Duke City Desperado

by Max Austin

  She finished applying her black lipstick, smacked her lips, then said, “Speaking of my wicked stepfather, I’ve got an idea how you can get out of town.”

  “You’re trying to get rid of me now?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” she said. “We had fun together, but you’re still a wanted man. You need to split.”

  “I can’t stay here?”

  Katrina shook her head. “My roommate comes by every evening to get fresh clothes and shit. She’ll freak if there’s a strange man here.”

  “I’m not that strange.”

  “Well, she is. Trust me, this is not a good hiding place. Is there somewhere else you can stay? I can drive you there before I go to class.”

  “My friend Oscar lives less than a mile away. I can walk.”

  “You don’t need to spend any more time on the streets of Albuquerque. That’s just asking to be recognized.”

  “Right. Of course that’s right.”

  He saw in the mirror that he was blushing. The famous criminal, still slow in the head.

  “So what do you need to get out of town?” she said. “You need money, you need clothes, you need a car.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “I know where you can get all three. It’s my stepfather’s weekly poker night. There’s nobody home at his house until after midnight.”

  “Really? He’d have cash in the house?”

  “He always keeps some on hand. I know where he hides it.”

  “And you’d tell me?”

  This time she actually smiled, her teeth flashing white against the black lipstick.

  “I’ll do better than that. After my test, we’ll go over there together and I’ll show you.”

  He frowned at her. “I don’t know, Katrina. You sure you want to be involved in a break-in?”

  “We won’t be breaking in,” she said. “I’ve got a key.”

  Chapter 44

  Soon as her shift at Bonita Foods ended, Rosa Valdez drove across town to her sister’s duplex on Morningside. The sun was going down as she bounded out of her old red Chevy and stalked across the small yard to the front door. The sunset’s fiery clouds matched her mood.

  She still wore her work clothes and her baby-blue sneakers. Normally, she’d change into high heels as soon as she left the plant. A point of pride with her. But today she was too upset to bother with shoes.

  When Carmen opened the door, Rosa gasped at the sight of the welts on her purpling cheekbone.

  “Ai, Carmen. Look at you.”

  Carmen sniffled. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had a crumpled tissue in her hand, ready for the next round of tears. She still was dressed in nightgown and silk robe, which was unlike her, even on days when she had no school. She wasn’t one to mope around the house all day.

  “That little shit,” Rosa said as she closed the door. “I can’t believe he punched you.”

  “It wasn’t a punch. It was a slap. More of a reflex than anything. He was so angry and—”

  “You gonna apologize for him now?”

  Carmen hung her head.

  “Ah, chica, these men you get mixed up with. They’re little boys who don’t know how to behave.”

  “All men are like that.”

  “No, they’re not. Lots of good men out there know how to treat a woman.”

  “Then why haven’t you landed one?”

  Rosa forced a smile. “Let’s say I’m not done shopping yet.”

  “I’d love to be done with it.” Carmen sighed. “But I can’t stop thinking about Antony. It’s all a misunderstanding. Once it gets straightened out, he’ll be fine.”

  “Until the next time he feels like hitting you.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “It’s always like that. A man who hits is like a dog that bites. You can never turn your back on him again.”

  Tears sprang to Carmen’s eyes.

  “Oh, baby.” Rosa wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders and hugged her close. “It’ll be all right.”

  “I just don’t know what to do,” Carmen said.

  Rosa patted her back with both hands, trying to soothe her, but her brain was busy with thoughts of vengeance.

  “Maybe I should talk to Antony,” she said. “Explain to him how things work here. He comes from a different place.”

  “It’s a whole different culture,” Carmen blurted. “The women are all mothers or whores.”

  Rosa leaned back and looked Carmen in the eye.

  “Is that what he told you?”

  “He didn’t come right out and say it, but you can tell from his attitudes and—”

  “What are you doing now? Using psychology on him? Is that what you’re learning in college?”

  “It’s not like that—”

  “Ask your psychology professors this,” Rosa said. “How come you keep picking the bad boys? Don’t you think you’re good enough for a better man? Or do you think these rough boys are exciting? You like it when he gives you a slap?”

  “No!” Carmen turned away from her. “You don’t understand me at all.”

  Rosa let that sit there steaming for a few seconds, then she said, “Who does understand you, chica? Antony?”

  Carmen sighed. “Maybe not.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Rosa said. “You got no future with that bad boy, and you know it. You’ll end up like my South Valley friends, sitting around, drying up, while your man rots in jail somewhere.”

  “Antony’s not a criminal.”

  Rosa snorted. “He sure tries to look like one. And didn’t you say on the phone that he shot at your ex-boyfriend? I believe that’s a crime, even in Albuquerque.”

  “He’s just jealous.”

  “Jealous is one thing,” Rosa said. “Violence is somethin’ else. I’ll talk with Antony, explain the difference to him.”

  Carmen’s eyes widened. “Weren’t you listening to yourself just now? Antony shoots at people. Dylan humiliated him, so he shot at him. You humiliated him worse. He might shoot you.”

  “He won’t do anything to me. We’ll have a talk.”

  “What makes you think he’ll behave himself and listen to what you have to say?”

  “I won’t go alone,” Rosa said. “I’ll take some of my girls with me.”

  “To do what?”

  “To be, you know, witnesses. Antony won’t try anything in front of witnesses. He might get loud, but I can get louder.”

  Carmen smiled through her tears. “You can get louder than anyone, Rosa.”

  “Bet your ass. And let him try to slap me. Oh, please. I’ll scratch his fucking eyes out.”

  Rosa held up a hand, fingers curled. Her red nails looked more than ever like talons.

  “Grrrr.”

  That made Carmen laugh. She seemed to relax a little.

  Rosa saw her opening. “So tell me, chica. Where can I find Antony?”

  Chapter 45

  Doc Burnett reclined on his bunk, his hands folded behind his neck. Other inmates walked in the corridor, but they barely glanced at him as they passed. Roger had gone to the dayroom, so Doc finally had a moment of relative quiet.

  The sun was setting outside, and its rays angled through the open door of his cell, casting an orange glow on the opposite wall. Be kind of pretty, Doc thought, if that wall were anywhere else.

  Albuquerque was known for its beautiful sunsets, with glowing clouds and pink light climbing the face of the Sandias. Funny how you become used to them. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d made a point of stopping to admire the sunset.

  Sometimes, it seemed as if he’d lived his whole life in fast-forward. The early years, in the foster homes, had dragged on, but things picked up in his teens, once he discovered recreational drugs. As he developed his appetite for speed, the days began to blur past. Whole weeks got gobbled up in his binges, months vanished in a flash. Next thing he knew, he was a middle-aged man, losing his hair, stuck in jail for a stupid crime, his
skin crawling and his brain burning from psychological withdrawal.

  Speed had taken over his life, made him behave in antisocial ways. Always on the chase for more money, but too cranked to hold down a job, he’d taken to petty crime. Burglary and auto theft came easily to him. Other thieves might suffer from nerves, but the speed made Doc fearless and bold.

  Amazing, really, that he hadn’t been caught more often. He’d gone around Albuquerque for decades, rarely in his right mind, committing crimes on a regular basis, and mostly gotten away with it.

  Not that he hadn’t done time. Added all together, he’d spent five of his forty-three years behind bars. But the time had come in fits and bits, a night here, thirty days there. Three and a half years at the state pen when he was in his twenties and got caught with a stolen Cadillac that belonged to a district judge. Mostly, though, he’d pulled probation and community service and time served, his dealings with the law little more than a hassle, an occupational hazard.

  He’d zoomed through crimes and court dates, never pausing to have a regular life, one that might include a career and a wife and kids. Always hustling, always looking to score, always coming up short. Ricocheting through life like a Ping-Pong ball, battered by the twists and turns of circumstance.

  Now, without drugs, things promised to slow down. For the next, say, ten to twenty years, time would pass agonizingly slowly. The thought of the sentence awaiting him made him want to weep.

  Someone stopped in the door of his cell, throwing a shadow over him, snapping Doc out of his somber reverie. He opened his eyes to see Tino standing there, glowering, the black tattoos on his neck squirming as he swallowed heavily.

  “I know wha’ happen,” he said.

  “What are you talking about, Tino?”

  “Wha’ happen to Cho. I heard wha’ choo did to him, pendejo.”

  Doc thinking: Hey, did you hear what he was doing to me? But he didn’t say that. No sense arguing with someone as dense and angry as Tino.

  “Hey.” A khaki-uniformed guard with broad shoulders and a red face came up behind Tino and looked in at Doc. “We got a problem here?”

  “No problem,” Tino said as he slinked away. “We chust talkin’.”

  The ruddy guard stayed in the corridor, staring at Doc, who gave him back impassive.

  “Are we going to have trouble with you?” the guard said finally.

  “How am I making trouble? I’m lying on my bunk, minding my own business.”

  The big guard stared at him some more, but Doc closed his eyes and feigned sleep. Next time he peeked, the guard was gone.

  He knew he wasn’t done with Tino. The little Mexican would seek his revenge. Doc could only hope that he’d move to a different lockup before that happened.

  He sighed. It’s always something when you’re on the inside.

  Then his cellmate, Roger, came breezing through the door, blue eyes bright behind his thick glasses, a big grin on his face.

  “Got something for you.”

  He stood next to Doc’s bunk, too close, reminding him of the nighttime encounter with Joe. Roger had his hands in the pockets of his orange jumpsuit. When he pulled out the right one, it held a piece of plastic wrap wadded into a ball. He held his hand out flat, and together they watched the plastic wrap grow and unfold, blooming open to reveal four pills. Three white and one red.

  “All right. Good job, Roger.”

  For the first time all day, Doc felt as if things might be okay.

  Chapter 46

  The sun was going down as Antony Rocca and Jasper Johnson pulled up in front of the hippie house by the cemetery. No question it was the right house. Flags fluttered from the porch and wind chimes dangled along the eaves. Several large metal sculptures decorated the spotty lawn. They were supposed to represent shaman animals and fish, but to Antony they looked like big clots of rust.

  Jasper parked the Escalade at the curb across from the house. They could see up the gravel driveway to where Oscar Pacheco’s unlit apartment crouched in a corner of the backyard.

  “All right,” Antony said. “Let’s go knock on the door.”

  “Let’s wait for it to get full dark.”

  “We may be pulling our puds here. What if nobody’s home? We’ll do it now.”

  “I don’t know, boss—”

  “Goddamn it, I’m tired of this. Every time I say we do something, you start talking back in that Barry White baritone, trying to calm me down. You keep talking and talking until I’m ready to doze off.”

  “Just trying to keep you out of trouble, boss. There’s no sense going in there guns blazing. Especially if nobody’s in there. We make a lot of noise and somebody will warn this Oscar away. If he doesn’t come home, then we really will have nothing.”

  Antony opened the glove compartment and retrieved the .45 he’d used earlier. It had a fresh clip, and it felt heavy and effective. He stuffed it into the side pocket of his Mets jacket.

  “We’re gonna go talk to Oscar right now,” he said. “If Dylan’s in there, I might just pop both of them.”

  “You sure about this, boss? You keep going around busting caps, you gonna get the cops up our asses.”

  “You want to wait in the fuckin’ car, Jasper? Like a bitch?”

  “Naw, man, I’m just sayin—”

  “I know you’re saying. I hear you saying. All you’ve done all day is say shit. It’s time to do something before I lose my fuckin’ mind.”

  “But—”

  “You want me to shoot you in the head, Jasper?”

  “Come on—”

  “You don’t stop flapping your lips, I’m gonna shoot you in the face. I mean it.”

  Jasper unfurled an elaborate sigh. The diamond in his front tooth winked as he said, “Okay, boss. Let’s go see Oscar.”

  Chapter 47

  FBI agents Hector Aragon and Pam Willis sat in their government Ford, watching Oscar Pacheco’s street. They couldn’t see his garage apartment from where they’d parked, but no one could enter or leave his driveway without being seen.

  No sign of life inside the hippie house, the only sounds coming from a collection of wind chimes strung along the eaves.

  Hector, behind the wheel, said, “That would make me crazy. Those wind chimes.”

  “You don’t find them musical?”

  “Last thing any neighborhood needs is more noise. If I lived around here, I’d come over here at night with some scissors and cut those wind chimes down.”

  “I believe that would constitute trespassing and vandalism,” Pam said.

  “Better than homicide, which might happen if I have to listen to those chimes much longer.”

  She laughed. Reached over and squeezed his hand. Hector flushed. Pam rarely allowed any physical contact while they were on duty. He tried to reciprocate with a squeeze of his own, but she pulled her hand away, suddenly on full alert.

  “Look,” she said, “a black Escalade.”

  A big SUV pulled up to the curb, across from Oscar’s driveway.

  “Think that’s our Central Avenue shooter?” Hector said.

  “Maybe he’s come here looking for Dylan James.”

  After a minute, the Escalade’s doors opened and two men got out. Thanks to a streetlight on the corner, the agents got a good look at the men as they crossed the street. One was a blubbery black man in short pants and tan laced-up boots. The other was a half-pint in jeans and a shiny blue jacket. They walked up the driveway and vanished behind the hippie house.

  “Think we ought to join them?” Hector said. “Go knock on Oscar’s door, see what everybody’s up to?”

  “Let’s give it a minute.”

  Chapter 48

  Doc Burnett kept grinding his teeth. The muscles in his jaws ached, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

  He’d asked a dozen times what had been in the four pills, but Roger didn’t have a good answer. He kept saying Doc shouldn’t have taken the pills all at the same time, but, hell, it was too late now
.

  “That horse already fled,” Doc muttered. “Barn door’s closed.”

  He could tell he was making his cellmate extremely nervous. Roger kept crossing his hands in front of the crotch of his orange jumpsuit, as if Doc might at any moment lunge for his nuts.

  Roger could’ve gone to the dayroom, but he said he felt obligated to see Doc through the drug binge. Apparently, he also felt obliged to keep up a running medical commentary, over Doc’s protests.

  “You’re looking awfully red,” Roger said. “Like your blood pressure is maybe way up.”

  “Shut up.”

  “And your muscles are sorta standing out all over. Are you trying to do that or is that the drugs?”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “How do you talk with your teeth clenched together like that?”

  “Shut the fuck up, you fucking little fucker.”

  “Easy, Doc. I was just trying—”

  “Shut the fuck up or I will fucking rip your fucking lungs out through your fucking nose.”

  “Okay, okay. Jeez.”

  Doc was breathing shallow and fast, but he couldn’t seem to manage that, either. He needed to get a grip on himself, but self-control seemed just out of reach. He felt like he was being jolted with electricity, randomly and without rhythm. No way to brace for the next jolt, no way to see it coming. Another surge crackled through his nervous system, and he moaned.

  “You okay there, Doc?”

  “Fu—”

  The supper buzzer sounded, chain-sawing at his nerves.

  “Fucking fuck!”

  “You kinda seem stuck on one word there, Doc.”

  He growled and pushed Roger through the door ahead of him. They joined other orange-uniformed inmates clomping downstairs to the chow line. All those feet on the clanging metal stairs sounded like thunder. The tiled dayroom echoed with the roar of conversation and the clatter of plastic trays. Doc felt like his head might explode from the noise.