Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery

by Louise Gaylord

  I manage to stammer, “Where are you taking me?”

  He shoves me and my briefcase into the back seat, slams the door, then slides behind the steering wheel as his cohort enters the other door.

  “None of your fucking business, bitch. Just keep your trap shut.”

  With that, our exit covers the murder scene in a pall of roiling dust.

  The numbing scene replays again and again as I stare hopelessly into the endless brown landscape that characterizes that part of South Texas. One gravel road turns onto another and it soon becomes plain Luke is avoiding the main arteries. To make matters worse, the skies have grayed, and I have no way to tell if we are going north, south, east, or west.

  Any prospect of rescue or escape dies when we come to the first gate and the sidekick hops out, picks through the ten or twelve locks, and rolls through a combination.

  When the gate swings open, my throat constricts. No one will find me now. Duncan knows I’m in Laredo, but what does he care? Bill and the Gibbses? How do I know this isn’t part of their plan?

  Fighting back tears, I try to gather some semblance of order, but my head is throbbing too much to form a decent thought. I take several deep breaths in a small attempt to relax, but my muscles, crabbed with fear, refuse to give up their spasm. Escape. Escape. There is only one escape.

  I pull my briefcase onto the seat to use as a rough pillow, hoping sleep will provide some sort of temporary release from the sure doom that lies ahead. None comes. Staring at the ceiling is all the relief I’m afforded.

  The braking car throws me almost to the floor. I struggle to regain my balance and see Luke leaning over the front seat, his face so close to mine, I have to turn away to avoid his fetid breath. “Better get up. Seeing you laying down is mighty tempting.”

  I suppress a shudder and sit up. We’re in front of a melting adobe building with a rusty tin roof topped by a crazily bent pipe belching smoke. This misbegotten wreck is surrounded by pickups and a few broken-down cars. To the right of the entrance, a crudely lettered sign, hanging by one end, says, “Pulquería.”

  I check my watch. Two-thirty. “Where are we?”

  “It don’t matter where we are. I’m ready to eat. Best migas in the Valley.”

  Valley? Are we heading toward the Gulf or away? “Migas? What’s that?”

  “Scrambled eggs and tired tortillas,” Luke says. “Add salsa and it’s the best.”

  My captor seems in better spirits so I try a timid, “If you don’t mind, I could use a cup of coffee and a restroom.”

  “That can be arranged. Just don’t do anything dumb or I’ll shoot you on the spot.” He grins and chucks me under the chin. “If you think I won’t, remember what happened to Señor Stupido back there.”

  He opens the glove compartment and pulls out a Beretta Tomcat. Mine.

  “Recognize this?” Luke palms it and shoves it in his pocket. “Nice little piece of insurance for close-range action.”

  The café is dark and smoky, but I realize I’ve waded into a sea of testosterone.

  We slide through the crowd to an empty booth at the back, where Luke manhandles me into the corner of one side and squeezes in beside me. “If you got to take a leak, you’ll have to use the only head in the joint.”

  I see “Caballeros,” no “Damas.”

  Luke leers. “Don’t be afraid, girlie. Ol’ Luke’ll come with you.”

  I turn away, no longer brave enough for a confrontation. “I’d rather go alone.”

  Luke jams into my ribs. “Then, wet your pants, bitch.”

  His accomplice gives an exasperated sigh. “Give it a rest, Luke. If she has to pee, let her go by herself.”

  My Beretta is out of Luke’s pocket and in the man’s face. “What did you say, asshole?”

  “Asshole” jerks back, then gives a dejected, “Whatever.”

  The exchange is blunted by the arrival of a Latino wearing a soiled waist apron wrapped over a tattered shirt and worn jeans. He speaks border dialect, but I pick up the gist. No women allowed.

  Luke pulls out his wallet and flips it open. “Official, comprende?”

  The man looks me over, then motions Luke to follow.

  When the two disappear through the swinging door leading to the kitchen, Luke’s minion points toward the restroom. “Hurry. I’ll stand outside.”

  To my relief, the stench-filled latrine is empty and we are back at the table several minutes before Luke emerges.

  Once he settles, he gives his buddy a triumphant grin. “All I had to do was drop the name.” He gives me a swift look, then rises. “I’d better let them know we made a successful pickup. I gave Rosario the order, so eat up when the food gets here. I can eat in the car while you drive.”

  When three orders of scrambled eggs arrive accompanied by what looks like a steaming bowl of chili, Luke’s accomplice urges with his fork. “Dig in. We don’t have long.”

  “Do you mind if I ask your name?” “Jed... just Jed, okay?”

  “I’m Allie.”

  “I know who you are.”

  We concentrate on the eggs, which are delicious. I take a little of the sauce, which adds a pleasant tang to the mixture. “Mmmm. Good. What did he call this?”

  “Migas. It’s a local dish.” He takes a quick survey of the room, then says, “Look, Miss... Allie, I wouldn’t give Luke any more lip. He has a real short fuse.” He pauses to scan the room, then says, “I don’t know if I can control him much longer.”

  “I promise to behave. I just don’t want...”

  “Want what, bitch? A little of this?” Luke slides in beside me, using my thigh as leverage, then his fingers begin to move slowly upward.

  I gasp and Jed looks up from his half-empty plate. “We’re running way behind schedule. Better get a take-out container.”

  Luke’s hand jerks away and goes for his pocket. “I don’t need no advice from you.”

  My Beretta is in Jed’s face once again and this time Luke’s finger is on the trigger as danger crowds his voice. “I told you not to push me. Asshole.”

  Sudden silence freeze-frames the other customers. Forks poise and cups pause halfway to their mouths.

  Jed raises his hand. “I was just worried about the crossing schedule, that’s all.” He gives a knowing chuckle. “You’re calling the shots. I know that sure as I’m sitting here.”

  Luke’s trigger finger relaxes. “Pay attention to what I say.” He turns to me. “You too, bitch.”

  He grips the handle, then presses the weapon into Jed’s chest. “Next time you get one-fucking-inch out of line, you’re dead.”

  For the next few hours the Bronco follows a gravel road fenced on each side. Now and then, a gate blocks worn tire ruts that fade in the scrub, but there’s not a house or even a shack in sight.

  Luke’s, “Blindfold her,” jerks me back to reality as Jed slides over the back of his seat and motions me to turn.

  I allow him to cover my eyes with the red cotton bandanna. And though he ties it loosely, I’m rendered helpless and afraid. The squeeze at the base of my throat begs for tears, but I’m too depressed to cry.

  Without warning a hand grabs my arm followed by a needle stick and a brief sting.

  Jed’s protest explodes above me. “What in hell are you doing? He didn’t tell you to drug her.”

  The last thing I hear is Luke’s muzzy, “Relax. This is just a little insurance.”

  Chapter 28

  I’M NOT SURE IF MINUTES or hours pass when there is a tremendous thud and I slam to the floor.

  “Holy Jesus, Luke, you almost did it then.” Jed screams.

  Luke’s voice is shaking, “Sonovabitch, I never saw the damn thing.”

  His door opens and I hear his feet hit the ground. “Shit. Looks like the damn wheel’s busted.”

  The blindfold drops from my face but it is difficult for me to focus. My mouth is parched and my head hurts. Then I remember the stick in my arm, lift my sleeve, and gasp. An angry spot
in the middle of my upper arm trails the brownish maroon of dried blood.

  I struggle to the seat to see the windshield smeared with blood. To the right of the Bronco lies the brutalized carcass of a deer.

  “What happened?”

  Jed starts at the sound of my voice, then turns. “You all right? You’ve been out for almost two hours. That damn fool gave you the whole c.c. I was afraid he’d done you in for good.”

  His concern is touching and I rush to reassure. “I think I’m okay. Just a small headache and blurry vision. We hit a deer?”

  “More like it hit us. It’s a damn ten-point buck. All tore up. No hope to salvage any meat outta him.”

  Luke rises from his crouch at the left front fender. “Quit yapping with Sleeping Beauty and make yourself useful, asshole.”

  Jed opens his door, and trudges around the bloody hood to join his leader.

  After they confer in muted tones, Luke’s voice raises. “I don’t give a flying fuck what he said, we need help. We should be in range by now, so go-get-the-goddam-walkie-talkie.”

  “Okay, okay, but don’t blame me if shit hits the fan.” Jed edges past the deer to the still-open passenger door, reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a narrow black handset. “Bronc to Base. Come in. Bronc to Base.”

  The roar of static is the only response. “Nothing,” Jed says. “I told you we weren’t close enough. This only has a two-mile range.”

  “I thought he said this was state-of-the-art.”

  “It is. Too bad we don’t have cell service down here.”

  “Who the hell would use it? Nothing down here but a bunch of fucking vaqueros tending their fucking cattle.”

  Down here? Did we cross into Mexico while I was out? Not hard to do. In some places, the Rio Grande can be easily forded in a vehicle like this. Was that the reason for the blindfold and the shot?

  Soured migas rise to my throat as raw truth grabs my senses. I am going to die. If not here in the middle of this lonely wasteland, then at the mercy of some nameless devil waiting at the end of the line.

  Luke grabs the walkie-talkie. This time the static is broken by some sort of whining signal. He smiles. “Hear that, asshole? That tone means we ain’t too far outta range.”

  He jams the instrument into Jed’s hand and points him down the road. “Now, get going, and don’t stop until you’ve made contact.”

  Adrenaline surges through my body. I’m in a weakened state and without Jed’s protection I’ll be at Luke’s mercy. Being alone with him is too horrible to contemplate without becoming violently ill. I make a decision. Better off dead than writhing in agony beneath Luke Hansen. I will run until he guns me down.

  Jed pitches the walkie-talkie back to his astonished boss. “No way. I’m not going to be the one to break contact. Go ahead. Shoot me. Anything’s better than facing him if I break silence.”

  I face my new savior, who has put his life on the line for me in a boldly daring move. I send up a quick prayer that his ploy will work.

  Luke looks at the walkie-talkie, then back at Jed. I can almost see the wheels grinding. If it weren’t such a desperate situation, the scene would be hilarious. The man is caught. If he shoots Jed, he has no dog to kick. If he goes and Jed stays, Luke relinquishes a big hunk of his pathetic self-importance.

  He hooks the walkie-talkie to his belt. “You’re nothing but a yellow-bellied coward and I’m fucking ashamed we’re kin.”

  He points to me. “I better find her just like I left her, asshole. Get that kerchief off her neck. She don’t need it no more.”

  After Luke disappears over a rise in the road, Jed takes the bandanna from me and opens the tailgate of the Bronco. “You must be thirsty. Want a beer?”

  I scramble out of the back seat, cherishing the feel of solid ground beneath my feet. “I’d love one. Thanks for what you did. It was very brave.”

  He hands me an open longneck. “I hate that fucking bastard.” The cool, bitter fizz is nectar to my parched throat and I down almost half the bottle before I say, “Did I hear Luke call you kin?”

  “Cousin. His dad was my mother’s brother.” “And he bullied you into this mess?”

  Jed stares at me for a minute, then flashes me a quirky grin. “I guess you could say that.”

  His open face and crooked smile seem somehow reassuring. For the first time since I was yanked from the cab, a small push of hope nudges the desolation that fills my soul.

  He tosses his empty in the back, then hops on the tailgate to peer in the direction Luke disappeared. When he jumps down, he says, “I think I’ll head out to meet Luke and give you a little privacy.”

  “Thanks. I promise not to run.”

  He laughs and waves his arms at the barren landscape. “There is no place to run.”

  I watch Jed shrink with the distance, then look around. He’s right, nothing but the usual panorama of cactus and mesquite. And something else is missing. There are no telephone poles. We have left civilization as I know it.

  Half an hour later, I hear the swearing before the two men, silhouetted in the dwindling light, appear.

  During Jed’s absence, the sky has darkened from a rapidly advancing late April “norther,” heralded by pale flashes of lightening echoed by muffled thunder. When the first heavy drops raise tiny puffs of dust, I slide into the back seat and close the door. Seconds later the two men throw open the front doors and slam their sweat-soaked bodies into the front seat.

  “Just made it, no thanks to you, asshole.” Luke leans across his cousin to stash the walkie-talkie in the glove compartment before turning to me. “They’re sending help. So shut up and sit tight.” Those are the last words I hear. For endless minutes the pounding rain drowns all sound as winds savagely buffet the car. Lightening strikes too often and too close for comfort followed by exploding thunder.

  I see Luke’s mouth move and read his lips. No prayers there. Jed huddles in his seat, body jerking at every bright strobe and crash.

  For some reason the fury of the storm gives me a beginning sense of strength. Perhaps Jed’s earlier kindness planted that small seed of hope, but it’s there and I intend to nourish it.

  The front passes as quickly as it arrived, followed by a clear, inky sky. We all seem to sigh at the same time and when Luke rolls down his window, goose bumps raise. My short-sleeved linen pantsuit is no protection against the sudden twenty-degree drop. “Damn it’s dark.” Luke switches on the headlights. “Where the hell is that goddam truck?” He fiddles with the keys, then lets loose a string of pungent swear words. “This is the most dumb-assed thing I’ve ever done. Kidnap a fucking dame. Why he wants her down here is beyond me. She’s liable to screw up the whole damned operation.”

  Kidnap? It takes a few seconds for the word to take on meaning, then my stomach curdles. I recall Gibbs’s mentioning a safe exit, then conclude “he” must be head of the cartel.

  If this is so, I’m a goner. What possible use would they have for me other than to get me out of the picture? There must be something they think I know—something they don’t want me to tell the Feds.

  “Maybe nothing’s wrong with the wheel,” Jed says. “I said it was broken, asshole, didn’t you hear me?”

  “But who knows when the truck’ll be here. What do we have to lose?”

  “Our asses, that’s all. But, what the hell.” Luke turns the key and the engine comes to life.

  He eases the gear out of “park” and metal groans as the car lurches a few inches forward, raises crazily, then drops as the wheel begins its rotation.

  “Hot damn,” Luke shouts. “I think we’re in business.”

  We slowly bump and thump along until there is a sharp crack and the vehicle drops precipitously to the left.

  “It’s Fucking-A over.” Luke turns and lands a heavy blow on Jed’s chest. “You and your dumb-ass ideas. We’ve had it now.” As if on cue, headlights crest the hill and jiggle toward us.

  By the time the truck arrives, I
have retrieved my briefcase and Luke and Jed have pulled several cardboard boxes and the cooler from the rear of the Bronco.

  Luke jumps on the running board and peers into the darkened cab. “It’s about time.”

  A muffled but somehow familiar “Sorry, Señor Luke” gets my attention.

  I strain to catch a glimpse of the driver, but the man notices my stare and pulls the brim of his Stetson low on his brow.

  Luke steers me toward the back of the large canvas-covered truck where the tailgate hangs open. I scramble upward but not fast enough to avoid his attempt to explore my derriere. That gives me the impetus to make one last pull and I skitter away to sit on one of the side benches, followed by Jed, who sits on the bench across from me.

  After securing the tailgate, Luke pounds on the back of the cab, then slumps into me. When I try to inch away, he circles my neck with his arm. “Too bad we don’t have a longer trip. If I had time, I could make you real happy.”

  I break his hold and slide the length of the bench to the rear of the truck with every intention of jumping over the tailgate if he pursues.

  The rattle and flap of the canvas fails to obscure a struggle followed by silence and I realize Jed has come to my rescue once more.

  I stare into the dust-filled night unable to decide whether throwing myself over the back of the rumbling truck and taking my chances in the dark would be better than meeting “him.”

  The truck squeaks to a stop and a gate creaks. We edge over a cattle guard, then wait until the gate swings shut. Endless minutes pass before the truck finally stops in front of a dimly lit porch and the aroma of food embraces my senses. Despite my fear, I’m ravenous.

  The tailgate flops down.

  “It’s about time.” Luke stomps past me to jump and land heavily on the ground below. He speaks to someone I can’t see. “I want my pay first thing in the morning. Hear?”

  There’s some low conversation, then he disappears, footsteps fading in the distance.

  I sit shivering, partly from the cold, but mostly from the ice in the pit of my stomach. I’m too frightened to cry, too panicked to pray. Deep in my gut, I know it’s over.