Cowboy Justice

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “That is an option,” Cash said cautiously, “though I don’t know that it makes sense to interfere with the forces that have already been set in motion.”

  “It’s just that we—I have handled this all wrong from the get-go.”

  Though Cash was less than thrilled that Reine had gone off on her own to face Selena Cullen, he hadn’t given her a hard time about it. She was already beating herself up over the meeting for nothing. Who was to say the two of them together could have gotten anything more revealing out of the woman than Reine had by herself.

  And if Reine had set the Cullen woman into motion, one of Kessler’s operatives would be right behind her and would keep them posted.

  Meanwhile, Cash was on a mission. Determined to track down the last of their leads before deciding what to do about the money, he was preparing himself to face Evan Bixler.

  Pulling off the highway, he thought about his deal with Sam Valdez and his doubts about pursuing it. That he couldn’t discuss his conflicted state with Reine had him on edge, but he wasn’t willing to confirm her suspicions.

  Reine already thought she knew the worst about him, but he feared she hadn’t scratched the surface of who he really was.

  “The pachucos are out, showing off,” she said as they drove into Española, which proudly hailed itself the Low Rider Capital of the World.

  Cars—ten, twenty, thirty years old and more—were kept in pristine condition by members of the low-rider clubs, which were composed typically of young Latino men. On weekend evenings, the shining vehicles—their metal panels painted with intricate murals, their chassis fitted with unusual hydraulics—paraded slowly around the streets, their undercarriages low to the ground.

  Cash came to a stop behind a purple-and-green Thunderbird; its elaborate mural displayed a bald eagle whose wings were spread across the trunk. Without warning, the rear end of the car bucked nearly three feet off the ground as if the driver were trying to launch the big bird. When the car fell back down, its bottom scraped the pavement with an impressive and purposeful shower of sparks.

  Horns honked and pedestrians whistled and applauded in appreciation.

  “Not bad,” Cash murmured.

  “I’m surprised you don’t own one of those babies.”

  He grinned at her. “Who said I don’t?”

  Traffic was moving again. He checked addresses. A block along, he turned right. They didn’t go very far before he spotted the establishment Steven Kessler had told him about. The large parking lot behind The Bix Box was nearly full, and a low rider was cruising the aisles, a handful of admirers gathering around to watch.

  “Looks like this is a hangout for one of the low-rider clubs,” Reine said.

  Cash parked at the far end of the lot, away from the action. On their way to the bar’s entrance, they passed several more brightly painted vehicles.

  “I doubt Evan Bixler will tell us anything more than Selena Cullen did,” Reine said. “And he’s a lot more dangerous.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be making any accusations. We’ll keep this friendly.”

  “Then what are you going to talk to him about?”

  “The plan is to approach him as one businessman to another,” Cash replied.

  But once inside, he wondered how big a challenge that might present. The interior was dark, smoke-filled and, above all, noisy. A televised sporting event was competing with Latino music and a cacophony of voices.

  The bartender was a young Latina of considerable charm. She wore skintight jeans and a T-shirt with Don’t Touch printed across her chest.

  “Two drafts,” Cash said as he pulled out a couple of stools.

  “Coming up.”

  When she delivered the beers, he not only paid but gave the comely bartender an extra twenty. “Tell your boss I’m looking for him. Name’s Cash Abreu.”

  “What if Mr. Bixler isn’t in?”

  “He’ll be in.”

  Sticking the tip in a back pocket, she shrugged and moved off, presumably to find Bixler.

  “I thought you’d never met the man,” Reine said, turning her stool so she was facing him.

  “I haven’t. But he’ll know who I am.”

  “Living dangerously,” she murmured as she was shoved up against him by a couple of guys who were roughhousing their way out of the bar.

  There were dangers... and dangers, Cash thought, his hands on her arms, setting her back on her stool.

  He’d suggested she let her hair down and she had done so. Literally. Thick golden-blond strands curled around her shoulders. And while she was still wearing a skirt, she’d paired it with a soft pullover that exposed her long neck and delicate collarbones. She’d always been sensitive there. He imagined she still was.

  He was giving his imagination free rein when the bartender returned to her station.

  “Up there.” She pointed to a second-floor loft area accessible by a single staircase.

  Reine was already on her feet, her beer forgotten. Cash took a swig, then set his mug down on the bar next to hers before placing a hand at the small of her back and moving toward the stairs.

  She leaned into him long enough to say, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “So do I.”

  When they reached the second floor, the noise had lowered a level. A quick glance around the half-dozen tables and Cash identified Bixler immediately. He sat alone, a half-empty bottle of tequila before him, a cloud of cigar smoke around his head. Balding and unassuming in stature, he would disappear into a crowd.

  Not so the two muscular guys at the next table, who silently followed their approach.

  “Cash Abreu, we meet at last;” Bixler said without removing his cigar. “I’m a big fan. Pull up a chair for your lady and sit.”

  While Cash did so, Bixler waved to get the waitress’s attention. He held up his shot glass and two fingers. Then he centered his attention on Cash.

  “So what do you think of my place?”

  “That it’s surprisingly out of your normal sphere.”

  “A man needs to kick back once in a while. I like doing it where I can call the shots. You ought to try it,” Bixler said, just as the waitress came by with the glasses. “Thanks, honey.” He filled them and pushed one toward each of them. “To your continued good health—both of you.”

  Reacting to the health implication, Cash locked gazes with Reine. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open slightly. He raised his glass in salute; she did the same. They tossed back the tequila to-gether.

  Laughing, Bixler slammed his palm onto the tabletop. “That’s what I like. A woman who’s all woman but isn’t afraid of a challenge.”

  “You are an unusual man, Mr. Bixler,” she said.

  “Call me Bix, sweetheart. Call me anytime you want.” The man laughed at his own joke, but when no one joined him, he quickly sobered and got down to business. “What is it you think I can do for you, Cash?”

  “I thought I might do something for you in the way of a business proposition.”

  “All depends. What business?”

  “Matlock Construction.”

  Bixler puffed on his cigar. “Go on.”

  “Jasper Matlock is at a particularly low point right now, both financially and personally. He might be in the mood to sell.”

  “That’d be interesting,” Bixler said, setting his cigar in the ashtray, “If I was in the mood to buy.”

  “My sources tell me you recently made him an offer, and that you weren’t too happy when he refused.”

  “Moods change.”

  Cash kept pushing. “So what does interest you at the moment?”

  “Your real reason for coming to see me. You don’t need a partner.”

  “Not financially.”

  “Then what’s the point?”

  “I’m not Jasper Matlock’s favorite person.”

  “No, but you are his son.”

  That statement startled Cash.

  “One of them,
” he agreed. “The wrong one. I have even more reason to want some...let’s call it ‘satisfaction’...from Matlock than you do.”

  Bixler sat back, eyes narrowing. “‘Satisfaction’ is an interesting concept.”

  “Some people will do anything to get it. How about you, Bix?”

  “I do what’s necessary to uphold my reputation.”

  “Just what kind of a reputation do you have?” Reine asked.

  “The ladies don’t complain.”

  “I meant your business competitors.”

  “Ooh, she’s smart, too.” Bixler’s gaze on her intensified. “As for myself, I prefer smart women, but I hear Jasper Matlock’s not especially fond of them. Is that why you and your uncle are always at odds?”

  Realizing Bixler somehow knew who Reine was without having been introduced, Cash remained passive only by sheer will. “You know an awful lot about both of us,” he said. “Certainly more than I do about you.”

  “Kind of makes you think you’d never want to run up against me, doesn’t it?”

  That sounded like a threat. Cash wondered if they could actually be on to something here.

  “I can hold my own.”

  “Good for you.” Bixler grabbed his cigar from the ashtray. “Now, if we’re done...”

  “Then I take it you’re not interested in a deal,” Cash said, pushing just a tad further.

  “I think I’d rather get satisfaction in my own way. It’ll taste that much sweeter.”

  While Cash was ready to stick it out—to force Bixler into some kind of admission—Reine was tugging at his arm, her voice strained as she said, “Then we’ll leave you to the rest of your bottle.”

  The man was already ignoring them and concentrating on relighting his cigar.

  As they left the table, Cash noticed the two bodyguards were gone. They’d somehow slipped away without his ever noticing. He kept his gaze roaming as they descended the stairs and pushed through the crowd to the door, but he didn’t spot them.

  Something didn’t feel right....

  The moment they hit fresh air, Reine asked, “Are you as spooked as I am?”

  “Maybe more.”

  Cash kept his gaze moving over their surroundings. Not that he could see much in the dark—Bixler didn’t waste any electricity on his parking lot. Still, the moon was full and a handful of people crowded around a spiffy ’64 Impala parked near the entrance of the lot.

  “Bixler’s finding out about you wouldn’t be so hard,” Cash mused aloud as they headed for the Jaguar, “but me?”

  “Nora Archer didn’t even know, and she’s been working for Uncle Jasper for longer than I can remember. He doesn’t exactly go around advertising it.”

  “And neither do I. Bixler must have done some serious digging,” Cash concluded.

  The Jaguar was in sight when another low rider—a ’74 Monte Carlo—crept around a row of cars. The fancy paint job seemed to glow in the moonlight. Even at a distance Cash got a glimpse of an Aztec pyramid on the hood.

  A noise to his right made him whip around, pushing Reine behind him where he could protect her, if necessary.

  “What is it?”

  He caught a flash of movement behind some cars—someone skulking around, watching them?

  “I don’t know,” he said in a low voice, “but I’m going to find out. Stay here.”

  “Cash!” she hissed after him.

  But he was already flying between two cars, using them to propel himself to the other side. By the time he popped into the open, it was for naught. Nothing. He ran past several cars, checking between them, but whatever he’d seen had vanished.

  “False alarm,” he called, even as he heard the squeal of brakes.

  Cash flew around just in time to behold the “Aztec Pyramid” about to make a sacrifice of Reine!

  Chapter Ten

  The low rider whacked down so close to Reine and with such force that she stumbled. Sparks showered over her as she flew forward, landing hard on her knees.

  Her pulse thundering from the scare, she shouted, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

  In response, the driver revved his engine and aimed the nose of his vehicle straight at her.

  For a split second, she was mesmerized by the headlights.

  “Reine!” Cash yelled. “Duck between the cars!”

  But she couldn’t act fast enough, though she was already getting to her feet.

  There was only one recourse open to her.

  She launched herself forward, landed flat on the car’s hood, nose first into the tinted windshield. Her glimpse of the driver ceased when he slammed on the brakes and she slipped away from him.

  Frantic, Reine grasped at a windshield wiper, which immediately activated. At the same time, she felt the car’s hydraulics grind into action.

  “Let go!” Cash yelled.

  But she was stuck, with the material of her sleeve caught on the windshield wiper that was still functioning. She fought to free herself. Her legs flew out into midair, her skirts whipping around her like some kind of sail. The fabric of her sleeve ripped even as the front end of the car bucked and plummeted, taking her stomach along with it

  Then Reine hurtled off the car’s hood, while the fireworks caused by the undercarriage hitting pavement celebrated her slow-motion flight.

  She slammed into what felt like a wall, which immediately collapsed under the force of the collision.

  Cash grunted as they hit the ground together, then managed to ask, “Are you all right?”

  Sprawled over him, she took a shaky breath and tried regaining use of her limbs. “I think so.”

  He was instantly on his feet, taking her with him. Seeming about to go after the vehicle, he stopped when another low rider turned down the aisle and drew alongside the first. Bright lights flashed on, pinning them in their glare.

  “Let’s get out of here!”

  Cash hooked an arm around Reine’s waist and pulled her with him toward the Jaguar.

  Reine stumbled, her feet missing the ground a few times as he propelled her faster and faster. She managed a glance behind them. The headlights seemed to be closing in on them, and the other low rider’s taillights glowed a brilliant red. That car was now backing up toward them, as well.

  Her pulse jagged and she croaked, “They’re both coming after us!”

  Cash responded instantly, and with a burst of speed, in a matter of seconds had her at the Jaguar.

  He tore open the passenger door. Rather than stuffing her inside as she’d expected, Cash went for the glove compartment where he retrieved something.

  Then he barked, “Get in!” and positioned himself like a shield, legs spread, gun aimed in a two-handed grip at their would-be attackers.

  “They’re stopping,” Reine said even as she followed orders. “What if they have guns?”

  “Close your door and open mine.”

  His weapon still aimed at two other vehicles, Cash was already moving around the nose of the Jaguar. He kept the car between him and the low riders.

  Reine’s heart pounded and she couldn’t breathe easy until he was inside with his own door closed. He set the gun on the console, barrel pointed forward.

  She peered through the rear window. The Monte Carlo had backed around the aisle so that, no matter which way they went, they would have to face one of the low riders.

  “They’re still there, waiting.”

  “Probably wondering what to do next,” he said, starting up the engine. “Hang on!”

  Cash didn’t hesitate. The Jaguar not only flew out of the parking spot, but he propelled it straight back toward the headlights, which suddenly started moving away from them—fast.

  “Look at him haul butt!” Reine said. “He’s afraid you’ll hit his precious car.”

  “Good.”

  The Jaguar stopped and, with Cash shifting fast, jumped forward and turned straight for the Monte Carlo.

  “You’re going to hit him!”


  At the last minute, Cash swerved around the low rider and ducked down another aisle. And Reine realized he’d been taking a calculated risk meant to distract the driver.

  Far ahead, at the other end, a second vehicle crawled toward the entrance.

  Reine didn’t want to know how fast they were going. She only prayed that no pedestrian stepped in front of the speeding Jaguar.

  Cash barely slowed to careen around the aisle end, then catapulted them toward the entrance. The low rider she’d spotted was already stopped directly in their path to block their escape, painted skeletons grinning out at them from the vehicle’s side.

  Her heart climbed into her throat as Cash accelerated and bore down on the clumsy car. Preparing herself for impact, Reine prayed. She could hardly believe her eyes when, at the last possible moment, the other vehicle seemed to jump out of their path as if it had been goosed.

  And Cash shot them straight out of the lot and back toward the main drag.

  Reine took a shaky breath that seemed to ripple down the entire length of her body. “Looks like we finally pressed the wrong buttons.”

  “Or the right ones,” Cash amended.

  THE ONE THING CASH KNEW was that no way in hell would he let Reine stay alone that night. And compared to her place, his was a fortress. So he took the road east toward Chimayo rather than one that would have taken them south to Santa Fe.

  If Reine had any objections, she kept them to herself.

  She was that scared.

  As was Cash on her behalf. For a moment, he’d thought he would have to watch her die.

  If anything had happened to her...

  He steeled himself against the image. That hadn’t happened. And if he had anything to say about it, it never would.

  He kept watch in the rearview mirror, but caught no lights swing behind them. As far as he could tell, they were in the clear—for the moment.

  “Now that the shock has worn off, how do you feel?” he asked Reine.

  “Shaky,” she admitted. “But intact. All body parts accounted for.”

  Thank God. And yet he couldn’t miss the quiver in her voice.