Cas closed his eyes briefly. So it was true. His mother was dead, had been dead for many years. Lying somewhere in an unmarked grave, unmourned, forgotten by everyone but her son, who had spent most of his time trying not to hate her. His heart wept for his beautiful mother, killed by a madman, not only her life taken but her reputation too. His heart wept for the ignorant boy she had left behind, and the legacy of pain she had bequeathed him.
He showed none of this to his father. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you, Jose? A busy little murderer. My mother and Hannah…and now you’re aiming for me? I think you’ll find me a harder nut to crack.”
Jose’s mouth tightened. “To you I am not Jose. You will show respect.”
At that Cas gave a genuine laugh. “Respect. What shall I call you then? Murderer? Murdering bastard? A goddamned son of a bitch. A fucking bully with delusions of power. You’re nothing to me and I show you what you deserve. Nothing.”
“Do not make me prove my power. Ready yourself. We leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you and don’t think Raoul and Jesus will make a difference. I may have enemies in this town, but I have friends too. You’re not dealing with a frightened boy trapped in your fortress of a house anymore. You’ll never get me back there, not alive.”
“That can be arranged too.” Jose at last lost his studied calm and spoke furiously. “Or perhaps you would rather spend the rest of your days in prison? That can also be arranged. I have only to lift my finger and it is done.”
“Not even you have that much power,” Cas scoffed. “Not here. Here you’ll be seen for what you are–a small bully of a man who thinks he’s got some sort of special blood in his veins.” He leaned forward, thrusting his face toward his father. “No one cares, that’s what you’ve never understood. No one cares but you. Your shit smells just like everyone else’s.”
“Silencio . You will see exactly how much power I have. Yes, even here.” He paused to compose himself, smoothing the well cut gray hair over his temples, then adjusting the lapels of his designer suit. His gaze, blazing with hate, returned to his son.
“Why should I bother with you, you ask? You are an unfinished problem. I do not like leaving unfinished business behind me. It will often return to, as you say, bite you in the ass. And I think you will find you have no friends, only acquaintances who will not wish to become involved.” His voice took on a sneering tone. “Why should they? What is a pitiful, penniless boy like you to them? They will not disturb themselves.”
“You’re seeing me wrong, Jose. You’re seeing the boy. You should open your eyes just a bit more and look at the man. You won’t railroad me. I’m not leaving. I’ve found my place and I want you out of here. Go back to your crazy fantasies and leave me and mine alone.”
“You are an abomination and deserve death. But perhaps it would be better to let you rot in jail,” Jose mused. “Yes, I think that might take care of the problem and be much less messy. Out of sight and out of mind.”
“You think you can come in here and threaten me this way? Confess to murder and walk away without consequences? The sheriff’ll be at your door tomorrow, I’ll see to it myself.”
“Why make a fool of yourself? It will be your word against mine. And despite what you want to believe, I am not without influence. He is delusional, that is what I will say, he imagines things, you know how these children are when they have a grudge against a parent. Who will believe you? No, it is you that will be rotting in jail, not I.”
“How? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Oh, but you have mongrel. There is a large sum of my money missing and I believe they will find it in a bank account in New York. A bank account with your name on it and your signature on file.”
“That’s impossible. I’ve signed nothing.”
“Ah, but who knows your signature? What have you ever signed in your life? You have no identity. You don’t exist.”
“My social security number…”
Jose pursed his lips. “Gotten when you were born, against my wishes, I might add. Your puta of a mother insisted, and I–I was more lenient in those days. I can’t think of anything your signature might be on. Can you?”
“They’ll see it’s different.”
“Not if you have an ‘accident.’ My employees are anxious to see to it. A crushed hand, it could happen in many ways. You shouldn’t have made fools of them when you left. And so you won’t be coming back then? I am desolated. No fatted calf for the prodigal son.”
“Get out,” Cas said between gritted teeth.
Jose shot his cuffs. “Will you run again?” he asked with interest. “It will do you no good. Very well then, I will go. We shall start proceedings in the morning.” His lips peeled back from his teeth in a grotesque grin. “It will be interesting to see what you decide, but if you stay…if you stay, you are mine. Mine! To do with what I wish.”
“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Cas said with disgust, trying to tamp down his fear. “Now get out before I forget you’re old and supposedly my father, and throw you out.”
Jose laughed, genuinely amused. His laughter seemed to linger behind him as he disappeared into the darkness.
Cas strode to the door and shut it, putting up the safety chain. He stood trying to get his thoughts in order, trying to decide what he should do. He took in deep breaths and his stomach finally began to settle. He had done it; he had faced his boyhood fear and handled it like a man. He wondered what it was in him that had kept him from beating Jose Aguilar to a pulp.
The distant sound of an engine cranking caught his attention and started him moving again. He paced around the room, wishing he could hit something.
He couldn’t stay in the cottage, not with Raoul and Jesus around, and he didn’t want to be alone. He refused to be driven from these mountains, but he couldn’t fight his father by himself. He needed to talk to someone. Logically, it should be Sunny, but he didn’t want to worry her and his father was ruthless. Better, and safer, that he didn’t know anything about Sunny.
His mind made up, he unhooked the chain and eased his way out the door. It was time he talked to Reese.
Chapter 21
Darryl watched with narrowed eyes as the well dressed city man picked his way carefully to a rented BMW parked on the River Road, a convenient bush between it and the cottage. Almost immediately Darryl was moving, making his way to an old abandoned trail where a pickup was waiting, idling roughly. The man lounging behind the wheel straightened up and adjusted his cap. A country song wailed softly in the background.
“Well?”
“He left without him,” Darryl said tersely as he climbed in the truck. “We still got a chance. Get this piece of shit in gear but stay far enough behind he don’t know we’re following.”
“You don’t like the wheels you coulda used your own,” Wayland grumbled, but he eased the truck slowly forward until he could swing it out onto the paved highway. They blew the speed limit wide open as they barreled through the quiet town.
“There he is!” Tail lights winked briefly before disappearing around a curve. “Fall back a bit.”
“Shut up, why don’t you, I know how to do it.”
Darryl snagged a can of beer from the cooler at his feet, then sprawled back in his seat, propping one foot on the dash. He stared out the windshield, brooding as he popped the top. He ignored the explosion of liquid that drenched his hand and dripped on his jeans.
“He’s heading for Eufala,” Wayland commented and dropped back even further. “We can catch him up there.”
Silence settled around them. Quick glimpses of red taillights assured their quarry hadn’t double crossed them and turned off on some less known road.
Darryl was on his third beer when the glow from the lights of Eufala began to block out the stars. Wayland grunted and eased down on the accelerator.
“Reckon where he’s staying?”
A snort answered him. “Nowhere he thinks is good enough,
I’d bet money on that. Talks like he got a stick up his ass. Bassard thinks he’s better than us. Might be true out there in earthquake country, but he’s in our neck of the woods now.”
“And how is that, since you never did tell him where we was.”
“Shut up, I just didn’t think it through good enough, that’s all. The bassard still owes us though. We pointed him the right direction, didn’t we?”
He worked a pair of clear plastic gloves over his hands, wincing as his bad hand gave a throb. It still hurt like a son of a bitch, but not enough to be a handicap. It would heal or it wouldn’t; he’d thought it best to steer clear of the medical profession who tended to ask uncomfortable questions. “God I hate these things! He’ll pay up or…”
He opened the glove compartment and pulled out a .38 caliber Colt, flipping the cylinder open to check it was fully loaded. He gave it a spin and closed it, showing his teeth in a satisfied grin. Leaning forward, he stuck it in the waistband of his jeans, nestling it in the small of his back.
“Best be careful of that. Don’t fart,” Wayland said mildly.
“Fuck off, I don’t need none of your humor tonight.”
Eufala was a big enough town that there were still people out and about, although there was nothing that would constitute a traffic jam. Carefully they followed the BMW, keeping what they considered a safe distance, until it turned into the driveway of an Extended Stay Holiday Inn. Wayland whipped the truck into a parking space that gave them a good view of the entrance. The BMW pulled to a stop and a portly man with iron gray hair got out, along with a younger, taller man. The BMW pulled off, rolling slowly down the line of parked cars, the driver looking for an empty space.
“Look like they’re dressed for a wedding,” Wayland commented.
“Or a funeral. Wait here, be ready to leave real quick. No telling what that son of a bitch’ll pull, since he’s thinking he’s so damned smart. Might take awhile, so don’t be getting antsy. You got a good view, so don’t screw up.”
He climbed out of the truck, shrugging into a denim shirt once his feet hit the ground. He didn’t own a holster, but the shirt would cover what he was carrying well enough. He ignored the driver’s curses and started for the motel entrance. The loud wail of country music followed behind him. He gritted his teeth and turned slowly around.
“Turn that shit down!” he snapped. “Are you as dumb as you look?”
He stood watching as the sound level lowered, until Wayland kicked back in his seat and pulled his cap low over his eyes. With a nod of satisfaction, he turned and started walking again.
He rode up in the elevator with the asshole and his two goons, pretending disinterest, keeping his eyes on the lighted buttons. Assholes didn’t even speak English. What little was said was said in some foreign language that sounded like something from the old Cisco Kid reruns he liked to watch. He politely held the doors open for them as they got out on the third floor. Hotel only had three floors, so of course that’s where the asshole would be. He’d be in the penthouse if this place had one, he sneered to himself.
He stopped in front of a snack machine, jingling the change in a pocket, announcing his intent to anyone who might care. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw them go into Suite 310.
He waited until the driver of the BMW showed up and disappeared into the room. Then he waited some more, giving them time to go through their routine. Those goons probably had a schedule; one would be bedding down while the other kept watch. Or maybe both of them would bed down along with their master. They were behind locked doors. His lips curled up in a sneer. Couple of mutts–never would he call anyone master.
When he thought enough time had passed, he checked his gun and ambled down the hall to Suite 310, using his fist to pound on the door. He had to look up to meet the eyes of the man who opened it, which made his mood even pissier. The goon had removed his suit jacket and had one hand resting near the shoulder holster almost tucked under his left arm.
“Que ?” the goon asked.
“Jesus, do we have company?” The sound of that familiar, refined voice fanned Darryl’s anger to a new level.
“Yeah, you got company,” he called back. “I come to collect what’s owed to me.”
“Let him in, Jesus, we must not be impolite.”
Hayzoos–what kind of people named their kids after a bunch of grass?
Jesus stood back, allowing him to advance into the suite, but his narrowed eyes watched carefully and his hand remained near his gun. Darryl decided new tactics were called for. He had to seem so dumb and useless that the goon would lose interest. There were those who might have told him he didn’t have to put on an act, but Darryl had as much pride as Jose Aguilar. He lived in the shade of the impressive reputations of his wily, daring relatives, mostly dead and gone now, but moonshiners all.
The stupid asshole hadn’t taken off his suit jacket. Hell, he hadn’t even loosened his tie. Might make him look too ordinary, more like the mere mortals he looked down on. Before he left here, he intended to push some truths into that arrogant face. Pansy.
But he managed to control his anger and distaste so he could get on with business.
“I know you musta forgot to call me, mister,” he whined. “So I come to you. Save you some time and effort, right? I come for my money.”
Jose raised his brows. “And what money would this be? I am aware of no debt to such as you.”
“Now don’t be talking thatta way, I’m the one what called you about the whereabouts of your son.”
“Ah yes!” Jose shot his cuffs. “The one who tried to extort money from me.”
“You shouldn’t oughta use such big words, and I never did. I’m one who knows the bond twixt a daddy and his son, I done it from the goodness of my heart. But hey, I figured a rich man like you might be grateful for such a tip, it took some effort on my part to be finding you, you know.”
“I found the mongrel without your help.” Jose strolled over to the bar. “This place should not be allowed to call itself a hotel. The selection of wine is abysmal, completely uncivilized. Fortunately, Jesus has the instincts of the hunter and located something that was barely drinkable. One wonders how these peasants survive.” He looked over his shoulder at Darryl. “You should not whine like the baby, it makes the bad impression. Such as you, with your depressing wardrobe and your crying words, could never add two and two and get anything but five.” He paused, frowning. “How did you know I had come here?”
Darryl tried to look smaller and even more harmless. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the hayfield getting bored, glancing at the television set and then back to his employer. Jose nodded regally. The haystack found the remote and settled on the couch, part of his attention on his boss but most of it on the rerun of The Terminator he’d just found. Darryl bit back a smile. Perfect, just what he’d wanted.
“I been keeping an eye on that bassard,” he said to Jose, “and I hear things. He been fooling around with our women.”
“Casimiro?” Jose looked amused. “You surprise me. But as for you, there will be no reward, you did nothing. I will ask you to leave. I have nothing further to say to you.”
“The good Book says a person oughta be generous. You sure you won’t be changing your mind?”
“I never change my mind,” Jose said coldly. “You will permit me to say goodbye. I would regret,” he added softly, “the need for Jesus to show you out.”
Darryl straightened his shoulders. “I do hate to hear you saying that. You piece of shit.”
Jose’s eyes widened at the insult. Darryl’s hand darted under his unbuttoned shirt so quickly that the Colt was out and pointing at Jesus before Jose could take in a surprised breath. Jesus’s hand snaked toward his shoulder holster, but he was too late. Darryl was an accomplished marksman and had no hesitation in pulling the trigger. A round hole appeared in Jesus’s forehead; blood and small pieces of flesh and bone spattered the cushions behind him. He slowly slumped to one si
de, ending face down on the cushions, the back of his head almost completely gone. Before the echoes of the shot had faded, the gun was pointing at Jose.
Jose raised his hands, palm up in a calming gesture. “Let us–” he began and grunted with pain as a bullet tore into his thigh.
This time there was a gush of blood. Got that sucker good , Darryl thought with satisfaction. He fired again into the chest, laughing out loud at the cry of pain. Jose dropped heavily to his knees, his mouth open in shock and disbelief.
“Nobody fucks with me,” Darryl whispered and fired a final shot into the gaping mouth. Jose’s lower face disappeared in a spray of bone and blood. In the end, his supposed heritage hadn’t helped him; a southern redneck had proved more dangerous. He should have heeded his son’s warning.
Darryl heard frantic movement behind one of the closed doors and knew he had to leave and leave quickly. No time to search for any money or valuables the asshole might have on him, but he did quickly check the suit jacket pocket. Blood covered his gloves when he pulled his hand back. He grimaced, but his expression brightened as he registered the solid gold cigarette case he was holding. Might be worth something, he thought, and if not it would be another red herring.
Contemptuously he dropped the gun on the sprawled body, checking to make sure his thin gloves weren’t compromised. He sprinted out the door, taking the stairs rather than the elevator. Footsteps pounded after him. He pulled his cap lower and ran through the lobby, knocking over an older woman crossing to the elevator.
“Hey,” her escort called after him, outraged at such behavior.
“Never mind, Howard, you just call the police. I know that man’s up to no good, and I got a good look at him. You just call the police. Oh good Lord, there’s another one.”
She shrank against her husband as another stranger, his grim face glistening with sweat and tears, sprinted past them. He carried a lethal looking handgun, bold as brass. Both of them watched in horror as he stopped outside the door, braced his feet and fired after the fleeing man.
Song of Life Page 16
