Duke City Desperado

by Max Austin

  “Wait,” she said. “Let’s go to the other room.”

  “To bed?”

  She smiled. “Take it easy, tiger. I was thinking about a bath.”

  “Oh. I could probably use one.”

  “It’s a surprisingly roomy bathtub for student housing.”

  “Big enough for two?”

  She stood and took his hand.

  “Let’s go find out.”

  Chapter 39

  FBI agents Pam Willis and Hector Aragon flashed their badges to get past a crew-cut APD patrolman eagerly guarding the perimeter of the sunny crime scene. They ducked under the yellow tape, careful to avoid the little orange cones that marked spots on the sidewalk where bullets had chipped the concrete.

  “Who’s the lead?” Pam asked the young patrolman, who pointed at a heavyset woman whose hips seemed close to bursting her black pants. Her blue blouse was having a better time of it, but sweat darkened the cloth. Her hair was cut as short as Hector’s and pinched to a ridge on top, so it appeared that her head narrowed from plump jowl to thin crest.

  Pam said out of the side of her mouth, “Better let me do the talking.”

  “You got it,” Hector said.

  They introduced themselves to the detective, who identified herself as Sergeant Sharon Gonsalves.

  “What’s the FBI’s interest in a street shooting?” Gonsalves asked.

  “We got a tip that one of those involved is an attempted bank robber we’re hunting. Dylan James.”

  “ ‘Attempted’?”

  “The ones who tried to rob the drive-through bank?”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “They told the teller they had a bomb,” Aragon said. “Bank manager called APD.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I heard,” Gonsalves said. “Dylan James was here? Shooter or shootee?”

  “The one dodging bullets,” Pam said. “Baggy jeans. Gray hoodie with ‘Dukes’ on the front?”

  Gonsalves nodded. “Fits the description we got from people in the other cars.”

  “You get a license plate on the shooter?”

  “Happened too fast. Everybody agrees it was a black Escalade with chrome rims. Which describes about five thousand vehicles in this town.”

  “No blood?”

  “Looks like they missed him. Your guy ran down the hill and disappeared among those houses. One witness said it looked like the Escalade chased after him, but no shots were fired over there.”

  “Maybe they picked him up,” Pam said.

  “Nobody reported seeing anything like that. I think we have to assume your boy Dylan is still on the loose.”

  “Probably going to ground, though,” Hector said. “Getting shot at makes you want to stay indoors.”

  Gonsalves cocked her pointed head to the side. “I wouldn’t know. Never been shot at. Never fired a shot on duty. Knock wood.”

  “You’re not missing anything,” Pam said. “Shoot-outs are highly overrated. Better in the movies than in real life.”

  “I hear you.” Gonsalves paused. “Is that all you need? Because we’d like to wrap up this crime scene.”

  The agents thanked her, then ducked under the yellow tape and walked back to their government Ford. Once they were inside the car, Hector turned to Pam.

  “Somebody shooting at Dylan in broad daylight. What the hell does that mean?”

  “He must’ve crossed somebody,” Pam said. “Might have nothing to do with the bank robbery.”

  “Or maybe it’s his partner, trying to shut him up.”

  “His partner’s in jail.”

  “His partner’s friends, then.”

  “I can’t imagine Doc Burnett has many friends,” Pam said. “He didn’t seem the friendly sort.”

  “Talkative, though.”

  “I think that was the speed.”

  Hector smiled. “We ought to give a big dose of speed to every suspect we interview. Make our jobs easier.”

  “They might not tell us any more than they do now,” she said, “but they’d tell it faster.”

  Chapter 40

  Everything looks better in soft candlelight, even spiky matte-black hair and dripping Alice Cooper makeup.

  Five candles provided the only illumination in the small, steamy bathroom, and they gave every surface a rosy glow. Dylan and Katrina sat facing each other in the bubbly tub, her skinny legs folded between his knees, which jutted from the soapy water like knobby islands.

  They kissed and splashed and soaped each other, Katrina actually smiling once in a while. Her breasts were small, but defiantly perky. He was glad to see that the spiderweb tattoos were restricted to her arms. Elsewhere might be a little freaky.

  She did have scars, however, two rows of thin white lines up and down her slender abdomen. He ran his finger over them.

  “Self-inflicted,” Katrina said. “I used to be a cutter.”

  “Really? Wow.”

  “The usual story,” she said. “Unhappy teen trying to take control of her life any way she can.”

  “By cutting yourself?”

  “Crazy, I know now. But at the time, being in control of my pain was the most important thing.”

  “Why were you in so much pain?”

  Katrina sighed. “You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Sure. Unless it’s going to kill the mood.”

  Her hand swam under the sudsy water and gave his hard cock a squeeze. “I think your mood will be just fine.”

  “Do that again.”

  “All in good time, my boy.” She splashed water at him. “I was telling you my sad story.”

  “Right.”

  “So my mother died when I was twelve. Ovarian cancer.”

  “Aw, man.”

  “My biological dad was long gone, so I ended up staying with my stepfather until I finished high school. I was mostly a burden to him. Coming home to me every night was just one more chore. Plus, it interfered with his swinging new life as a widowed bachelor.”

  “Oh, puke.”

  “I know, right? I needed to get out of that house, so we agreed I’d enroll here at UNM. He pays my bills and I leave him alone.”

  “Not a terrible arrangement.”

  “No. I rarely see him now, which is the way both of us prefer it.”

  She leaned in for another deep kiss, wrapping her tattooed arms around his neck. Her nipples grazed his chest. Dylan hugged her tight, and it seemed to get even hotter in the steamy bathroom.

  When they finally came up for air, she pressed her damp cheek to his and whispered in his ear.

  “Tell me again about the gunshots.”

  Chapter 41

  The marshals returned Doc Burnett to the same pod at MDC, where he found a new cellmate waiting for him. He was a skinny white guy in his thirties, a little taller than Doc, with a shock of wheat-colored hair. Watery blue eyes blinked behind thick glasses with silver rims. His nervous hands fluttered like moths before finding their way into the pockets of his orange jumpsuit.

  “Hi,” he said. “I’m a, um, we’re sharing a cell, at least for a while. My name’s Roger Winslow.”

  He started to pull his hand out of his pocket for a handshake, but something in Doc’s demeanor changed his mind.

  “I heard what happened to your last cellmate,” Roger said. “And I just want you to know from the beginning, I don’t want any trouble.”

  “You don’t, huh?” Doc gave him the evil eye. “Long as you don’t try to touch me, you won’t get any trouble.”

  “All right. Sure. No touching works for me.”

  He took a step back, putting as much space as possible between them.

  “What are you in for, Roger?”

  “Embezzlement. I’m strictly a white-collar criminal. Had a little gambling problem that got away from me. But I’m better now.”

  “Why are you in the federal pod?”

  “There were some related charges of a federal nature,” Roger sa
id. “Having to do with income taxes and interstate wire fraud. It’s still working its way through the courts.”

  “Ah.”

  “The feds are real sticklers about paperwork,” Roger said. “I moved a lot of corporate money around and it didn’t always get reported.”

  “Plus, you siphoned off a bunch for yourself,” Doc said.

  “That’s really where the problems began. You want the bottom bunk?”

  “That would be my preference.”

  “Thought that might be the case,” Roger said, “so I put my stuff up top. I’ll stow it later. I don’t want to crowd you.”

  Doc nodded and stepped aside so they could trade places. He bent to unroll the thin mattress.

  “So, um, you’re Doc, right? That’s what I should call you?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Some guys were talking about you. You know, what happened to your previous cellmate and, um, what you’re in for.”

  “Attempted bank robbery,” Doc said flatly.

  “Yeah, but they were saying it was a drive-through bank? That can’t be right, can it?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, Doc. No problem. I’ll just move to the dayroom and give you some space while you settle in.”

  “Hey, Roger.”

  “Yeah?”

  “How long you been in here?”

  “Four months, fourteen days and three hours. But who’s counting?”

  He laughed. Doc didn’t.

  “So you know your way around the cell block.”

  “I guess you could say that.”

  “Know anybody who’s got any speed?”

  “You mean, like, pills?”

  “Yeah. Not crystal meth. Pharmaceutical speed.”

  “Sure,” Roger said, “there’s a guy who sells pills of all kinds. His old lady smuggles them into visitation inside her cooch.”

  “More than I need to know there, Roger.”

  “Right. You want me to talk to him, see if you can score?”

  “I got no money,” Doc said. “Nothing to trade.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Roger said. “I can cover it.”

  “I don’t want to owe you any favors.”

  “Really, don’t worry. I’ve got credit around here, and I’m not about keeping score. I’m happy to help you, as long as we can, you know, be friends during our time together inside here.”

  Doc squinted at him. “How do you define ‘friends’?”

  “Well, for starters, you could promise not to swing me around by my testicles like you did that other guy.”

  Chapter 42

  Carmen knew it was Antony from the impatient rap-rap-rap on her door. She tightened the belt of her pink robe as she crossed the tidy living room. Heart pounding, she opened the door, but kept the chain on its latch.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Antony said. “Let me in.”

  His face looked tight and angry. He wore his blue Mets jacket as usual, but his head was bare, his black hair as short as the stubble on his chin. Odd to see Antony rumpled and unshaven and bleary. And there was a funny smell coming off him, like firecracker smoke.

  The Escalade idled at the curb, black windows closed, Jasper running the air conditioner in October.

  At the door, Antony sighed impatiently.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Let me in.”

  “You still seem angry.”

  “Open the fuckin’ door, Carmen.”

  “See? That sounds angry.”

  “You’re making me angry. Now take off the chain and let me in before I kick the door off its hinges.”

  “You wouldn’t do that.”

  “You’re right. I’d get Jasper to do it. You want me to whistle him up?”

  “Hold on.”

  She closed the door. Took a deep breath and slipped the chain. Then she hurried across the living room as she called, “Okay, come in.”

  Antony barreled through the door, slamming it behind him.

  “The fuck is wrong with you, Carmen? You act like you’re scared of me.”

  “I am scared, Antony. A little. You’re so angry, and it’s over nothing.”

  “That guy here at your house, that was nothing?”

  “Yes! Last night was the first time I’ve seen Dylan since before you and I started going out. I swear it.”

  “And he didn’t come in?”

  “No. We only talked for, like, one minute.”

  Antony sauntered across the room, coming toward her. Carmen started to back up, then realized she was already against the wall. He closed the gap before she could edge away.

  “If you didn’t do nothing wrong, then you got nothing to worry about,” he said. “Why you so scared?”

  “It’s just that you seem so jealous, Antony, so angry. There’s no reason for it, I promise you. If you could just forget Dylan and—”

  “Oh, I should forget him? Forget the way he dissed me right here in your yard? Forget the way he came sniffing around my girl?”

  “Antony. Please.”

  He slapped her cheek, so suddenly she didn’t see it coming. The surprise was quickly followed by hot pain. She covered the spot with her hand.

  “You better be scared, Carmen. As long as we’re together, there’s nobody else, you hear me?”

  She nodded, blinking back tears.

  He stared at her a few seconds, making sure, then said, “Why don’t you sit down over there on the sofa?”

  She sat, knees together, robe tucked around them. She stared at her hands in her lap as if they were the guilty parties. Antony stood over her, their knees inches apart.

  “I saw Dylan James this morning, over on Central,” he said. “Soon as he saw us, he took off running. He’s a coward.”

  “Antony, I—”

  “You know what I did, Carmen? I pulled out my gun and I busted some caps in his direction.”

  “Oh, no!”

  “Oh, yes, sweetheart. I was just trying to scare him, but he got away before I was done with him. We’ve been looking for him for hours.”

  Carmen was glad Dylan had escaped unscathed, but she couldn’t let Antony see that.

  “You could get in trouble, Antony,” she said, “shooting at people.”

  “Let me worry about that. I only told you about it to show I’ve got unfinished business with Dylan James. Once and for all, I want you to tell me where to find him.”

  Still blinking back tears, Carmen looked up at Antony. His black eyebrows crouched low and his jaw was set. His hands were clenched into tight fists. She chose her words very carefully.

  “I don’t know where he’s living,” she said. “He made it sound like he had no place to go.”

  “You know his friends? Anybody who would help him out?”

  Carmen saw an escape. She could send Antony away. He could wear himself out searching for Dylan. Meanwhile, Carmen could get Rosa over here again. Or she’d pack a bag and go to Rosa’s place in the South Valley. Her sister would protect her from Antony until this storm passed.

  “He said he was going to see a friend,” she said.

  “And does this friend have a name?”

  “Oscar Pacheco. He lives over on Columbia behind Fairview Cemetery. Dylan took me there once when he was buying some weed.”

  She described the hippie couple’s adobe house with the wind chimes and Oscar’s apartment in the converted garage out back.

  “You think Dylan might be there now?”

  “That’s where he said he was going. You could go check.”

  “Come with me. You can point out this apartment.”

  “I’m not dressed, Antony. Besides, you won’t have any trouble finding it on your own.”

  She braced herself for another slap, but Antony turned away, headed for the door.

  “If Dylan’s not there,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m coming back here. So you better think real hard about where else I might
find him.”

  He went out the door, slamming it behind him. She sat perfectly still, listening, until she heard the Escalade rumble away.

  Then she pulled out her phone to call Rosa.

  Chapter 43

  Dylan stretched, naked under the silky sheet, luxuriating in the comfort of a real bed after weeks of sleeping on lumpy sofas. He propped up on an elbow and looked around the small bedroom. Katrina sat at a dressing table under the room’s one window, staring into the mirror, blackening her eyelids until her eyes looked like two holes in a skull.

  Between bath and bed, he’d gotten an idea of how she looked without the Goth makeup, but the mask was back in place now. She was dressed again, too.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She looked at him via the round mirror. “Nice nap?”

  “Really nice. I feel so relaxed.”

  She smiled. “Me, too.”

  “You’re terrific in bed.”

  Her smile disappeared. “Don’t ruin it by talking about it.”

  “Right. I’m sorry to see you’re dressed. We could do it again.”

  She narrowed her blackened eyes at him. “I’ve got to get going. I’ve got an exam.”

  “Now? What time is it?”

  “It’s nearly six. My class is at seven.”

  “What kind of class starts at seven in the evening?”

  “A night class.”

  “You take night classes?”

  “I take classes whenever they’re available. I needed this anthropology class, and this is the only time it was offered this semester.”

  Dylan had never been real clear on how college classes worked, and he didn’t exactly know what she meant by “anthropology.” He thought it might have something to do with spiders.

  “Anyhow,” she said, “I can’t miss this test. It’s a third of my grade.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about grades and stuff.”

  “If I don’t pass my classes, I flunk out.”

  “And your stepdad turns off the money faucet.”

  “That’s right.” She made a horrified face in the mirror. “I’d have to get a job.”

  Laughing, he sat up on the edge of the bed, the sheet pooled in his lap. He could see himself in the mirror next to her reflection. His torso was mottled with bruises and the lump on his forehead was purple and brown. The slightest movement set off throbs and twinges. Funny how he hadn’t noticed them when he and Katrina were rolling around in the sheets.