Wild Wild Death

by Casey Daniels

  “Now here. This way!” Goodshot waved me forward. For a guy who hadn’t bothered to emerge from his tomb to explore the cemetery before, he sure knew his way around. This was the oldest part of the cemetery and the terrain was bumpy. I tripped and nearly went down.

  “Now here, to the right. Up this hill,” he called.

  Up a hill? I’d just come down a hill. But I think I knew what Goodshot had in mind.

  I raced up that hill as fast as I could. Truth be told, that wasn’t very fast. But it left lumbering Mal Johnson far behind.

  A few more minutes, and I was back at the wall.

  But not where I’d left the step stool.

  “You’d better hurry, little lady. That man, he called in the cavalry.”

  I swung around just as a Cleveland Police patrol car cruised into sight.

  Mug shots.

  And now, the blue windbreaker was the least of my worries. I was covered with dirt, my hair hung in my eyes, and my jeans… I glanced down to confirm my worst fear. Yep, they were ripped.

  And I was going to look like one of those stoned celebrities when they stood me up against the wall.

  I groaned and ran up and down looking for a foothold. I found one, finally, just as the cops stopped their car and flashed a high-beam light into the section. Lucky for me, there was an angel statue not far away. Its shadow kept me safely in the dark while I scrambled, grunting and groaning.

  “Not fast enough!” As if I needed Goodshot to tell me. I dug my fingers into the moss that grew along the top of the wall and pulled for all I was worth. Still not enough to get me over the wall. I struggled and grunted and—

  Flew over the wall as if I were as light as air.

  I landed on the other side with less than grace. After my bones stopped rattling, I realized my feet were blocks of ice.

  “You gave me a boost up.”

  Goodshot didn’t take the blame. Or any credit. He wasn’t wasting time, either. My Mustang was a couple blocks away, and when I hobbled in that direction, he came right along.

  My hands shaking, I managed to get the car unlocked, got inside, and started it up. No easy thing considering I didn’t have any feeling in my feet.

  “Whoo-wee!” In the passenger seat, Goodshot grinned. “That’s more fun than I’ve had… well, since I been dead!”

  Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, I peeled rubber, and since it was after midnight and there wasn’t any traffic, I didn’t bother to stop at the stoplight at the nearest cross street.

  This did not bother my passenger. But then, he was so busy looking out the window, I guess he didn’t notice.

  “Come on, little lady,” he crooned. “It’s time for us to git to the New Mexico Territory!”

  I had never tried to get a bag of human remains past airport security—and I wasn’t about to start now.

  With Goodshot in the passenger seat next to me, I drove all the way, and five days after I’d masterminded the cemetery heist, we were cruising through the southern part of Colorado. By that time, I was more than tired of eating at fast-food joints, I’d had it with sleeping in motels, and I was sick of staring at my windshield.

  A day of packing and planning back in Cleveland, then sixteen hundred miles divided by sixty-five miles an hour plus time out for eating, sleeping, potty breaks, and the outlet mall we passed somewhere back in Nebraska that called my name and was impossible to resist.

  I’m no math whiz, but even I knew it added up to a lot of hours.

  Funny thing, though, with Goodshot along, I didn’t mind nearly as much as I thought I would.

  “. . . and the horse wore the lady’s hat!” He finished up another hilarious story about his days in the Wild West show, slapped his knee, and roared with laughter. At least for a minute. When we zipped passed a sign that said, welcome to new mexico, land of enchantment, Goodshot’s smile vanished. “I never thought I’d be back,” he said, suddenly thoughtful. “And now, here I am. You taking me to the pueblo to be buried…” He sighed. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doin’.”

  It wasn’t the first time since we’d begun our road trip that he’d thanked me. This time, like all those other times, I pasted a smile on my face. But this time—unlike all those other times—I wasn’t sure I was able to keep up what was feeling more and more like a scam.

  On a dead guy I liked.

  The thought ate away at my phony smile. Not to mention my conscience. Lucky for me, by the time it did, my GPS was telling me I was just minutes away from our destination.

  Really? I glanced around at the craggy hills and low, scrubby plants that surrounded us and thought about that ransom note.

  Tres Piedras, New Mexico. Instructions @ gas station

  At least if nothing else, wondering how a gas station could exist in the middle of the rocky desolation gave me something to think about other than how burying Goodshot was the last thing I intended to do.

  As it turned out, the gas station in question was situated at what I’d generously call an intersection. That is, where one godforsaken road crossed another that was just as empty, and a sign pointed east to Taos. One look at the pitted parking lot and rusted pumps and I was glad I’d filled up back in Colorado.

  “Abandoned,” I grumbled, slowing and pulling up beside the first pump. Maybe I’d seen too many movies, but this was not what I’d expected. I’d pictured arriving at some hubbub of a minimart and fill-er-up emporium, where I would be approached by a man in a hoodie who would be wearing a ski mask and using one of those Darth Vadar–like voice synthesizers. All breathy and scary-sounding, he’d demand that I hand over the bones, and when I did, Dan would emerge from the men’s room, very much alive.

  “Is there something wrong with your automobile?” Goodshot’s question snapped me back to reality. “I hope not, because we’re gettin’ close. I recognize this place.” He glanced around at the battered gas pumps and, beyond them, the cement block building that had probably once housed a coffee shop and now had a caved-in roof and windows spattered by the birds that made their nests in the nooks and crannies of collapsing walls. “Well, I recognize some of it. Not these crazy, modern places, but the land. Look! Over there!” Goodshot turned and pointed out the backseat driver’s side window at the barren, cue ball–shaped peak that dominated the landscape. “That’s Wind Mountain. It has always been sacred to my people. We’re close. The pueblo’s just east of here, on the other side of the mountain.”

  “The pueblo, yeah…” I groaned and leaned my head against the steering wheel. “There’s something I have to tell you,” I said, only since my mouth was up against the leather, I knew he couldn’t hear me.

  And I couldn’t sit there just a couple feet from the guy who was counting on me to make sure he rested in peace. Not when I was about to break his nonbeating heart.

  I pushed open my door, got out of the car, and drew in a breath of dry, dusty New Mexico air. “It’s like this,” I said, and I didn’t need to look; I felt a chill race up my arms and knew that, even though he hadn’t opened the car door to get out, Goodshot was standing right next to me. There was no easy way to let him down and no better way to get this over with than to blurt it out. “I didn’t steal your bones to bury them.” When he didn’t say a thing, I slid him a look. “Did you hear me? I said—”

  “Back at the cemetery, you told me you were bringing my bones to New Mexico.”

  “Yeah, I did. And I wasn’t lying. We’re in New Mexico, right? Except…” I swallowed hard. “I’m not going to bury you here. I’m not going to bury you at all.”

  He waved a hand in my direction. “You’re not talkin’ sense. Why come all the way here if you’re not—”

  I told him. Fast, before I could change my mind. I told him about the ransom note. And about Dan. Well, not all about Dan. I left out the part about how before Dan’s dead wife whooshed in and took over my body, I was about to hop into bed with him. Not relevant, and besides, it was embarrassing to think I’d had sweet, gee
ky—and very hot—Dan stolen away by a dead woman.

  I finished up with the bit about the silver watchband. I even got my suitcase out of the trunk and dug through it so I could show him the watchband and the photo of Dan, just to prove I was telling the truth. When I was done, I held my breath, and glanced at him. “Are you pissed?”

  His expression was unreadable. “You could have told me sooner.”

  “Then you would have been mad at me sooner, and I would have had to sit in the car with you all this time and feel bad.”

  “Do you? Feel bad?”

  “I feel…” I pushed a hand through my hair. Humidity had always been my friend, curl-wise, and back in Cleveland, humidity was one thing I never had to worry about. Out here in what Goodshot called the high desert, it was a different story. In northern New Mexico, the air felt as empty as the rocky, tree-less, and very brown landscape. Already, my hair hung in my eyes, and I promised myself a trip to the local drugstore for ponytail holders as soon as possible. If…

  I glanced around at the scrawny plants poking through the cracks in the beat-up blacktop, a weather-battered trailer a few hundreds yards away, the wasteland that surrounded us.

  If, that is, I could even find a drugstore in this back of beyond.

  “I feel responsible,” I admitted, wishing Goodshot would just fly off the handle and get the yelling over with. Then maybe we could put the entire I-told-you-the-truth-but-not-the-whole-truth-and-nothing-but behind us.

  Instead, all he did was scrape a toe against the gritty ground. His cowboy boot didn’t leave a mark. “What would kidnappers be wantin’ with my bones?”

  This I didn’t know, and I told him as much. I told him, too, that I’d been over it a million times in my head and that it didn’t make any more sense now than it did any of those million times.

  Call me self-centered (not that anybody ever would), but if we were talking about my bones, I would have gotten a little defensive. I guess it’s only natural people think of themselves as indispensable. And valuable. To think that our earthly remains were just part of some sicko joke was just too weird for words. The only thing I could think of…

  “You cursed the city!” I reminded him, even though I shouldn’t have had to.

  “What’d you expect? I just got myself blowed up. Can’t blame a man for being mad.”

  He scratched a finger along the back of his neck. “Don’t make no difference, though, does it? What you’re tellin’ me is that I’m no better off now than I was back in Cleveland in that mausoleum. Can’t believe kidnappers are goin’ make sure I get back to the pueblo. They’re gonna dump that bag of bones somewhere, fast. And I’m gonna be right back where I started from. You ain’t goin’ to do me any good.”

  Maybe it was just as well that he was being so restrained. I was emotional enough for the both of us. “It’s not going to do Dan any good if some crazy kidnappers kill him,” I wailed.

  My words blew away on the never-ending wind and were lost in the silence that pressed against us.

  Finally, Goodshot lifted his chin. “This Dan, he’s your friend.”

  I nodded. “If Dan gets hurt… If he gets… killed… and I don’t do everything in my power to try and stop it—”

  “So you’re comin’ to Dan’s rescue. Like the cavalry.” Goodshot’s solemn expression broke into a grin and he held up one hand and said exactly what I was thinking. “I know. Bad joke. Especially comin’ from an Indian. Sorry. But true, huh? It’s a rescue mission. And you’re helpin’ a friend.” He took a long look around, drinking in every rock and scrawny shrub. “Guess it won’t make that much of a difference. I’ve waited this long to get back to the pueblo, it won’t hurt to wait a little longer.”

  I think maybe he saw the tears that filled my eyes, because he gave me another wave of the hand and turned his back on me. “You know,” he said, “it’s kind of like a treasure hunt. That ransom note told you to come here. So there must be something here…” His hands out at his sides, Goodshot spun around, taking in the abandoned gas station and the desolate hills. “You were brought here because you were supposed to find somethin’. And I’m guessin’ the kidnapper chose this place because he figured nobody else was goin’ to find it and nobody was goin’ to disturb you while you looked.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Hands on my hips, I looked around, too. “You don’t think Dan is here somewhere, do you?” I started toward the dilapidated coffee shop, but stopped before I got too close. Who knew what was hiding in there! “Maybe they just want me to leave the bones and he’s here and—”

  “Too easy.” Don’t ask me how ghostly things work, but I heard Goodshot exhale the words and turned to find him puffing on a fat cigar. He stepped back, blew out a couple smoke rings, and studied the scene. “If I was gonna kidnap some fella—”

  “I’d want to make sure I had the bones in hand before I released him.” He nodded so I’d know I was following where his train of thought was headed. “Which means…”

  “I’d leave a note. Or a clue of some sort.” Another puff and Goodshot narrowed his eyes. “Here, maybe.” He closed in on a piece of paper fluttering across the blacktop in the wind that hadn’t stopped blowing around the gritty air since I stepped out of the car, but since he was unable to touch it, I was the one who ended up plucking the paper off the ground.

  It was just a bit of newspaper, and I dropped it back where I found it and kicked it aside. That’s when I noticed another scrap of paper stuck into the credit card slot on one of the gas pumps.

  “Brilliant!” I told Goodshot, and reached for the note.

  10 pm

  Taberna Antonito, Colorado

  After Tuesday?

  Then u r too late

  Dan is already dead

  The words burned into my brain and my fingers trembled against the sheet of paper. It was Monday and I had made it just in time. If I hadn’t gotten there… If I’d arrived after Tuesday… If I didn’t have the bones with me…

  I refused to let my brain go there. The important thing now was to follow the kidnapper’s directions. I was close. Too close to let a couple little things like panic, worry, and I’m-so-scared-I-can’t-stand-it stop me.

  I looked north, back up the highway we’d just traveled south on. I knew that Colorado was about an hour in that direction, and I remembered the town of Antonito, all right. But then, it was hard not to remember the last place I’d seen anything that even sort of resembled civilization.

  One main street, a grocery store, a couple bars, dust. Oh yeah, I remembered the dust. Colorado dust was a lot like New Mexico dust.

  “And there was a motel back that way,” I said before I glanced around again at the barren landscape. “That might be a better option than trying to find someplace to stay around here.”

  “Then what do you say? We’d better get a move on.” Goodshot was already in the car. “I’ve always liked the idea of racin’ in to save the day.”

  Yeah, I liked the idea, too. Especially considering that I was anxious to get this whole thing over with.

  Bad enough I had to worry about seeing Dan alive again…

  I wheeled the car around and headed back in the direction we’d just come while Goodshot stared out the passenger window, his gaze riveted to Wind Mountain.

  Now I had to worry that even after I handed over the bones and saved Dan, I was still going to feel lousy about letting Goodshot down.

  It wasn’t like I actually saw a wolf or a coyote or a buffalo or anything. But the wide-open spaces, rocky hills, and dusty cliffs around Antonito looked like the kind of place I might, and I wasn’t taking any chances that some wild beast would stroll into town. I insisted on a second-floor room at the motel. It overlooked the parking lot. At least I could easily keep an eye on the Mustang. Especially since mine was only one of three cars there.

  The good news was that it was a short walk from the motel over to Taberna, the bar where I’d been instructed to meet the kidnappers at ten o’
clock. Then again, it was a short stroll pretty much everywhere in town. Antonito was not exactly a bustling metropolis. Aside from a couple streets where adobe houses and aluminum-clad trailers sat side by side, Main Street was pretty much it.

  It was already dark by the time I showered, changed, and headed out. A couple minutes before ten, Goodshot and I stood outside the door of the bar. I had the bag of his bones slung over one shoulder and a feeling in the pit of my stomach that was half nervousness, half guilt.

  “If there was any other way,” I told him.

  “Don’t worry.” I think he would have patted me on the shoulder if he could have gotten away with it and not frozen me solid. “I understand.”

  “But you—”

  “Me?” Goodshot didn’t give me a chance to apologize again. With two fingers, he snapped his cowboy hat back on his head. “I’m headin’ over to the local cemetery. I used to know a couple pretty little señoritas in this town. The way I figure it, I just might be able to catch up with them.”

  I watched him stroll down the sidewalk and heard him whistle some old song. By the time he got to the street, he’d completely melted into the shadows and the last note of his tune faded into the night.

  I was on my own.

  And if I thought about it much longer, I’d bolt for home. Ignoring the cha-cha going on in my chest, I pushed open the door. Inside the bar, the lights were dim, the country music was loud, and I was one of exactly four patrons. Two of them were old guys slamming down shots and beers at the bar. The other one was a hippie-type with long greasy hair and a scraggly beard. He was sitting by himself near the front window, sipping a beer and reading a book.

  None of them looked like kidnapper material to me.

  I slid into a booth in the farthest corner from the door and set my tote bag beside me on the vinyl bench.