Shotgun Boogie

by Steve Brewer

  She unlocked the door to their room. She was glad to see that Marge was right where she'd left her.

  "Mom? You okay?"

  "Yes." Marge didn't look up, though. Something about the weave in the cheap gray carpet had her fascinated.

  Jackie lugged the bags to the closet and set them inside. She put the shotgun duffel up on the closet shelf, then took a deep breath, finally feeling like she could sit still for a moment.

  She sat on the foot of the bed, facing her mother.

  "Jackie?"

  "Yeah, Mom?"

  "What's that noise? That humming noise?"

  "That's just traffic. This motel's right by the freeway, remember?"

  "I don't like that noise," Marge said. "I don't like that at all."

  "It's just one night, Mom. We'll survive."

  Marge went back to her staring, but the worried expression didn't leave her face. Jackie felt bad, dragging her to unfamiliar places with unfamiliar noises, but she didn't have much choice at the moment.

  The peril of their situation washed over her again. What the hell was she going to do? As long as she possessed those Army rifles, she was a target. But how to get rid of them?

  She thought about calling Agent Romeo Sandoval at the ATF. She even took his card out of her shirt pocket and stared at it a while. It was awfully tempting to drop her problems into Sandoval's lap. He'd be only too happy to seize a big cache of stolen weapons, but would he let Jackie walk away?

  She wouldn't mind dropping into Romeo's lap herself. He was so handsome, polite, soft-spoken. Jackie imagined that he'd be gentle in bed, the kind of man who'd take his time.

  God, she thought, how long has it been? Nearly two years since her last relationship, a brief dalliance with a construction worker named Derek. He'd moved away to Amarillo, which had saved her from the anticipated awkward breakup. Derek had been a self-centered jock like her ex-husband. She already knew how that story turned out.

  Since her father's death nineteen months ago, Jackie hadn't had so much as a dinner date. Every minute was devoted to caring for Marge, driving her to doctors, making meals, taking care of the oversized house, shoveling through the never-ending avalanche of bills and medical paperwork.

  She looked at her mother, still staring, still grasping at her hem. Getting arrested or even interrogated for an extended period would separate them, would leave Marge to the vagaries of the medical system or state care. She couldn't have that. No telling how many more lucid moments Marge might have. Jackie didn't want to miss any of them.

  Her phone trilled, the sudden noise making Marge jump. Jackie checked the readout, surprised to find herself hoping it was Agent Romeo Sandoval. But the readout said only, "Unknown Caller."

  "Hello?"

  "Jackie?" The Mexican woman's thick accent, pronouncing the name "Hacky." "At last! We have been looking all over for you."

  Chapter 47

  Rita Gutierrez and El Gűero were southbound in their rental car on Louisiana Boulevard, a ten-lane monstrosity designed to deliver shoppers to the Uptown shopping malls. Rita was itching to check out the swankest of those stores, but business first. This business had become increasingly complicated and messy.

  Apparently, it all came down to locating this shotgun-toting woman Jackie. She either had the Army weapons or she knew where they were. Rita had no doubt she could be forced to reveal their whereabouts, but how to find one woman in a city of half a million people? Especially when she didn't want to be found.

  It was El Gűero who'd thought of Eduardo, the skinny computer whiz who worked for the cartel in Vera Cruz. Eduardo regularly tracked down the cartel's enemies by triangulating their cell phone signals, even in rural Mexico. No reason he couldn't do the same in Albuquerque.

  Rita needed to keep Jackie talking for a minute or two to give Eduardo time to zero in. El Gűero, who was driving, had his cell phone up to his ear, with Eduardo on the other end of the line. Soon as he gave them a location, they could drive straight there.

  "Don't hang up, Jackie," Rita said. "We need to talk together. Muy importante, eh?"

  "I don't have anything to say to you."

  "Maybe you can listen then? I have things to tell you."

  A pause, then Jackie said, "Like what?"

  "There was a man you sent us to see," Rita said. "Duvernay? You know this man?"

  "We've met. It wasn't pleasant."

  "He won't be botherin' you no more," Rita said.

  She thought she heard a noise over the line, a sharp intake of breath, but she couldn't be sure. Jackie said nothing.

  "You still there?"

  "I heard you." Jackie's voice was flat, controlled. "But why are you telling me this?"

  "To show you we are very serious."

  "I get that. You kill people."

  "Shh, not on the phone, Jackie. Anyone could be listening."

  Rita smiled at El Gűero, who still had his phone to his ear, waiting for Eduardo's signal.

  "You have something we want, Jackie," Rita said. "If we don't get it, you won't like what happens next."

  Another pause. Rita could practically hear the seconds Eduardo needed ticking past in her head.

  She looked over at El Gűero again, just in time to see his mouth spread into a rare smile. He glanced over his shoulder, then veered right across three lanes of traffic, horns blaring in their wake, to make the westbound ramp onto Interstate 40.

  Ah, Rita thought, they've located her.

  "You still there, Jackie?"

  "I'm here. Did you think I'd run away scared?"

  "No, no. We can see you do not scare easily. There is no reason for anyone to be afraid. Just hand over that shipment, and we will go away. Poof!"

  "Why don't I believe that?"

  "You can trust me, Jackie." Rita winked at El Gűero. "We have no reason to hurt you. Or your mother."

  "Leave her out of it."

  "Sorry, Jackie, but you are putting other people in danger. Not just yourself. Look what happened to Duvernay. Because of you."

  "I didn't kill him."

  "No, but you told us where to find him. The rest was, um, natural."

  "Only to you."

  Rita sensed from the finality in her tone that Jackie was about to hang up. El Gűero still had his phone to his ear, following Eduardo's directions.

  "Last chance, Jackie. All you have to do is tell me an address where we can find that shipment. You never have to see us again."

  "Yeah, right."

  "Es verdad! We will not need you anymore, Jackie. You can walk away."

  No answer. Rita pressed the phone to her ear, trying to hear if Jackie was still there, but the call clicked to dial tone. She checked the phone's screen to make certain they were disconnected, then she said to El Gűero, "Did you get it?"

  He nodded, and flicked on the blinker to show he was taking the next exit.

  "Two minutes," he said.

  Rita opened her purse to put away the phone, and saw the razor waiting inside. The sight made her smile.

  Soon.

  Chapter 48

  Jackie Nolan sat on the foot of the bed, staring at the phone in her hand. Could the Mexicans trace her by that call? Probably. But well enough to pinpoint a room in a motel?

  She turned off the phone. Stared at it some more. Was that enough? She took the phone out of its case and removed its battery. Then she stashed the battery and the phone in separate pockets of her black leather car coat.

  She went into the bathroom and filled a glass with water and brought it to Marge, who took it and sipped without ever looking up.

  Jackie went over to the room's one window and peeked out between the drapes. Quite a view. A strip of asphalt littered with a few rusty cars that all looked unoccupied, a chain-link fence decorated with dry weeds, then a concrete-lined arroyo and the high-speed bustle of I-40.

  No sign of the cartel's people. No cops. No SWAT team of federal agents swooping down on her. Were they safe here? Could she relax an
d get some sleep?

  She looked at Marge, who held her water glass in both hands as she sipped from it. Even when in use in other ways, her left hand still twitched, as if it couldn't wait to get back to its main job of measuring her hems.

  Jackie felt sort of twitchy herself. Now that she'd briefly entertained the notion that the Mexicans might be tracing her phone, the motel room felt like a danger zone. No way could she sleep here tonight.

  "Hey, Mom?"

  Marge didn't look up. She'd finished the water, and her left hand had gone back to its busyness. She still wore the puffy coat, which must be stifling, but that was just as well. Turns out she'd need it.

  "Mom? I've decided I don't like this motel."

  Marge looked up at her. The blue eyes didn't seem to focus entirely, but she was listening.

  "It's like you said. That freeway noise is too much."

  Marge nodded.

  "I'm going to pull the car around to the door and get you," Jackie said. "We'll go somewhere quieter."

  Jackie took the glass from her mother and put it away in the bathroom. She slipped into her leather coat and zipped it up. Then she took the shotgun duffel down from the closet shelf and slung the strap over her shoulder. Keys in hand, she headed for the door.

  "Okay, Mom. You sit right there until I get back."

  Jackie made the sure the door locked behind her, then she jogged around the building to the rear parking lot. The sun was low in the sky, streaking the clouds above with red and yellow and pale orange. The snow-dusted Sandia Mountains glowed pink, every cliff and crag in high relief.

  The El Camino was just as she left it. She put the duffel on the floorboard of the passenger side and got behind the wheel. The engine roared to life and she drove around to the freeway side of the motel. A space two doors down from their room was vacant, and Jackie pulled into it. An SUV on one side and a jacked-up pickup on the other, so it felt like she had driven into a narrow canyon. She didn't care for that sensation, but it was only for a minute.

  Jackie got out of the El Camino and checked the parking lot again before shutting the car door and locking it up with the shotgun inside. Two bags and Marge were plenty to shuttle back out here.

  She let herself into the room and found her mother right where she'd left her. Marge looked up at her, a stricken expression on her face and her eyes welling with tears.

  "Where did you go, Jackie?"

  "I went to move the car, Mom. I told you. Remember?"

  "I thought you left me here to die."

  "That's ridiculous, Mom. I wouldn't leave you here alone. And you're not dying."

  "We're all dying, Jackie, from the day we're born. Some are just going faster than others."

  "Wow, Mom, that's pretty bleak."

  Marge shrugged and went back to staring at the floor.

  "Well, nobody's dying tonight," Jackie said, trying to sound upbeat. "Not on my watch."

  She wasn't sure Marge heard her, though. Her mother stared hard at the carpet, as if there were some stain there only she could see.

  "Mom? We need to get going, okay?"

  Nothing.

  "Remember? We're going to a quieter place?"

  Jackie went to the closet and got their luggage. The bags hadn't even been opened, and for a second she felt ridiculous, leaving a perfectly good motel room as soon as they'd checked in. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the place had been compromised.

  It took some doing with the bags hanging on her, but she got Marge to her feet and turned toward the door. Jackie swung the door open wide. The orange sunset filled the doorway and threw its glow onto the sidewalk at their feet.

  Tires screeched in the parking lot, and Jackie looked past her mother to see a blue car stop behind the El Camino and its neighboring SUV. A man in sunglasses was behind the wheel.

  El Gűero. He was looking right at her.

  Jackie's heart jolted in her chest. She grabbed for her mother, but she was too late. Marge saw the open door as an invitation, and she knew what she was supposed to do next. She walked straight out the door to the sidewalk. She might've made it into the parking lot, but Jackie lunged out the door and grabbed her arm.

  "Come back inside, Mom."

  But it was too late. The motel room door slammed shut behind them.

  El Gűero sprang from the car and hurried toward them on the sidewalk. The passenger door of the car flew open, too, and his girlfriend got out, all done up in black leather and red lipstick.

  "Hola, Jackie!" she called, waving, as if they were old friends. "It's me. Rita!"

  Jackie had no weapons, but the man wasn't much bigger than her. She got between him and Marge and dropped the suitcases, ready to put up her dukes.

  He stopped in his tracks and his mouth twitched, as if he'd almost smiled before he caught himself. He held up a finger to show her she should wait, then he unbuttoned the jacket of his light gray suit and opened it to show her the butt of a big black pistol jutting from his belt. He put the upraised finger to his lips.

  Jackie looked around the parking lot. No one to help. Dozens of motorists zooming past on the freeway, but none of them had reason to look over at the motel parking lot.

  The woman who called herself Rita joined them on the sidewalk, cutting off any chance of retreat.

  "Jackie, Jackie," she said in her accented English. "We have been looking all over for you. And here you are!"

  "Here I am. Now what?"

  "We need to talk. Let's go in our car."

  Jackie glanced at Marge, who stood stock still now, staring straight ahead at the sunset, as if unaware of the gun and the menace.

  "Not her," Jackie said. "We can leave her in the room."

  "Nonsense! We'll all go together."

  Jackie started to argue, but Rita slipped her hand into her black shoulder bag, as if going for a weapon, and Jackie clammed up. She stooped and picked up the bags.

  "You won't need those," Rita said. "Put them in your car for now."

  Jackie's heart jumped. The shotgun was in the El Camino. Maybe she'd get a chance to use it. She went to the passenger side of the car and saw the duffel through the window. So close. She dug in the pocket of her jeans for the keys, but Rita was right behind her.

  "Just put the bags in the back," she said.

  "Someone will steal 'em."

  "Don't worry about that. Worry about what's important. Worry about your poor, sick mother."

  Jackie saw that El Gűero had hold of Marge's arm. He was leading her toward the blue car. Marge was putting up no resistance.

  "Okay, okay." Jackie hefted the bags into the bed of the El Camino, then hurried to catch up to her mother. She gently took Marge's arm away from the man and helped her into the back seat of the sedan. Once Jackie shut the door, she went around to the other back door, Rita right behind her, heels clacking on the pavement.

  Jackie turned to her and made one last plea: "You don't need my mom. Can't we leave her out of it?"

  A big, fake smile in return.

  "Get in the car, Jackie."

  Chapter 49

  Rita Gutierrez turned in the passenger seat so she could watch the women in the back. The mother, who seemed to be out of her head, sat behind Rita, not moving except for one of her hands. No threat. Jackie was a different story. She was tall and muscular and angry, the kind of woman who'd put up a fight.

  Rita could hardly wait.

  El Gűero steered them onto the wide boulevard, taking advantage of a break in the traffic to zoom across the southbound lanes. They hit green lights as they passed over the concrete canyon that contained the freeway, and soon were in a residential area. Carlisle, which had been so wide a few blocks before, narrowed to two lanes, lined by modest fifty-year-old houses.

  Finally, Jackie spoke. "My mother's getting worse. She needs to sit still somewhere."

  "She's sitting somewhere now," Rita said. "Right where I want her."

  She pulled the razor from her purse and flicked ope
n the blade to show Jackie. The passing streetlights made the blade flash white.

  "Maybe," Rita said, "if you don't tell us what we want to know, I'll take it out on Mama. A cut here, a cut there. It might be good for her. Wake her up, bring her back to her senses."

  "Leave her alone."

  Rita glanced at El Gűero, but he was watching the road, letting her do the talking. She turned back to Jackie.

  "Tell us where we can find those guns, and I won't touch her. But if you think you can waste our time—"

  "I'll take you to the guns," Jackie said. "But only if we let her out first. Somewhere safe."

  Rita waved the razor in a little circle. "How 'bout I kill her now so you are not so distracted?"

  The addled woman didn't even look up at this threat.

  "You touch her and I give you nothing," Jackie said.

  Rita smiled at her. "We'll see about that. When we decide to make you talk, you will talk."

  "Maybe so," Jackie said. "Maybe I'm already dead. Maybe I deserve it because of the things I've done. But my mother didn't do anything wrong. Look at her. She's an innocent, lost in the world. There's no reason to hurt her."

  Rita studied Jackie by the light spilling into the car. Her jaw was set. A tough woman. They might need the mother for leverage.

  "I'm not saying another thing until you let her out of this car," Jackie said.

  Rita felt suddenly hot. She wanted to reach across to the back seat and slash the razor across Jackie's stubborn face.

  El Gűero must've read the change in mood because he grasped Rita's knee. When she looked over at him, he said in Spanish, "The guns are all that's important."

  Rita took a deep breath and regained her calm.

  The street abruptly dipped downhill and up again, and they were out of the residential zone, stopped at a busy intersection surrounded by stores and streetlights and restaurants and pedestrians. The sign above the red light said "Central Avenue."

  "Jesus Christ," Rita said to El Gűero. "I thought you were taking us someplace quiet."

  "I did, too," he admitted.

  The street ahead went up a steep hill, and they could see houses at the top, their windows reflecting the fading orange sunlight. El Gűero turned on his headlights.