“I realize I’d rather be dead than live this existence.” “Remarkable.”
I know I’m on shaky ground, but I race on. “Adelena and Miguel were also brought here against their wills. Adelena is frantic to contact her family, and Miguel’s mother was very ill when they were taken. I promised them if I could get away, I would come back.”
“You were very brave to make such a promise. How can you be sure you could keep it?”
“I’m not brave. Adelena and Miguel have kept me sane during my brief imprisonment. I’d do anything for them.”
Ramón nods. “I am touched by your concern for Miguel and his wife. They will be safely returned. You have my word.”
I want to believe him. Crooked as his operation is, he seems to have some sort of code of ethics. It doesn’t really matter. If he’s offering me a way out of here, I intend to take it.
“It seems we have concluded our business.” Ramón rises and offers his hand. “After Paul is placed on the jet, change into something comfortable. Bring only what you can carry.”
He touches the pearls at my neck. “Don’t forget these. Paul paid a pretty price for them.”
I gasp at his suggestion. “But they belong to Paul.”
“He won’t need them. Just think of them as a little memento of your ordeal.”
Chapter 32
THE DINING TABLE, SET FOR TWELVE with gold-rimmed crystal and china, glows beneath the wrought-iron chandelier. Gracing the center of the long board is a stream of pale pink peonies spilling from low containers interspersed with twinkling votives.
I stand mesmerized by the stunning but surreal setting, as Ramón directs his subordinates to their places.
He takes Paul’s place at the head of the table seating me to his right and Paul next to me. Across from me, Luke Hansen is deep in conversation with the man to his left. His Tex-Mex is fluent, his gestures, contained. In profile he looks halfway presentable, but bears a still-sinister shadow of the brute who killed an innocent cab driver, then spent the whole trip across South Texas constantly terrorizing me and threatening Jed at every imagined disobedience.
Miguel and Adelena serve the first course: a colorful salad of orange and jicama slices topped with a mixture of white button mushrooms, onions, and celery accented with squeezed lime and a generous dash of red chili powder.
The room hums with low conversation interspersed with civilized clinks of silverware on china. Not a bad table manner among the group. Even Luke has cleaned up his road act.
Ramón, Paul, and I again become a conversational island with the two men carrying on a banal exchange.
Ramón cocks his head and leans conspiratorially across me. “My Nita is encinta with our fourth.”
Paul slurs, “Fourth? Wow. A fourth. How I envy you.” He peers at me through bleary eyes. “Isn’t that wonderful, darling? Maybe soon we can have some news of our own.”
I give Ramón a wan smile. “Please give your wife my best wishes.”
Paul is drinking too much. His usual martini, a double, was expanded to two and Miguel has already filled Paul’s glass four times with a nice crisp Fumé Blanc.
I give the room another once-over. No Jed. It’s plain he’s not part of the “in” group even though he’s Luke’s cousin. Maybe Ramón is superstitious about a thirteenth place at the table.
Adelena has outdone herself with a tender chicken breast in an almond mole, its thick, spicy sauce highlighted by a tangy texture of almonds and peanuts with the added piquancy of cloves and cinnamon.
The conversations continue between the men, their faces averted, leaving the three of us and our conversation limited to trivia, since Paul is now obviously drunk.
Finally, in desperation I suppose, Ramón brings up the wedding and Paul brightens. “I’m very honored you want to be my best man.”
He squeezes my hand and fuzzes, “Allie’s going to be a beautiful bride. Make me happiest—” He gropes for his next words, then smiles. “Yes, tomorrow will make me happy. Isn’t that right, darling?”
I nod, longing to be anyplace but at this table and in this untenable situation.
“Of course she will. That’s all you want, isn’t it, Miss Armington?” Ramón softly touches my arm with his forefinger.
His touch may be gentle, but to me it feels like an electric prod. I start, then blurt, “Oh, yes.”
Adelena’s grand finale is Natillas, a custard pudding and stiff competition for my favorite piñon flan.
Coffee and brandy are poured, then Miguel passes a large humidor of Cuban cigars. Ramón’s gift as best man. Paul is barely able to mumble his thanks before he slumps against me.
No one seems to notice the host’s sad predicament, except Ramón, who taps Luke on the shoulder. “We must help Miss Armington with her fiancé.”
Luke is at our side in three quick steps. “I’ll ask Felix to accompany us, Patrón. I’m sure you would enjoy finishing your cigar.”
Ramón nods and smiles, then leans his mouth to my ear. His hand bores into mine as orders come like bullets. “Rise now, Miss Armington. Wait until Luke and Felix have your fiancé on his feet, then follow them. Do not leave Paul’s side until you are told. Do you understand?”
I’m warm from the wine and the food, but a shiver knifes my body as the terrible truth becomes clear. How stupid I’ve been to think Ramón would let me go. I know far too much.
I watch Luke and a man I suppose must be Felix, hoist Paul from the chair and shoulder his arms. Somehow, he staggers between them, while I follow a few steps behind down that long hall and into the bedroom.
Luke barks, “Shut the door.”
As I do, I hear Paul’s body hit the bed, then turn to see the men standing only feet away.
Luke slaps his compadre on the back. “Gracias, Felix. Please go back to your brandy and Cubana. I’ll handle it from here.”
The man looks at me, murmurs something and slides past me to the door.
When it clicks shut, Luke pushes me away and snaps the lock.
I make a move toward the bed, but he catches my arm, slams me against the wall and pins me with one hand. “Jefe can’t protect you. He’s out for the count.”
I squelch stinging fear by staring at the center of his forehead. Surprisingly, my response brims with self-confidence. “I don’t need protection. Least of all from you.”
“That’s what you think, sister. I’m taking care of you right now. Bad news is I don’t have time to give you a parting fuck like Reena.”
“You?” I squeak.
Luke smiles. “Yeah. I had orders.” “Paul?”
“That fucking weenie? No way. Patrón called that shot. Reena was a weak link. Could cause us trouble later. Face it, the bitch was useless.” His smile widens into a hideous grimace. “And now I’m taking care of you.”
He reaches into his boot, pulls out a stiletto, and waves it in my face. “What do you think about this?”
I glance away to hide my alarm as the tension between us takes on a life of its own.
“Better think again, Luke.” The steady cadence of my voice surprises me. “While you and Paul were putting the records on the jet, Ramón promised me safe passage out of here and I don’t think he’ll be very happy if you produce a corpse.”
His sneer fades to shock then disbelief. “You’re bluffing.”
I manage a small smile. “Am I?”
The hallway fills with sounds of the ending dinner party, but instead of the usual conviviality, panic seems to carry the mood as shouted orders are drowned by gunning engines.
Hurried footsteps approach the door and a rapid knock accompanies, “It’s Jed. Open up.”
Luke hesitates only a moment to place the knife in his boot, then moves quickly to admit his cousin.
“Change in plans. Carpenter’s going on the jet. You, too, Luke.”
Luke’s “What?” sounds like a chicken squawk.
“You heard me. Ramón needs you. Says it’s urgent. Says there’s big
trouble. Follow me.”
The two men disappear down the hall without a backward look, leaving me trembling like an aspen to collapse weakly on the bed next to Paul.
I cover his clammy forehead with the palm of my hand and whisper, “Paul? Can you hear me?” No response.
Luke’s departure brought a brief wave of relief, but that emotion died as quickly as it came. Deep sorrow engulfs me as I bear witness to the depravity that took control of Paul’s life. His face, though numbed with drugs and alcohol, a portrait of desolation.
Despite my eagerness to put as much distance as possible between myself, this place, and Paul, I realize this probably will be the last time I see the man I once thought I couldn’t live without.
If by some miracle Paul is spared, he will need money. I touch the strand of pearls at my neck. Footsteps in the distance spring me to action. I struggle with the clasp, desperate to conceal the pearls in Paul’s pocket before I’m discovered. At first try, the pearls drop away from my neck. I wiggle the ring from my finger and stash both in his pocket.
The door opens and Jed runs toward me followed by Miguel.
“I’m flying you to Anacacho in the Piper as soon as I load Carpenter on the jet. Get into your escape gear a.s.a.p. Something big’s going down. Maybe a turf war. All I know is, we gotta make tracks pronto.”
I can’t help but blurt, “That bastard was going to kill me.” Jed must realize how shaken I am because he touches my arm. “That’s over. He’s gone. We have to get out of here.”
“But—”
His touch becomes an urgent grip. “We don’t have much time.”
I nod, take a deep breath, then glance toward Miguel, who is bent over Paul. “What about him?”
“I’ll work on the math, but I can’t promise you anything. Once we get Carpenter settled, I’ll head for the Piper. Wait in your room.”
Chapter 33
THE CHAOS SURROUNDING the jet’s departure is filled with shouted orders, countermanded by others, followed by slamming doors and motors gunning. By the time Miguel comes for me, I hear the whine of starting jets in the distance.
“Hurry, Señorita, we don’t have much time. Patrón told Jed that twenty or more men in a three-truck convoy were headed our way and we have an hour at the most before they arrive.”
I rush after Miguel’s retreating back and finally catch up with him at an idling Jeep. “Did you get Señor Carpenter safely on board?”
He motions for me to climb in next to Adelena, who is also dressed in jeans and a jacket. “Sí, Señorita, but I don’t know how safe Jefe will be at the hands of those murderers.”
I scrunch into the seat as a dark wave of gloom covers me. Paul is as good as dead. But I can’t think about that now. We have so little time—so little real hope of making it with four of us in that tiny canvas plane.
We arrive at the strip just as the jet roars overhead. Jed motions me to join him and yells to Miguel, “Keep a sharp lookout, will you? We don’t want to be caught with our flaps down.”
He pulls me close. “If you want to make it, we have to leave them here.” “No way.”
“You’re right, no way. Look, Miguel seems pretty resourceful. He and his wife can make it to the nearest boy’s town and get help. They’ll be just fine.”
I stand a little taller. “I made a promise and I intend to keep it.”
It’s plain Miguel and Adelena have overheard us. Hovered to one side, they too are engrossed in whispered conversation.
“Look, dammit. It’s simple math. Six hundred forty-two pounds is the magic number. When we began the operation, I reconfigured this baby by removing the second seat. I pushed the pilot’s seat forward leaving me only enough room to operate the controls. The three of you jammed in the back will throw the balance way off.”
“We’ll just have to take our chances.”
He barks back. “What the hell do you know about flying a light, single-engine aircraft?”
“Not a thing, but if they don’t go, I don’t go.”
Jed squints down at the yellow pad. “Hold that flashlight steady.”
It’s plain he’s nervous as hell about risking four people in the airplane, but as far as I’m concerned we’re committed.
I check my watch. We’ve wasted ten good minutes arguing.
Jed removes his rifle from its rack in the plane, then totes up the column again. “Our combined weight adds up to five-fifty. That leaves only seventeen gallons of fuel at seven pounds a gallon. By jettisoning this, we might have nineteen, but it’s still gonna be a scraper.”
“Then it’s a scraper.”
“Taking on two more people is just plain suicide.”
At that, Miguel leaves Adelena to join us. “I’ll stay, Señor Jed, but I beg you, please take my Adelena.”
Even though it’s dark, I can almost see the stricken look on Adelena’s face and say, “Don’t be ridiculous, Miguel. We’re all going. Aren’t we, Jed?”
The words are barely out of my mouth before Adelena is clinging to Miguel, sobbing rapid Spanish into his ear.
I jab Jed in the rib. “We’re all going.”
“Ouch. Yes, dammit. I’m not leaving anybody behind.”
I scan the horizon for the glow of approaching headlights and see none.
“That’s what I thought. Hurry up. We’re wasting time.”
Jed shakes his head for the fourth time in as many minutes. “I still don’t think there’s enough gas to get us to the Anacacho strip.” It’s hard to keep the exasperation out of my voice. “You’ve flown fully loaded before. Don’t you have those figures in your head?”
“But I’ve always been able to balance the weight. I shift the bags to even the load, but hell, with almost four hundred pounds to the rear, we’ll be lucky to get this ruptured duck off the ground. And if we do, once we’re airborne, we’re liable to stall.”
It’s time to take matters into my own hands. I point the flashlight toward the opening. “Miguel, you get in first. Then you, Adelena.”
Jed’s, “I tell you, it’s not going to work,” trails me as I place one foot on the step and scrunch into Adelena’s knees.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t worry, Señorita, I’ll be fine.” There’s an excitement in Adelena’s voice that ignites my own.
I shine the flashlight on the step. “Come on, Jed. We’re pushing our escape window.”
He checks his shoulder holster, then grumbling expletives, hauls himself into the pilot’s seat. Once he has closed and locked the opening, he turns. “Every goddamnbody pray.”
The sound of the engine turning over raises my adrenaline to pitch level and I pat Jed on the shoulder. “I know you can do it. Just tell us what to do.”
“You must know something I don’t.”
I glance out the window and freeze. Three sets of headlights have just graced the horizon.
“What I know is, we’ve run out of time. Look to your rear right.”
“Oh, shit. Hang on everybody.”
The plane rolls slowly down the tarmac, then, bit by bit, gains momentum as the engine strains to attain the rpm needed to take us into the air.
The plane bucks, then shudders as the tires break from the runway and for an instant we are free.
All of us scream, venting our triumph, but it’s short-lived as the wheels crash back into the runway.
From behind comes a muted, “Ave Maria.”
“I told you it was suicide.” There’s a weariness in Jed’s voice I don’t want to hear.
“Dammit, Jed, you can’t give up now.”
Miguel’s voice is almost in my ear. “Señor Jed, you must try again. If you don’t, we are all dead.”
Jed shouts, “Okay, okay. Everybody move forward. Get that weight out of the rear.”
I kneel, knees screaming against the unforgiving floor, clutch the back of Jed’s seat, and pull myself forward. Adelena’s arms circle my waist, pulling me backwards, and when I feel Miguel’s added ton
nage, it’s like I’m dragging an elephant.
Jed guns the motor a second time and the tail pops away from the ground.
No cheer this time, only silence. I hold my breath, praying there will be enough lift beneath the wings. Then, magically, we slowly rise above the mesa and into the night.
The plane sways, dips, then rights itself as Jed adjusts, then readjusts the fuel mix to avoid a stall. From his earlier description, I know the next few minutes in the air are crucial. If he can get the plane on an even keel, we’re outta here. If he can’t—I don’t want to think about that or the searing pain in my knees, so I look out the window to see the widening gap between us and the three sets of bobbing headlights below.
The minutes that follow seem like hours, but finally, Jed shouts, “Okay. Relax. But no quick movements. You first, Miguel. Slide back to your original position. Adelena, stay where you are for now.”
I lose half the elephant. Still, my shoulders quiver from the strain of holding so tightly to the seat and I’ve lost all feeling in my knees.
Though the motor drones on, the plane dips slightly to the rear, then levels out again.
To my relief, Jed seems to have regained some optimism because his next words are a command. “So far, so good. Okay, Adelena. Settle back against Miguel. Allie, stay forward.”
Again the plane dips, but resumes its level flight with ease.
“All right, Allie. Ease back into a sitting position, but take it real easy. A sudden shift in weight could stall us out.”
I release my grip and slowly rearrange my aching legs. The steady hum of the motor, and the feel of Adelena’s knees against my back are pure heaven.
My initial experience of heaven quickly fades as the minutes crawl by and Adelena’s shins turn into razor blades. I check my watch, hoping to see the minute hand has made it to twelve, but it’s still stuck on six.
The pale glow of the instrument panel creeping around Jed’s shoulders gives the plane’s interior an eerie cast. Behind me Miguel and Adelena are talking, but the drone of the engine mutes their words. No point in trying to talk to Jed. He has enough on his mind. Nothing to do but try to keep my full weight off Adelena’s slender support.
Anacacho, An Allie Armington Mystery Page 20
