by Fox, Logan
“What is it, boy?” Zachary reached over the side of his rocking chair and scratched the dog behind a lumpy ear.
Blue whined and pushed up into a sit, the muscles on his chest bulging.
Seconds later, the other pitbull, also a male, came to a stand.
Rodrigo Delao appeared around the corner, his shadow arriving a few steps ahead of him as he turned to walk up the stoop’s step. Zachary’s lieutenant paused when he caught sight of the dogs, his shoulders bunching. Rodrigo was by no means a large man — he was as average as could be in every respect — but Zachary knew what violence the man was capable of. So Rodrigo’s caution toward the pitbulls never ceased to amaze Zachary. As if they would ever charge his staff without his explicit command.
“Buenas noches, Don Zachary,” Rodrigo called out, halting before taking the first step.
Zachary gestured him closer with a curt flick of his hand, and Rodrigo hesitated again before taking the first step.
“You have news of the construction?”
Rodrigo bowed his head for a moment. “It is going as planned. But that is not why I am here.” Although his Mexican accent was strong, his English was impeccable.
“Tell me,” Zachary said, waving toward a bench a few feet away, on the other end of his pair of dogs.
Rodrigo shrugged. “We have another two, Don.”
Zachary stood, brushing down the tops of his thighs. He preferred wearing a suit, but faded jeans and silver-tooled cowboy boots were called for out here if he stood any chance of blending in. “Where are they?”
“Close to the river bend.”
Blue followed him. Rodrigo led the way back to the rust-colored Chevy C10 pickup idling in the ranch’s driveway.
Zachary preferred to keep everything this side of the border circumspect — from the run-down ranch to the vehicles he kept on the premises. He had a storage unit in the town of Lajitas where he stored his lux SUVs and toys. Having them on site would have prompted too many questions.
He despised questions almost as much as the lies he had to come up with as answers.
Rodrigo slid behind the wheel, grimacing when Blue sprang in beside Zachary. The dog followed him everywhere on the ranch. Zachary knew from snatches of whispered stories he overheard from gossiping staff that the dog waited on the stoop without eating and barely drinking when he left on errands that took him outside of his property.
As loyal as his men.
“How many?” Zachary asked, turning to watch the green blur of mesquite streaming past his window.
“Just the two.”
“Alive?”
“For now.”
For now. Zachary inhaled slowly, letting the air fill his chest before they got closer to the Rio Grande. There, the air wasn’t this fresh, this glorious. There it stank of the millions of lives it washed past, washing away their rubbish and excrement. Of course, the city claimed it was e-coli free by the time it reached his land, but he’d seen enough bloated corpses — animal and human alike — to know how much of a fallacy that statement was.
Soon, the smell of the approaching river filtered into the Chevy. Thick, cloying, too-sweet.
They stopped in a cloud of their own dust. A cluster of men stood a few yards away close to the tangle of trees that cloaked the American side of the border. Zachary’s cowboy boots crunched through dirt and dried seeds as he approached the group.
Ailin Farrell, the second of his two lieutenants, turned to face them. He pointed. “That one speaks English.” From Irish descent, Ailin knew only enough Spanish to compliment someone’s food, or to ask someone if they knew why they were about to die.
When Zachary drew near, the small crowd parted. Most of his men stood to the side with their assault rifles still casually aimed to the center of the ring where a pair of wet, disheveled Mexicans huddled. Both were young — the eldest not yet twenty-five — and both glared defiantly at him when he came to a stop a few feet away from them. The eldest had a cut above his eye that still oozed blood into his eyebrow. The other leaned heavily to one side, wincing even as he scowled up at Zachary.
“Where are you from?” Zachary asked, directing the question to the one Ailin had pointed out — the eldest.
The young man’s mouth squirmed, anger bright in his eyes.
Warmth buffeted Zachary’s thigh. Blue had come to sit beside him, watching the two Mexicans with that singular animal interest only dogs seemed to possess.
The Mexican licked his lips, and then murmured, “Michoacán.”
“You traveled far,” Zachary said. “Where’s your coyote?”
They would have paid handsomely to be brought over such a remote stretch of the river instead of the busier illegal crossing sites. Perhaps they thought they’d have a better chance at avoiding border patrol this far from a control point.
“Gone.” He turned his head and spat. “Pendejo not even take us over river.”
Zachary lifted his eyebrows in mock sympathy. “You have papers?”
The young man shook his head, eyes wary now.
“Who knows you crossed?”
There was no reply to this. Perhaps because he had just realized how alone he and his friend were. Or were they brothers? They both had high cheekbones, full mouths. The same pitch-black hair and eyes. Strikingly handsome, even wet and bedraggled as they were. Brothers, or cousins at the very least.
“I have no choice but to report you to border patrol.”
The young man scrambled up, hands lifting. “¡Te suplico! Por favor, no informe us!”
“I’m sorry, boy. It’s the law.” Zachary waved toward the chocolate-brown Rio Grande. “That, or you swim back across.”
This produced another round of pleas, louder than the first. The young man’s friend groaned, hanging his head like just the thought made him sick. He’d obviously ingested more than a mouthful of river water. That, or their trip to the border had been rife with complications.
He knew the feeling all-too-well. The relief at finding someone to help you cross. Then the despair when that person turned against you. Abandoning you. Worse…abusing you—
“Your friend needs medical attention.” Zachary turned to look at the slowly setting sun. “And it’s becoming dark.”
“Brother,” the Mexican said. He crouched, lifted his brother’s arm over his shoulders, and stood again. “We go back.”
“He’ll never make it,” Zachary called out as they made for the river bank.
His sicarios stepped aside to let the Mexicans through, watching as patiently as crows waiting for carrion. The eldest glanced back but didn’t slow.
“He’ll die before you find your coyote. If the man’s even still around.”
The young man slowed, stopped. Blue stepped forward, his tail whisking so widely that it brushed Zachary’s leg. The eldest looked at Zachary over his shoulder. The question in his eyes was blatant.
“I could always use more hands.” Zachary turned a little, taking in the stretch of land that his ranch sat on. “The work here is never done.”
The young man shifted, making his brother groan loudly in pain. He looked pale, shaken, uneasy. As was his right — after what they’d endured, he doubted they were in very trusting moods. Zachary flicked his hand, gesturing the two back. They came, but reluctantly, the eldest practically dragging his brother behind him. He walked closer, squeezing the eldest’s shoulder reassuringly. “Tell me your name, boy.”
He hesitated, and then murmured, “Angel. He’s Marco.”
“Angel and Marco. What were your plans once you’d—?”
“Don Zachary!” Noah, one of Zachary’s halcones, raced toward him, dust pluming in his wake.
“Another?” He could hear the surprise in his own voice and felt the young man tense under his fingers. “Alone?”
“He’s on the other side,” Noah huffed, almost out of breath. “In the trees.”
“Bring him,” Zachary said. He turned to Angel and gave him another squeeze befor
e waving him toward Rodrigo’s Chevy. “Seems your coyote didn’t run fast enough. You’ll recognize him if you see him?”
Angel squinted up at him as if translating his words and then nodded. “Sí, señor.”
Zachary snapped his fingers, and two men hurried forward to take his brother. Marco fought them until Angel murmured something soothing, and then let them pick him up.
“Get him in the back.” Zachary strode ahead and held the Chevy’s loading bay open. Angel hesitated for a second before climbing on. Rodrigo was already in the driver’s seat, Ailin in the back of the pickup. They were inseparable, except at times like today when one of them had to hold down the fort. Zachary climbed up behind him, the Chevy’s ailing suspension creaking under their combined weight. Blue leaped up, easily clearing the height, and stood in the middle of the loading bay, staring ahead. A pair of sicarios dragged Marco closer and hauled him into the loading bay like a sack of potatoes. Angel flinched at his brother’s pained groan but didn’t say anything.
When they arrived back at the ranch house, another vehicle — this one a huge F250 pickup — waited in the dusty driveway. Noah stood outside, holding a huddled man by the scruff of his neck.
Zachary got out of the truck. Angel jumped down beside him, glancing back when a pair of men dragged Marco from the loading bay and carried him into the ranch house. He took hold of Angel’s shoulder, turning him to face the man his men had found. “Is this your coyote?”
Angel snorted hard before spitting on the ground.
Zachary smiled and snapped his fingers at Blue, who’d come to stand beside him. Noah released the coyote. The terrified Mexican took one look at Zachary, at Angel, and then took off at a dead run. His heels kicked up puffs of dust as he made for a nearby line of trees.
“Sic him,” Zachary murmured, just loud enough for Blue and Angel to hear.
The pitbull launched himself forward like a bolt of black lightning. Muscles bulged under his fur as he raced after the escaping coyote. The dog caught up with him just before he reached the trees. Blue leaped on the man’s back, forcing him face-first into the tall, dry grass. As he struggled, the man turned over and exposed his throat to the dog. Blue tore it out with a single, vicious tug.
Angel made a sound. Zachary glanced down at him; there wasn’t disgust on the young man’s face, only a dispassionate loathing. It had obviously been a long, long trip from Michoacán. And a coyote gutless enough to abandon his charges before they were over the border would have had no issues with taking more than his fair payment from them.
“Come,” Zachary murmured, turning Angel to the ranch house. “You must be hungry after your ordeal.”
Angel pulled his shoulder away, spinning back to the coyote.
“You want Blue to disembowel him?” Zachary asked.
The young man shuddered, and then whispered, “Sí, señor.”
Zachary laughed. “Even though he’s already dead?”
Blue stood over the dead man, blood and foam dripping from his jowls, staring at them.
Waiting.
“Sí.” More emphasis in his voice now. Angel shivered. “Por favor.”
But he didn’t want Blue tasting any more human flesh. The dog would kill at command, but human flesh was just as dirty — if not more so — as pork.
“No.” He snapped his fingers, and Blue returned to him. “This world owes you nothing, Angel. And neither do I.”
This time, the young man didn’t resist when he turned him to the ranch house. The smell of tamales met them when they stepped inside the warmly lit dining room. Several of his men stood around the table, none daring to take a seat until he’d arrived. Blue took his place at Zachary’s feet, the wet sound of his tongue as he licked his muzzle clean the only sound until Zachary clapped his hands.
“Buen provecho.”
6
Fisticuffs
“Stop!” Cora called out. “Please!” A few yards ahead, Finn halted his crashing progress through the underbrush. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a cold light down on them. He swung to her, face in shadow. “We can’t stop.”
“I can’t breathe,” she murmured, hands on her knees as she tried to pull air into her burning lungs. “Please.”
Finn came back to her, standing a few feet away as she almost hacked up a lung. “We have to move.”
She glanced up, mouth wide as she labored for breath. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“You want them to catch up with us? Think we’ll survive another round of fucking fisticuffs?” Finn put his hands on his knees, mimicking her as he tipped his head to glare at her. Moonlight caught in his eyes, but they just made those blue irises shine like frosted cornflowers. “What if they catch you? How do think that’ll play out? Think they’re gonna put you in their truck and just drive away? Pretty little thing like you?”
Panic drew its nails down her back. She straightened and swiped away a frustrated tear. “I know what you’re doing,” she croaked. “It won’t work.”
“What, no one’s ever tried telling you the truth before?” Finn pushed on his knees, sneering at her. “No fucking wonder.” He grabbed her wrist. “Now keep up, princess.”
He jerked her after him before she had a chance to protest. Her legs churned under her as he pulled her through the brush. It was dizzying, how he darted around cacti and dodged the occasional mesquite. Soon, the roar of blood in her ears replaced the thud of their feet.
Her lungs weren’t on fire anymore — they’d already been incinerated. When she stumbled — and boy, did she stumble — Finn just yanked her up and kept running. She felt like she was flying, but the pain in her chest and legs told a different story.
Finally, her legs gave out. She fell with a strangled cry. Finn tried jerking her up, but her legs had gone lame and refused to support her weight. When he crouched down beside her, she could see his chest heaving for breath. If he was panting, she couldn’t hear him over the roar in her ears.
He looked like he wanted to say something, but then twisted away from her, scanning their surroundings as she turned onto her side and tried to will away the pangs throbbing in her chest. She spat out a mouthful of honey-thick saliva, drew a final stuttering breath, and pushed herself to her knees.
“You did good,” Finn said, his fingertips brushing her shoulder. “Rest for a second.”
Her arms shook, and she collapsed back on the ground. Dry grass had never felt as soft. There were probably things crawling all over her, a rattlesnake or two, but she couldn’t have given less fucks right then. She tasted blood in her mouth and wondered if she’d done severe damage to her lungs or something. When she put a trembling hand to her heart, it thumped so hard against her palm she thought she was having a heart attack.
“You’re fine,” Finn murmured as if reading her thoughts. “Just breathe.”
Easy for him to say; he wasn’t even breathing hard anymore. She hadn’t thought herself unfit, but apparently, this guy did a few miles before breakfast, just to warm up.
“We keep heading north,” Finn said, “We should hit Oxbow in a mile or so. Best if we find the road again, in case we miss it.”
A mile? she screamed at him in her head. No fucking way.
Now that the fire in her lungs was slowly being extinguished by the cool night air, the pain in her nose came back with a vengeance. She lifted a hand, but couldn’t bring herself to touch it. It already hurt like a son-of-a-bitch...
Finn put a hand on his chest, wincing. Hell, he’d been shot twice, and here she was complaining about a broken nose?
“You ready?” he asked, standing and holding out a hand to her.
She took it reluctantly, her legs wobbling under her until she forced them straight. “Guess,” she whispered hoarsely. “Road safe?”
“No,” Finn said calmly. “But getting lost out here?” He gave his head a shake. “Lesser of two evils.”
She put her hands on her hips, inhaling deep and hard, and then blew out a breath.
“Okay.” She waved at him. “Let’s do this.”
He trudged ahead, walking fast but thankfully not running like before. She stumbled after him, her legs feeling more and more like rubber.
“How do you know where we’re going?” she asked.
“Stars.”
“Really?” She looked up. The cluster of glittering stars was pretty, but they didn’t exactly look like something she could use to navigate with. “Which… which stars?”
“Polaris.” Then, a few seconds later, he added, “North Star.”
Fascinating.
Her eyebrows lifted, but that made her nose hurt, so she dropped her expression back to neutral. She shivered violently and hugged herself hard. Her hoody seemed scant protection against the chill of night in this area. They walked for an eternity, but eventually, she could make out the distant shape of a road’s barrier at the top of a small slope. Finn turned them parallel to the road and picked up speed again, moving at a fast walk that made her lungs start aching.
“How far still?” Cora asked. She probably sounded like a whiny little bitch, but for her own sanity, she had to know how long they still had to keep this up. A few minutes? Another hour? Longer? The thought made her legs go rubbery again. Maybe he shouldn’t tell her. Perhaps then she could just keep walking until her—
Light bloomed around them. Finn spun to her, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her down. She yelped as she fell on her ass and Finn hurriedly put a finger to his mouth. His eyes turned to the light source, watching as it passed. Surprisingly, his hands were warm, and not nearly as calloused as her father’s. They smelled of blood. The blood of that guy whose throat he’d sliced like it was a piece of blue-rare fillet.
Her heart thumped against her breastbone. Seconds later, the light disappeared as a car whooshed by them.
Finn stayed down but took his hand away from her mouth. “Thank you,” he rumbled quietly.
