by Stuart Woods
"You're tailgating!"
"Shut up, Cupie." Well into the curve Vittorio pulled to the left, brought his front bumper in line with the Suburban's rear bumper and jerked the wheel hard to the right. The bumpers connected, and the rear end of the Suburban began sliding to the right. It continued sliding until the big vehicle had rotated about a hundred and fifty-degrees, then its rear wheels left the road and the Suburban began to travel, backward, down a steep, dirt embankment and toward a big copse of thick brush.
"Holy shit!" Cupie yelled.
They passed the Suburban when it had already reached the brush and was tearing, backward, into it.
"Where the hell did you learn to do that?"
"I used to drive in demolition derbies when I was a kid," Vittorio said, permitting himself a rare, small smile. "Look back. Did they turn over?"
"No, but they're still going backward."
"Shit! I wanted to roll them over. I guess I'm a little rusty."
"They're going to be busy for a while, getting out of those brambles and back on the road."
"Barbara is still three cars ahead of us," Vittorio said, pointing.
"Good. Let's hang back until she parks the car, then reintroduce ourselves."
They followed the red Grand Cherokee into the shopping district of the village and watched Barbara park in front of a restaurant and go inside. They jumped down from the big Toyota and followed her.
The headwaiter was seating Barbara in a booth at the rear of the restaurant, and when he returned, Cupie waved him off. "We're with the lady," he said, brushing past the man.
Barbara didn't see them coming until Cupie slid into the booth beside her and Vittorio sat opposite.
"Good afternoon," Cupie said. "I missed lunch, too. What kind of food they got here?" He looked over her shoulder at the menu.
"Mexican," she said acidly, glaring at him. "Why don't you two guys just leave me alone?"
"Because if we do that, you'll be kidnapped," Cupie replied. "Didn't you see the big black Suburban following you as you drove into Acapulco?"
"Liar."
"No lie, sweetheart. Vittorio, here, managed to run them off the road in a way that must have been very embarrassing for them, but they'll be back. This is the second time your bank gave them a call."
"I'm having the combination plate," she said, handing Cupie the menu.
A waitress came over, and she ordered.
"Whatever she's having," Cupie said.
Vittorio nodded. "Same here."
"And three Carta Blancas," Cupie added.
"Well, this is very cozy," Barbara said. "How about if I cause a big scene, and they call the cops. Would you like that?"
"Okay by me," Cupie said. "But you should know that I paid the cops in Puerto Vallarta a visit and swore out a complaint against you for shooting me, so they're looking for you all over the country right now."
"Lying again."
"Would you like me to ask the headwaiter to call them?" Cupie asked, waving at the man, who started over.
"No!" she said.
Cupie waved off the man as their beers arrived, then he took a big swig. "Ahhhh," he said, "that hits the spot." He turned back to Barbara. "So let's recap," he said. "You've got three parties who insist on your company: the cops, the kidnappers and us. The cops will lock you away in a jail that will not meet your housekeeping standards and make you eat beans and rice with people you wouldn't ordinarily see at dinner; on the other hand, the kidnappers will hurt you until you countersign all the travelers' checks in your purse-they won't take kindly to Minnie Mouse-then they'll gang-rape you and leave you in an arroyo with a bullet in your brain; but all Vittorio and I want is for you to sign six blank sheets of paper, and then we'll leave you alone. Who do you choose?"
Barbara took a pull on her beer. "I'm thinking it over," she said.
"Any one of the options will meet our client's wishes," Cupie said, helpfully.
"And you… What's your name?"
"Cupie Dalton, at your service."
"And what do you and the grim savage, here, really want?"
"Only to be of service to our client, your very concerned husband."
"Could you use ten thousand dollars each, in cash?"
"Why madam, are you trying to bribe us?"
"Because that's what I'll give you to get me out of this country, without being arrested or kidnapped, and back into the United States."
Vittorio placed a file on the table, opened it and produced a pen. "Sign six sheets of paper with your proper name, and we'll accept your offer."
Cupie spoke up again. "Just sign the papers, take the three hundred grand and we'll head to El Norte."
Barbara picked up the pen, signed each of the papers, then put down the pen.
Vittorio examined the signatures, closed the file and put it away.
"Now," she said, "do we have a deal?"
"Sure, why not?" Cupie asked.
"Well, I want to finish my lunch and get some sleep before we head out."
"I guess we could use some lunch and some sleep, too."
As if on cue, lunch arrived.
"I wouldn't drink the water," Cupie said. "Stick to beer for everything but showering."
They dug in.
"Oh, I forgot," Cupie said. "Your husband told us to tell you that your plan to have him murdered didn't work. The guy you hired and his accomplice are in jail."
They finished lunch, Cupie paid the check and they got up to leave. "Let me just remind you," he said. "We already have what we want, so in effect, we're now working for you. However, we do wish to be paid in advance; so we'd better go to a bank, so you can cash some traveler's checks."
"All right," she said. "I have to turn in my rental car and get my deposit back, too."
A few minutes later, Cupie and Vittorio were tucking cash into their pockets.
"Remember," Cupie said, "if you want to scamper now, go right ahead, but you won't have our protection any more, and bad people will be looking for you."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Barbara said. "I'm tired; let's find a hotel."
Twenty
JOE BIG BEAR SAT IN HIS TRUCK OUTSIDE THE SANTA FE County Corrections Center and waited, eyeing the woman in the car across the lot, wearing a red bandanna on her head. She was better looking than he had expected.
A few minutes after ten, the side door of the building was opened by a guard, and a dozen or fifteen men walked out of the building, blinking in the bright sunlight. Big Bear knew two of them by name, though not personally. The one called Bobby walked directly over to the car of the woman in the bandanna and got in. A short conversation ensued, then she handed him an envelope. He inspected the contents carefully, then some sort of argument ensued. After a moment of this, Bobby got out of the car, looking out of sorts, and the woman drove away. Bobby began to hoof it down the street toward the bus stop.
Big Bear drove out of the parking lot and pulled alongside the man. "Hey, Bobby, you need a lift?"
Bobby eyed him suspiciously. "Do I know you?"
"I got out yesterday. Come on, hop in."
Bobby got into the car. "Oh yeah, I seen you in the yard. How come you're giving me a lift?"
"Just passing by, and I saw you."
"You wasn't passing by; you was parked in the lot back there. You haven't asked me where I'm going."
"Oh, I know where you're going," Big Bear said. He reached down and pressed the switch that locked the doors. "Fasten your seat belt," he said. "It's the law."
Bobby reluctantly put on his seat belt. "What's going on?" he asked.
"I'm saving your life," Big Bear replied.
"How's that?"
"It's like this: if you'd gone on your way and tried to kill Mr. Eagle, you'd end up with a bullet in your head."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'm talking about the grand in your pocket and eleven more that what's-his-name promised you."
"Harold?"
"
Yeah, Harold. What's his last name? I forget."
"Fuentes."
"Yeah, Harold Fuentes. He the big guy with the bald head?"
"No, he's the medium-size guy with the gray hair and the ponytail."
"Right. Got it."
"How do you know about this, anyway?"
"Word gets around," Big Bear said. "It's like this: Harold hired you to kill Mr. Eagle because he isn't getting out for a couple of weeks. So he hires you, and that way, when Mr. Eagle dies, he's in jail. Pretty good alibi, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"And then, when Harold gets out, he meets you to give you the other eleven grand he promised you, and instead, he gives you a bullet. You're gone, and he keeps all the money. The cops don't much care who killed you, at least not the way they'd care who killed Mr. Eagle. Get the picture?"
Bobby gave a low whistle. "Man, I really bit, didn't I?"
"You sure did."
"But where are we going?"
Big Bear pulled over to the curb in front of the bus station. "We're there," he said, "and we're about to save your life."
"How?"
"It's like this: you take some of the grand and you go inside and buy a bus ticket."
"To where?"
"Anywhere you like, Bobby; that's the beauty of this thing. You're free as a bird, and you've got a thousand dollars in your pocket."
"But I like it here, in Santa Fe."
"Not anymore, Bobby. Santa Fe isn't the place for you anymore."
"Why not?"
"Two reasons: one, because when Harold gets out, he'll kill you for not killing Mr. Eagle. Of course, he was always going to kill you."
"I can handle Harold. What's the other reason?"
Big Bear reached under his jean jacket, pulled out the Colt Python and pointed it at Bobby. "The other reason is that if you don't go in there and get on a bus, I'm gonna kill you. Same if you should come back to Santa Fe. Now, is all that perfectly clear?"
"I guess so."
"Don't guess, Bobby."
"It's clear."
"And don't think things are going to improve if you wait awhile, because Harold will still be here, and I'll still be here, too." Big Bear unlocked the doors. "Go ahead. I'll wait until I see you on a bus. Be sure and wave."
"Well, thanks for the lift," Bobby said. He got out of the truck and headed for the bus station.
Big Bear waited until the next bus pulled out, and he saw Bobby waving from a window. He started the engine, turned around and drove back to the jail. He shoved the pistol under his seat then went inside, presented himself at the visitors' window and asked to see Harold Fuentes.
After a half-hour's wait, a man with gray hair and a ponytail walked into the visiting room and sat down at a table, looking around for a familiar face. Big Bear walked over and sat down at the table. "Hey, Harold," he said.
"Who the fuck are you?" Fuentes asked.
"I'm the guy who's bringing you the good news," Big Bear said.
"What good news?"
"You just made, what, twenty-four thousand dollars, and you didn't have to do anything for it."
Fuentes looked around warily. "What are you talking about?"
"It's like this, Harold: the party who paid you the money is now in Mexico and is never coming back."
"How do you know this?"
"I know all sorts of things you don't know, Harold. For instance, I know that Bobby, the guy you hired to do the dirty work, is, right now, on a bus out of town, and he's not coming back. So, you don't have to kill him, and, of course, you don't have to kill Mr. Eagle. When you get out, you just spend the money, without a care in the world."
"And you're sure about all this?"
"I'm absolutely positive, Harold."
"Is that all you've got to tell me?"
"Just one more thing, Harold: if you should somehow forget all this and take it into your mind to harm Mr. Eagle anyway, I'm going to blow your fucking head off. Got that?"
"Uh, yeah."
"Have a nice stay here, Harold, and enjoy yourself when you get out."
Harold stood up. "I'll do my best. Oh, and thanks."
"Don't mention it," Big Bear said. "Not to anybody." He got up and left the jail.
Once in the parking lot, he called Ed Eagle's office and asked for the lawyer.
"Joe, it's Eagle."
"Good morning, Mr. Eagle. I just wanted you to know that the little problem you mentioned to me has been taken care of."
"Peacefully?"
"Absolutely."
"And you'll see the other guy, when he gets out?"
"I visited him in jail. He was very happy to hear that he gets to keep the money without having to earn it. I put the other fellow on a bus out of town, and he won't be back. We all square on my legal costs?"
"What legal costs?" Eagle asked. "Thanks, and good-bye, Joe."
"Bye-bye, Mr. Eagle."
Twenty-one
CUPIE GOT UP, SHOWERED AND SHAVED, THEN TURNED over the bathroom to Vittorio. He walked next door and rapped on Barbara's door. "Good morning!" he shouted.
No reply.
"Answer me, or I'll kick down the door," Cupie said, wondering if she had flown the coop again.
"All right, all right," she said.
"I'm going to go and change cars, and Vittorio and I will meet you in the restaurant for breakfast."
"All right."
Cupie got into the Toyota 4Runner, drove to the rental car office and exchanged it for a Camry. "The SUV is too big," he explained to the clerk.
"Whatever you say, senor," the woman replied.
"Can I drop the car at any of your offices?"
"As long as you drop it in Mexico," the woman said. "You cross the border in it, and there's no insurance and big trouble."
Cupie drove back to the hotel and found Vittorio and Barbara silently eating breakfast. He sat down and ordered eggs and bacon.
"How are we going to do this?" Barbara asked.
"It's fairly simple," Cupie replied. "We drive to the airport and put you on the flight of your choice."
"I'm paying you guys twenty thousand dollars for a ride to the airport?"
"A ride to the airport with armed guards," Cupie explained. "Otherwise, it's a long drive to the border."
"What if the kidnappers or the police are watching the airport?"
"Then we'll take a long drive to the border."
"You got a new car?" Vittorio asked.
"Yeah, a nice Toyota Camry anonymous green. Did you call Mr. Eagle?"
"Yeah, and he was very pleased. I'm going to drop off the paperwork at the Federal Express counter at the airport, then we're done."
"Not until my plane takes off," Barbara said.
"Then we're done with Mr. Eagle."
"Funny, so am I."
They finished their breakfast and loaded the luggage into the car.
Cupie opened the back door for her. "I'd like it if you'd lie down on the seat," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to get unlucky. If certain people can't see you, we'll be luckier."
"Oh, all right," she groused.
"Unless you'd rather have people shooting at you through the windows."
"I said all right, okay?" She got into the car and made herself comfortable.
"Then we're off."
"I'll drive," Vittorio said.
"Yeah, Geronimo, you got all the moves," Cupie replied, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Wrong evil Indian; it's Vittorio."
"Whatever. Mrs. Eagle, what is your preferred destination city?"
"I don't know. Where can you fly to from Acapulco?"
"Well, let's see: certainly L.A. and San Francisco; maybe Denver, Atlanta, and probably New York."
"Not L.A.," she said.
"Bad vibes in L.A.?"
"Bad people."
"They got those everywhere."
"There's bad, and there's bad."
"Well, L.A.'s my
home sweet home, and that's where I'm going. I'd love your company on the flight, but suit yourself. How about you, Vittorio?"
"Albuquerque," Vittorio replied. "My car's at the airport there."
"Well, to each his own," Cupie said. "What I think I'm going to do when I get home is take my daughter out to a really good restaurant and encourage her to go to law school."
"Why law school?"
"Well, it might make her forget about joining the LAPD, and get her into the D.A.'s office, instead. And if it doesn't, the law degree will impress the LAPD recruiters."
"Lawyers are not nice people," the voice from the backseat said. "I've seen too many lawyers the past few years and been married to one. Tell her to major in fashion design."
"How would she ever meet an eligible, heterosexual man in the fashion business?" Cupie asked.
"You'd be surprised. Of course, the straight ones are very, very busy."
"Next turn for the airport," Cupie said.
"I saw the sign," Vittorio replied drily. He made the turn. "I'll drop you two off at curbside check-in, then I'll turn in the car and find you inside."
"Okay," Cupie replied, "but don't drive away until I've had a look around and give you the high sign."
"The high sign?"
"Like a thumbs-up."
"Oh."
"Which airline?"
"Doesn't matter; we're not going to check in at curbside anyway. I don't like it with all the cars driving by."
"Uh-oh," Vittorio said.
"What?" Cupie replied.
"Black suburban, battered, bullet hole in the rear window, at twelve o'clock, curbside."
"Where?" Barbara asked, sitting up.
Cupie pushed her back down in the backseat. "I swear, you just want to be a duck in a shooting gallery, don't you?" Cupie watched as the driver got out of the Suburban and strolled over to two Mexican police officers loafing on the curb.
"Just keep driving, Vittorio."
"What, you thought I was going to stop and ask directions?" Vittorio asked.
Twenty-two
EAGLE HUNG UP THE PHONE FROM HIS CONVERSATION with Vittorio. He felt relieved, relaxed, clean, as if after a sauna and a massage. In one day, perhaps two, he'd have the blank sheets with Barbara's signature, and life would be sweet again. So it had cost him three hundred thousand dollars plus the fees and expenses of Cupie, Vittorio and Russell Norris, say another fifty thousand. So what? It would be the cheapest divorce he could ever have obtained. Barbara had shot herself in the foot!
