by Max Austin
She felt woozy. She leaned forward, arms wrapped around her tummy. Her face was right at the level of their hands as Vic passed Penny a pistol.
“It’s got a history,” he said, “so don’t use it unless you absolutely have to.”
“No reason to think those guys will come here,” Penny said. “We’ll be fine.”
“Still, I’ll come right back. I just want a quick look around the motel.”
Vic bent over Tina and looked her in the eyes. “You’ll be okay here with Penny?”
Tina nodded. What else could she do?
“Did you leave the motel room locked?”
She nodded. “The key’s on Ryan’s key ring. In the car.”
“Good. I’ll be right back. I’ll bring you some clothes.”
Chapter 29
Vic backed Ryan’s car around until it was pointed toward Sixth Street, then zoomed out the gravel driveway. The hopped-up Mustang bounced into the empty street, its tires chirping when they touched asphalt. The Desert Rose Motel was only a few blocks away, but Vic managed to burn rubber around every corner on the way. He rumbled into the motel’s narrow parking lot, checking the few parked cars. All were empty.
Cheery Christmas lights glowed in the windows of the motel office, but no one manned the desk inside. All the rooms were dark, the guests fast asleep at three o’clock on a Saturday morning.
Vic parked a few slots away from room eleven and killed the throbbing engine. He sat there a minute, watching and waiting. Nothing moved. No lights came on.
His knees creaked as he climbed out of the low car. He listened at the door of room eleven for a few seconds before he put the key in the lock.
Once inside, he flipped on the overhead light. The covers were pitched off the bed into a heap on the floor, but otherwise everything looked normal. Nothing to indicate somebody had been snatched from the room.
Cosmetics and hairbrushes and other personal stuff covered the top of the dresser. The wastebasket was full of fast-food trash and soda cans. The small closet was stuffed with clothes on hangers. Vic went through them, picking out some jeans and a sweatshirt and a jacket for Tina.
He went outside and tossed the clothes into the Mustang’s passenger seat. As he climbed behind the wheel, his phone trilled. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the readout.
“Penny? What’s wrong?”
“Don’t get excited, Vic. We’re fine. Tina’s having some peppermint tea.” She lowered her voice as she added, “But I just got a phone call.”
“From who?”
“Hang on a second.” He heard a door close in the background, then Penny said, “There. I had to leave Tina in the kitchen. It was one of Marino’s people on the phone. They’ve got Ryan.”
“Aw, shit.”
“I’m sorry, Vic. I never thought something like this could—”
“What did he say?”
“Same thing they’ve been saying. They want you to kill Joaquin Zamora. They think that’ll even the score.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m telling you what he said.”
“If I bump Zamora, they’ll let Ryan go?”
“That’s what he said.”
“We can’t count on those people to keep their word.”
“Do we have a choice?”
He sighed.
“I’ve got some clothes for Tina. I’ll bring them there, and you can tell me the rest.”
“I’m so sorry, Vic.”
He hung up.
Chapter 30
Penny met Vic at the kitchen door. She’d moved Tina into the living room, out of earshot. Vic had Tina’s clothes draped over his arm and he asked about her as soon as he was inside.
“She’s pretty messed up,” Penny whispered. “Just staring into space. She didn’t even hear the phone ring.”
“The call came from Phoenix?”
“Yes. He didn’t identify himself. Just said he was a friend of Harry Marino’s. He said his ‘boys’ had Ryan and would keep him alive for twenty-four hours.”
“Any way to trace that phone number?”
“Maybe. But what’s the point? You going to fly to Phoenix and find the guy and squeeze him until his people hand over Ryan? Any chance that would work?”
“It might.”
“A long shot. At least we know where to find Zamora.”
“His place in the North Valley?”
“No. The man on the phone said he’s out of town. Up near Chama.”
Chama was a little tourist town near the Colorado border, best known for a scenic mountain railroad that attracted train buffs from all over. Vic had been up there once, years ago, back when he thought he might like fly-fishing. Turned out fly-fishing was mostly standing thigh-deep in cold water, casting over and over. He’d been bored out of his skull.
“What’s he doing up there?”
“Hunting trip with a bunch of his buddies. They’re at a lodge on the river, ten miles outside of town. I’ve got directions—”
“A hunting lodge full of men with guns. Any other good news?”
“A snowstorm’s about to hit up there.”
“Great.” Vic sighed. “Any chance Zamora will head for home? I could wait for him here.”
“He’s supposed to be up there all week.”
“Shit.”
He chewed on his lower lip, staring at the floor.
“Can Tina stay here with you?”
“Of course. Give me those clothes. I’ll take them to her.”
“I should tell her I’m leaving town.”
“I’ll tell her. Go pack your gear. Make some coffee. You’ve got a long drive ahead of you.”
“Right.” He handed over the clothes. “I’ll need my heavy coat. Some boots.”
Penny could tell he was mostly talking to himself, making a plan. As he went out into the night, she said, “Good luck.”
Chapter 31
Ryan sat in the dark, tallying up the things he knew to be true:
—He was alone. He could hear people moving around in the next room, the murmur of voices, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
—He sat on a hard kitchen chair, the old-fashioned kind you see in diners, with a plastic-covered seat and heavy chrome legs. Very sturdy. Bolted to the hardwood floor.
—His wrists were cuffed to the frame of the chair between the seat and the back.
—He had a dark pillowcase over his head. It smelled musty.
—He still wore only pajama bottoms and a T-shirt that Tina had given him as a gag, black with big block letters in white: KISS ME.
—His bare feet were cold.
—His heartbeat sounded very loud in his ears.
He had no idea why he’d been snatched or who his captors might be. Two masked men had used him for a punching bag, cuffed him and stuffed him into a van. Within ten minutes, they’d reached this place, whatever it was, and Ryan was shackled to this chair.
He estimated an hour had passed since they nabbed him. Had they called Vic yet? Demanded a ransom?
Because this had to be related to Vic. No reason to kidnap Ryan except to use him against his father. Hell, except for Tina and two or three friends back home in Tucson, nobody even knew Ryan was in Albuquerque.
So the kidnappers wanted something from Vic. Maybe money, but more likely they were trying to force him to pop somebody. Would he do it to save Ryan? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Either way, Ryan didn’t like his chances of ever leaving this chair. Once the kidnappers didn’t need him anymore, they wouldn’t risk letting him go. They’d put a bullet in his brain.
He shivered. Already, his hips were stiffening from sitting so long. He gave a tentative tug against the handcuffs, but they were as unyielding as before.
No one would come to his rescue. Vic had no way to locate him, if he even wanted to try. Ryan was on his own. He’d have to find a way to get free of these handcuffs. To escape.
Sooner would be better than later. Maybe he could get to a phone and warn Vic away from whatever deadly ransom the kidnappers had demanded.
Before it was too late. For both of them.
Chapter 32
Vic drove through empty predawn streets in Santa Fe, past the opera house and the turnoff to Marc Troy’s mansion. He wondered how the murder investigation was going. A rifle slug in the dog and two .22-caliber bullets in Troy. Must be a puzzlement for the cops.
As the sun rose, the highway climbed into rugged country, beautiful and harsh, carved by water and wind into mesas and cliffs and towers of stone. Golden sunlight spilled across the landscape, illuminating the peaks while the valleys lay in shadow.
The scenery was mostly lost on Vic, who was too busy worrying about Ryan and what might come next. He knew better than to try to anticipate the hit. He couldn’t truly plan until after he arrived, got the lay of the land, spotted his target.
Vic had a deer rifle in the trunk, a bolt-action Remington with a scope. He hadn’t practiced with it lately, but figured he was good from a hundred feet or less. Assuming he could get that close. Assuming Joaquin Zamora ever came outside.
For many men, hunting lodges were an excuse to drink and smoke cigars and play cards. Was Zamora up here to hunt or to get away from his old lady? Either way, he wouldn’t likely step outside into a snowstorm. Vic needed to beat that storm to Chama. He gave the Cadillac a little more gas as it climbed a long slope between orange-streaked hills.
The landscape was freckled with low trees, and Vic found himself hoping for such cover around the hunting lodge. Maybe he’d be able to pick off Zamora without fighting the whole crew.
If a kill shot wasn’t possible with the rifle, he’d use the bagful of pistols. Walk in and put down anything that moves. Keep shooting and reloading until he could make his way through the bodyguards and toadies to Mr. Joaquin Zamora himself. Put two in his head and get the hell out of there.
A fool’s errand. Even if he succeeded in killing Zamora, the odds were against Ryan. Why would Marino’s people turn him loose? They could kill him and be gone before Vic even made it back to Albuquerque.
What crappy timing. Vic had spent his whole life alone, avoiding connections that could be used against him. As soon as his son shows up, as soon as he opens his life to another person, some assholes try to take advantage of the relationship.
Bastards. No matter how things went in Chama, no matter whether Ryan survived or not, Vic would travel to Phoenix soon and take out the people behind the kidnapping. Harry Marino’s friends. They were goners. They just didn’t know it yet.
The winding highway followed the rippling Rio Chama for several miles, then climbed higher into the mountains. Tall pines lined the road, and patches of snow glowed in the underbrush.
He passed a few pickup trucks, headlights on, hunters or men heading to work early on a Saturday. For once, Vic was dressed like those blue-collar guys. Jeans and hiking boots, a thick denim shirt over a long-sleeve undershirt. His heavy coat lay beside him, along with matching gray gloves and a black knit hat. He’d be all right as long as it was just cold. Once the snow started falling and he got wet, he’d have a problem.
He gave the Cadillac a little more gas. He needed to get in, get the job done and get back to Albuquerque before the roads glazed over.
Chapter 33
Tina thanked Penny for the coffee refill, then watched as she crossed the kitchen to put the pot back. Penny seemed trim and shapely for her age, even in a fluffy bathrobe, but the lines were ruined by the pistol’s bulge in her pocket.
The gun meant Penny was in charge here. She was a boss, accustomed to getting her way, and the gun backed that up.
“Must be tough,” Tina said, “being a woman in your field.”
Penny shrugged. “Gender doesn’t have much to do with it. I grew up in the business. I’ve never really done anything else.”
Tina stirred sugar into her coffee, careful to keep her sleeve out of the way. The blue sweatshirt Vic had brought belonged to Ryan and it hung loose on her. She kept sniffing at it, hoping to get a whiff of him, but the shirt was freshly laundered and smelled of detergent.
“Do you have to deal with criminals yourself? Face-to-face?”
“Sometimes.”
“You’re not afraid of them?”
“Honey, I’m the only reason those guys get out of jail. I’m holding their balls in my hands. They don’t want to do anything to make me squeeze.”
Tina felt her cheeks go warm.
“Because I was wondering,” she sputtered, “if any of those criminals could be the ones who grabbed Ryan.”
“Why on earth would you think that?”
“It must have something to do with Vic, right? People don’t get snatched out of motel rooms for no reason. Only after Ryan met Vic—and you—did something bad happen.”
Penny dumped her coffee in the sink and poured herself a fresh cup. Activities that conveniently kept her back turned toward Tina.
“I want to know what Ryan’s tangled up in,” Tina said. “I want to know if there’s some way I can help.”
“Vic said the best thing you can do for now is stick close to me. If he gets any news, he’ll let us know.”
“But until then, you can’t even guess?”
“Not a clue.”
Tina couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice as she said, “I should’ve called the police.”
“We’ll call ’em when the time is right. Give Vic a couple more hours. If it’s possible to get Ryan out of this mess, he’s the one to figure it out.”
“He told me he was a paper-pusher.”
Penny hesitated, as if deciding how much to say. “He mostly works at a desk now. But twenty years ago, he was a stud. Put him on a skip, and he wouldn’t come back until the guy was in custody.”
“He told us some of the stories,” Tina said. “Getting stabbed in the back and all that. But that was years ago.”
“Believe me, Vic’s still very resourceful.”
“But he’s only one man,” Tina said. “The police have eyes everywhere. Maybe they’re looking at Ryan right now, and they don’t even know he’s missing.”
“Highly unlikely.”
“Maybe we should call the hospitals.”
“Take it easy, Tina. Don’t assume the worst. This may be a big misunderstanding. Vic will sort it out, then we’ll decide what to do.”
Tina didn’t argue. But she didn’t share Penny’s trust in Vic.
Chapter 34
Joaquin Zamora shifted in his bed, stretching his muscles, the heavy covers pulled up to his chin. It was cold in the room, but Joaquin was comfortable and warm. He’d slept well, alone in bed for a change, no Rosa snoring beside him. His wife was a beautiful woman, but she snored like a grizzly bear. Her sinuses were fucked up. Too many years of doing blow.
Not Joaquin. Even back in the party days, before the kids were born, Joaquin stayed away from the product. Cocaine makes people paranoid. He couldn’t have that; he had too many real enemies to fear. Ninety percent of his job was being able to judge people, knowing who to trust. He’d prospered in a dangerous business by staying sharp and cautious.
Joaquin was naked under the covers and his hand strayed to his crotch, fondling his cock, cupping his balls. Part of the morning regimen. Greeting his oldest friends.
When he awoke next to his wife, he’d often take these morning moments to give her a poke, Rosa obligingly backing up to him, half-asleep, moaning while he quickly got off. Always a nice way to start the day. Important to keep relaxed and focused. Men who got distracted by their dicks ended up dead.
Today, there wasn’t a woman for miles. Just Joaquin and a half-dozen of his men, holed up together in this lodge, which was fully stocked with whiskey and steaks and cigars and beer. He could hear the big refrigerator humming in the kitchen, and the hardwood floor creaking as the men started to move around. Before long, the scent of coffee drifted under
the bedroom door.
Still Joaquin waited under the warm covers. Give the men time to get a fire roaring in the fireplace, then he’d throw on some clothes and go to the kitchen. One of his lieutenants, Chuy, had been a short-order cook in his youth. Joaquin always looked forward to the pancake breakfasts the big man whipped up on these hunting excursions.
As dawn chased the shadows from the bedroom, Joaquin could make out the trophy on the far wall, an eight-point buck he’d bagged three years before. The taxidermist had mounted the head so the deer was looking off to the left, as if it had heard a twig snap over there. That thought always made Joaquin smile. Last sound that deer heard hadn’t been a fucking twig. It had been the ripping sound of an automatic rifle, Joaquin putting ten bullets in the buck before it could fall to the leaf-strewn ground. The bullets faster than a deer, faster than gravity.
Joaquin wanted to get another buck today. He’d been unlucky during the autumn hunting season, and this trip would be his last chance of the year. He hoped the weather cooperated. The forecast hadn’t looked good the night before.
If the weatherman was correct, Joaquin and his men could get snowed in at the lodge, even though they had two four-wheel-drive vehicles parked out back. Snow would ruin the hunting, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. They could stay indoors by the fire, drinking and playing poker, while they waited it out. Joaquin could use the break. He’d been under a lot of strain lately.
All businesses have their stresses, but not many jobs include the possibility of instant death on a day-to-day basis. Joaquin’s enemies kept sending people to test him. Watchfulness wears on a man.
Someone erupted into laughter in the next room. The sound made Joaquin smile. There promised to be lots of laughs over the next few days, no matter what the weather brought.
Bracing for the chill, he threw back the covers and leapt out of bed. He pulled on the jeans he’d left heaped in a chair. Shivering, he yanked a sweatshirt over his head, then stepped into his slippers.
