Dell was shoved forward, and walked blindly with a man grasping his arm. He knew they were headed back toward the jeep because he could still sense the headlights from the Mexican car in the arroyo below him. The man holding his arm pulled Dell into his chest as if he might try to run and then stood motionless. Dell was certain they were taking him as a hostage in Josie’s four-wheel-drive police car. He feared she had been killed.
Dell felt as if the air had been released from his lungs like a balloon deflating. His muscles felt limp and unresponsive, his resolve numbed. He had never been a man prone to fear; he prided himself on his ability to power through anything, but he no longer knew where he was. He had lost contact with Josie. He felt as if he was within moments of dying.
The gunshot paralyzed him when it came. Unable to move, he tried to feel where the shot had struck him, tried to feel the pain somewhere on his body. Then he felt movement down his back, felt something slide down his backside, and he realized that the man who had been holding him was slipping to the dirt. Two more shots fired, and Dell ducked to the ground himself, unhurt but trying to avoid the gunfire. He had no idea where the bullets were coming from, or whom they were intended for. As he waited for something to begin making sense again, an unbearable weariness overtook him and he dropped to the sand.
Dell woke to hands on him. He felt them pulling at his shirt, slapping at his cheeks, and then he felt the warmth of a face next to his own. Josie was calling his name. He sensed lights through his eyelids and tried to remember how to open his eyes, but he could not find the strength. He squeezed a hand he hoped was Josie’s and blacked out.
* * *
Josie and four National Guard soldiers leaned across a backboard and held flashlights for the medic. The wind had died down to thirty-mile-an-hour gusts, but it still made viewing the equipment difficult. The medic and the soldiers strapped Dell onto the backboard and loaded him into the back of an EMS Humvee outfitted for desert travel.
Josie had known Dell’s location and had looked in his direction frequently. When she saw the two Mexicans circling toward the car, she had intended to shoot before they ever reached Dell, but they moved too quickly, and she couldn’t get off a shot. As the gunman stood with Dell clutched to his chest, waiting on the other man to turn the lights and sirens off, Josie had a clear shot to the man’s head. Luckily, Dell had been slumped forward, weak from what the medic said was almost certainly a heart attack. It had been the most terrifying shot she had ever taken, but it hit her target. She then shot and killed the second man, too, as he exited her car. Otto and Marta were able to take another man into custody and wounded a second, but two others fled on foot.
Three of the National Guard units had made quick time down Arroyo Pass and caught up with Marta and Otto to help them stabilize their prisoners, then arrived at Josie’s car as Josie fired her first shot. At the end of the pass, Presidio Police met Escobedo and the transport van and followed him to the interstate, where they escorted him to Houston. Four Border Patrol units arrived and made their way down the pass to where the lead car was located. They found six men hiding just outside the cars, who gave up without a fight. The Mexicans were clearly outnumbered at that point. A total of ten men were in custody, two were dead, one was injured, and it was suspected three additional men were at large on foot.
It was dawn before the wind died down enough for the Border Patrol helicopter to safely fly the area in search of the men who ran. After an hour in the air, the helicopter was called off for another emergency in El Paso. Josie sent Otto and Marta home at 4 A.M. and stayed until almost six, working out the messy details of an investigation among multiple agencies, determining with DPS, Border Patrol, and the Presidio Sheriff’s Department who was responsible for the myriad details that could make or break a case against the men at trial.
* * *
Josie left the crime scene and drove straight to the Trauma Center. Vie Blessings was the ER nurse on duty and pulled Josie in for a hug. She whispered in Josie’s ear, “Sweetheart, you deserve a big old bonus check after the week you’ve had.”
Josie smiled and asked about Dell.
Vie took Josie’s hand and led her down the hall. “It’s best if I show you.”
Josie followed Vie into one of the two overnight rooms and found Dell propped up in bed, scowling at a TV set hung on the wall across from his bed.
“You wonder why young people can’t think anymore? Flip through this trash. Biggest bunch of drivel. It’s a wonder people even got the common sense to get out of bed in the morning, watching this all day long.”
Josie, wondering how nurses put up with old men like him, smiled as she approached his bed. “How you doing?” she asked.
“Are you serious? That old biddy Blessings thinks she can keep me in bed by locking up my pants and underwear, but she don’t know me too well, does she?”
Josie winked. “I think you have a crush on Nurse Blessings.”
“Don’t give me any smart mouth.”
“What did the doctor tell you?” she asked, bumping his feet over on the bed with her hip so she could sit at the end.
“You look like hell, girl. You need to go home and go to bed. I’m fine. Heart attack. No big surprise. They want to ship me to Houston for tests, but I put an end to that. No one’s going to plug me into a machine to keep my ticker charged. If it runs out of juice, so be it.”
She didn’t even attempt getting into that pointless argument. “How long do they want to keep you?”
“I didn’t listen. Go talk to that old prune. See if you can’t work me a deal. I need to feed the horses.”
* * *
At ten o’clock in the morning, Josie slumped on the couch and stared at Chester, who lay sleeping at her feet. She sipped at a tumbler of warm bourbon, her solace for a night that would keep her from sleeping for months to come. She had taken a shower and dressed in a nightshirt, but she knew sleep was a distant hope as she stared at the blank TV screen. She leaned her head back and felt the steady numbing of her body, her brain, the slowing of her senses, the heaviness of her eyelids, and she prayed for the deep uninterrupted sleep of the guiltless. She wanted to sleep like those uninitiated few who still believed in the inherent good of people. She stared at a long hairline crack in the ceiling above her that was lit by the harsh morning sunlight. She wondered if she believed in the inherent good of anyone anymore. Dillon was good, but she couldn’t factor him in just now. The hurt was too fresh. Otto and Delores were as good as any two people she knew, but she could tick off twelve others who were equally as bad, who given the choice would rather shoot you than shake your hand. Dillon had done nothing to deserve the dangers of the lifestyle she had chosen. He was a good man, and she had no right to drag him down the garbage-strewn path she had chosen to call a career.
Josie stood up and set the empty glass on the coffee table, the tumbler clicking too hard. The noise raised Chester’s head from the floor in front of the front door. The old dog looked suddenly alert and ready to protect. She sat on the floor beside him and picked up the cell phone from the coffee table. The dog laid his head on her lap and fell back asleep within seconds. With a stomach sick with guilt and shame, she flipped her phone open and dialed Dillon’s cell phone. After three rings, it went to voice mail. She hesitated and almost hung the phone up, but knew he would see the missed call anyway.
“Dillon, it’s Josie. Hope you’re doing okay. I know you’re at work. I’m sorry to call you like this. I know I don’t have the right. I just need you. I need a sane person to talk to.”
Thirty minutes later, Josie had moved from the floor up to the couch again, unable to face her bedroom. Otto and Delores had cleaned it, swept the remnants of the attack from her room. Dell had come in and patched the holes in the walls while she was at work. But the white hot flash of the bullets, the flying debris, the threats, and the deafening sound of the guns played in a repeating loop in her mind. She could still smell cigarette smoke lingering in the air, a
nd she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to sleep in her bed again. Then she heard a car in front of her house. She didn’t reach for the gun lying on the coffee table. She knew with certainty that Dillon, good caring man that he was, had come.
She held the door open for him and they stood awkwardly inside the living room for a moment. Dillon wore his office clothes, a navy suit and red tie, and stood with his hands in his front pants pockets.
“I appreciate you coming over like this,” she said.
“I heard about the mess last night.”
“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said. “It’s like my brain has shut down on me.”
“Come in the kitchen, and I’ll make you a cup of hot tea,” he said.
Several minutes later, he sat down across from her at the kitchen table with two hot mugs and tea bags.
“I want to do this job,” she said, staring into her mug, “but I don’t know if I have what it takes. I feel like the floodgates of Mexico are leaking and all their violence and chaos is about to flow into our country. And we’re in the direct path. And by some bizarre twist of fate, I’m the one that’s supposed to repair the crack. I know this is absurd, but in some ways, I feel like the security of this nation rests on my shoulders.”
“Josie, the Mexican and United States governments can’t figure out how to solve the problem. What in the world makes you think you can?”
“That’s just it, though! No one gets it. It’s like looking at those sad pictures of starving kids in Africa. They’re disturbing to look at, the problem seems too big, but it’s not in people’s neighborhood, so they turn the page. They watch a thirty-second news blip on TV and figure they’re informed. Unless you live with this fear every day, how can you know how serious it is?”
“So what now?”
She scowled and rubbed her temples. “I don’t know. I care so much about this town and about this damned job, but it’s destroying my life. I’m scared to sleep in my own bed. I can’t walk my dog outside without worrying I’ll be gunned down by some Mexican cartel. I feel like my life has spun completely out of control.” She took a deep breath and folded her hands in front of her on the table. “Mostly, what bothers me is how much I need you, and I am so sorry that I’ve lost you.”
He took a minute and seemed to be considering her words. She wondered if she had said too much.
“I’ve always been guarded with you because I didn’t want to scare you off, or make you think I was pushing you into something you weren’t ready for. I’m too tired for that anymore,” he said.
She nodded, and he seemed to take it as the okay to continue.
“I love you, Josie. I’ve fallen in love with a cop. I didn’t realize until the last couple of days just what that means to you. The day those gunmen came into your home and shot up your bedroom, I just couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that you would willingly step back into that kind of danger again. It seemed like utter suicide to me, and I resented that. I resented that you cared more about your career than your life with me.”
He paused, his eyes tired. He reached a hand across the table and placed it over both of hers. “I would have turned in my badge if I were you. But I thought about it. I’m an accountant; I’m not a cop. This is what you do, and I have to trust you can handle the job. That you’ll be as safe as possible so you can come home at the end of the day.”
She took one of her hands from under his and rubbed at her eyes. “I’m terrible at this. I don’t even think I know what love is. I know I want it, and I know I’ve never cared for anyone like I care for you. Maybe that’s what love is. I just feel like I don’t deserve what you give me, and I have so little to give you in return. I felt lousy calling you this morning after what you’ve been through.”
He smiled and leaned wearily back in his chair, rubbing both his hands over the top of his head, a move she had long ago recognized as a sign of frustration in him. “Your phone call was what I’ve been waiting on for months. Before today, you’ve never admitted you need anyone. It’s not easy dating Superwoman. I have an ego, too.”
She felt the air change as if a wire had snapped, releasing the tension in the room. “How many times can we start over?” she asked.
“I guess until we get it right.”
* * *
After Dillon left, Josie slept on the couch for four dreamless hours and then dragged herself off the couch into a hot shower. She drove to town, forcing her eyes to stay open, and logged on for the four-thirty-to-midnight shift with Otto. She was at her desk when he entered the office. He looked as if he had gotten less sleep than she had.
“We’re too old for this,” he said, sitting down in his chair but facing Josie’s desk rather than his own. “You get any sleep?”
“Couple hours. You?”
He tilted his head, noncommittal. “You staying at your place?”
“Yep.”
“You need to set up some counseling for those shootings.”
Josie gave her own noncommittal shrug.
“You can’t kill three men, I don’t care how justified they were, and not get some kind of mental issues from it. Delores said one of her friends has a son in Odessa who’s supposed to be some kind of super shrink. Give him a call. Charge the bill to the mayor.”
“If I need to talk, I’ll talk to you. I don’t want to talk about it with a stranger.”
“I’m not going to let up on this one,” he said.
“I have no doubt.”
“You going to call the sheriff?” Otto asked, still facing Josie.
“About what?”
He didn’t answer, just looked at her.
“What is this? Since when did you turn into my mother?”
“You’d feel better if you got the call over with. Put it out of your mind that way.”
“Otto! Give me a break!” Josie faced her desk and turned her computer on to end the conversation. She knew she needed to make things right with Martínez. She hoped that he understood the position she had been in, but truth was, she’d be furious if roles had been reversed. He’d been refused access to his own jail while the city police and the feds took down one of his employees. She promised herself that she’d call later.
They both began the process of slogging through the phone calls and e-mails required of any major investigation with DPS and Border Patrol. The paperwork and documentation, especially with two homicides, would take days to complete. At five thirty, Lou buzzed Josie and told her Mayor Moss was on his way up to see her.
Otto smirked. “Think he’s here to apologize for hanging you out to dry? Probably here to save his hind end before word gets out to his voters.”
Moss flung the door open, knocking it against the wall, then faced Josie and Otto, hands on his hips. “I had the National Guard here! I had everything taken care of! You didn’t have to lift a wretched finger, but you go and get the warden from the federal penitentiary involved. It was a complete embarrassment!”
Josie stared, too shocked to respond.
He pointed a finger at her. “This wasn’t any of his concern. And who the hell gave you the authority to contact him behind my back?”
“You are way out of line,” she said, her voice controlled.
His face grew redder, and he kicked the side of her metal desk. “I’ll have your badge for this. You’ve got us plastered all over the news—again! Farmers sitting on top of their barns with shotguns one day. You killing Mexicans the next. It looks like I don’t have any control over my own damned town!”
Josie took a deep breath and willed her blood flow to slow. “Let me tell you the way I see it.”
Moss ignored her. “How do you expect me to keep this town afloat with this kind of publicity? I got the Town Council on my ass preaching about public relations, and I got you going behind my back starting a war with the Mexican cartels!”
“You had no business arranging security for this town without first consulting the sheriff and me. If you don’t like us
, then fire us, but don’t sabotage the job we’re trying to do. Not right now.”
He kicked her desk again, leaving a sizable dent this time, and pointed a finger inches from her face. “Don’t tell me how to run my office!”
Otto stood up from his desk. “You either lower your voice and speak in a respectful manner or you leave this office immediately. Chief Gray doesn’t deserve that kind of talk.”
Moss’s face puckered. He looked ready to throw a punch at Otto, but instead turned and walked to the back of the office and looked out the picture window at the small subdivision and gray desert beyond.
Josie talked to the mayor’s back. “Here’s the way I see it: Two assassins broke into my home while I was asleep and nearly killed me. They destroyed my bedroom and threatened my life. They made it very clear that they were going to kill me if their men weren’t set free. And you knew all this! You knew the danger I was in and yet you allowed these prisoners to stay in our jail even though transport was available through Escobedo.”
He turned from the window and faced her, his expression incredulous. “I had it taken care of! That’s what the Guard was for!”
“We didn’t need to wait for the Guard. We had a better solution available!” Josie said.
“I wasn’t going to request that a National Guard unit come all the way to our town, then turn around and send them away because you got a better deal somewhere else. We needed to at least make use of them for a day,” Moss said. “What happens next time we call for their help? They’d laugh us off.”
Otto looked at Josie and shook his head slowly, trying to signal her to keep her temper in check.
Josie’s voice dropped. She was so angry, her hands were shaking. “You’re telling me that you left four known assassins in our jail as a public relations move? You left them there so you wouldn’t look bad?”
Moss said nothing, but he stared at her as if turning her words over in his mind.
She went on. “It wasn’t just my life at stake. It was every one of the employees walking through that jail yesterday. You saw the catastrophe they sent down on that transport van yesterday. If we hadn’t moved those prisoners when we did, it’s hard telling what kind of disaster you’d be dealing with today.”
The Territory: A Novel Page 22
