The Adventures of Slim & Howdy (24 page)

59

AS HOWDY APPROACHED THE FAR END OF THE TUNNEL, A
sudden metal banging noise made him jump and cock his pistol. A second later when something dropped from out of nowhere, landing a few feet in front of him, Howdy nearly shot it before realizing it was an aluminum ladder and Roy was up above, lowering it down to him.

As Howdy climbed to the surface and dusted himself off, Roy told him that Slim had Jodie and they were on their way.

“I told you I had a good feelin’ about this,” Howdy said.

“That you did,” Roy said. “But we ain’t done yet.” He kicked at the fresh pile of dirt next to the mine shaft. “We need to get after the one what dug this hole and double-crossed his buddy back at the shack.” Roy squatted on his haunches, looking at something dark in the dirt. “Blood,” he said. “Whoever he is, got a hole in him.”

Howdy followed the footprints and the blood. They led a few feet away, just where the tracks from a four-wheel ATV started. Howdy got his binoculars to see if he could spot the wounded man. It took a moment to locate the ATV scurrying through the miles of scrub. Then he pointed and said, “There he is. Looks like he’s heading for those rocks.” He turned to Roy and said, “Whaddya wanna do?”

Roy pointed a gnarled finger toward the fugitive and said, “I wanna get that sumbitch.” He turned and looked the other way. “But I gotta see Jodie first.”

Howdy put the binoculars to his eyes, following the kidnapper. “The longer we wait, the harder it’ll be.”

Roy knew it was true. He looked back and forth like a nervous bird. “Let’s give ’em a minute. Slim said they’d be here quick.” Roy looked around again, but this time in a different direction. A strange looked settled on his face.

Howdy said, “What is it?”

Roy squinted, gazing at the horizon, said, “We ain’t being followed anymore.”

60

“THEY’RE WAITIN’ ON US,” SLIM SAID AS HE SLIPPED THE
radio back into the saddlebag. “You ready?”

Jodie walked over with Chulo, handed the reins to Slim. “Give me a second,” she said, slinging her holster over her shoulder. “Have to visit the powder room.” She smiled and headed for the shack. “Back in a flash.”

Slim walked the horses a respectable distance away to give Jodie some privacy. But in doing so he made himself a better target for those lurking in the crevices of the outcropping fifty yards to the east.

As soon as the man in the rocks had a clean look, he fired.

The first shot caught Slim in the shoulder. The second one missed. The report of the gun followed by Slim’s string of obscenities spooked the horses, but he managed to keep control as they reared and bucked and danced in dangerous half circles.

Jodie jumped when she heard the commotion, but managed not to tumble over sideways. She yelled, “Slim! You all right?” She came racing outside, buckling her holster in a hurry.

Slim was running toward her, blood on his shirt, leading the horses. “C’mon!” Another bullet whizzed by his ear. Slim ducked as he pointed at a boulder not too far away. “Over there!” Just before diving for cover, he slapped the horses’ rumps, sending them out of the line of fire. Slim and Jodie landed in a heap behind the big rock.

When they gathered themselves and caught their breath, Jodie gestured at her shoulder, while looking at Slim’s and said, “What happened?”

“A shot came from those rocks,” Slim said. “Grazed me.”

“Let me look.” She already had his shirt unbuttoned and pulled open. “It’s a pretty good gash,” she said. “You have any first-aid stuff?”

“Yeah.” Slim gestured off in the direction of the horses. “In the saddlebag.”

“Naturally.”

A couple of shots ricocheted off the rock.

“I think we’re safe here,” he said.

“We’re also trapped,” Jodie replied as she loaded her pistol. “We can’t go either way without giving them a shot.” She peeked around the rock but couldn’t see anything useful. “Who the hell’s shooting at us, anyway?”

“They didn’t say.”

Then a man shouted, “Throw out the money!”

He sounded Mexican and suddenly Slim was thinking of
Los Zetas
and the heads rolling across the dance floor.

Jodie nudged Slim. “What money?”

“The ransom,” he said.

“Ohhh.” Jodie had been so focused on trying to figure out where she was, how she might escape, and why she had quilted toilet paper, that she hadn’t thought much about the possibility she was being held for money. Hoping it wasn’t tacky, she said, “How much?”

Slim raised up and fired a few shots in the direction of the bad guys. Then he said, “How much what?”

“What was the asking price?”

“Oh, a hundred fifty,” Slim said.

“What?” Never been so insulted in her entire life. “A hundred fifty bucks?” She couldn’t believe it.

“A hundred fifty
thousand,
” Slim said.

“Oh. That’s more like it.”

A few more shots whistled over their heads.

Slim and Jodie looked at one another and nodded. They popped up and squeezed off a half-dozen rounds, just to let the bad guys know they could. Ducking back behind the boulder, Jodie mimed using the radio as she said, “I think we better call Uncle Roy and Howdy. See if they can help us out.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Slim gestured at the horses again. “We can get the radio when we’re grabbing the first aid.”

“Ahh.”

The man yelled again, “I said throw out the money!”

“We don’t have the money,” Slim yelled. “I left it in the other shack, as instructed.”

61

THE MAN YELLING AT SLIM WAS THE BARTENDER FROM
¡Camaron Que Baila!
Went by the name of Ignacio. Nice enough guy, but with a weakness for large breasts, like many good men, especially after a few drinks.

Ignacio had been trying to get his hands on Carmelita’s fun bags for quite some time. So, when she came to him asking for help on this deal, promising whatever he wanted in return, well, he fell for it, like many good men, especially after a few drinks.

On the other hand, when he was sober, as he was now, Ignacio was more practical, a man who took a dim view of screwups, especially when he was on the humiliating end of them. He turned slowly, fixed Carmelita with disquieting eyes, and said, “The
other
shack?” He looked to the sky and muttered something along the lines of “
Vos puta pendeja.
”

Carmelita, proud and somewhat short-tempered, slapped Ignacio but good and launched into a vigorous and lengthy attack on his manhood accompanied by a finger poking his chest. It was a verbal onslaught so withering it made Ignacio wonder what he’d ever seen in her and why was he was out in the middle of the desert shooting at strangers who, apparently, had no money.

The answer was simple enough. Five days ago, toward the end of happy hour at
¡Camaron Que Baila!
the Big Goon had told Carmelita the entire plan. However, owing to the fact that he was spectacularly drunk and that his Spanish was as rudimentary as her English, several crucial details about the money-for-hostage exchange were miscommunicated. Which explained why Carmelita and Ignacio had followed Slim from the ransom shack to where they were now.

Carmelita couldn’t believe how this whole thing was shaking out. Story of her damn life. First the Big Gringo tells her to follow the guy to the wrong shack, and now, when she’s really in need of a little help, Ignacio shows
his
true colors.

Men,
she thought.
Screw ’em all!
Though she probably cast these thoughts in a colorful Spanish idiom.

Carmelita had had it up to here being treated as nothing more than a set of big chi-chis that delivered drinks. This deal was her ticket out and she’d be damned if she was going to leave empty-handed.

She snatched the gun from Ignacio and reloaded, figuring the next best thing to having the ransom money was having the thing to trade for it. She cupped a hand to her mouth and yelled, “We’ll take the
señora!
Send her over!” She fired a shot over their heads like an upside down exclamation mark.

Jodie couldn’t believe it. She said, “What is this, a game of Red Rover?” She turned and yelled, “You come and get it!” Then she fired a couple of shots in their direction.

Carmelita made an obscene gesture and shouted, “
¡Vete a la chingada, puta baracha!
I will count to three.
Uno
. . .
Dos
. . .”

At about
dos
and a half something landed on Carmelita’s cowboy hat—one of those straw jobs with the rim curled up taco style—knocking it to the ground. The thing wasn’t small either, whatever it was, but it disappeared after the hat landed. It was a weird moment.

Carmelita and Ignacio lifted their eyes slowly, looking at the rocks above them. They saw nothing.

Until a moment later, when Carmelita picked up her hat.

And they both jumped.

It was a western diamondback rattlesnake, thick and angry. Ten buttons rattling as he coiled. Agitated and ready to strike.

Invoking the names of various saints, Carmelita and Ignacio backed away as far and as fast as they could, but they were trapped in their confined space, still within striking distance of the big snake. Like most people, Carmelita and Ignacio had an abiding fear of deadly reptiles so, a moment later, when two big black-tailed rattlesnakes came raining down from above, crowding and further agitating the diamondback, Carmelita and Ignacio lapsed into a black panic. They pressed themselves to the rock and tried to climb, but it was useless. Ignacio slipped and screamed like a schoolgirl when one of the black-tails struck his boot.

The fangs and the white inside the mouth was too much for Carmelita. She was pie-eyed and hyperventilating when she opened fire, cursing and praying and weeping as she squeezed off one wild shot after another, eventually wounding Ignacio in the foot, leading him to say, “
¡Hijo de la gran puta! ¡No sirves para nada! ¡Hijo de mil putas!
” All while hopping on his other foot.

Slim and Jodie had to look. Had to see what all the shouting and shooting was about, since it no longer seemed to be about them. What they saw was a heavy-breasted woman in a straw cowboy hat high-stepping into the scrub followed by a man who was cursing and limping as fast as he could. “
¡Eres el imbecil mas grande en el mundo!
”

They appeared to be heading for a Jeep parked a quarter mile away.

Carmelita turned suddenly to fire toward Slim and Jodie, out of frustration more than anything. As she paused to take aim, the cactus paddle next to her exploded. Twice. Two shots, large caliber, an inch apart. Carmelita stared at the holes, then turned toward the outcropping.

At the top, a man with rifle and good aim. Still aiming in fact.

Carmelita yelled, “
¡Afeminado! ¡Chupaverga!
” Then she turned and headed for her Jeep.

Jodie and Slim fired several more shots over their heads, as if to say, “
Adios, malparidas.
”

As the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust, heading for Piedras Negras, Slim and Jodie stepped out from behind the bolder to look for their benefactor. “There he is,” Slim said, pointing at the top of the outcropping.

Jodie shaded her eyes and said, “Kind of a pudgy guy? Waving a bandaged hand?”

“Yeah,” Slim said. “That’s him.”

“Ohmigod.” Jodie squinted and said, “Is that Jake?”

“Hey, baby!” He waved his big gauzy paw.

Slim smirked and said, “Isn’t that your first husband? The one you didn’t tell anybody about?”

She said,
“¿Vas a callate?”

So he shut up.

While Jake climbed down from his perch and recaptured his snakes, Slim got the horses and let Jodie patch his wound. Then they called Roy, found out where to meet up.

Later, when Jake came back with his horse, Jodie asked what he was doing out here.

“After I heard you’d been snatched, I got worried about you,” Jake said. “So I started following your boys. When I saw ’em heading into the desert, I figured I might be of some help. Plus I needed some new inventory.” He held up his sack. “Came in handy too.”

“Well, thanks,” Jodie said, thinking he really needed to lose a few pounds. “You saved our bacon.”

“Yeah,” Slim said. “Owe you one.”

They swung up on their horses and headed in Roy’s direction. Jodie rode up alongside of Jake, asking about the bulky bandage. “What happened? You get bit?”

Jake held up the four-fingered hand with great pride. “What happened is I saved about ten . . . thousand . . . dollars.” He nodded like he understood how she might find it hard to believe how smart he was. “See, they sell these do-it-yourself kits on the Internet . . .”

62

GRADY COULDN’T DRIVE THE ATV TO SAVE HIS LIFE. WHICH
is to say that even if there was a hospital within fifty miles, he’d never make it there. Wasn’t his fault, though. The rough terrain was crowded with sharp and jagged plants, and dodging them only sent you into ruts, rocks, and treacherous sandy pits.

Grady’s legs were scratched to hell and he’d almost tipped over twice already. He was weak and woozy from blood loss and losing control of his muscles.

Why’d the big son of a bitch have to go and shoot him?

Grady was light-headed and thirsty. His mouth had gone to cotton and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Pulse was up, blood pressure was down. A bad combo. His skin was soft and clammy.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He hadn’t prepared for this. Not for being shot.

He knew someone was after him, too, saw the horses in the distance. Apparently the threat of
Los Zetas
wasn’t enough. Now, Grady figured if he didn’t die in the desert from his wounds, he’d be going to prison for a long, unpleasant time. He couldn’t decide which fate was worse.

Ow! Ow! Now he had bugs in his teeth. Big ones too. Bitter and caustic on his gums. Stinging, like the dust in his eyes. Some sort of Mexican blister beetle that left him spitting and puckered and wondering how and why everything had gone so terribly wrong.

Not just now, but in his entire life.

But there was no point thinking about that, was there? Not now. The fates had it in for Grady Hobbs. They were bound and determined to crush him under their boot heels. Been that way all his life. Wasn’t fair. Never had been. No point acting surprised.

But what was worse—the thing that really chapped his ass—was that the people most responsible for Grady being in this circumstance would never be held accountable.

Like Mr. Noxby. That’s who came to mind first. High school chemistry. Gave him the D that killed his GPA and any chance he had to get into a decent college, which in turn would have given him a shot at Ivy League law schools, and a big career.

I mean, who the hell cares about the atomic weight of cesium? In all of Grady’s years in the real world, in courts of law, that tidbit of information had proved to be important exactly zero times.

But that D
was
important. It was the first nail in the coffin that would bear Grady’s career to the grave. It was the first thing that led to the next thing that made the third thing happen and so on. Hell, Grady Hobbs’s legal career was dead on arrival after the damn D. No Harvard or Yale for Grady Hobbs. No, sir, not after that.

But would Mr. Noxby suffer any consequences? Don’t ask. Hurts just to think about it. Or maybe that was the bullet wound.

Grady was growing weaker. It was getting harder to control the ATV. But he knew he had to hang on, tough it out. It was his only hope. Just get somewhere he could hide, rest, get his strength back. Delusional thinking at its best.

Grady had squeaked into the lowest-ranked law school in the nation, where he graduated in the bottom ten percent of his class. Took three tries to pass the bar, and that was
with
cheating. So he was doomed right out of the gate. His résumé wouldn’t get him past the receptionist at a second-rate law firm.

Which explained why Grady Hobbs was in Del Rio, Texas, handing out foam-rubber cervical collars.

And Grady blamed Mr. Lloyd Noxby. Not the gambling.

It couldn’t have been the gambling that brought him here. This was just a rough patch Grady was going through, that’s all. Everybody had ’em. A few early-season college losses. Some unforeseen injuries, a couple of bad calls. Hell, things had gone the other way, Grady would be in tall cotton right now and Jodie would be at work, ordering kegs of beer. But, as it was, Grady was rubbing up against a thirty-thousand-dollar debt and the vig it rode in on.

Grady placed his bets out at the Truck ’n’ Go Quicky Stop. Del Rio’s one-stop shopping spot for all your vices. He bet football, basketball, and baseball. College and pro. Insisted he didn’t have a problem. Insisted what he had was a system. Usually a winner, too. But sometimes it turned on him.

And when it did, he was screwed. He didn’t have the money and he knew what happened if he didn’t pay. So he embezzled funds from a client account to settle the gambling debt. Of course then he had to find a way to get the money back into the client account before he got caught and disbarred.

The swoop-and-stop scams brought in decent money, but in a town of just thirty thousand he couldn’t run enough of them to solve his problems, not without calling attention to himself. Last thing he needed.

Then he had the idea. The ransom would repay the client account and put Grady a little ahead. It was a beautiful plan, elegant, verging on the poetic. Grady would be getting his own money back from the man who took it in the first place.

But then the Big Goon had to go and shoot him. Spoiled everything.

Grady’s vision was going snowy, which explained why he didn’t see the rock. When he hit it, the ATV went airborne and sent Grady flying. He was lucky to land on hard-packed dirt instead of a prickly pear. It knocked his breath out, and some more blood too.

The man on horseback was getting closer, could see him in the distance.

Grady struggled over to where the ATV landed, upside down. He was too weak to flip it upright. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway, it was busted.

He managed to pull the saddlebag from underneath, then he struck out on foot. For where, he had no idea.