The Territory: A Novel

by Tricia Fields

  As Jimmy inventoried the truck and Marta searched the Mexicans, Sanchez rigged spotlights on top of eight-foot portable poles that he’d stowed in Marta’s truck. He flipped the switch on a small generator, and it cast a surreal light over the vehicles and the men lying in the grass.

  Jimmy stepped away from the trailer and approached Marta. In the bright light, Jimmy’s face appeared pale and dripped with sweat. Marta thought he had the wide-eyed look of an adrenaline junkie. “We need to stand clear until ATF gets here.” He pointed to the men lying on the ground. “What do you have?”

  “The driver of the lead car has an American accent but no identification on him. The two men who were in the truck both have Mexican ID cards.” Marta stuck her foot out and with it poked one of the men in his hip. “This one is confirmed Medrano. I know the name.”

  “A Medrano. Go figure. You fellas headed over to our jail?” Jimmy stood above the men who lay on their chests, their heads turned to the side. “Try and bust your kinfolk out tonight, huh? That load of explosives just might send you away for the long haul.”

  Sanchez left the generator and walked over to join Jimmy. “We’ll need a special Medrano wing at the jailhouse.”

  “Look,” Marta said, and pointed downstream, to the Mexican side of the river. A line of headlights were driving slowly down the gravel access road. “They’re probably two miles from here.”

  Jimmy yelled to Sanchez to cut the lights, and he and Marta reached for two of the suspects, attempting to pull them up to a standing position to get them into Marta’s jeep. Neither of them budged. All three had gone limp, their bodies dead weight. Marta placed her gun in the back of the head of the lead driver, ordering him to move, but he refused. It became obvious a contingency plan was about to be carried out, and Marta feared the three officers were seconds away from a group execution.

  Jimmy pulled his gun and shot the driver of the pickup in his upper arm. “I’ll shoot all three of you if you aren’t up and in the back of that police car in ten seconds!”

  The sound of the gunshot and their partner screaming in pain prompted the other two to scramble up on two feet and move. As the cars approached the river crossing, Jimmy was stuffing the third gunman into the backseat of Marta’s squad car, a jeep barely large enough to hold four people. Marta got in and started the engine as Sanchez squeezed next to her. Jimmy placed one knee on the passenger seat, facing backwards toward the oncoming cars and hanging on to the open door frame for support.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  “What about the explosives?” Marta asked. Her head was pounding, and she prayed in the back of her mind as she tried to keep her focus on the approaching cars. She had heard countless stories of cartel members torturing police officers, and she felt her throat constrict in fear.

  Still in four-wheel drive, she shoved the jeep into first gear and spun gravel as she pulled her car onto River Road. Sanchez’s thigh was pressed against the gear stick, and she had difficulty shifting into second gear. Jimmy ducked back inside the car and faced the backseat. He pointed his gun directly at the three men and began shouting in Spanish not to move and to stay quiet or they were all dead men. Marta tried to block out the cries of the man in the middle who had been shot in the arm.

  They heard gunfire from across the river.

  “They’re shooting at the explosives truck! Jesus, they’re going to blow it up!” Jimmy yelled.

  Marta pulled off the road and into the desert scrub to the north of the river to get space between their car and the horse trailer.

  “Now circle around, cut your headlights, and get the car pointed back toward the river so we’ve got a good visual,” Jimmy said. “You stay in the car and keep a gun on the prisoners. Sanchez and I will keep guns trained on that explosives truck. I just talked to Border dispatch. ETA on backup is five minutes. I talked to Josie. She’s on her way with everyone she can find.”

  Once she’d maneuvered the jeep into place, Marta kneeled in the driver’s seat and faced the three men in the backseat of the jeep, crowded in on top of one another, with one man bleeding and moaning, and all of them worried the night sky was about to light up with an explosion that might kill them all. Sanchez and Jimmy were outside the jeep, standing behind the opened driver’s and passenger side doors with two .45-caliber pistols facing what appeared to be a small army of Mexicans across the river. The Mexicans had spotted them and were standing down. Marta hoped it was enough to keep them across the river until backup arrived.

  A lone siren was heard coming from the north. Marta was certain it was Josie. Josie parked her car ten feet behind Marta’s jeep, and Jimmy waved her car up next to theirs. She rolled down her windows to speak with them.

  He yelled, “We’ve got three prisoners in the back of the jeep. Keep your lights and sirens on. We need a huge presence here as fast as we can get.”

  Josie yelled back over the sound of the sirens, “Sheriff’s department is on their way. Martínez is right behind me.”

  Shortly after, a trail of two sheriff’s deputies and two DPS cars approached from the east. Within minutes, the area was teeming with local police vehicles as well as Border Patrol and DPS, their cars pointed toward the river, sirens blaring, officers crouched behind car doors for protection. An ambulance arrived and Josie directed them to Marta’s jeep.

  Josie split the prisoners up, and the sheriff sent two of them to the Arroyo County Jail with a sheriff’s deputy. She asked an EMT driver to get the man who’d been shot stabilized but to stay on-site and prepare the Trauma Center team. It was too soon to leave with the county’s only ambulance.

  After things quieted down, Josie pulled Marta into her squad car and shut the doors. Marta filled her in on the details, her voice still unsteady from the stress of the night. Josie sat in the driver’s seat listening.

  “How do we deal with this? How can one small town fight an army equipped with this kind of firepower?” Marta finally asked.

  “The sheriff and I called several ranchers along the border and asked them to be on alert tonight. We talked to six families, all living within a half mile of the river.”

  Marta looked surprised. “They aren’t trained for this kind of fight.”

  Josie pointed to the row of police cars, lights, and the similar row of cars facing them from across the river. “We’re beyond training. We’re just trying to hold the line. I’ve already called Moss and told him we’ve got to get National Guard presence immediately. He doesn’t want to admit we can’t handle this on our own, but surely he realized it tonight.”

  At five o’clock in the morning, the situation resolved itself when the Mexican contingent pulled back and left the explosives and trailer, apparently resolved to the fact that there was no chance of crossing into the U.S. in front of, by that point, eight police cars from five different police agencies and a helicopter guarding the trailer of explosives. By 5:30 A.M., officers from ATF were dismantling the truck, inventorying, and removing everything inside. Crime scene technicians from the Department of Public Safety were going over the area, and after preliminary paperwork was started, local law enforcement was dismissed. Marta drove home to her daughter, prayers answered yet again.

  * * *

  An hour later, Josie pulled onto Tower Road and saw Dillon’s car parked in her driveway. He met her at the front door and pulled her into his chest when she walked inside.

  She pulled back slightly and saw the exhaustion in his face. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on hers. “Josie. I’ve been worried sick about you. Artemis has been all over the local news.”

  “Have you been up all night?” she asked. Invariably it caught her by surprise to find someone emotionally affected by her well-being. She wasn’t sure if she should apologize for being an inconvenience.

  “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I got up and turned the radio on. The DJ was talking about the standoff in Artemis along the river. I called your ho
use and then gave up and came over here to wait on you.”

  “Guess I should have called to check in.”

  “You had bigger worries. I’m not mad. I’m just glad to see you. Are you upset I came over?”

  “No, of course not. I’m just exhausted. Let me take a shower and we can talk.” She kissed him on the cheek and left him sitting on the couch in the living room. He looked as tired as she felt.

  Standing in the shower, she let the hot water beat against her back and replayed the conversation with Dillon in her head. Second-guessing her actions and wondering if she had said or done the wrong thing; the frustrations she had wrestled with throughout their last involvement were coming back to her. Her body ached and eyes stung and she wanted nothing more than to slip between the sheets and give in to sleep. She did not want to worry about another human being’s feelings.

  She slipped on a light nightshirt, pulled her hair into a ponytail, and found Dillon standing at her bedroom window, tucking a comforter over the curtain rod. Although it was daylight, close to eight in the morning, the room was the color of dusk.

  He pointed to the bed, his expression kind. “Take your nightshirt off, climb in, and lie on your stomach.”

  Dillon turned from her and she pulled her nightshirt over her head, pushed the cover and pillows away, then pulled the sheet over her bottom and lay flat on her stomach, her arms to her side. She closed her eyes and felt Dillon’s weight settle onto the bed, his knees straddling her hips. She listened to his hands rub together and knew he was warming lotion between his palms, a treat she’d missed since he’d been gone. He laid his hands flat on the center of her back, applying slight pressure. He let the warmth of his hands settle into her body before moving them slowly up and down her spine, gently pushing the heels of his palms into the tauter muscles. He dug his thumbs into her neck and shoulders until she sighed with relief.

  “Let me feel your skin,” she whispered. “Lie beside me and hold me. I’ll be asleep in minutes.”

  Dillon curled in behind her, slid an arm under her pillow to hold one hand, and found her other hand to hold against her chest. He pulled her into his body and tucked his bent knees into her own. He kissed her shoulder and rested his head above hers on the pillow. Her body melted into his, her attention fading with the knowledge that she was happy and safe and content.

  ELEVEN

  By noon, the temperature was triple digits. The two-day reprieve had made life more tolerable, but the heat was back like a furnace on full tilt. The Bishop watched the waves of heat radiating up from the desert floor and let the sun bake his skin. He stood on the back veranda of his home and listened to his elderly uncle drone on. Familial obligation dictated that he allow his uncle a place to live out his remaining days with family. His uncle had moved into his home a month ago and begun telling the Bishop how to run the family business.

  “If you do not gain control of this now, the future of this family is as sure as tomorrow’s sunrise. We cannot show this weakness. The Americans have slapped us into submission. Your father would never have allowed this.”

  The Bishop turned to face his father’s older brother. He sat in a wheelchair under the awning with a light blanket covering his emaciated legs. His body tilted to one side, like a knickknack askew on a shelf, and the Bishop found himself torn between pity and revulsion. Once king of the world, his uncle was now relegated to drool and impotence and a colostomy bag. The Bishop paid little attention to his uncle, but had already come to the same conclusion regarding the Americans. He needed no guidance. The small-town police had made a mockery of his organization.

  “It is taken care of,” he said.

  His uncle laughed, a wet gurgle from deep in his lungs. “You lost a trailer of explosives. How is that taken care of?”

  “I’ve sent two men to the police chief. She will pay the price for her arrogance. She will learn what happens when you don’t play by our rules.”

  * * *

  Josie woke disoriented, her head heavy with sleep. She felt Dillon’s leg draped over her own and tried to figure out what day it was without opening her eyes. She lay on her back and moved her fingers lazily over his chest and allowed the drama from the night before to filter back into her thoughts as if through a deep fog. She thought she smelled a cigarette and imagined her mother sitting out in her living room, chain-smoking, and waiting on her to get out of bed.

  She heard a noise and the scrape of a boot against the wood floor just before she opened her eyes. Two armed men stood at the end of the bed. Instantly awake, her body was rigid with fear. The room was dim, but she could easily distinguish that they were two males in their twenties, one stocky with a short military cut and a bushy mustache, the other taller and wearing a camouflage bandanna around his head and a long gold earring. The stocky man held his gun at his chest, removed the cigarette from his mouth, and dropped it on the floor, grinding it into the wood with his foot.

  She forced breath into her lungs and pulled the sheet up, clenched it between her fists at her chest. Take me, she wanted to say. Leave him be. She wanted to stand with her hands in the air and surrender. Walk out of the bedroom with them as Dillon slept on, undisturbed. He did nothing to deserve this. But her body was frozen, her eyes unblinking, her mind barely able to separate dream from reality.

  “You made a big mistake,” the man with the bandanna said, and Dillon jerked awake beside her.

  “What the hell?” he said, his voice confused.

  Under the sheet, Josie squeezed his forearm but kept her eyes on the two men.

  “You got two choices and thirty seconds,” the man in the bandanna went on. “You choose to let Gutiérrez and the other three go and you live. You keep them locked up and you die. You choose. Now. Ten seconds.” He spoke with a northern Mexican accent she associated with the border towns.

  She spoke with no hesitation. “They go free tonight.”

  “You go inside and unlock the cell and it’s done, huh? They walk free to their ride home?” the other gunman said.

  Terrified, Josie watched as both men raised their guns and pointed them directly at her and Dillon. She heard him gasp beside her and throw his arm over her, as if his arm could protect her from the spray of automatic gunfire facing them. Then, in tandem, both men swung their guns up toward the wall above the bed and opened fire. Wood and plaster and glass from framed pictures sprayed over them, piercing their bodies. Josie heard screaming but couldn’t tell if it was coming from her or Dillon. He had rolled over on top of her, his body covering hers, his arm cupped around her head as the gunfire continued. She closed her eyes to the white fire coming from the end of the weapons. It felt as if the noise and the debris falling around their bodies lasted for hours. When they had finished, one of the men yelled above the ringing in her ears, “Tomorrow, midnight, you die if our men aren’t free. You count on that.”

  Dillon slowly lifted off her as plaster and wood and glass fell from their bodies. Both gunmen were gone. They heard the bloodhound howling outside, and Josie leaped from the bed, running to the front door. She envisioned the dog being shot as an afterthought, but they were already in their vehicle, a black Mercedes sedan, pulling out onto the road.

  Dillon came into the living room carrying her bathrobe. He wrapped her in it and tried to hold her, but she pushed him away to grab the cordless phone off the coffee table. She called in the incident to the dispatcher, then tracked down Jimmy Dixon through Border Patrol and filled him in. She called Sheriff Martínez and told him that DPS was on their way to conduct the investigation. The sheriff said he was on his way over. The mayor’s number went to voice mail; she left him the details of it all on the message.

  After all the calls had been made, she sat down on the couch with Dillon. He had sat in silence with the shaking dog on the seat next to him.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  He held out his arms and showed her flecks of blood where glass from the picture frames over the bed had penetrated his
skin.

  “Let me see your back,” she said. He hadn’t spoken, and she worried he might be in shock.

  They both stood and he turned away from her. A single rivulet of blood ran down the center of his back from where a larger piece of glass had lodged. She pulled the piece out with her fingernails and turned him around.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  His eyes welled up and he pulled her into his chest. “I thought we were both dead. When the noise stopped, I lay there and couldn’t figure out if I had been shot or not.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dillon. I am so sorry you were in the middle of this. This isn’t your battle.”

  He pushed her back and clenched his hands on her shoulders as if trying to hold her in place. “You can’t keep this up, Josie. It ends today. You can’t give up your life for this job. It’s not your battle either. You turn in your badge, we pack, and we’re out of here tomorrow. Better yet, we’ll let someone else pack for us and just leave. This town, this place—none of it is worth your life or mine.”

  She sighed heavily. “I can’t do that.”

  “Like hell you can’t!”

  “I understand you want to leave. I wouldn’t ask you to stay.”

  The light in his eyes changed. She felt the water rising around her.

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” he said.

  “Don’t play games with me. I’m too tired. You know that’s not what I meant. But this has nothing to do with you and me. This is my job. It’s what I get paid to do. I didn’t sign a clause in my contract that said if things got dangerous, I could just take off. If you are afraid, then leave. I completely understand it,” she said.

  He leaned back angrily. “I’m not afraid for me. The woman who I—” He paused and seemed to mentally slow down. “—the woman who I care deeply about just lay in bed and negotiated with terrorists as they shot holes in her walls. You think I should just blow this off? Just another day at the office for Josie?”