've got as witnesses.”

  Somebody else came out of the barn.

  Jake Nasso.

  He started talking to the bikers to reassure them.

  “You believe Nasso?” Garza shouted. “He's Zamora's man inside the whole task force that broke up this smuggling ring. You think Nasso gives a shit about you two?”

  One of the bikers started running, and the other raised his pistol. Garza shot them both with one burst from his Tec 10.

  “Garza!” Rey shouted. “What kind of trust have you got for Zamora?”

  “You know what?” Zamora said. “I think you're bluffing, Villaneuva. I don't think you've got two men up on the slope. You're a loner, that's what I've always heard. I think we're going to end this. Right now.”

  “Hoy!”

  Shouting, I stood up. Rey had given me his cammie hat, and I'd tucked my hair underneath it. Holding the shotgun shoulder high, I started down the slope.

  “There's one,” Rey said.

  “It's that fucking woman!” Garza shouted, and began firing at me.

  Rey dropped flat against the ground, grabbing the M-16 and rolling sideways, firing on full auto as his body rotated entirely around. Garza dropped to his knees and Rey emptied his clip, throwing Garza backwards. Running straight at Zamora, Rey shucked the M-16 clip and rammed home another and fired without hardly a pause. Zamora grabbed Alex, trying to get her inside the barn as Nasso reached out and grabbed Amada, snapping her head back violently as he pulled her body in front of his. Zamora dropped sideways, and Rey emptied his clip and started to insert another. Zamora raised his gun and I ran toward him, shooting, the shotgun recoil throwing the barrel too high. I pumped the slide and fired again, the deer slug screeching across the ranch yard. Zamora saw that Rey had dropped the next clip, turned to me as I pumped the slide and fired again. The slug thudded into the barn wall and Zamora stood straight up, holding his gun in both hands and sighting at me as I pumped the slide and fired, missing him again as his bullet whistled past my left ear so I pumped the slide one last time, stopped running, held the shotgun to my shoulder and fired.

  He dropped instantly. Like a stone in a deep well. No sounds at all. Just gone.

  Alex disappeared into the barn. Nasso pulled a Glock from behind his back and held it to Amada's head as Rey rammed home another clip and leveled the M-16.

  “We've got a deal,” Nasso said. “I take the papers, you get the woman and the girl. Is that going to happen?”

  “Shoot him, Dad!” Amada shouted.

  “Let her go,” Rey said quietly.

  “So we've got a deal?”

  “Only deal on the deck is that you let her go, I let you live.”

  “That's the only way out of this?”

  “For Christ's sake, shoot him!”

  “Live or die,” Rey said. “Your choice.”

  “This is your daughter, man. Don't be foolish.”

  Rey jumped sideways and went into a full body roll.

  Nasso moved the Glock over Amada's shoulder, pointed it down between her breasts, and shot her in the right thigh. She staggered, slipped through his arms as he brought the Glock level. Rey instantly began firing, and Nasso's head exploded. Amada slipped to the ground as Rey emptied his entire clip, the bullets whapping into Nasso's body so that long after he was dead, his body danced and shimmered.

  I threw away the shotgun and knelt beside Amada, feeling fora pulse. Alex came out of the barn, sobbing, and knelt beside me. I realized Amada was alive. Alex hugged me, Rey knelt and put his arms around both of us as we sat in that happy circle.

  38

  “Come on, get into the car,” Taá said, clearly surprised that I wasn't alone. I'd asked her to meet me at the airport. She was driving a white Caprice. It looked and smelled like a rental car, and underneath the passenger's seat I could see one of those protective sheets of paper that rental companies put out when the car is cleaned fo
r another customer.

  Meg climbed into the front seat, while I got in back.

  “So it's done,” Taá said.

  “Done.”

  “Jake Nasso. Who would have figured?”

  “You're surprised?” I asked.

  “I knew somebody in our task force was bad. I thought it was Dance.”

  “He had too much to lose,” I said as she pulled away from the curb.

  “With all that money, anything's possible. Nobody's beyond corruption.”

  “Where we going?” Meg asked.

  “Well. I was going to take Laura to AZIC, show her a batch of satellite intel that just came in. But I can't get you in there, so I'll have to drop you somewhere.”

  As Taá turned through the airport parking lot construction area, the Caprice bumped along a dirt road. Meg's head bobbled, most of it due to her agitated state. When I'd met her earlier, I could tell that she was heavily into a manic phase, her eyes totally open, muscles rippling up and down her face and bare shoulders and arms.

  “Drop me,” she sang. “Bop me, drop me, pretty baby, doo wop me.”

  Taá stopped the car and swiveled to look at me.

  “She's out of her head, Laura. Why did you bring her along?”

  “Along for the song,” Meg said. “Sarong, baby, sarong.”

  I cupped both of my hands around the back of Meg's head, wanting her to be quiet. Sarong obviously started out in her head as so long and I didn't want Taá to get that idea. Not yet. Some things didn't quite seem right, I tell you. Taá worked with Nasso, but how closely, and were they just partners as law officers, or partners in crime? I wasn't sure, despite the data I had to show Taá. I realized that getting into the car with Taá was a mistake.

  “She'll be okay,” I said. “I'll just give you the last of the data, and then you'll never see me again.”

  “Just like that?” Taá said.

  “Rat a tat tat, just like that.”

  “Meg,” I said. “Shut up.”

  “I made a mistake about you,” Taá said to Meg.

  “No mistake, no wake. Wakey wakey.”

  Taá slammed the gearshift into drive and drove away in angry silence. We got out of the airport maze onto Benton, but instead of going straight through to US 10 she turned right at Kino Parkway.

  “Where are we going?” I said.

  Taá held up her left wrist, showing me her watch.

  “I promised to pick up some meat scraps for Sophie. The butcher will close in five minutes, so if it's all right, I'll just stop by there first.”

  “Puercocita,” Meg said. “Carnecita. Fresh meat. Neat.”

  Taá turned off at 36th Street and drove into South Tucson to an old storefront building. She parked the Caprice, opened her door, and started to get out.

  “Want to come in?” she said.

  Meg popped out of the car and I caught Taá with a very small, satisfied grin that disappeared quickly.

  Meg gave us a huge grin and nodded yes.

  “Just take a minute,” Taá said, but I grabbed Meg and pulled her to the car.

  “No,” I said.

  Taá reached down to her right ankle, lifted the leg of her khaki pants and took out a snub-nosed .38 revolver. Holding the barrel against my right temple, she patted me down for a weapon, touching my armpits, my sides, down the outside and inside of my legs, and finally ramming her hand tight into my crotch. As an afterthought, she felt carefully underneath my leather belt, grasping the rectangular object she felt inside the belt buckle. I tensed my entire body, leaning forward just an inch, thinking I could grab the .38, but Taá took two steps backward and waved the .38 at the doorway.

  “Inside,” she said. “Now.”

  The shop's door was locked. Dirty slatted blinds covered the windows and the door. Taá knocked. Somebody stuck a finger in the door blinds, drawing several slats down in a vee. Somebody unlocked the door, and Taá pushed it open. The three of us went inside, and the door closed behind us. A young Hispanic woman smiled brightly at us and locked the door.

  “I was in the freezer. Sorry. Nobody else here, I had to lock the door.”

  Outside, it must have been at least one hundred degrees, but the butcher shop had heavy-duty air-conditioning and in my tanktop I felt chilly. The woman wore heavy jeans and a sweatshirt and what looked like long underwear.

  “It's cold work,” she said, “being a butcher. Got long underwear, top and bottom, shirt, sweatshirt, pants, sweat socks, boots. Cold.”

  “Cold, but bold,” Meg said.

  “Don't mind her,” Taá said.

  The butcher pulled on a plastic apron that went over her head and covered almost her entire body. She handed another apron to Taá.

  “Got one for me?” Meg said in a singsong voice, but underneath the tones I heard the intelligence of her question and knew that however manic she was feeling, she was getting ready for what came next.

  “I've got this for you,” the butcher said, showing a SIG Sauer.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  The butcher went behind one of the meat counters and stood there, looking at me, looking at Meg, and then picking up a bone saw. Taá waved her .38, motioning us to move behind the counter.

  “This isn't necessary,” I said.

  “You had to look at the website,” Taá answered.

  “Money to Chihuahua.”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Until now, I didn't.”

  “I don't believe that,” she said. “You're too smart. You're too thorough.”

  “Check them for weapons,” the butcher said.

  “This one's got something under her belt buckle.”

  Taá reached toward me suddenly, grasping my blouse at the neck and ripping it open, the buttons clacking on the floor as Taá kept yanking on the blouse material until she'd completely ripped it off. She pulled the miniature tape recorder out from underneath the belt buckle, yanking it violently to free the microphone cord taped up my left side. The butcher stepped behind me with a paring knife and with rapid movements sliced open my sports bra vertically from bottom to top, then severing the shoulder straps. She pealed the bra scraps from my body, uncovering the microphone which she examined as though it was a bit of cartilage or gristle in a slab of meat. Setting the microphone on a butcher's block, she smashed it flat with a meat cleaver, the way you'd mash a clove of garlic, and then she began to study Meg.

  “Let's make her get naked too,” she said. “See what we can find.”

  “I'll go for that,” Meg said, and stuck her thumbs inside the top of her shorts as though to pull them off.

  “Look at her,” Taá said. “Shorts and tanktops and sandals. As naked as the day she got dressed. You stupid bitch.”

  She raked the front sight of the .38 along Meg's cheek, and a small river of blood ran down Meg's chin. She licked at it and grinned.

  “Good meat,” she said.

  “Christ. She's stoned,” the butcher said.

  “She's on the edge of going wacky,” Taá said. “I don't think she even knows where she is.”

  “Then let's do it.”

  The butcher took up the bone saw in one hand and the cleaver in the other. Several boning knives lay beside her on the chopping block, and I flicked a glance at them. Taá rapped me solidly on the back of the head, and I staggered.

  “Uh uh,” she said. “If only you hadn't looked at that website.”

  “Actually,” I said, “I did more than that. I found all your offshore accounts.”

  She hesitated, but recovered and smiled.

  “Not a chance.”

  “Look at the papers I left in your car.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “It was never about smuggling, was it?”

  “I'm telling you,” the butcher said. “Don't make a movie out of this, where you've got to confess everything before she dies. Put one in her head.”

  “And it was never money out of Mexico,” I said. “It was a
ll that money that the undocumented workers were sending back to their families. You figured a way to get a major percentage of it by hacking into the Internet money exchanges.”

  “For Christ's sakes,” the butcher said as she strode over to where Taá stood. “Give me the piece, I'll do them right now.”

  “Not now,” Meg said, reaching behind her and pulling the Glock from the holster underneath her tanktop. She racked the slide in an instant and slammed the Glock against Taá's forehead. “Drop the .38. Or die. Choose. Right. Now.”

  “You wouldn't kill me,” Taá said. “We were lovers, we were friends.”

  “After what you did to my daughter?”

  “I never touched your daughter.”

  “Yes, you did,” I said. “Satellite tracking. Video cameras at the border crossings. That specialty software you showed me, when you lost track of all of us, you must have been watching for me, Rey, Meg's daughter, even the Emerine girl. And you never saw Rey and me, but you saw the two girls. They must have driven right through the main crossing at Nogales. You called Zamora and Nasso, and they kidnapped the girls.”

  “You're guessing,” Taá said.

  “Good Christ!” the butcher shouted, moving at us with her knives. “I told you, I fucking told you, don't make a movie out of this. Kill them!”

  Meg staggered, blinking her eyes and shaking her head violently. I didn't know if she'd reached overload from the drugs she'd been taking, or because of the enormity of what Taá was telling her. The Glock wavered between Taá and the butcher, then slowly began to drop, as though it was too heavy to hold. Meg slumped to her knees, forcing her upper body erect, using her left hand to grip her right arm and lift the Glock.

  Taá realized it was too late and tried to get her .38 against Meg's body, but Meg shot her immediately. Taá's head flew back, bits of blood and bone spattering the butcher who without hesitating picked up a boning knife and lunged at Meg. I tripped her, but she partially recovered and starting swinging the boning knife like a scythe at Meg's leg until Meg reached down and shot her in the chest.

  “Jesus Christ!” Meg said, collapsing to the floor. “I didn't ever want to do that again. You stupid woman, you made me kill you.”

  “Come on,” I said, trying to pull her to her feet. “We've got to get out of here.”