Key Witness

by Sandra Bolton

  “Why didn’t you wait until I came back? More civilians involved? It’s bad enough I have to worry about you and Sally. What if one of them is shot? Shit.” She threw her hands in the air and groaned. “This is what happens when you work with amateurs.”

  “You should have thought of that when you came up with this cockamamy plan for catching a gang of bad guys on your own, damn it.”

  Emily ignored his retort. They glared at each other for a long minute, until Sally slapped her hand on the table.

  “Shut up, both of you. What’s done is done. We could’a waited, but I can see Abe’s point on this one. You were planning to go into Paco’s place to conduct your business, with nothing but a greenhorn city slicker and a crotchety old nurse for backup. What did you expect Paco to say? ‘Great idea. Go ahead and shoot up my place, and I’ll go in the back room and take a nap—wake me when it’s over.’ Course he’s gonna want to be there, and with his friends, too, to protect his business. But his reason for getting involved is not strictly business—he’s doing it because he wants to get the jerk who hurt Will.” She walked to the kitchen cabinet and stretched on her tiptoes to reach into the top shelf, pulling out a bottle of bourbon. “I’m having a drink. Anybody want to join me?”

  “I’ll have one,” Abe said, leaning against the kitchen counter while staring at Emily’s retreating backside. She disappeared into the spare bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “She’ll get over it.” Sally handed Abe a half-filled tumbler. “Drink up, and then let’s get some sleep.” She didn’t try to muffle the loud yawn that followed.

  Abe tossed and turned, trying to shut down his brain. Nothing worked. The night demons kept bringing him back to Emily and Sharon, and the whole damn mess he was in. When he heard Sally’s rhythmic snores, he stood, called Patch, and went outside. He followed the same tree-lined path they’d walked the previous afternoon and let the sharp, clean desert air clear his mind. The rain clouds had been replaced by a sea of stars, bisected by a quarter moon. Its pallid reflection transformed drops of moisture clinging to the paloverde leaves into shimmering pearls.

  When he neared the barn, the memory of Emily’s supple but firm body swept over him once again. He wanted her, but at the same time felt conflicted. He wasn’t ready to commit to a relationship, not so soon after Sharon’s death, even though she had told him near the end to find someone else. Her words rang in his head. “I’m not going to be here much longer, baby. I don’t want you to be alone. There’s someone out there who will make you happy. Find that person. Promise me.” Abe sat down on a boulder beside the path and relived that moment. He had held her close and told her he could never love anyone else, and at the time he meant every word of it.

  He heard the crunch of gravel, saw Patch’s ears perk up, and looked down the path toward the house. In the pale moonlight, wearing a long white T-shirt, her black hair undone, Emily appeared like a specter, a spirit from another world.

  The next day they paid another visit to Dick’s. Emily wanted to hear what Paco had to say and make her own suggestions. They arrived an hour before the eleven a.m. opening so they wouldn’t be disturbed. The cooks and the waitstaff kept busy in the kitchen preparing for the lunch crowd. At the far end of the bar, Dutch polished glasses and checked the liquor stock while the foursome huddled at a distant table, their heads bent in quiet conversation.

  “Abe can sit over there so he can look out the window and see who’s coming.” Paco indicated a table that put Abe’s back against a wall but gave him a clear view of the street and front door. “I’ll stay out of the way, behind the bar. My homies will remain unseen unless they need to show themselves. No one will know they’re around.”

  “Abe and I will both sit there, nursing a beer. I’ll play the girlfriend and dress the part, but have my Glock within easy reach.” A slight smile passed over Emily’s features before she turned businesslike again. She had reluctantly agreed to backup from Paco’s friends. “How many of your buddies will be here?”

  “Four for sure—Speedy, Gordo, Jose, and El Rubio. Maybe Mingo. Don’t laugh, chica, they know their stuff, you can count on it. We were all in Nam together.”

  Sally sat back in her chair with arms crossed over her chest, taking it all in. “What about me?” she said. “Where will I be posted?” She took a slurp of root beer and looked at each face.

  Abe and Emily had discussed Sally’s role and decided on the best way to keep her away from trouble. “You’ll be in the Bronco, Sally, in case we need to make a quick getaway, or follow someone.”

  Her smiling face dissolved into frown lines. “I’d be more help inside with you, maybe a cleaning lady or something, but right there close in case you need an extra gun.”

  “We need a good driver. It’s settled.”

  “Humph.” Sally slumped, pouting, but didn’t argue.

  “We’ll be here an hour before anyone else is due to arrive. It will give us time to run through everything again.” Abe paused when he heard the roar of motorcycles and realized he had forgotten to mention his sighting of the Aryan Brotherhood to Emily.

  Emily stood, surveying the long, rectangular room. She looked at the swinging doors. “That leads to the kitchen, I guess, and there must be a back door. We need a man posted there.”

  “Right,” Paco agreed. “I’ll station Gordo there.” Someone rattled the front door and he looked at his watch. “Time to open up. Están listos, muchachos?” he yelled to the kitchen, then, turning his attention back to the table, added, “Stick around and have something to eat—on the house.” He took out a ring of keys and walked over to unlock the front door.

  There were five skinheads standing outside. A swastika with three sixes superimposed over a clover leaf adorned their riding jackets.

  “About fucking time,” a beefy, bearded brute, evidently the leader, said as he pushed his way in.

  Abe watched as he bellied up to the bar, followed by his gang. The bikers had more tattoos than bare skin. Abe studied their faces reflected in the bar mirror and concluded they would kill just for the hell of it.

  The bearded leader glanced into the mirror and caught Abe’s eyes. He swiveled on his stool. “What’re you staring at, punk?”

  “Who, me? Nothing, I’m chilling over here.”

  Luckily, Dutch diverted the creep’s attention when he pranced up to the bar, smiling coquettishly. “Well, hello, handsome. What can I do for you and your boys?”

  An ominous grumbling ensued from the group. They were on their feet, fists balled. Their leader waved them back. “Bring me and my boys Buds, princess. Make it quick. We’re in a hurry.” His wink and sneer brought a round of harsh laughter from his gang.

  “Looks like Shredder got himself a girlfriend,” the guy sitting on the next stool said with a loud guffaw.

  Dutch sat five bottles of Budweiser on the bar.

  The one called Shredder turned around and punched his buddy in the face, then downed his beer. “We’re looking for someone. Calls himself Jesus Eyes. D’ya know anything about that?” He flexed his muscle revealing a swastika inside a shield with the word “Texas” inked below.

  “Never heard of him,” said Dutch.

  “How about the rest of you queers?” said Shredder.

  Abe and Paco shook their heads.

  “Fuck it. Let’s get out of here,” said the gang leader. They finished their beers, stood up, and headed for the door.

  “Hold it,” said Paco. “You pay first, then leave.”

  “Oh yeah, sez who?” Shredder said.

  “Twenty-five bucks. Special price for you and the boys,” said Paco, the outline of a revolver showing under his apron.

  Abe tensed, then saw the rest of Paco’s workers emerge from the kitchen. The cook swung a meat cleaver from his right hand. Following behind him came the two mess cooks and the dish-washer, each wielding a butcher knife the size of a machete.

  While the skinheads gaped at Paco and the kitchen crew, Dutch pu
lled a shotgun from under the bar. “Sorry you boys have to leave so soon. We were just getting acquainted, and I was so looking forward to serving you. Some other time, maybe?”

  Abe, Emily, and Sally watched as the fat brute turned beet red from his bald head down to his thick neck bulging with purple veins. The Aryan leader tried to give Paco the mad-dog stare-down as he mumbled something under his breath and threw twenty-five dollars down on the bar. “Let’s get out of this dump,” he said, knocking over a barstool and kicking the door open. His band of merry men trailed behind. “You haven’t seen the end of this, motherfucker.”

  Dutch, still holding the shotgun, followed the motorcycle gang to the door. “Good-bye boys. Oh, do come back soon. It’s been such fun.”

  Abe saw the bikers flip Dutch off and roar away, their tires burning rubber on the hot pavement. Feeling leery and somewhat astounded, he looked at the owner of Dick’s. “What the hell, Paco? Aren’t you worried about them coming back and causing trouble?”

  Paco sat back down and smirked, with a self-satisfied look on his face. “We don’t put up with any kind of shit around here. See what I mean? My crew is always ready for troublemakers, and believe me, we get our share. Okay, muchachos, back to the kitchen. Business as usual.”

  Sally looked at Dutch with unabashed admiration. “You sure as hell have big balls for a queer fellow,” she said, which caused everyone to crack up.

  23

  To Abe, the following five days moved slower than a snail in peanut butter. He and Emily passed the time hiking in the Huachucas and reminiscing about their childhoods, but apprehension concerning the upcoming showdown at Paco’s dominated his thoughts and, he felt sure, Emily’s as well. There were no stolen kisses or clandestine rendezvous in the barn. At nights they played poker with Sally, betting with beans and waiting.

  Friday morning finally arrived, accompanied by strong winds out of the southwest. Sally filled the coffeepot and looked out her kitchen window. “There’ll be a big dust storm rolling our way by late afternoon.”

  The sky was enveloped in a beige haze, and Abe could barely see the outline of the nearby Huachuca Mountains. Dust devils danced across the desert like twirling dervishes, then disappeared as quickly as they formed.

  As the winds increased in speed, so did the anxiety that had been building since daybreak. An atmosphere of apprehension settled over the house. Even Patch appeared to know something was in the air besides dust. He followed Abe’s every move and became nervous whenever his master left his sight. Abe patted his dog. “Easy, boy, it’s only the wind.”

  “My people believe dust devils are evil winds that blow no one any good,” said Emily. But then, looking sheepish, she added, “The winds should stop by nightfall.”

  “Maybe not, though,” said Sally. “We’ve had some fierce nighttime sandstorms in the past. Don’t matter one way or the other. I know my way around these roads and could drive them blindfolded.”

  Abe had his doubts and gave her a skeptical look, but didn’t say anything. Sally’s talk was often full of bravado. Maybe she dealt with her fears by acting and talking tough. Waiting for things to happen drove him crazy—that and uncertainty. All the rehearsing reminded Abe of playing chess with yourself—you could always anticipate the next move. They had gone over each person’s role a dozen times, but no amount of planning prepared you for the unknown. Tonight at nine o’clock, both sides would show their faces, and the real match would begin. If forced into it, could I shoot another man? And am I ready to die myself? Abe wondered. For some reason, now more than ever, he realized how much he wanted to live. While Sally aired her exaggerated bluster, and Emily assumed a professional coolness, Abe agonized. He hoped it didn’t come down to pulling a trigger, but in the end, he would do what he had to do.

  Sally startled him out of his trance. “It’ll help us make a clean getaway if we have to run.”

  “What will, Sally?”

  “The dust storm. None of them know their way around like I do. They’ll get lost, go in circles.” She chuckled. “I guess old mother earth is on the good guys’ side, even after all the mean things we’ve done to her.”

  Emily paused from cleaning her gun and smiled. “That sounds like Indian talk. I didn’t know you bilagáanas regarded our mother that way.

  “What’d you call me?”

  “It’s not a bad thing, Sally. Means ‘white person,’ and thanks for giving credit to mother earth. You’re a pretty good old gal, you know, for a bilagáana, that is. Even though you put on a tough face.”

  Sally looked pleased and even blushed a little. “You aren’t so terrible yourself, I guess.” Abe passed Emily a secret smile and said he wanted to go out and move around a little, even if the wind was howling like a banshee, and Emily said she would join him. Sally looked even more pleased, grinning like an opossum eating persimmons. “Don’t get lost, you two.”

  The day seemed stuck in claustrophobic slow motion. Without seeing the sun’s movement, it became impossible to gauge time. As soon as Abe stepped outside, the wind and blowing sand stung his eyes and felt like a million pinpoints attacking his face. “Let’s lock the animals in the barn and head back in,” he said, cupping his mouth so Emily could hear.

  She nodded in agreement, and they located the old donkey and nanny goat huddled together, their heads turned toward each other against the blasting sand. Abe led the animals into the barn, where the chickens had already entered through an open window. Emily shuttered the windows while the hens peered at them from their nest boxes, clucking softly at the disturbance.

  The howling winds diminished any thoughts of a romantic rendezvous Abe and Emily might have had. “This sandstorm complicates things,” Abe yelled, as they rushed for the house.

  At seven o’clock Abe called Paco. “We’re leaving shortly, should be there in under an hour. Did you close the bar?”

  “I locked the doors after the lunch crowd left. Told my regulars I had maintenance work to do. All my guys are here, except Mingo. His asthma won’t let him go out in this sandstorm. He was pissed that he couldn’t help, but the poor guy could hardly breathe. I’ve filled them in on what might come down. How’re you doing on your end?”

  “We’ll be all right.”

  A nervous silence followed, until Paco changed the subject. “I have a new uniform for Emily. One reserved for the small guys that work for me. Basically, it’s black pants and a red T-shirt with Dick’s logo across the front. Tell her to doll up a little, put on some makeup. She’s a good-looking woman, but you gotta play the part, if you know what I mean.”

  “You tell her. She’s right here. I’ll see you soon.” He handed the phone to Emily, who gave him a quizzical look, then a frown, as she listened to Paco.

  “Screw that,” she said, and hung up the phone.

  Emily, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, looked absolutely beautiful to Abe. She tucked her Glock in the back of her waistband and carried a small tote bag on her shoulder. Sally, all in black and resembling a septuagenarian ninja, had her shotgun and ammo in hand, but Abe refused the offer of a pistol that once belonged to one of her exes, explaining he still had Will’s shotgun and Grandfather Etcitty’s pistol in the truck. They tied handkerchiefs over their faces as protection from the dust, and pulled skullcaps down over their heads, giving the impression of a mismatched gang of bank robbers ready to pull off a heist. Before they left, Abe retrieved the shotgun and a box of cartridges from behind his truck’s seat.

  Sally took her position at the wheel, low beams turned on to aid visibility in the swirling sand. She carefully steered the Bronco down the dirt road through a thick soup of dust. Once they hit the highway, they could barely make out the white divider line that Sally tried to follow. Occasionally other vehicles crept by from the opposite direction, and Abe could see the dim orbs of their headlights. Otherwise, he felt completely closed in—as if he and the other occupants of the Bronco were the only living things left on the planet. “I doubt anyone will s
how up with this mess,” he said.

  Forty-five minutes later they arrived at Dick’s, and Sally pulled the Bronco around to the back, close to the exit. They had come early because they didn’t want to run into anyone prematurely, and had decided the back exit would provide an easier escape if they had to leave in a hurry. Abe rapped on the door and Paco let them in.

  Paco burst into laughter as soon as they stepped inside. “What do you think this is, a costume party? Close the door and take off that shit. You can’t drink a beer with a mask covering your mouth. Everybody needs to relax a little. We got time.” Paco took charge and seemed at ease.

  “I think I’m ready for a beer,” Abe said.

  Paco glanced at Emily. “Your new uniform is hanging in the bathroom.”

  “I could use a beer myself,” she said before leaving to change.

  Sally opted for her usual, root beer. “And have a double shot of whiskey ready for after the shooting.”

  Emily disappeared into the bathroom while Abe, Sally, and Paco sat at a table sipping drinks, Abe in his assigned seat with his back against the wall and a clear view of the street. While he waited, four armed men emerged from the kitchen area. They surveyed the room, caught Paco’s eye, and moved silently toward the bar.

  “Your friends, I hope,” Abe said.

  “Yep.” Paco stood up. “I’ve got to go hash over a few things with them before our guests arrive. Are you doin’ okay, man?”

  Abe nodded, took a swallow of beer, and watched Paco join his buddies.

  When Emily reappeared, Abe hardly recognized her. She wore tight black pants that flared at the bottom. A skimpy red T-shirt that hugged her torso like a second skin said “Dick’s—Get Your Licks While You Can.” Her hair hung in a seductive frame around her face, lips glistened with bright red lipstick, and her flashing dark eyes were outlined in black. Blue eye shadow highlighted her lids, and red high-heeled shoes completed the attire. She placed her tote bag under the table. “Don’t laugh.”