by Todd Borg
Paco pet him. Spot banged his tail against Street’s closet.
I told Street about our preparations.
“We’ll sleep at Diamond’s again tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll use the Jeep to stake out Salt and Pepper, and when they see us, lead them to the trap.”
Street was tense. She took me aside, held my hands, looked up at me, her eyes searching mine.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this?”
I knew that she could see my self-doubt.
“I’ve wrestled with this for hours,” I said. “I wake up at night, struggling with the danger. There’s no clear best approach.”
“You are putting a boy at substantial risk. It’s one thing for you to walk into the fire, but taking an innocent child...”
“I know. But he’s already at great risk. I think this will give us a decent chance of catching these men. Yes, this increases the risk now, but my best sense is that the potential benefit is worth it.”
“What if it goes bad, Owen? What then?” Street’s eyes moistened, the prospect of disaster bringing tears. “Isn’t there a way you can do this without Paco being there?”
“I’ve thought about it, and I think it will only work if Salt and Pepper see him going into the house. I don’t have a good alternative. Wherever he is, he’s at risk. I’ve talked this over with him. But let’s ask him again.”
“He’s just a kid. He won’t have a full grasp of the situation.”
“Nevertheless,” I said, “I think it’s fair to get his input, don’t you? If you were in his situation, you’d want to be consulted.”
Street paused. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”
We sat down on her work chairs. Spot sat next to Paco.
“Paco, I want to ask you again about this thing we’re doing.”
He glanced at me for the briefest moment, then pet Spot.
“This trap we’re planning? Getting these bad guys to come after you so we can catch them?”
Paco didn’t respond.
“You and I already talked about it,” I said, “but I’m wondering if you’ve reconsidered. As I already mentioned, there is substantial risk involved. Things could go bad. It could backfire, and we might only succeed at making Salt and Pepper very mad.”
Paco kept petting Spot.
“It’s even possible that they could get the upper hand. They could hurt me and Spot, and they could take you away.”
Paco kept his eyes down.
“It’s a serious risk, Paco. If you are still sure it’s a good idea, we’ll continue. But if you have doubts, we’ll cancel. We can keep you in hiding while we try to catch these men another way.”
I felt stupid putting it into words. I was asking a ten-year-old to pass judgment on something that he was ill-prepared to answer. It was a cop-out on my part. But I didn’t see a better solution to his ultimate safety other than giving him a new, secret name and sneaking him off to live with a new family in a different part of the country. A family willing to take in an illegal alien. A family I didn’t have a clue how to find.
“They already kidnapped me,” Paco said. “I was trapped in the back of their truck. They chased me down the mountain. Then they grabbed me at your cabin. I thought I was going to die like Cassie.”
“If this doesn’t work out, it may happen again.”
Paco looked up at us. “If we don’t spray them with pepper spray and fire ants now, they might find me in a year and take me then. I will always be scared. I’d rather try to get them now. Maybe it won’t work. But I think it’s worth it.”
I looked at Street. Her eyes were wet.
I kissed her. “I’ll do my best, hon. You know that.”
“Yes, I know you will. Good luck. I love you.” She went over and sat down next to Paco. “Paco, I want you to concentrate on what Owen says to do. Don’t get distracted. Okay?”
Paco nodded.
Street gave him a long hug. Paco didn’t hug her back. But he didn’t pull away, either.
We said goodbye, took Spot with us, and left.
With Spot rejoining us, it was a tight fit in Diamond’s pickup. This time Spot sat his hindquarters on the floor where Paco’s feet would normally be, and Spot’s front legs were up on the seat.
We headed over the mountain and down into Carson Valley to stay once more at Diamond’s and return his pickup.
After dinner and another chocolate soda for Paco, Diamond, Paco, and I sat at Diamond’s kitchen table. Spot sat in the fourth place and rested his chin on the table. His head was still, but his eyes moved back and forth, depending on who was speaking.
“Instead of going into the lion’s lair,” Diamond said, “you’re luring them to come into your trap.”
Diamond looked at Paco as he gestured toward me. “This guy explain what you’re up against, Paco?”
Paco nodded. “We’re going to bring down the superheroes,” he said. He had enough confidence in his voice that it sounded more like an announcement than a statement of tentative possibility.
Diamond looked at me. “Kid’s a philosopher.”
“Fire ants and pepper spray against two bad guys,” Paco said.
“You think these superhero dudes are tough enough to stand up to ants and pepper spray?” Diamond asked.
“No one’s as tough as fire ants,” Paco said. “And our Cassie’s Vipers are over a million Scoville Units.”
“So I recall,” Diamond said.
“You’re a tough kid, Paco,” I said. “I’m rooting for you.”
I made a fist and held it out toward Paco.
Paco made a fist and bumped knuckles with me, and then he smiled, a small half-smile, but the first one I’d ever seen on him.
FORTY-THREE
The next morning as we packed bag lunches, Diamond said, “Redack’s tear-down is in Placer County. You want me to call the Sheriff’s Office and alert them to your plan? They could set up surveillance and help catch Salt and Pepper.”
“No thanks. I’d be afraid that any undercover cops could be spotted and give us away. Assuming our trap works, I’m confident that Salt and Pepper will be incapacitated. I’ll secure them and call it in myself.”
Diamond nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. A short while later, Diamond drove Paco, Spot and me up to the lake in his Douglas County patrol unit. We went to Harrah’s parking lot and transferred back to the Jeep.
We headed north up the East Shore to Incline Village and parked in sight of the vacation rental house where we’d seen the men that Paco thought were Salt and Pepper.
My plan was to wait until one or both of the big men drove out of the garage or came back from someplace else and headed toward the garage. Because of our position, Salt and Pepper wouldn’t see us until I pulled out.
Whether they were coming or going, I planned to pull out in time that they could see us.
They would probably follow at a distance to see where I was going. If they tried to force us off the road, I’d call 911 dispatch and hope that a cop could intercept us before Salt and Pepper succeeded in catching us.
I hoped that they would have enough sense to avoid jumping us during the day and instead follow us and wait until night. Judging by their reputations, these guys were serious criminals. As such, they would realize that their best strategy was to hang back and see where we holed up for the night.
Spot slept, and Paco and I played games while we waited. I taught him some timeless road-trip diversions – Rock-Paper-Scissors, Squares, Tick-Tack-Toe, and such, all of which he didn’t know, and all of which he no doubt thought were hopelessly old-fashioned because they weren’t played on an electronic device.
His willing participation made me grateful. After a couple of hours we ate our lunches. Paco once again devoured his turkey, lettuce, and pretend tomato as if he were starving.
The afternoon ground on, seeming very long. Paco went to sleep, leaning against the car door. It was late afternoon and approaching twilight when I saw the blue
pickup with the blue topper coming up the road. I didn’t have a clear view through the trees, but I thought I saw two men in it.
I waited until they got a bit closer, then I shot out of my parking spot, turned down the road and raced toward the lake. My objective wasn’t about speeding so much as to make an impression. I wanted them to notice us. But I also wanted them to think that we were trying to escape. It was important that they never suspect that we were leading them to our trap.
If they tried to figure out what we were doing in the woods, I hoped that they would think that I was staking them out, then got cold feet when I saw them and decided to flee.
I slowed as I got down to Tahoe Blvd. I turned west toward Tahoe City, then turned off in another block. It was a simple trick. Make them think that we were trying to lose them, but do such a lame job of it that they found it easy to follow us at a distance. I made an elaborate series of turns. Left and right, right and left, four rights in a row going all the way around the block. Assuming they were following us, they would think I was trying hard to evade them.
After a long charade, I turned back onto Tahoe Blvd., cruised over to Tahoe City, then turned south on 89 and went down the West Shore. I couldn’t see a pickup following me, but I assumed they were back there.
“Time to pull on your sweatshirt and gloves and tape your cuffs,” I said as we drove. “Ankle cuffs, too. In case someone sees us up close, we’ll wait before we pull on our goggles.”
We arrived at our haunted house just as twilight was making it hard to see. Perfect.
I pulled up onto the yard to the side of the house and drove forward under a large fir tree, pushing against the branches, which squeaked as they scratched the Jeep’s paint. I got out, lifted some branches that were jammed against the windshield and pulled them up over the roof. Back in the Jeep, I drove forward another couple of feet, and we got out.
As with my driving, it looked like I’d tried to hide the Jeep but had done a lousy job. Anyone who looked carefully would see it tucked under the tree.
We got out and walked up to the front porch carrying a bag of groceries and two bulky sleeping bags, looking very much like we were coming here to crash for the night. Spot ran around, investigating haunted smells. He leaped up on the porch, clearing the steps without touching them. We all went inside, and I shut the door behind us. Then we went directly toward the back of the dark house, through the dining room into the kitchen. I called Spot in a whisper, and he trotted in, his nails clicking on the linoleum floor. I shut the kitchen door behind us.
I plugged in two of the dimmest, miniature flat-panel night lights we could find. With the kitchen windows covered in black plastic, it was a good bet that no one on the outside could detect our presence in the kitchen.
“Okay, Paco,” I whispered. “Time for the light at the base of the stairs.”
Paco had arranged the extension cords and power strip in an order that made no sense to me. He picked up an extension cord and plugged it into the power strip.
I saw light appear under the door to the dining room.
“Time to put on our goggles,” I whispered. He pulled his over his eyes. As I picked up mine, Spot stuck his nose on the lenses, smearing them. I wiped them on my pants and pulled them on. If the world was blurry, it was too dark in the kitchen to tell.
Paco already had his gloves on. I pulled on mine. It was too late to tape my cuffs. The tape dispenser noise would warn anyone outside that we were doing something unusual.
“I’m opening up our ammo, Paco,” I whispered. “Hold Spot back by his collar. Careful not to bump the buckets.”
I knew that Paco’s past experience with both peppers and ants would make him respectful of the danger.
I loosened the tabs on the lid of the pepper juice bucket, removed it carefully, and replaced it with the lid that had the Venturi exhaust pipe.
“I’ll hold Spot. You do the light at the top of the stairs.”
Paco plugged in another cord and then took Spot’s collar again.
I moved to the ant bucket, hoping that the darkness would keep them mellow until our man-made tornado whipped them toward Salt and Pepper. I pried off the lid and quickly replaced it with the Venturi lid. It was too dark to see escaping ants. I carried the ant-proof lid over to a corner and set it down. Whatever ants were on it would have to come across the floor to get us. I felt a sting on my neck. I swatted at it. How did an ant already get up there? Were they crawling all over me? I said nothing about it.
The buckets were now ready, attached to the blower pipes on one side, and exhausted into the living room on the other.
“You can let go of Spot,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t go sniff the bucket lid I’d removed. “Downstairs light off.”
Paco pulled out the first cord. I could see him in the dim blue glow from the night lights. In his goggles and hood, he looked like a cartoon character, which seemed fitting considering our cartoon plot to capture two super anti-heroes.
“Light in the upper left bedroom.”
He plugged in a third cord.
I pulled on one of the nylon lines to move my paper cutout.
The man’s shadow that was hopefully appearing on the newsprint window shades on the floor above was invisible to me in the blacked-out kitchen, but I imagined how it would move. I closed my eyes, thinking more like a music conductor than a trapper drawing in his prey.
I pulled another line, visualizing the dog and then the boy walking over to the man.
“Light in the right bedroom,” I said.
Paco plugged in another cord.
I pulled the lines that would make the characters appear to move into the other room.
Paco and I worked smoothly together. If our show was as effective as I imagined, we could have gotten special-effects jobs at a theater.
We continued the performance for another couple of minutes.
“Okay, lights out,” I whispered.
Paco unplugged the cords, our pretend characters now in bed.
I whispered to Paco. “Get ready with your blower.”
We both put our hands on the handles, thumbs on the switches.
“When it comes time to turn these on, hang on tight and keep it going until I say stop.”
We waited.
We heard small sounds in the night. They could have been from mice or raccoons or neighborhood cats. Or maybe from Salt and Pepper. The assault at my cabin was preceded by scratching outside my cabin wall. But that was them luring me. This time, they would know that I wouldn’t fall for it.
Based on the appearance that Paco and I were using the house as a hideaway, they would probably assume that I didn’t have backup. But having Tased me before, they would also assume that I would arm myself with a gun or more.
Paco coughed.
My impulse was to say something critical, but I realized it would make no difference except to make Paco tense. He knew as well as I did the importance of silence.
The wait grew long. Even five minutes is very long when you’re waiting in the silent dark. A kind of psychological deprivation sets in. Maintaining ten minutes of no movement is difficult. Twenty minutes becomes excruciating.
I thought about whether I should have tried to convince the Placer County Sheriff to stake out this location, but I still had no evidence. We were putting on this operation based on the word of a kid.
“Ouch,” Paco said. He took one of his hands off the blower, swatted at his leg, then scratched. He put that hand back, removed his other hand from the blower, stretched. When he grasped again at the blower, he hit something that sounded like a screwdriver as it clattered to the floor and rolled a bit.
I heard him wince.
“How will they come in?” Paco finally asked, his voice too loud to be called a whisper.
“They’ll probably try to break open a window lock,” I whispered, much quieter. “These guys are too big for the smaller windows, and the biggest windows are in the living room. We should be very qu
iet and listen carefully. Don’t turn on your blower until I say so. If we hear a noise it may be them outside the house. It’s absolutely critical that they are inside the house before we hit them with our ammo.”
Paco went silent.
Ten more minutes passed. I heard Spot turn circles, nails clicking, and lie down. He sighed. I’d never realized how loud his sighs were. Assuming Salt and Pepper were out there, they were probably waiting until they were sure that we were in a deep sleep.
A sudden explosion came from the living room. Someone had kicked in the door. Spot jumped up barking.
I whispered in Paco’s ear, “Not yet!”
More noise. Thudding kicks. The sound of breaking, splintering wood. Spot’s barking was loud, but I hoped they would think that his barks were coming from upstairs.
More kicks. Wood being pried.
“Hurry!” Deep, booming voice.
“Upstairs!” A second voice, higher. “Don’t let them get out the window.”
“Now!” I whispered to Paco.
I hit my blower switch, and Paco hit his. Two blowers roared. It was like a freight train thundering at high speed through the kitchen.
I didn’t know what to expect.
In a moment, over the roar, came shouted words.
“Oh, Jesus! Oh, God!”
The other voice screamed, “My eyes are on fire! Can’t breathe! My skin’s burning. It’s acid. He’s shooting us with acid!” The words trailed off below the volume of the blowers.
We kept the blowers running. I reached down with one hand and lifted on the pepper juice bucket. It was noticeably lighter. I shook it, hoping to keep the juice mixed for potency. I also shook the ant bucket. It was very light. I popped the lid on the second ant bucket and switched the Venturi lid over to it, the leaf blower still roaring.
The men screamed as if they’d been lit on fire.
More staccato screams. Someone falling to the floor. A crash of glass. More thuds that I couldn’t make out over the blower volume.
After the second ant bucket felt empty, I spoke in Paco’s ear.
“Okay, Paco, let’s turn them off.”
