The Chupacabra: A Borderline Crazy Tale of Coyotes, Cash & Cartels (The Chupacabra Trilogy - Book 1)

by Stephen Randel

  El Barquero slowly crossed the room and turned off the music coming from the clock radio that rested on a board propped up by two cinder blocks next to the bed. Aiming the gun at the man, El Barquero carefully raised his leg and used the tip of his boot to kick the bottle of tequila off the loudly snoring man’s chest and against the wall. The shattering of glass as the bottle exploded on the wall woke the drunken man, who sat straight up and found himself staring directly down the barrel of the silenced pistol that nearly touched his nose.

  “Jesus Christ!” the confused and panicked man stammered. “I was going to call. I swear it! I swear on the Holy Mother, I was going to call!”

  “Shut up, Memo,” the giant man said calmly. “Did you tell the Padre it was me?”

  “No! I never said nothing! Please, Barquero,” Memo pleaded as he scooted himself back against the wall, the sound of glass crushing beneath him as he tried to distance himself from the gun and the man with fire in his eyes.

  “Memo. Look at me, Memo. What did you tell the Padre?”

  “Please, Barquero,” the man begged as he fought back the tears welling up in his eyes. “Please.”

  “Tell me, Memo,” El Barquero said as he deliberately thumbed back the hammer on his pistol. “Tell me what you told him.”

  “God, no,” the crying man squealed as he held his hands in front of his face and curled into a fetal position. “I wouldn’t…I didn’t…just please…please.”

  “Look at me, Memo,” El Barquero said as he used the suppressor of his pistol to push the terrified man’s hands away from his face. “Look at me, Memo. There you go. How did he know?” he asked reassuringly.

  “I swear,” the bawling man sobbed. “I don’t know.”

  “How did he know!” the imposing man in black roared at the top of his lungs.

  “He…he…” Memo stammered as the deafening outburst from El Barquero momentarily shocked him into a brief state of composure. “He was going to kill me. He said he would kill my family. Kill my family’s family. Please…you don’t understand.”

  “Very good, Memo,” El Barquero said gently as he lowered his voice and his weapon. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Anything else you want to tell me? You said you were going to call me, didn’t you?”

  “I know of a shipment. Another shipment. There’s one tonight, I mean, early in the morning,” Memo stammered quickly. “Tonight, not far from the last one, east about five miles. Three men. Armed. Heroin. The really good stuff.”

  “What time?”

  “Sometime around three in the morning. They’re meeting two men in a jeep. It’ll be hidden about two miles back in the hills. Please. I didn’t have a choice. Please.”

  “No, I don’t have a choice. The Toro never has a choice,” El Barquero said as he reached down to the clock radio and turned up the volume on the tejano station. The suppressor would dull the noise of the pistol report but wouldn’t completely eliminate it. “You’re nothing but a sad, pathetic little chicken, Memo,” El Barquero said as he raised the gun and shot the cowering man once in the heart and twice in the head.

  • • •

  Back in Austin, Aunt Polly’s pink Cadillac hopped the curb as she plowed into the coffee shop parking lot. Slamming on her brakes, she slid the long vehicle into the parking space nearest the door, coming to a stop just an inch from the blue handicapped parking sign. Rolling herself out of her car, she made her way into the old diner-style joint and walked directly to the large rounded booth in the corner where the rest of the girls were already waiting with their pie and coffee. Polly plopped down in the booth, where Miss Pearl, Jolene, Big Esther, and Little Esther sat in silence.

  “Sweetie,” Polly called to the young waitress wiping down a booth next to theirs with a white dish towel. “Would you be a doll and bring me a coffee and a slice of strawberry pie? Thanks, sugar,” she said without waiting for a response as she turned to the girls. “Now, ladies, I’ve called you here to review the events of last night.”

  “We were all there,” snapped Miss Pearl. “We know what happened.”

  “Not another word from you until I’m finished talking,” Polly scolded Miss Pearl. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be rotting away in that jail cell. I’ve got half a mind to go get my bail money back as it is. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the events of last night. Miss Pearl, you’ve finally gone too far this time. Shooting a handgun in public, my lord, someone could have gotten killed. Big Esther nearly had a coronary!” Polly said, pointing across the table where Big Esther nodded her head in agreement. “And you know I’ve got high blood pressure already. You can’t keep acting like this. Plus, I doubt they’ll ever let you back in for bingo, and that’s only if you don’t end up locked away in the Supermax with the killers and terrorists.”

  “I ain’t going to no Supermax,” Miss Pearl said as she nibbled from the slice of apple pie in front of her. “Maybe a few days in County, but I can do that time in my sleep. I already got two inmate gangs trying to get me to join up. It’s like sorority rush, only with criminals and lesbians.”

  “Oh, dear lord, Pearl!” cried Jolene. “Criminals are one thing, but please don’t go joining up with a lesbian gang!”

  “Jolene, calm down,” said Polly as her coffee and pie arrived. “The reason I’ve called all of you here is that I’m declaring an intervention.”

  “A what?” asked Little Esther.

  “An intervention,” replied Polly as she drove her fork into her pie, cutting off a large piece that promptly fell off her fork and onto the table with a wet plop. “I’ve seen this on the television,” she continued as she scooped up the sticky lump of strawberries with her fork and fingers. “When someone you love gets completely out of control, you gather up their friends and declare an intervention. We all make a sworn commitment to help our loved one overcome their addiction,” Polly said as she sucked the pie off her fork and fingers.

  “I ain’t got no addiction!” the feisty little black woman said as she crossed her arms. “I just got bad luck when it comes to coming in contact with fools!”

  “No, Pearl,” replied Polly. “You most certainly do have an addiction, an anger addiction.” She looked around the table for support. “Girls, am I right or am I right?”

  “Pearl,” said Jolene calmly. “She might have point.”

  “It’s just a tiny problem, sweetie,” said Little Esther as she knitted away at a sock in her lap while Big Esther just bobbed her head in agreement.

  “What kind of conspiracy is this?” asked Pearl angrily. “This is what I get for associating with white women! You old bats just want me locked away in some rehab facility so you can cash my government checks. You ain’t the only one who watches the television, Polly!” She shook her bony finger at Polly. “I see right through you.”

  “Now, Pearl,” Polly calmly replied. “You just settle down. There ain’t going to be no rehab, no facilities, nothing like that. All this means is that each of us is going to commit to helping you learn to understand your anger and deal with it appropriately. Now, I’ve drawn up a schedule of activities and assignments.” She dug into her purse and produced five copies of a laminated weekly schedule that she passed around the table.

  “Looks like brainwashing to me,” said Pearl disgustedly as she reviewed the document.

  “It most certainly is not,” replied Polly. “It’s simply a coordinated regimen of activities to help you better recognize and understand your issues with conflict and exercises to help you release tension in a nonviolent manner. Okay,” Polly said as she sipped from her coffee. “On Mondays, we’ll meet for tai chi lessons at the YWCA. I’ve already signed us up.”

  “Polly?” asked Jolene. “Are you sure teaching Miss Pearl kung fu is such a good idea?”

  “Dear, tai chi is not kung fu,” Polly reassured Jolene. “It’s what we saw that elderly Chinaman doing in that park across from the Junior League meeting last week.”

  “That’s tai chi?” inquired Mi
ss Pearl. “I thought the old geezer was having a stroke.”

  “Quiet, Pearl,” said Polly. “On Tuesdays, we’ll meet for meditation and transcendental relaxation techniques. Wednesdays, we’re taking a class in Buddhist philosophy at the junior college. Classes don’t start for three weeks, so until then we’ll meet and take turns reading from a collection of Buddhist writings. I haven’t found a good book yet, but we’ll work on that. Thursday is poetry writing…”

  “Poetry writing,” Pearl scoffed. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “You need a creative outlet for your feelings,” replied Polly. “I want you to take out your feelings on paper and not with your fists. And finally, on Fridays, we’ll take bikram yoga lessons. That’s the hot yoga. It’ll help you sweat out your anger and frustrations.”

  “The only sweating I want to do at my age,” Pearl replied, “is with that good-looking administrator over at the retirement center. The one that looks like Denzel.”

  “Well, once we get your antisocial behaviors in order, then maybe reengaging your social life might not be a bad idea,” said Polly. “But until then, no men.”

  “No men?” asked Pearl as she slowly shook her head in disappointment. “You’re breaking my balls, Polly. Really breaking my balls.”

  “It’s only because we love you Pearl,” Polly replied. “Now, you’ll notice I’ve left Saturdays and Sundays open. Hopefully, we can find a new spot for bingo on Saturday nights. That’ll be our new night since Friday is hot yoga day and it just wouldn’t do to show up for the bingo still perspiring like pack mules. They might not think we’re ladies. Of course, Sundays are reserved for church. Now, I know we’re asking a lot from you, Pearl, so I’ll give up Methodist service and we can all join you at the Baptist church.”

  “Okay,” said Pearl. “But my Baptist God’s going to see right through your blasphemous, heathen Methodist hearts.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” Polly replied. “So, ladies, this is our chance to help our dear friend Pearl, and I’m hoping our efforts at rehabilitation might even find favor with the judge and help keep our poor little darling out of the slammer.”

  “I don’t know,” said Pearl. “I kind of liked that one jail gang.”

  “Nonsense, Pearl,” replied Polly. “Ladies, are we in agreement with this intervention?” The girls nodded in agreement, with the exception of Miss Pearl, who just looked down and grumbled while she kicked the table leg with her big white shoe. “Pinkie-swear!” cried out Polly as she extended her pudgy little finger to the middle of the table. All four ladies, including a reluctant Miss Pearl, interlocked pinkies.

  “Pinkie-swear!” they chimed in unison.

  “Fantastic,” said Polly. “We’ll get started pronto.”

  After paying their bill, the girls all piled into Polly’s pink Cadillac parked in front of the coffee shop. Polly put the long car in reverse and floored the pedal. The car full of women screamed out backward across the parking lot and into the oncoming traffic of the street. Slamming the brakes and throwing the transmission into drive, Polly hammered down on the gas and sped down the busy street. Big and Little Esther sat in the back seat with Jolene. The three girls in back buckled their seat belts, checking several times to make sure they were securely fastened. Big and Little Esther closed their eyes shut and held hands, knowing from years of experience this was the best way to travel with Polly at the wheel. Miss Pearl sat in the front passenger seat, her legs crossed and propped on the dashboard with her hands clasped behind her neck.

  “Pearl,” said Jolene. “For God’s sake, put on your safety belt.

  “No way,” replied Pearl. “If I’m going to die, I’m going out comfy.”

  “Oh, hush,” scolded Polly. “I haven’t had an accident, at least not a big one, in over two years.”

  “How many moving violations?” inquired Little Ester as she tightly hung onto Big Esther’s enormous paw with one hand and her sock and darning needles with the other.

  “Just a couple,” replied Polly as she jerked the wheel to the left and sped past a school bus full of children returning from a field trip. “Passive driving led to all my wrecks in the past. From now on, I’m going to be the windshield and not the bug.”

  “You’re in a school zone,” Pearl said nonchalantly.

  “Not anymore,” replied Polly as she poured on the gas and raced past the “End School Zone” sign.

  “Now, ladies,” Polly began, “we need to track down a good collection of Buddhist readings for our Wednesday intervention activities. Since this is a group project, I think we should all have input on which books we select. Avery swears by a store a few blocks from here. We’ll just pop in and see what they’ve got.” Polly jerked the steering wheel over as she took a hard right at a four-way stop without slowing for the sign. She waved in her rearview mirror to the car behind her that she had just cut off midway through the intersection. “Sorry, sugar,” she said as the man leaned on his horn in anger.

  “And you think I got issues,” Pearl said in disgust as she shook her head. “You drive like a coked-up New York cabbie.”

  Eight blocks and two ignored traffic signs later, Polly pulled the pink car up to the curb in front of the maroon-colored gothic house. Her passenger-side tires rolled up over the curb and back off again. The car came to a bouncing stop on its soft suspension. The sign out front announced the house as The Magic Man’s Curio Shop and Bookstore.

  “Am I too close to the curb?” Polly asked, not waiting for an answer. “Okay, everybody out.”

  The girls clambered out of Polly’s huge car, Big Esther banging her small bird-like head on the way out. As the girls gathered up and turned toward the gate in the rusty wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property, a thunderous roar came from down the street. Amidst a deep, loud, thumping rumble, an intimidating woman on a bright red Harley-Davidson with orange flames painted on the fuel tank pulled over to the side of the road next to the girls. The heavily muscled woman wearing a black leather bikini, black sleeveless leather vest full of patches, white leather riding chaps, and heavy black construction boots shut down the thundering Harley’s engine. Clicking down the kickstand, the woman with multiple tattoos on her bulging, deeply tanned arms and rippled back removed the black helmet with Viking horns she was wearing, shaking her long blonde braids behind her.

  “’Sup, home girl,” the intimidating biker with a deep raspy voice said to Miss Pearl as she tapped her heart twice with her closed fist.

  “Sup,” Pearl replied, tapping her chest twice in return.

  “Dear lord,” Jolene whispered to Miss Pearl. “Don’t tell me you know this Valkyrie?”

  “Is she a man?” asked Little Esther.

  “She’s a bodybuilder, stupid,” replied Pearl. “Nitro, ladies. Ladies, Nitro,” Pearl said, introducing her acquaintance. “I see you posted.”

  “Yeah,” replied Nitro as she spat over her shoulder. “Got my old man to put his bike up as collateral for the bail money.”

  “His bike?” asked Pearl. “I thought the reason you were in the joint in the first place was because you broke his cheekbone with a socket wrench.”

  “Nah, he’s my bitch,” replied Nitro. “He said he deserved it. By the way, offer’s still open. We can always use some muscle in the gang.”

  “I’ll think on it,” replied Pearl. “I know where to find you.”

  “Good,” replied Nitro as she replaced her horned helmet and fired the noisy bike back to life. “Have a nice day, ladies,” she smiled to the group as she roared down the street on her Harley.

  “Don’t you even think about it, Pearl,” Polly scolded. “We aren’t going through all the trouble of this intervention just to see you hook up with a bunch of outlaws.”

  “What would the Junior League think?” said Big Esther.

  “Ladies, come on,” said Polly. “We’re wasting time.” The girls entered the gate to the property and approached the front door. Miraculously, the sig
n on the door read OPEN. Polly led the group of women into the shop, where she spotted a little skinny man in a tie-dye shirt behind the counter with his back turned as he fiddled with some jars of incense on the shelf behind the counter. “Sir,” said Polly as she walked across the main level of the shop. “We’re wondering if you happen to carry any books about…”

  “Ahhhhhh!” Ziggy shrieked as he turned and saw the woman with flaming red hair and the gun-toting little black woman from last night who tried to kill him. “Like, Jesus, man! I knew you’d like come to finish the job!”

  “Why, you little peckerwood!” screamed Miss Pearl. “You got my gun confiscated!”

  “Pearl, stop!” commanded Polly. “Calm down,” said Polly to the seething woman in front of her who stood with her bony fists clenched. “I want you to breathe deeply and think of things that make you happy.”

  “Wringing that little lizard’s neck would make me happy,” snarled Pearl.

  “Right now!” demanded Polly. “Things that make you happy.”

  “All right,” Pearl conceded as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Bluebonnet fields…chicken spaghetti…Denzel…free shit…”

  “Now, sir,” Polly said politely as she bent over the counter to look at Ziggy, who was hiding under the cash register. “I want you to know how dreadfully sorry we are about last night. I just feel awful about how things got so out of control. Is your face okay?”

  “Like, kind of,” said Ziggy as he slowly rose from behind the counter, rubbing his still aching wound.

  “If it can make up for last night in any way, we’d like to purchase some books on Buddhist teachings from your charming little store,” said Pearl. “I believe we have a mutual acquaintance in Avery Pendleton. He highly recommended your establishment.”

  “Like, you know Avery?” Ziggy said as he continued to rub his jaw.

  “Why, yes,” Polly replied. “He lives with my sister’s widowed husband, Bennett.”