The Serpent's Bite

by Warren Adler

  “By accident. It must be an accident.” She paused, then wet her lips and smiled. “Like Harry.”

  His eyes narrowed and met her gaze. She could tell even from the briefest rearrangement of his facial muscles that she had struck pay dirt. From her standpoint, it was a wild guess, but she knew she was onto the truth.

  “You understand what I’m saying Tomas?”

  He nodded.

  “You perra. Kill your padre? And your brother who you fuck?”

  He spit on the ground and chuckled, his lips curling in a sinister smile. She let him contemplate the idea through a long silence. Her heartbeat accelerated, and her pores opened in a copious sweat. Her mind clogged suddenly with doubts. Had she gone too far? How could she possibly trust this venal Mexican?

  “Where the trail is narrow,” she persisted. She wondered if such an accident had precedent.

  He rubbed his chin again, his smile fading.

  “A misstep by a horse,” she pressed. “Something as simple as that.” She watched and waited. “An accident. Only you and I would know the truth. And for that…five hundred thousand dollars, American.”

  She felt a sudden laser look as his gaze met hers. His eyes narrowed, as he seemed to look deeply into her thoughts.

  “Five hundred thousand.” He seemed to hiss the words through clenched teeth.

  “You bullshit me?” He broke his gaze and looked toward her father and Scott.

  “He rich like that?”

  “Yes. And when he dies, it goes to me and my brother. All to me if my brother is not around…you get my drift, hombre?”

  He lowered his head and studied her with a laserlike look.

  “When I get that money?”

  “When I get mine. He has to die first.”

  “How do I be sure?”

  “Trust, Tomas. We would have to trust each other.”

  “I kill you if you fuck me over.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “Maybe I just shoot them?” He chuckled and lifted the rifle, aiming it but not to the suggested targets.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Tomas. I told you it must be an accident. It must stand scrutiny. There could be an investigation. It must look like an accident.” She paused, watching his face, and repeated her previous subtle accusation. She paused for a moment then took a shot in the dark. “Like Harry.”

  “Harry killed by a grizzly,” Tomas snapped. It struck her as oddly defensive.

  “You think we’re dumb gringos, Tomas? Something about it is very strange. Very strange.”

  Tomas, in a quick reaction and still seated, moved the rifle into firing position. Courtney moved the barrel with her hand. She met no resistance, but the act confirmed her suspicion.

  “Don’t be an idiot, Tomas. As far as I’m concerned, a grizzly killed Harry. End of story. As for the others …” She shrugged.

  “They don’t believe no wetback. I go far from here.”

  “Without a doubt. Of course, I’ll tell my version of what happened, a series of unlucky accidents. Believe me, I can be very convincing. I’m an actor, Tomas. I make people believe. I’ll make sure no suspicion of any wrongdoing falls on you, Tomas.”

  She was working it out in her mind now, filling in the blanks based on what she could recall of all those suspense movie scripts she had read over the years. Tomas would split as soon as they arrived back at the trailhead. She felt certain that he would hook up with some secret system that illegal Hispanics had established, a kind of underground railway like in the old American-slave days. Besides, they might break him down and spoil her scenario.

  “Then how I get my money?”

  “Believe me, Tomas. I won’t be hard to find. Frankly, I expect to be a known figure. Maybe a celebrity. You trust me. I trust you.” She pulled a card out of her pocket. “Believe me, I’ll be easy to find.”

  He looked blankly at the card and slipped it in his pocket.

  “You don’t give me my money, I kill you.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  Yes, she told herself, I will be happy to give him the money. Of course, there was always the chance he would, like most blackmailers she had encountered in movie scripts, be asking for more and more. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Tomas grew silent for a long time. He looked over to where her father and Scott lay. Temple had dozed off, and Scott, using his arms as a pillow, was staring into the sky. The weather was becoming more and more overcast. In the distance, they could see bursts of lightening and hear the echoing sound of thunder. Tomas grimaced as he inspected the sky. He shook his head and made no comment.

  The impending bad weather seemed a sign that her plan might gain traction in Tomas’s mind. A slick, soft, and muddy trail could make the consequences more believable. Rain was yet another movie signal anticipating ominous events approaching. She imagined she could hear the background music.

  She felt little pity or remorse for what she was planning. Like a true actor, she had immersed herself in the character of the person she was portraying: ruthless, unsentimental, focused, and determined. Impatient, she broke into the Mexican’s silence.

  “We got a deal, Tomas?”

  His response was a blank look and a snarl.

  “How I know you not fuck me?” he muttered.

  “Why would I do that?”

  “You gringo. Gringo’s fuck Mexicans.”

  She looked into his eyes. He was obviously wary and uncertain.

  He shook his head, cleared his throat, and spat out a wad of phlegm on the dirt in front of her.

  “Of course, you could refuse,” she said. “If he lives, you’ll get your hundred thousand as promised. If not …” She shrugged.

  He glanced to where her father and brother were reclining.

  “Business, Tomas. Why settle for one hundred when you can have five hundred thousand. Why would I not meet my end of the bargain?”

  “Me dumb Mexican wetback. You crazy lady.”

  “Dumb, Tomas? What I see is the shrewdest fucking Mexican on the planet. Look what you pulled off. Go ahead. Consider your options. I’m offering you a fucking future, fella. Dinero. Lots of dinero. You want to be a peon for the rest of your life, taking orders from bastards like Harry? Don’t sell yourself short, hombre. You’re one smart fucking Mexican. Listening. Watching. Looking for the main chance. Don’t give me that humble poor dumb wetback shit. I’ve seen you in operation.” She pointed with a gesture of her head toward her father and Scott. “You give a fuck about them? No way. What do they mean to you? I’m offering you the deal of a lifetime. And remember. I’m on the line, too. I’ve got to convince the authorities that everything that happened was purely accidental, a bad string of tragic events. That’s my job. That’s my risk.”

  She knew she was running at the mouth, slightly hysterical, maybe even illogical, but enraged at his resistance. Besides, she wasn’t certain he even understood what she was getting at. He shook his head and showed her a thin smile.

  “Tell you what, lady,” he said, lowering his voice. “I got idea.”

  She grew hopeful.

  “Okay, Tomas. I’ll buy.”

  He moved closer, his mouth near her ear.

  “You fuck me like you fuck your brother, and I decide.”

  She had vaguely considered such a proposition and had actually pondered a reaction, then dismissed it. Instead she contemplated yet another stance, insult and indignation. Then discipline prevailed, and she held back her pose of scorn, assuming yet another role requiring the usual clichéd movie dialogue.

  “I guess you could call that a sweetener, Tomas. Okay then, you do this deal, and I’ll give your Mexican dick a ride to paradise. Not before.” She looked toward her sleeping father and sibling and grabbed his crotch. “And that’s another promise. And it’ll prove that I keep my promises.”

  She could tell the Mexican was startled by her response. He rubbed his chin and grabbed her breast. She brushed his hand awa
y. His expression betrayed nothing. He had not committed himself. Opening her mouth, she showed him her tongue.

  “Bet you’re horny as hell, baby,” she whispered between clenched teeth. He offered a tiny smile and looked away, leaving the question up in the air. She waited for a response, and when none came, she said, “Deal?”

  “We see.”

  “That’s no fucking answer, Tomas,” she said sharply.

  He scowled and turned away.

  Frustrated, she shook her head. By her lights, she was making him an offer he could not refuse.

  For a long time, she sat, slumped against a tree, her mind raging with possibilities. Perhaps, she conjectured, she might find a way to perform a triple accident, do away with all three. Like a chain reaction on a highway. Such an outcome intrigued her.

  In that action, there would be no witnesses, no obvious evidence, and she felt certain that she would be able to concoct a credible story. Her role would be that of sole survivor, a sympathetic grieving figure, a perfect candidate for a headline story on the world media.

  She was sure she could pull it off, complete with tears. Hadn’t she auditioned for such roles, over and over again? Think of the publicity. She chuckled. It was one way to become a celebrity. The media were suckers for sole survivors.

  The problem, of course, was the method. She glanced toward her father stretched out, snoring lightly. If only he would die of natural causes. This would eliminate any possibility of blackmail, but it would not eliminate her brother. She had become fixated on that new idea. Of course, now that she had announced her intentions to Tomas, he would possess damaging information about her attempt to eliminate her brother. It had become a conundrum.

  She felt as if she were having a movie story conference with three sides of herself, coming up with plot points. She tried out numerous scenarios, none of which seemed foolproof. She wished she could wave a magic wand and eliminate all three of the male protagonists. Unfortunately, nothing she could think at that moment seemed adequate to the task, meaning foolproof and untraceable to her.

  Think hard, she urged herself. Imagine, conceive, conjure.

  Chapter 23

  Through his almost-closed eyelids, Scott saw tiny slits of light and felt little dabs of cold moisture on his skin. It took him a few moments to become conscious of his surroundings. His brief sleep had been dreamless but deep and disorienting. With awareness came clarity and remembering. It had started to rain, and in the distance he saw black clouds gathering.

  Beside him, his father stirred. He studied his face, pale, unshaven, sickly. Still, he could see the outlines of the younger face, Dad’s face, the face that dominated his memory. Earlier, his father had conveyed to him the anguish and guilt that lay just beneath the surface.

  Lifting himself on his elbow, Scott watched the oncoming clouds clotted with rain and accompanied by bolts of lightning, together with the frightening sound of rolling thunder. A sharp breeze shook the branches of the trees, and the temperature had dropped precipitously. A few yards away Tomas squatted. His head had dropped to his chest but rose now as he watched Scott move. Courtney was sitting on the ground, her back against a tree, watching him.

  Scott noted that the horses had been tethered to nearby aspens. Occasionally they would lower their heads to graze. He looked toward his father and gently shook him. The old man grunted and opened his eyes, showing some confusion.

  “Jeez,” he said. “Went out like a light.”

  “All the excitement, Dad. How do you feel?”

  With some effort, his father got himself into a sitting position. He held out his hand. Scott rose and helped him up. He was shaky and not too sure of his footing. His nostrils quivered as he sucked in a deep breath. Courtney stood up and came over to them.

  “Big storm coming.”

  “We go now,” Tomas said, standing.

  Courtney rose and came over to her father.

  “Think you can make it, Dad?” she said.

  “I have to,” he said, cutting a quick glance at Scott, who nodded then looked at his sister, certain that she was merely paying lip service. He saw her with new eyes now.

  Scott looked toward Tomas, who had already donned a poncho, then at the sky.

  “Won’t it be dangerous? In this weather?”

  “In cantle is poncho. It will pass.”

  Scott pulled the ponchos from his father’s cantle and his own while Courtney donned hers. The rain was beginning in earnest now, putting a glistening shine on the horses.

  Oddly, he saw the rain as a cleansing force. His deep conversation with his father had helped unburden his spirit. While not a full confession, it had soothed his conscience.

  He felt suddenly like a fly that had managed to break out of the sticky web that had trapped him for years. Feeling the strange sense of freedom, he felt an inner exultation, enjoying the delicious irony of knowing what his father had imparted.

  He would tell his sister at a moment of his own choosing. His father, out of his own perceived guilt, had assigned him the task.

  Tomas observed them and came over, studying Temple, obviously assessing his prospects to continue. He, too, had an investment to protect.

  “We go now,” Tomas said, looking up at the sky.

  “The rain?” their father muttered. “On Eagle Pass. With all those narrow switchbacks, won’t the ground get soft?”

  “We be fine,” Tomas said.

  “Like Harry,” his father mumbled.

  Temple seemed somewhat worse. The rest hadn’t done him much good.

  Scott whispered to Courtney, who had come towards them. “Tell him he looks better,” he commanded. She looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, then nodded.

  “Oh yes, much better.”

  Her father leaned against Scott as they moved toward his horse. Then he and Tomas helped their father to remount. Mounted, he looked precarious.

  “We go now,” Tomas said, mounting his horse and moving forward. Courtney followed and then Temple, hunched over his horse’s neck. As before, Scott held up the rear. The rain grew in intensity, but the horses moved forward, stoic and seemingly oblivious to the elements.

  Once mounted and watching his father with consternation, Scott recalled their conversation.

  What his father had imparted was a startling revelation, a secret uncovered from deep inside his memory. Why now? Scott wondered. Was his father being prescient?

  “Please, Scott,” his father had pleaded. “Get me through this. I have to fix things. A father’s duty is to protect his progeny. I was wrong. Forgive me.”

  Temple had reached out and squeezed his son’s arm. “You may think I’m a foolish dodo, but I have not got the strength of conscience to let the matter rest. A father’s love and responsibility comes with the territory. I’m scared son. I’m failing. My strength is ebbing. I need to get home, make the correction, and fulfill the promise I made to you here. If I don’t make it, things stay as they are. Do you understand what I’m saying? Don’t let me die out here.”

  The effort had winded the old man. He was clearly panicked, and despite his ebbing strength, his words had tumbled out in a burst of hysteria.

  “You’re being morbid, Dad. You’re going to make it home and to your new life. You’ve got to stop worrying about us.”

  “But I promised to help in your and your sister’s new ventures. If I don’t make it, that would be another promise unfulfilled.”

  “Why are you so worried, Dad? So what?”

  Despite the promise that his new venture would be funded, his own response was a revelation to himself. Suddenly it didn’t matter, and he said so.

  “It matters to me,” his father said. “It’s unfinished business.”

  “Unfinished business? That’s ridiculous. We’re undeserving. We’ve done nothing except put our hands out. Besides, you’ve done enough. We’re losers, Dad. That’s the long and short of it. Getting you back in one piece is all that matters. You still have a life to live.
A new chapter is beginning. But yes, I would be grateful for your help, and this time I won’t let you down.”

  He felt exalted by the opportunity to tell his father what he really felt. He meant what he said, deeply, sincerely, ardently. From out of the corner of his eye, he had seen his sister studying them. She seemed puzzled. A lump formed in his throat. Without any signs of contrition, she would gladly see her father dead and gone, to get possession of her inheritance.

  He wondered whether his father had sensed this. Or was he so blinded by fatherly love? Suddenly Scott felt emotionally overwhelmed. He felt the urge to tell his father the truth, the total truth, but held back, fearing that the revelation would kill him.

  “I love you, Dad,” he whispered. “Please, Dad, hang in there. You’ll be fine.”

  He saw his father’s face through a veil of tears.

  “Please, son. I owe this to myself. I am the father. It is not a question of your and Courtney’s being undeserving. That is not the issue, not anymore. I’m talking here of responsibility. As your father, I need to do this. It is necessary to validate that I am your father and protector. Do you understand?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Scott paused, unable to get the words out. He wanted to say that whether or not they received this largesse, it would change nothing. Love, he was certain, could never be purchased. Your daughter wants you dead, he was tempted to say.

  “I need this for myself,” his father continued. “I owe this to myself. You are my children. That is the point of it all. I gave you life.”

  Was he being overly sentimental, Scott wondered? If he knew what they had done, would he still feel the same sense of responsibility? Or would he be insulted and disgusted? He had the urge to argue, to confront him, to point out the error of his judgment, but he feared weakening him further.

  “You’re overwrought, Dad,” he said, holding back what he really wanted to say. We are undeserving of your protection. We have crossed over the line of sibling propriety. We have betrayed your honor. We are not who you think we are. We are liars, secretive voluptuaries. We have disgraced you. We have cheated your aspirations, wasted your money. Worse, we have stolen from you. We are thieves. Your guilt is misplaced.