A Time of Change

by Aimée Thurlo

  “Your dad also had a Canon, but it was taken in to be examined as possible evidence,” Jo said. “I don’t know what it contained.”

  “Well, this was hidden for a reason, so he must have switched the memory card long before he met up with his killer,” Ben said.

  “There are some Canon pocket cameras on display next to the jewelry cases,” Leigh Ann said. “I’ll go get the demo model.”

  A few minutes later, with the card in place, they watched the short video of a frightened León Almendariz naming the ones who were behind the drug operation and revealing crucial details.

  “Roberto Hidalgo,” Esther said in a horrified voice. “I know that name. He’s a deacon for one of the Farmington parishes—Saint Mark’s, I think. He’s also on the board of directors of the Valley Senior Center. If this is true…”

  “Mr. Almendariz paid with his life for giving this information to my father, and Dad died because he wouldn’t give it back, or tell his killer where it was,” Ben said. “This is what they’ve been looking for all along.”

  “I wish Tom had just given it to them,” Esther said.

  “Dad knew he was a dead man anyway. The only thing he could do was make sure they didn’t get what they wanted.”

  “What do we do now?” Leigh Ann asked, her voice shaking as she looked around the room at the others. “Call the sheriff?”

  “No, that would put everyone here on the witness list—and in danger. You should all go home like it’s just another day. But don’t go out again or open the door to anyone until you hear from me,” Jo said. “Ben and I will take the evidence to the state police. We can’t trust Detective Wells or the sheriff’s department. We don’t know what side they’re really on.”

  “Wait a minute. Nobody should leave until I do some checking,” Ben said, realizing it was nearly dark outside now and the parking lot lights had just come on. “Del, when did you say you spoke to the detective?”

  “During my dinner break—around four thirty.”

  Ben considered it. That was more than enough time for the drug dealers to react and get an operation under way, especially if they’d known they were about to be compromised.

  He went to the front window of the trading post, which had the best view of the highway. Most of the interior lights were off now, so he knew he’d be hard to see from outside. He stood to one side of the glass, back far enough to be lost in the deep shadows that followed sunset. Beside the highway, a hundred yards away, he could see a dark van parked in the middle of the lane that led to The Outpost.

  “We’re already blocked off,” Ben said as calmly as he could. “Everyone stays here and away from the windows. Don’t let them know we’re on to them. We need to call the state and tribal police right now.”

  “My cousin works for the state police. I’ll call them,” Leigh Ann said.

  “I’ll contact the tribal station in Shiprock,” Esther said. “They should be able to respond in twenty minutes or less if they have patrol officers close by. We’re right outside tribal jurisdiction here, but I know a few people, and should be able to convince them to back up the state troopers.”

  “Tell them we can’t call the sheriff’s department, because one of their people is involved in the murder of Tom Stuart,” Ben said. “We don’t know that for sure, but it might help speed things up.”

  “And in the meantime?” Jo asked.

  “We need to find ways of protecting ourselves,” Ben said. “My guess is that they’ll make their move once it gets completely dark—earlier, if they think we’re on to them. We have about ten minutes, so let’s get to it.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “Del, get that pallet with the cases of canned goods out here and place it against the front of the door. Then block the back entrance with the other pallet, the one with the lard and baking goods,” Ben said.

  “But both doors open out,” Jo said. “Wait—I get it. They’ll have to crawl over the top of the cases to get in.”

  Ben nodded. “We’ll also have another way of slowing them down. Jo, get a length of rope for us from the tack supplies. Once Del gets those pallets in place, we’ll loop it through the base, top to bottom, then tie everything to the door handles. If they manage to break the locks, they’ll still have a hell of a time opening the door.”

  “On it,” Jo said. “Remember the shotgun, Ben,” she added, moving toward the saddles and animal supplies.

  “Still behind the counter?” Ben asked, moving quickly toward the main cash register.

  “Yeah. It’s loaded, too, but we don’t have any extra shells.”

  “Everyone else—get something you can use as a weapon,” Ben said as Esther and Leigh Ann came over. “Use an axe handle, a shovel, whatever you can find that’ll force them back.”

  Jo returned with the rope, and Ben reached out to give her the shotgun. “You’ll need to use this.”

  “No, you know guns better than I do,” she said. “I’ve only fired a shotgun twice in my entire life.”

  “I’ve got some hand-to-hand skills you don’t. Once everything else is set up, I want you to duck down below the counter, and if anyone tries to force their way inside, shoot them. Aim low, there’s a natural tendency to shoot high when taking a quick shot.”

  “What about us?” Leigh Ann asked, coming up holding a pitchfork at quarter arms. Esther had her Bible under one arm, and a rubber mallet in the other.

  “What are you going to do with those?” Del asked Esther as he passed by, pulling the jack back for the other pallet.

  “I won’t be spilling any blood, but I can pound those animals to sleep with these babies,” she said.

  “Did you ladies call the two police departments?” Ben asked.

  “Yes, but the tribal police doesn’t have any units in the Shiprock area right now, and the closest state patrolman is on the east side of Farmington,” Esther said. “No one will be able to reach us in less than thirty minutes. That’s why the tribal police dispatcher is contacting the Farmington cops. They might be able to help.”

  “Let’s get a rope through that pallet by the main entrance,” Ben said. “Leigh Ann, Esther, make the rope tight. Jo, keep watch. If you see anyone approaching on foot or that van start to move, let us know ASAP. I’ll help Del secure the back door.”

  Five minutes later, they met behind the counter at the rear of the front room. Jo, still by the window, looked back at each of them. Esther was now praying, and Leigh Ann, wearing heavy leather gloves, was trying to decide whether to hold the pitchfork tines up, or down. Del had put on a thick denim jacket, gloves, and was holding a heavy roofing hammer he’d picked up from the hardware section.

  “If I’m going to be protecting the front door with the shotgun, who’s watching the back?” Jo asked Ben.

  “Del will be keeping watch from the passage door leading into the storeroom. He’s got soup cans to throw if anyone manages to open the door even a crack. If they get inside, he’ll lock the inner door and head to the produce locker.”

  “Where are you going to be, son?” Esther asked.

  “Close to the front entrance, hidden from view,” Ben said. “But I’m also armed.” He held up a long hunting knife taken from the sporting goods display. The curved blade gleamed in the low light, and Esther drew in a breath.

  Knowing he had to keep everyone busy or panic would seep in, Ben called to Jo. “What’s going on outside?”

  “Nothing, I think. Not yet anyway,” Jo said. “In the headlights of passing cars, I can see at least two figures in the front seat.”

  Ben glanced at the Coke machine by the entrance and pointed to the doorway. “Anyone want to help me with the refreshments?”

  Three minutes later, as the black van crunched across the gravel of the parking lot, lights out, the refrigerator-sized drink dispenser rested against the pallet of canned goods. The front door was completely blocked now.

  “It’ll take a tank to bust through,” Ben told them with a grim smile.
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br />   “Here they come,” Jo called out.

  “Flip the main breaker, Del,” Ben called. “And watch that back door.”

  As the teenager turned off the main power to the building, the small battery-powered lamps in the four corners of the main room came on. With the aisles piled high with merchandise, they didn’t make much of an impact. It wasn’t much brighter than a full moon inside, and anything below the top few rows of merchandise remained in deep shadows.

  Esther and Leigh Ann made their way back beside the produce locker—their keep, Esther had called it. The big room, cool as it was, offered the best practical protection from gunfire. The freezer was too small for more than two people, and clearly too dangerous for other reasons.

  Ben, hiding behind the shoulder-high stack of canned food cases on the wooden pallet, watched the van come to a stop. A woman, clearly visible beneath the glow of the closest pole light, climbed out of the front passenger side of the vehicle. It was Detective Wells. She wasn’t wearing a belt or carrying a weapon, so he wasn’t sure if she was a hostage, or just trying to pass herself off as one.

  * * *

  Jo, looking out from beside the front cash register, watched Detective Wells walk up the steps and across the porch. She stopped at the front door and knocked loudly, identifying herself as she did.

  “I know you’re there, guys, so open up,” Katie said, her voice strained. “I’m here to pick up what you’ve found. If you don’t give up that evidence right now, we’ll all be killed. The people who forced me to come here are prepared to do whatever it takes to get it back.”

  “Don’t bother pretending, Detective Wells. You’re working with them, and we know it,” Jo called out. “We’re not letting you in, and we’re not giving you anything.”

  Jo looked over at Ben, who never took his eyes off the door. He had the big hunting knife in his right hand, and the thought of what he might have to do with it made her shiver.

  Jo kept to the plan. She was supposed to stall as much as she could. Every minute put friendly forces just a little bit closer.

  “Jo, I’m trying to save lives,” Katie called out. “Give me that rug and the other evidence. Just throw them out onto the porch and this will all be over. Or break the window, climb up on the shelves, and dump them outside if you want. I’ll stand back out of the way.”

  “No deal.” Jo gripped the shotgun tighter, checking again to make sure the safety was off. She’d never shot anything except for tin cans, and the way her hands were shaking, she doubted she’d be able to hit the side of a barn, much less a moving target.

  She had to find a way to keep Detective Wells busy. That’s when she remembered the woman’s constant antacid diet. How long had she been fighting on the wrong side, and why? It was clearly eating her from the inside out. Maybe there was still hope.

  “Why are you working with these people? You’re no murderer or drug dealer. Are you being blackmailed? Did they force you into something, like they did Tom Stuart?” she asked.

  “There’s no time for talk. If I don’t give them what they want—now—we’re all going to die!” she yelled. “Don’t you get it?”

  Jo didn’t answer. She heard what sounded like Detective Wells kicking the door with her boot, then silence. The sound of men’s voices eventually carried over to them; then the van’s headlights came on.

  Blinded, Jo looked away as the vehicle came closer. To try to ram those doors was just plain stupid. Tom had six-inch-high concrete barriers all along the front, and they were staked into the ground with rebar. If they tried to drive over those, they’d kill their speed and high center before they ever reached the porch. Then they’d still have to come up the steps. The wheelchair ramp on one side was too narrow for a vehicle.

  As she peered out from behind the end of the counter, she heard the van’s sliding door open, followed by a thud and running footsteps. The rumble of people on the wooden porch told her they’d decided to target the door using manpower.

  Jo saw Detective Wells stand back, her hands by her side, as a big Hispanic man with wavy hair held a pistol to her back.

  “Break it down, muchachos!” he yelled.

  There was a loud thump, metal against metal, and the entire doorframe shook. Jo inched out from behind cover for a better look. Two men were holding a battering ram composed of a pipe and welded-on handles. When they swung it forward again, the door shook, and something popped.

  After that, it was quiet for a minute. The next sound was an electric whir. She inched to one side and saw a man pulling a cable from the front of the van.

  “They’ve got a winch. They plan to yank the door off,” she whispered.

  “Be glad they don’t have explosives,” Ben said. “Get into position and ready to fire. If that door flies open, they’ll still have to crawl over the top of those cases to get inside.”

  The van’s engine got louder, the winch whirred, and Jo heard a metallic twang as the cable drew tight. The doorframe shuddered, actually bowed out on the left side, then suddenly something snapped and the front door flew open.

  She crouched on one knee and raised the shotgun. Her knee and her hands were shaking and, unfortunately, so was the shotgun’s barrel. She kept her finger off the trigger, afraid she’d pull it by accident, but continued to aim at the space above the boxes.

  “Jo, if you see anyone coming over the top of that stack, shoot,” Ben whispered. “Make them afraid to come in.”

  Nodding, Jo looked back down the barrel and swallowed several times, almost sure she was going to throw up.

  “Get that shit out of the way, pendejos,” the man outside said.

  When Jo saw a hand reach up and a cardboard case move, she fired. The shotgun kicked into her shoulder painfully, but that was nothing compared to its flash and roar. For several seconds she froze, stunned.

  Aware that someone was cursing in Spanish, she pulled herself together, worked the slide, and loaded another round into the chamber. She had five shots left. Each had to count.

  “Move to a new position. Now,” Ben said in a harsh whisper.

  Jo scooted down the counter several feet, then inched up, hiding behind a candy display.

  She heard shuffling in the gravel outside; then an explosion of bullets flew into the store. Splinters exploded off the wood and laminate where she’d been just a few seconds ago.

  “Kiss my ass!” Del yelled from the back of the store, and a metal soup can flew over her head. It struck the side of the doorframe and bounced outside onto the porch. “Come and get it!”

  Leigh Ann tried next, hurling a can from somewhere on Jo’s right. It bounced off the Coke machine, though, nearly hitting Ben.

  “Sorry,” Leigh Ann whispered in the subsequent silence.

  As Jo looked down the barrel of the shotgun, she saw the winch cable, fastened into a big loop, fly across the entrance. It slid across the boxes atop the pallet, then wrapped around the stack about halfway down.

  “They’re going to pull away some of the boxes to give themselves more clearance. Then they’ll rush the door,” Ben whispered. “Get ready.”

  The winch began its electrical whine again, and the cable looped around the stacked cases tightened. The cases were yanked outside, tumbling onto the front of the porch with a racket. Then the winch stopped.

  She heard footsteps on the wooden porch; then a shape appeared just outside the door. Jo fired again and the figure ducked back. Once again, the flash blinded her for a second. Jo pumped the slide to reload as someone dived across the remaining cardboard cases and landed on the floor, below her line of sight. Ben leaped toward the attacker.

  A gun went off and a light fixture shattered on the high ceiling, followed by the sound of bodies rolling along the floor. Ben was in a fight for his life, and she had to do something.

  Just then someone jumped onto the pallet from outside. Jo pulled the trigger and the shotgun roared. Terror gripped her as she heard a groan and realized she’d just shot someone.
<
br />   Her heart in her throat, Jo ran around the counter. Ben and another man were locked in battle, rolling on the floor. She couldn’t shoot or she might hit Ben.

  Metal flashed between the men, and Jo heard an agonized cry. The man fighting Ben thrashed for a second, his feet knocking over a newspaper stand; then he stopped moving.

  Ben rose to his feet, bloody knife in hand. “Watch the door,” he whispered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jo could see Del and Leigh Ann moving up the canned goods aisle, crouched low. Leigh Ann had the pitchfork’s business end leading the way, and Del held his hammer like a club.

  “Stay back,” Ben warned, turning toward the entrance.

  Jo swung the barrel around. Outside in the glare of the headlights, she could see a man facedown on the ground, and Katie Wells struggling with the wavy-haired guy. Katie clamped her hand on his wrist and twisted it, trying to force him to drop the weapon. The man kicked out and caught her in the stomach, knocking her back.

  Jo stepped sideways, trying to get her sights on the guy, but before she could, Ben leaped onto the pallet and slid out onto the porch. She jerked the barrel away, her shot blocked.

  The man shot Katie Wells twice in the chest, then whirled around to meet Ben.

  In a heartbeat, Ben grabbed the man’s wrist with both hands, knocking him to the ground. The pistol flew into the gravel ten feet away. As Ben rolled to his feet, Jo scrambled up onto the pallet, angling for a shot.

  Suddenly the sky lit up as a brilliant flare exploded overhead. Spotlights flooded the front of the store and the van. The man who’d just shot Katie started reaching into his jacket. Instantly a half dozen tiny red dots covered his chest and Ben’s.

  “Hands up” came a powerful voice over a loudspeaker. “Reach for a weapon and we’ll shoot.”

  Four heavily armed and armored officers rushed up, the dots from the laser sights on their assault weapons dancing around on Ben’s and the other man’s chests.