Rolly ran towards the crest of the road, taking an angle to cut the man off. He didn’t know what he’d do when he got there, but he had to do something. He reached the spot ahead of the other man, reached down to pick up a fist-sized rock that lay on the ground.
“Stop,” he yelled, turning to face the man. “Let her go.”
The man stomped on towards him, dragging Rio under his arm.
“Stop, Jimmy,” said Rolly. “I know it’s you.”
The man stopped and looked up. He pointed his gun at Rolly.
“Get out of the way, Rolly,” he said.
“I know about the game,” Rolly said. “I played it with Sayer Burdon. The Pall Bearer.”
“This isn’t a game, Rolly.”
“You’re in it. I’ve seen you.”
“What’re you talking about?
“You were down here Friday night, weren’t you?”
“I didn’t kill that girl, Rolly.”
“What happened?”
“I had to stop him.”
“Who?”
“That little Mexican guy.”
“The doctor? Ramoñes?”
“It’s him, Rolly. I know it’s him.”
“He killed the girl?”
“He’s the guy who stabbed me. At Pelicans.”
“What?”
“It’s him, Rolly.”
“That was a long time ago. Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. That little beaner fucked up my dick, Rolly. I remember. He fucked me all up. And the doctors. I gotta pee all the time now, ‘cause of him. I always gotta be near a toilet, or carry a bag.”
“I’m sorry, Jimmy.”
“You don’t care. You didn’t even remember it happened.”
“I don’t remember a lot of things, Jimmy.”
“The border patrol wouldn’t take me, ‘cause of the peeing thing.”
“What’re you going to do with her, Jimmy?”
“You heard what Pancho said back there. They’re gonna sue us.”
“What happened Friday night?”
“I didn’t do any of that stuff he said.”
“Let’s go to the police, then. You can tell them what happened.”
“I didn’t kill that girl, Rolly.”
“I believe you.”
“That little Mexican shit’s living here like a king, Rolly. He’s got his own swimming pool and a house full of tinglers.”
“It’s not what you think.”
“I’m just a dumb-ass security guard, Rolly. They won’t even give me insurance, ‘cause of my condition.”
“We’ll tell the police about him. They’ll arrest him.”
“So they can send him back to Mexico again? What good will that do?”
“Let the girl go, Jimmy.”
“They’re running us over, Rolly. They’re taking our jobs.”
“Let her go,” Rolly said. He raised the rock to his shoulder.
Jimmy fired the gun. Rolly felt a sharp sting against his forehead, then another against his left cheek, as if someone had slapped him. He dropped the rock, put his hands to his face. Oily liquid dripped into his eyes as he staggered. The ground gave way under his feet. He fell backwards and rolled down the embankment.
El Asesino
(The Killer)
The sky appeared once as he rolled down the hill, then a second time, mixed with clouds of dust and a view of his feet. His left foot was shoeless. He stopped rolling, and came to rest on a sandy patch at the bottom of the hill. His eyes stung from the paint. There was a stabbing pain in his back. He rolled over onto his stomach, pushed himself up to his knees, grabbed the tail end of his shirt and wiped it across his face. He blinked a few times, wiped again with a clean part of the shirt. The sting faded.
“Let her go, el gordo,” a voice said from above, on the road.
“Fuck off, you little beaner,” came Jimmy’s reply.
“Give me the whore.”
Rolly crawled up the embankment to the edge of the road, found Ramoñes and Jimmy locked in a Mexican standoff, staring each other down. Ramoñes had his scalpel out. Jimmy pointed his gun.
“Jimmy, be careful,” said Rolly.
Ramoñes glanced over at Rolly. He laughed.
“Amigo, you don’t look so good,” he said.
“You know who this is, Rolly?” Jimmy asked.
“His name’s Zildjian Ramoñes,” said Rolly.
“He’s the guy who fucked me up,” Jimmy said. “That’s who he is. That little Mexican, from Pelicans, the one who cut me.”
“Are you sure? How do you know that?”
“I been watching him and his little operation over there on the canyon.”
“You were there, weren’t you Jimmy? Friday night?”
“It had to stop, Rolly.”
“Let the girl go, Jimmy. Let’s take her back to the group.”
“This I cannot allow,” said Ramoñes, taking a step closer. Jimmy wiggled the gun at him. Ramoñes stopped.
“You heard that Pancho guy, Rolly,” said Jimmy. “She’s gonna sue us. They’re gonna crucify me.”
“What’re you going to do with her?”
“It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this, Rolly.”
“What happened to the other girl, Jimmy?”
“She ran away. Into the ocean. I tried to stop her. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.”
“What about the other ones?”
“What other ones?”
“The other girls, from before. The ones The Pallbearer took away.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jimmy said. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“Señor,” Ramoñes said, inspecting his fingernails, scraping under them with the scalpel. “This gun you are pointing, it does not frighten me.”
“You wanna try it?”
In his effort to keep both Rolly and Ramoñes engaged, Jimmy had loosened his grip on Rio, letting her slip to the ground. Rolly saw Rio’s face change. A dark resolve came into her eyes.
“No! Wait!” he cried, but it was too late. With as much force as her little frame could muster, Rio stomped down on Jimmy’s foot.
“Oooh,” Jimmy grunted, turning towards her. Rio swept in with her knee, nailed Jimmy in the crotch.
“Ahhh!” he screamed, dropping the gun. Rio twisted away from him, ran back up the hill. Ramoñes had seen her eyes too. He moved faster than any of them, lunging forward, shoving the scalpel under the front edge of Jimmy’s helmet, swiping it across Jimmy’s neck with a sickening snick as he raced by, running to catch Rio. A spray of blood erupted from Jimmy’s throat, raining over the dusty dirt track. Jimmy gurgled and clutched at his throat, then toppled onto the ground like a deflating beach ball.
“Rolly,” someone yelled. “Get out of the way!”
Rolly turned to see a police officer crouched in position at the bottom of the road, her gun pointed towards him.
“Bonnie,” he said, shuffling towards her like a zombie.
“Goddammit, Rolly,” she yelled at him. “Get out of the way.”
Rolly flattened himself on the ground next to Jimmy, turned his head to look back up the hill. Ramoñes had captured Rio. He held her in front of him, using her body as a shield. Another twenty feet up the hill, two TV cameramen filmed the whole thing. A crowd had gathered behind them, remnants of the diminishing riot.
“I am sorry, officer” said Ramoñes, “but I must ask you to drop your gun and allow us leave.”
“Don’t let him do it, Bonnie.”
“Shut up, Rolly. Just shut up and stay down.”
“Yes,” said Ramoñes, “No one moves, not you or your boyfriend. Or I kill the girl.”
“Put the knife down,” said Bonnie. “Let her go.”
“I cannot do that,” said Ramoñes, shoving Rio in front of him, inching his way down the hill, “It is you who must put down your weapon, Officer. My vehicle is parked down there, behind you. I will take her there. And then we will l
eave. No one will follow, or the whore will die.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Bonnie replied, not moving an inch from her cocked position.
Ramoñes looked down at Rolly. He smiled.
“Your novia is a tough bitch, amigo. But the handcuffs, they are not for me.”
“Let her go,” Rolly groaned.
“Officer, you will let me through now or I will cut the whore. I will drain all the blood from her degenerate body.”
Ramoñes flicked his wrist. Rio screamed. A tiny flower of blood bloomed behind her left ear.
“Stop it,” Rolly pleaded.
“Rolly, pipe down,” yelled Bonnie.
“He cut her,” Rolly shouted.
Bonnie glanced up the hill towards the TV crews. Rolly could almost see her running through her training, checking which chapter of the manual covered this situation.
“All right sir,” she relented, pulling her arm back to a semi-cocked position and stepping back down the hill, “I’m backing away. You can move down the hill.”
Ramoñes smiled, pushed Rio further down the road. The cameramen stepped forward at the top of the hill. Bonnie raised her other hand.
“You, at the top of the road, all of you. Don’t move. Stay where you are.”
As Ramoñes edged past, Rio looked down at Jimmy’s body, then over at Rolly. There was no fear in her eyes. She looked back towards Jimmy. Rolly followed her eyes, spotted Jimmy’s paint gun. He reached for the gun, watching to see if Ramoñes noticed him, but the little doctor only had eyes for Bonnie. Rolly wasn’t a threat. Rolly touched the butt of the gun, moved his hand up to the trigger. He looked back up at Rio. If he’d learned anything from all the women he’d been with, it was how to read their eyes, when they were with you and when they weren’t. He waited for Rio to make the next move.
She closed her eyes and went limp, drooping her head forward as if she’d fainted, abandoning all resistance. Ramoñes grunted as he moved to recover his grip, dropping his shoulder and pulling the knife away. Rolly raised the paint gun.
“Zildjian,” he said. Ramoñes turned his head. Rolly pulled the trigger.
The first shot caught the doctor flush in the eye, splattering blue paint across his face. He staggered backwards. Rio uncoiled herself and pushed away, scratching at Ramoñes’ face like an insane cat. He swung back at her with his scalpel but only gashed at empty air.
“Whore!” he screamed. “Filthy bitch whore!”
Rolly fired the paint gun, again and again, splattering the little doctor in explosions of red, white and blue. Ramoñes wobbled. He turned towards Rolly. Red paint poured from his mouth, flooding over his lips. It wasn’t paint, though.
Rolly looked down the hill to see Bonnie back in her crouch, firing her gun. Ramoñes took another wobbly step towards him. The little doctor jerked right, stumbled back to his left. He swung the scalpel in a weak arc of desperation, dropped to his knees. He stared down at Rolly, a dimming hate in his eyes.
“Fuckeen guitar players,” he gasped.
The last color of life went out in the doctor’s pupils. He tilted over, came to rest against Jimmy. The scalpel clattered to the ground an inch from Rolly’s nose.
Rolly jumped to his feet. Rio ran to him, sobbing. He closed his eyes, put his arms around her, held on to her quivering body. Then he pushed her away. He leaned over the edge of the embankment and barfed.
La Familia
(The Family)
A black hearse sat in the driveway of the house on Smuggler’s Canyon. Rolly tapped the brakes on Jaime’s truck, turned across the road, and spun a u-turn into the dirt shoulder. He stopped the car at the edge of the road, stared up at the house on the hill. The gate was open.
Ramoñes was dead. Jimmy was dead. Rio was missing. At some point in the jagged aftermath of the riot and shooting, amongst the police cars and ambulances, the crowds and TV crews, she’d just disappeared. No one knew where she’d gone. Not Rolly. Not Roberto or Hector. Not the paramedic who bandaged her neck. Bonnie was livid.
“The captain’ll give me hell about this,” she muttered as they waited for the coroner’s crew to clean up the mess.
“I’m sorry,” said Rolly.
“What’re you sorry about?”
“Everything. It’s an all-purpose sorry.”
“Yeah, well you had your chance. I told you to drop this case.”
“You think he killed Jaime?” said Rolly, looking up at the hill where the coroner took pictures of the bodies.
“The doctor guy?” said Bonnie. “I expect it’s him. Cut his throat, just like Mr. Bodeans.”
Rolly felt his stomach twinge, a dry heave. It seemed like he’d thrown up everything he could possibly have in there.
“I was lucky,” he said.
“Damn lucky,” said Bonnie. She massaged her gun hand. “That guy was fast.”
“You couldn’t have saved him. Jimmy, I mean.”
“What the hell was Bodeans doing anyway? How’s he involved in this mess?”
“He told me Ramoñes was the guy who stabbed him. At Pelican’s.”
“You mean that club in IB?”
“Jimmy was a bouncer there, remember? He said this little Mexican guy stabbed him.”
“When was this?”
“A long time ago. Twenty years, I guess. Moogus remembered it.”
“You mean Bodeans has been looking for this guy for twenty years?”
“No. At least I don’t think so. I don’t know. He must’ve seen him somewhere recently, and recognized him. I think it was at that house, on Smuggler’s Canyon.”
“The one with that Tangerine woman?”
Rolly nodded.
“The Honey Trap.”
“You think she’s part of this?”
“She knows Ramoñes.”
“Well, we can probably work up a warrant for that house now. What was Bodeans doing with the girl, anyway? Trying to play hero or something?”
“Ask her lawyer. He can explain.”
“She’s got a lawyer?”
“That guy you talked to earlier, in the Dodgers uniform,” Rolly said, pointing at Roberto. “Standing next to Pancho Villa. He’s going to sue the AFA, on her behalf.”
“What for?”
“Assault. Sexual Harassment or something like that. I didn’t get the whole story. While you’re at it, you should talk to this Nuge guy.”
“Who’s that?”
Rolly searched the area.
“There,” he said. “AFA guy with the black truck.”
“What about him?”
“He’s a jerk.”
“I can’t arrest him for that.”
“He’s got a radio in the truck. He’s got the Border Patrol radio codes.”
“You think he made that call Friday night?”
“I think he’s hiding something.”
“We’ll make sure to talk to him.”
“Can I go home now?”
“No. Not yet.”
“I can meet with you tomorrow.”
“You’ll have to talk to somebody else tomorrow. I’ll be on leave.”
“Oh.”
“Standard procedure when there’s a shooting. Just sit tight for awhile.”
It was another hour and a half before they cleared the scene. Rolly spent most of that time sitting by himself in Jaime’s truck, trying to get warm. Everyone who’d parked in the upper lot had to stay until they’d taken the bodies away, cleared the road. It was the only way for the cars to get out. As soon as Jimmy and Ramoñes were placed in the ambulances, everyone left, including the television crews, anxious to get back to the studio and edit their footage into a tight story for the six-o-clock news. If Rolly got home soon, he could watch the whole thing on TV.
He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to watch it on TV. He didn’t want to do anything but play guitar all night for lonely women in some worn-out dive. Have a drink or two. Maybe a bottle. If there was ever a day when he could allow
himself to start drinking again, this was it. Four people were dead and he still wasn’t sure who had driven a car through the least tern preserve Friday night. That was what Max had hired him to find out. The driveway gate was open. He couldn’t go home. The game wasn’t over yet.
He climbed out of the truck, walked across the road, through the gate, and up the driveway to the front door where Tangerine had first appeared in blazing orange – half-stoned, fully-loaded. He turned the doorknob, pushed the door open, entered the house.
A shallow foyer led into a dingy living room, lit by the big screen TV on the wall. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the sliding glass door. Sayer Burdon sat at one end of the living room sofa, headphones over his ears, flicking the buttons on a game controller. Rio sat at the other end of the sofa, curled up like a cat, watching him play. She glanced up at Rolly as he entered the room, then returned to the game. Sayer Burdon took even less notice. Rolly walked to the back of the couch, looked down at Rio.
“Why did you leave?” he asked.
Rio shrugged her shoulders.
“Did he bring you here?” Rolly asked, nodding at Sayer.
“Deseo mi dinero,” Rio said.
“Who brought you here?” Rolly asked. “¿Que va aqui?”
“Recorrí aquí.”
“I don’t understand. Hable inglés.”
“No hablo,” she said.
Rolly pulled his phone out of his pocket.
“Tell me in English or I call the police,” he said.
“No policía.”
“It’s your choice,” said Rolly, scrolling through his contact list. “¿Inglés o policía?” He found Bonnie’s number, looked back at Rio.
“Last chance,” he said. “How did you get here?”
“I walk,” she said. “I walk here.”
“Why?”
“He will give me the money,” she said, indicating Burdon.
“¿El Deudo?”
“Si. He is El Duedo.”
“Where is Señora Tangie?”
“She is asleep. In her room.”
“Is there anyone else here?”
“El Padre,” said Rio. “He is in the bedroom with Señora Tangie.”
Rolly looked down the hallway where Rio pointed. If she used the names Sayer had created for the characters in the game, there was only one person it could be. Had the pastor come to save Tangerine’s soul or to ruin his own again?
Border Field Blues Page 22
