Retribution Road

by Jon Coon

  Tom flirted shamelessly with the girls behind the counters, making several inappropriate suggestions, and left hundred-dollar tips for fifty-cent services. After a $200 dinner—each—they adjourned to the bar, where things got serious. After too many drinks, Tom was approached by a stunning, dark-haired woman, and within ten minutes it was obvious what her intention was. Within twenty minutes the happy couple was headed back to Tom’s suite, arm in arm, with his hand noticeably lower on her backside than was appropriate.

  Gabe was left sitting in the bar, drinking his fourth four-ounce, ten-dollar Coke, wondering how this lunatic could be the same man he’d admired and respected back in Texas.

  Chapter 16

  OUTSIDE THE “LAST RESORT” ON the gravel to Diamond Jack’s paddock in the ATV, Emily was full of questions. “Why does Grandpa need a bomb shelter? Who were all those men? Why were there so many TV monitors?” Her agile mind was overwhelmed with the revelation of the bunker. Unfortunately, Carol had nothing but good guesses for answers, and as she tried to reason out sensible answers, she realized there was nothing sensible about what they had just seen. Her father was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  On the far side of the lake, they came to the aluminum gate. Carol jumped out and opened it, waited for Emily to drive in, and then closed it behind them. They crossed the sanded track to the second gate and repeated the process. In the center of the pasture, three hundred yards long and fifty wide, stood a small open barn with stalls for four. Carol took a small, high-frequency whistle from her pocket and blew twice. Diamond Jack, a twenty-three-year-old, nearly black quarter horse with a white diamond blaze on his forehead, stepped from the shade of the barn, tossed his head proudly, and trotted to Carol with the energy of a colt. Jack made his presence known with a bit of prancing and playful dodging and then planted his muzzle in her stomach with obvious affection.

  “Hello, old friend,” Carol said while rubbing his neck. She kissed his forehead. “You’re still the best,” she whispered. “There will never be another as wonderful as you.”

  “Just how many shows did you two win, Mom?”

  “All of them, honey. Every single one. At least in Texas, and those were the only ones that mattered.”

  They began walking to the barn, and Jack stuck to Carol’s side like a puppy on a leash. Once inside, Carol found a set of curry brushes and set to work grooming Jack, who loved the attention.

  “Did I ever tell you the story about when Jack saved my life?”

  “Really? He saved you?”

  “It was raining, and I was leading him out of the barn. I slipped on the wet cement and fell hard. Next thing I knew, I was lying on my back looking up at his hoof about a foot over my face. He froze. If that foot had come down, I’d have been dead for sure. But he never moved. I don’t think he even breathed. I rolled over and got up, and he nuzzled me to make sure I was okay before that foot came down. Anyone who thinks horses aren’t smart or that they don’t bond with us doesn’t know a thing about horses.”

  “That’s a cool story. How long will he live?”

  “Well-kept quarter horses frequently live to thirty-five or older. Older than most other breeds.”

  “Are you going to take him home with us?”

  “That’s always been my plan, if your granddad agrees. I’d love to have Jack in our family.”

  “What about me? My horse, I mean.”

  “It depends on what you want to do. Barrel racing would be a great way to start, and we could give that a shot this week if you want.”

  Her phone chimed, and she handed the brush to Emily and stepped away from Diamond Jack. He looked over his shoulder at Emily, who began brushing with enthusiasm.

  Carol laughed as she listened to Gabe describe Tom’s antics at the bar the night before. He discreetly left out the part about Tom taking the girl to his suite.

  “Was the girl very attractive, in her early forties, with long dark hair and great boobs?”

  “Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t pay that much attention.”

  “And if I believe that, you’ll want to sell me mountains in Louisiana.” She laughed. “The woman is Maria. She’s been Dad’s girlfriend for at least ten years. When she enters a room, there’s not a man born who doesn’t pay attention.”

  “Then last night . . .?”

  “Was a little theater for whomever the cartel has watching you two. And trust me, someone will always be watching.”

  “They landed yesterday and checked into the hotel,” Estevan reported. “Just like you instructed, Maria reeled him in like a shark on a blood bait. She’ll report back later this morning. The plane is a Bonanza in good shape. It will do for this job. They are booked on the charter boat later today. I’ve given Domino a head’s up. Anything else, patrón?”

  “They’re fishing, but we will set the hook and reel them in. Soon the Texas Rangers will be working for us, like everyone else. Soon there will be one America again, and we will own it.”

  Maria lay beside him, watching him sleep and thinking about the great times they had shared, both here in Mexico and at the Texas ranch. She measured the rise and fall of his muscular chest with each breath and saw the two, half-inch diameter scars from a raid in Laredo four years ago peeking out from beneath the sheet. Bullets he’d taken shielding her.

  Tom had proposed, several times. She’d always said no. She loved him deeply, exclusively, but her job demanded what no woman should have to give, and the idea that when that happened she would be betraying their relationship was not something she was willing to accept. She knew the cost and he knew the rules. They were committed to each other and to taking down the Caldera cartel. Until they could walk away together, marriage, which required sexual exclusivity, was not an option.

  She checked the clock on the nightstand: five thirty. The limo would be waiting. She slid carefully from beneath the sheets and dressed. She picked up the thousand dollars he’d left on the dresser, kissed him gently on the forehead, and ghosted out the door. Down the elevator and into the hall unseen, she walked out the employee door near the kitchen and stepped into the black Chrysler.

  She handed the money to the driver and opened a thermos of steaming hot black coffee waiting for her in the mid-seat armrest.

  “How was it?” the driver asked in Spanish.

  “Like taking candy from a baby. He hasn’t a clue.”

  “El Patrón is here, and he wants to talk to you. We’re going there now. Then I’ll take you home.”

  Gabe watched Tom come down to breakfast a bit more subdued than his performance the previous night. Tom sat heavily in the chair and reached for the carafe of coffee.

  “How was Maria?” Gabe asked with a smile.

  Tom recoiled a bit and looked around for eavesdropping ears and peeping eyes. “Someone’s been talking, I see.”

  “I recall something about ‘no secrets in this family.’” Gabe laughed.

  “Fair enough. We’ve been together quite a while. I keep proposing, she keeps stalling. I get it, but I’m looking forward to her eventually saying yes.”

  “Isn’t there a lot of risk for her, working undercover this way?”

  “There is, and she’s the best we’ve got. She knows it, and she continues the work. It’s personal. The cartel killed her brother and his family. They were DEA in Mexico City. Gunned down in broad daylight. She came to us and wanted revenge. Retribution. She earned it. She got it several times over. We are both hoping this will be our last crusade. Take down El Patrón and hang up our spurs.”

  “Looks to me like that’s a tall order.”

  “It is, but the way I see it, we’re the only ones who can do it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because like Francis Augustus Hamer, we’re the only ones hardcore enough to make it happen.”

  “Forgive me, who is he?”

  “Was. He was the Ranger who set the ambush for Bonnie and Clyde in Louisiana, 1934. Some folks said it was a pure cold-blooded
murder. But it was the only way they could put an end to a killing spree that buried several cops. The way I look at it is like this: Let’s say we had the atomic bomb at the beginning of World War II and the day after Pearl Harbor we bombed Tokyo. How many millions of lives on both sides would have been saved? Sure, it would have been a terrible thing to do, but . . .”

  “I get your point, but . . .”

  “Yeah. But. That’s why we’re in this mess. Because we couldn’t get past all the ‘buts.’ Congress should change the laws and secure the borders, but. We should get rid of the gangs, but. We should be hard-assed enough to stop the drug pushers, but. It’s time to either get over the buts or just hand over the keys, because if we don’t have guts enough to put a stop to all of it, we don’t deserve this country anymore.”

  “Then how?”

  “One day at a time, son. One little victory every day until they crumble and fall like that wall in Jericho. Don’t give up. Don’t give an inch. Let it be a holy war. A jihad of our very own.”

  Tom’s phone chimed “The Yellow Rose of Texas” melody as they were getting up from the table. He motioned to Gabe to wait and sat back down.

  “Welcome to Mexico, Captain Bright. I hope you are enjoying your visit.”

  “It’s beautiful as always. Gracias.”

  “Your boat is ready for you first thing in the morning. While you are fishing, we will get your plane ready for the flight home. Once you are in the air you will be given instructions to a landing field within your fuel range. You will fly directly there, and when your cargo has been unloaded and inspected, you will be given fuel for your flight back to Texas. Any questions?”

  “My grandson? May I speak with him?”

  “Si, he is here. He is healing and wants to go diving. But I wanted your permiso first.”

  “Grandpa, I’m doing much better. But I haven’t been able to do much. I’m still in my room all the time.” Paul sounded stronger, more relaxed.

  “That’s great, son. You just be careful and don’t worry. Everything here is under control. I’ll see you soon. That’s a promise.”

  Paul’s guard came back on the phone. “Señor, this is an important trip for everyone’s future. No surprises, no accidents. Just make the delivery and fly away. If everything goes as planned, I’ll call you with instructions in the next two weeks and you can plan your next fishing trip. Enjoy your day and be at the airfield at daylight. Comprende? Oh, about the diving, when he is strong enough?”

  “I suppose so. It will give him something to look forward to. And yes, I understand. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 17

  TOM PUT DOWN THE PHONE and looked at Gabe. “Well, we’re supposed to fly back day after tomorrow and drop a load before we can go home.”

  “Do you think they’ll try to sabotage the plane like they did with the Bensons?”

  “Probably not. I think they’re counting on using Paul and those girls as leverage to keep the task force in line. For now, we have to play along. We can’t risk doing otherwise.”

  “It doesn’t look good, does it?”

  “Don’t worry. Maria and her team will have something for us soon. For now, let’s go chase God’s fish. I remember one of my Jewish friends told me a story from the Talmud. He asked, ‘Do you know why God made the great whales?’ And do you know what he said?”

  “No, I’ve never heard that one.”

  “So he would have someone to play with.” Tom chuckled. “I love the feeling of that. God playing with the whales. Don’t you?”

  It was a forty-minute drive to the marina. There was a row of twenty, multimillion-dollar charter boats with high flybridges, and colorful pennants flying from gleaming outriggers. The gloss from polished hulls was nearly blinding, and the racks of thousands of dollars of marlin rods and gold anodized Penn reels was impressive. Tom was dressed in white slacks and a brightly patterned silk shirt beneath a Panama straw hat with orange flowered band. Gabe wore jeans and a tee shirt topped with a well-worn University of Florida baseball hat.

  They marched down the dock until Tom spotted the Enchantress, a seventy-foot Viking with all the bells and whistles. “Business is good,” Gabe said.

  “And it sure isn’t fishing,” Tom answered quietly. “This baby cost three million or more. That’s a lot of fish.”

  He stepped onto the finger pier and said loudly, “Tom Bright. Permission to come aboard?”

  Two trim young men in white pants and tees appeared from the salon and welcomed them. Tom and Gabe stepped down onto the teak cockpit sole, then walked up two steps into the main salon. Tom smiled at the look on Gabe’s face as he surveyed the opulent decor. Glossed woods and rich fabrics, large windows with tinted glass, and a circular stair. A big screen TV that rose from a cabinet and a well-stocked wet bar. “Just like home, right?” Tom said.

  “I’d miss the fireplace.” Gabe laughed, thinking of his RV.

  A gray-headed, bearded man, also in white, descended the circular stair. Other than the faded tattoos on his bronzed arms and a deep scar going from chin line up into his hair line on his left side, he could have just descended from any movie set on the continent. He had a deep, rich voice and commanding persona.

  “Gentlemen, welcome. Please call me Javier. Before we get underway, there is just the formality of the paperwork. Captain Bright, here is your receipt for the charter and the waivers and contract for our records. Your host has instructed us to guarantee you the very best day on the water, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Anything you desire or require will be provided. Our hostesses will be down in just a moment to take your drink orders, and we will have a light snack on our way to the fishing grounds.”

  “Our host?” Tom asked.

  No answer, just a warm smile.

  “I see,” Tom said. “Then can you tell me where we will be fishing?”

  “Of course. The best fishing at this time of year is on the east of Isla Mujeres. It’s about an hour away. I’m sure our staff can keep you well entertained.” Again, the warm smile.

  “Thank you. That’s most gracious.”

  “Your host expects nothing less. Enjoy your day.” He turned and ascended the circular stair, and hardly had the air settled when two very attractive figures, bikini-bottomed and topped in loose-cut, boat-logoed, cropped white tees, bounced freely down the stairs.

  “I don’t suppose you have any ginger ale?” Gabe asked with a shrug.

  Paul lay on his bed, looking up through the only window into the night sky. Two weeks had passed. He was feeling better, stronger, and more intolerant of his situation. His Spanish was improving, and he had a feeling that the girl liked him. But she was deathly afraid of what would happen if she broke even the least of the rules, so she smiled and cared for his wounds and touched him gently on occasion, but they were both prisoners, and thus far she had stayed well within the boundaries of their captor’s demands.

  His captivity had given him more time to think than he could recall ever having experienced. He had gone from anger to denial to the possibility that some of what had happened might in fact be his fault.

  He remembered Gabe’s telling him about the gold line used by cave divers to navigate caves and how Gabe had compared cave navigation to life direction and then had explained how disastrous losing the guide line could be both in life and in the cave. Gabe had said to Paul that he prayed that Paul would find his gold line, his sense of direction, his faith to live by, before, as in the cave metaphor, he ran out of air.

  “I don’t believe I could be much farther away from that line than I am right now,” Paul said into the dark empty room. “And I wonder just how much air can possibly be in this tank?”

  “Fish on,” Tom yelled and put his back into bending the stout rod nearly double. The boat had a single fish-fighting chair in the center of the cockpit. Tom climbed in and braced his legs. The captain was on the stern controls from the bridge and began pushing the boat toward the fish as Tom fought to bring
in line. The crew brought in the other lines to give Tom a clear field, and Gabe moved beside the chair. “That must be quite a fish,” Gabe said.

  “Biggest I’ve ever fought.”

  “Done this before then?”

  “Just off our coast.” Tom grunted and strained to lift the rod tip and reel line. “They get bigger down here.”

  Tom continued pumping the rod until, suddenly, the fish broke water and tail walked briefly before diving deep again.

  “Wow,” Gabe said. “That’s huge.”

  Javier, the gray-haired man, was standing behind them. “It’s a blue. Well over a thousand pounds. She will make quite a trophy, Captain Bright.”

  “Oh, no. She goes back. I just want a photo and an autograph.” Tom was breathing deeply now, coordinating his breathing with his arms and back pumping the acutely bent rod.

  “Stay strong, amigo. That one has a lot of fight left in her before you get that autograph.”

  The deckhand went back into the salon, and shortly thereafter the girls reappeared with cold drinks. One held a straw while Tom drank deeply. She then took a moist towel and wiped down his face and neck.

  “Thanks. That felt good. I didn’t get your name before.”

  “It’s Catalina.” She smiled.

  Tom kept working the fish, breathing deep and sweating profusely. His expensive shirt was soaked.

  “You must be very strong,” she said. “It’s been a long time. Nearly an hour.”

  Tom laughed. “Time flies.”

  She picked up a clean towel, soaked it in ice water, and began cooling him again. As her hands moved over his face and chest, he noticed delicate fingers and brilliant blue nail polish. Tom was about to comment, when the first mate shouted, “There, there, I can see her.”