by Stuart Woods
She went into the little powder room off her new office and put her own cosmetics into the medicine chest, then washed the dust from her hands and splashed some water on her face. Exhausted, she went into Tip’s study, opened the cabinet containing the bar and poured herself a stiff Scotch, then she stretched out on the leather sofa and watched the sun set behind the mountains as she sipped her drink.
Soon, healed and relaxed by the whiskey, she began thinking about Tip Hanks, his mop of sun-bleached hair and his taut body. She unzipped her jeans and pulled them down to her knees, then, with the Scotch in the other hand, she began to stroke her clitoris. She was already wet, and it took only a couple of minutes of fun to bring her to orgasm.
When she stopped panting she wiped herself with tissues, pulled up her jeans and soon fell asleep on the couch.
TIP LANDED AT HOUSTON’S Hobby Field at dusk and taxied to Atlantic Aviation for refueling and hangaring, then picked up his rental car and drove to the Four Seasons hotel and checked in. He showered and changed, then went down to the bar for a drink before dinner.
Everybody there was properly respectful of his mourning, and he couldn’t pay for a drink. There were the usual hanger-on girls, some of whom showed an interest in him, but in spite of his stir-rings, he was determined to remain chaste on the tour, at least for a while.
He had dinner with a couple of cronies and got to bed early. He was playing the pro-am the next day with some movie star, and he wanted to be fresh. The golf course had been renovated, and it was his first opportunity to play it since. He took a look at the pin positions in the book before retiring, and he liked what he saw. The course was set up well for his game.
Before he fell asleep he wondered, not for the first time, why he was not more upset about his wife’s murder. It was as if he was viewing a film of the event, and he was playing his part badly. All he felt was emptiness.
BARBARA HAD LEFT TUCSON early in the morning, driving east, and she arrived in Santa Fe at dusk and found the FedEx office still open and the package waiting for her. She got back into the car and examined the passports, driver’s licenses and credit cards the man in Venice Beach had created for her. They were of his usual excellent quality.
She had another hour and a half of driving to reach the Holroyds’ house beyond Los Alamos, and she was tired, so she checked into the Hotel Santa Fe, at Cerrillos and Paseo de Peralta, a place where she had not been known when she had lived in the town, and called the Holroyds, telling them she’d be there for lunch the following day. She had a quiet dinner in the bar, followed by a good night’s sleep.
The following morning she drove up the winding mountain road to Los Alamos, continued through what was visible of the town and followed the directions to the ranch that Hugh Holroyd had given her.
Charlene greeted her with a big kiss as she got out of the car. “You made it! We missed you last night.”
“I was whipped when I got into Santa Fe,” Barbara said, opening the rear of the station wagon so that a servant could remove her new luggage.
Hugh met her at the door with another big kiss, and she was shown to her room, which, not to her surprise, was connected to the master suite by a door and a short hallway.
She spent the afternoon unpacking, napping and watching a golf tournament from Houston, which featured a player she found very attractive. She was pleased to hear an announcer say he hailed from Santa Fe. Maybe she’d look him up later.
They were served a sumptuous dinner prepared by the Holroyds’ chef, then given after-dinner drinks before an open fire in the living room, where they lounged on large cushions. From that moment, Barbara noticed, there were no servants in sight.
Charlene got things started by giving Barbara a playful kiss, and soon they were all naked while Hugh watched the two women make love, and he weighed in from time to time. Then they rested and drank for a while and started in again, this time with Barbara and Hugh. She found them both very comfortable to be with.
AT ED AND SUSANNAH EAGLE’S house up the mountain from the village of Tesuque, they hosted the writer and producer who had arrived in Santa Fe to begin production on Susannah’s film project. She had taken the supporting role, on Ed’s advice, because the character had a couple of scenes the likes of which would be taken notice of by the Los Angeles film community and members of the Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences.
Susannah had been nominated twice before, and this seemed the perfect opportunity to seal the deal.
Eagle was interested to talk to Jim Long. Previously, he had seen the producer only on TV, when he had testified at Barbara’s trial. Eagle might as well break the ice, he thought.
“Jim, have you heard from Barbara since her incarceration?”
Long shook his head. “From what little I know of Mexican jails, people seem to just disappear into them. She’s going to be in for a long, long time.”
“I think that’s best,” Eagle said.
“Maybe you’re right,” Long agreed. “She was a bad, bad girl.”
The group drank, dined and talked on until after midnight, then the visitors excused themselves and drove back to their hotel.
Eagle and Susannah got ready for bed while the cook and her helpers cleaned up after the party.
“What did you think of Jim Long?” Susannah asked.
“Seems like a nice fellow,” Eagle replied. “He agreed with me that Barbara will be away for a long, long time.”
“I suppose she will,” Susannah said. “It’s a pity Mexico doesn’t have the death penalty.”
11
Tip Hanks stood on the eighteenth green and sized up his putt. Not good. He had been at the top of his game for four days, and now he had a one-stroke lead on the last hole. Trouble was, he had a thirty-five-foot putt that was going to go over a little rise in the green, then break on the downhill slope to the hole, while his opponent had a six-foot straight-in putt to tie the match and force a play-off. Tip did not want a play-off. He conferred with Mike, his caddie.
“Play it like the hole is at the top of the rise,” Mike advised, “and a foot past. Aim for a line a foot right of the hole. It’s going to break left and be very fast downhill.”
Tip took another look from ten feet behind the ball and agreed. He took a couple of practice swings, then stepped forward and struck the ball smoothly. It rolled up the rise, slowed nearly to a halt at the top, then curved gracefully down the slope and into the cup. The crowd went nuts.
Tip walked to the edge of the green and leaned on his putter. His opponent had to sink this putt to keep sole possession of second place. He sank it, and it was over. Tip had won it.
He hugged Mike, then shook hands with his opponent and his opponent’s caddie. The crowd swarmed around him as he walked to the tent where he would double-check his scorecard and sign it. That done, he walked to the cleared area in front of the clubhouse and was interviewed briefly for television, where he accepted condolences for Connie, then appeared appropriately modest about his win.
All that remained then was to accept the trophy and hit the showers, secure in the knowledge that tomorrow morning there would be a wire transfer to his bank account of one million, one hundred thousand dollars. He was now officially richer than he had ever been, and he had improved his position to fifth in the race for the FedEx Cup.
He was too tired to fly but not too tired to celebrate, so he stayed another night at the Four Seasons and celebrated with the few stragglers who had not immediately flown home. When he returned to his room at bedtime, he found a congratulatory e-mail from Dolly waiting for him. They had exchanged e-mails every day, always with a business reason but always pleasantly. She seemed to be on top of things at home.
The following morning he took off from Hobby Field and flew northwest to Santa Fe. He arrived at the house at noon and saw Dolly’s little BMW convertible parked out front. “Anybody home?” he called as he entered the house. He dropped his bag by the door for his housekeeper to unpack and w
alked into his study.
Dolly came out of her office smiling. “Congratulations,” she said, walking forward and offering her hand. When he shook it, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. He seemed surprised. “The transfer is in your savings account,” she said, “and I’ve already sent the check for the taxes to your accountant.”
“Thanks, Dolly,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve done with your office.” She led him there, and he looked around for a moment. “Very nice,” he said, but he was more impressed than that. If she handled his affairs as neatly as she did her office, everything would be fine.
“Have you had lunch?” she asked.
“No. Why don’t you join me?”
“I’ll tell Carmen,” she said, going off to find the housekeeper.
His study was a lot neater than when he had left, and he liked that, too.
BARBARA SLEPT LATE, and when she was dressing she heard a sound she hadn’t heard for quite some time: a cell phone ringing. Surprised, she dug it out of her purse. It had to be Jimmy. He was the only person who had the number.
“Hey,” she said.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’d rather not say,” she replied. “Where are you?”
“In Santa Fe.”
She was surprised. “Why?”
“I’m producing a film here that’s starting production right away.”
“Good,” she said. “You’ll enjoy the town.”
“Something else,” he said. “It’s starring the wife of your nemesis.”
“What?”
“Relax. It was a good deal for me. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Have you seen Ed?”
“Last night. They had me, the writer/director and the star for dinner.”
“Isn’t Susannah starring?”
“No. She could have, but she took a supporting role. Smart move, too.”
“Listen, I’ve got to run,” she said. “I’ll call you in a few days.”
“Okay. Take care.”
She hung up and swore. This was a very big monkey wrench in her works. She had been planning to kill them both, but she couldn’t do that to Jimmy; he’d lose a lot of money. She paced around the room. What would she do now? She could stay on briefly with Charlene and Hugh, but only briefly. They’d be sick of her in a few days, and she couldn’t blame them.
She picked up the Santa Fe New Mexican, which had been left at her door, and sat down with the real estate pages, circling likely-sounding rentals. One sounded particularly nice, and she called the agent and made an appointment to see it.
She sat at the dressing table and inspected herself carefully. Her new hair color and the cosmetic surgery she had had before her incarceration might make it unlikely for people who had known her in Santa Fe to recognize her, but still, she had to be careful.
IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON she drove back to town and, following the directions the agent had given her, drove to the development called Las Campanas, which she knew about from her earlier stay in the town when she had been married to Eagle. The property was a guesthouse, nicely furnished and available at a very reasonable rent, in return for keeping an eye on the house. The couple would not return until next summer.
She signed the lease on the spot and gave the agent a check for a month’s rent and a security deposit, then she drove back to the Holroyds’ ranch, arriving in time for dinner.
She didn’t tell them about her rental. It was best that no one knew where she was. “I’ve got to go back to the West Coast on business,” she said to them.
They expressed suitable regret, and she showed her gratitude for inviting her by making them both very happy in bed that night.
The following morning she packed, then drove back to Las Campanas.
12
Pedro Alvarez sat at his desk, filling out requisition forms for food for his prisoners. He had a very sweet deal with his purveyor: Alvarez checked off good-quality goods on the form, and the purveyor supplied him with cheaper selections for each one, and Alvarez got a very nice cash payment when the food was delivered.
He had accumulated a nice little nest egg, doing this and taking bribes from prisoners for various items he supplied, such as beauty products, and the best part was that his wife knew nothing about his arrangements or his nest egg. He planned to play cards with some friends that evening, and he went to the safe to get some cash. To his astonishment, the money was gone! But how? No one else had the combination to the safe. He opened his wallet, where he kept the combination written on a card: still there. He checked the edge of his desk drawer, where he kept the combination taped: still there.
Barbara! It had to be that bitch. She had taken his wallet or found the combination on the drawer’s edge! He couldn’t believe it. He felt sick.
The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Alvarez.”
“Hello, Pedro,” the capitán said. “You don’t sound very well.”
“Just a little indigestion,” Alvarez replied. “Are you well?”
“Yes, and I’m coming to Acapulco tomorrow morning. I thought I might drive up to Tres Cruces and take you up on your offer of fucking the lovely Barbara.”
Alvarez was seized with panic. The capitán had many connections in the Ministry of Justice. He had found Alvarez this job. If he discovered that Barbara was no longer in his prison, there would be hell to pay.
He fell back on his earlier invention. “You know, Capitán, the day after you called, two men appeared in my office with a transfer order for the woman, and they took her away.”
“Away where?” the capitán asked.
“I don’t know. They told me that if I told anyone of her transfer I would lose my job, so I assumed they were from the Ministry.”
“That is very peculiar,” the capitán replied. “I will make some inquiries.”
“Oh, no, please! If you start asking around, whoever is behind this will hear of it and will take it out on me. I beg you, don’t mention this to anyone else.”
“Pedro, you must know this is highly irregular,” the capitán said.
“And I was told to continue to keep her on my roster of prisoners, to make no change.”
“Do you know the names of these men?”
“No, but they had a fully executed transfer order with all the proper stamps.”
“I see. Then I suppose you had no choice but to surrender the woman to them.”
“No choice whatsoever, Capitán. When I questioned them they threatened to call Mexico City and have me disciplined.”
“All right, Pedro, don’t worry about it. I won’t mention it to anyone in the Ministry, or anyone else, for that matter.”
“Thank you, Capitán,” Alvarez said. “If you’d like to come up, I can give you your choice of other women. None as beautiful as the Eagle woman, of course, but very nice.”
“Perhaps another time, Pedro,” the capitán said. “I must run now. Good-bye.”
Alvarez hung up the phone, and he was bathed in sweat. His money was gone, and he could only hope that the capitán would keep his word.
THE CAPITÁN STARED AT his phone for a moment, then picked it up and dialed a number at the Ministry of Justice in Mexico City. He was greeted warmly by his contact.
“I would like you to do something for me,” the capitán said. “Can you check your computer for the El Diablo women’s prison in Tres Cruces and see if there is a record of a transfer for a prisoner named Barbara Eagle? She is an Anglo.”
“It will take only a moment,” the man said. Shortly he returned to the phone. “No, there is no such record. She is carried on the roll of El Diablo as a prisoner there.”
“Would the transfer of any inmate be recorded in your computer files?”
“Yes, indeed. The issuance of a transfer order and the execution of the order would both be recorded.”
The capitán thanked the man, then hung up. Something smelled of fish, he thought. Then he thought again. No, not of fish-of escape.
The woman had somehow got herself out of El Diablo and was now free. Then he remembered something.
He looked up the number for Cupie Dalton, in Los Angeles, and dialed it.
“This is Cupie,” a voice said.
“Cupie, it’s me.”
“Capitán! How the hell are you?”
“All right, I guess. You remember you phoned me a little while back about the woman Barbara Eagle?”
“Yeah, sure, I did.”
“You wanted to know if she was still in prison?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“She is not.”
Cupie thought about that for a moment. “Barbara is out?”
“It would appear so. The day following our conversation two men appeared at the prison with a transfer order, supposedly issued by the Ministry of Justice. The warden told me it was properly executed, and the men took Eagle away, telling him to continue to keep her on his roll of prisoners and warning him to tell no one.”
“Good God! Where did they take her?”
“I have no idea. The Ministry has no record of a transfer. I suspect that this was an escape arranged by some friend of hers.”
“Is anyone looking for her?”
“No, that would be… inconvenient, at this time.”
“I can understand how it might be,” Cupie said.
“Cupie, it seems possible that your eyes did not deceive you when you thought you saw her.”
“It certainly does,” Cupie replied.
“My friend, I would be very grateful if you could try and trace her. It is impossible for me to pay you at this time, but if you were able to find her and return her to Mexico, I could arrange a substantial reward for you.”
Cupie thought about that. It wasn’t as though he had much work at the moment. “Capitán, I would be very happy to try and find her,” he said.
