The Lawless Kind (30 page)

Marshall chewed his bottom lip as he approached. He was caught briefly in the chopper searchlights and his glass eye twinkled like a star in its death throes.

‘Is that what you’re looking for now?’ Marshall said. ‘If it was my decision to fight you, then I’d oblige. I wouldn’t mind going hand to hand with you; always thought I could take you, Joe.’

‘It looks as if we’ll never know. What happens now? You hand me over to Molina then walk away counting your blood money?’

‘Yeah, that pretty much sums it up, Joe.’

The helicopter had moved away, but only so the pilot could find a place free of wreckage to set down. Ignoring Marshall’s gun I watched as Molina stepped down from the open door. He was wearing a steel-grey suit, black shirt, grey tie and buffed shoes. His hair was coiffed and oiled. Looked like he was on his way to a business meeting. Only the machete he gripped said otherwise.

A moment behind him came Howell Regis. He was cradling the machine-gun across his middle, looking mighty pleased with himself for capturing me. Watching them approach, I wasn’t sure which of them I wanted to kill first.

Except it appeared I was going to precede them both to the grave. Molina came at me, and with each step the machete rose a few inches higher. It was the end of the road for me, but I wasn’t going out without a fight. If I could cause enough confusion, then Rink could slip away. I hoped my friend would find it in his power to avenge me.

I advanced to meet Molina, opening my arms to invite a wild slash at my neck. Come on, I challenged with my stare, try and take my head. I was so focused on him that I missed Marshall as he lifted the stock of his rifle and slammed it against the back of my skull.

Chapter 37

The river foamed wildly, a dull roar that had faded to white noise inside Walter’s head. He paid the river sounds no heed, and had zoned out from the background noises of windblown trees, birdcalls and splashing of jumping fish. He listened for only one thing: the trill of a phone.

He had two distinct ringtones programmed into the cell phones he held. Both were old-time numbers by Elvis Presley, the first a cover of ‘Since I Met You Baby’, originally performed by rhythm-and-blues pianist Ivory Joe Hunter, and a bit of an in-joke at the younger Joe’s expense. The second was a track from the movie
King Creole
, and aptly titled ‘Trouble’ considering the identity of the man on the other end of that phone.

Walter waited. The gentle strains of the first track would mean that his granddaughter and her son were safe, the more bluesy intro that she was only partly in the clear, but that Hunter’s job would have been made slightly easier.

He continued to wait.

A man called out from up at the fishing lodge, one of Walter’s bodyguards checking on him. Without replying, Walter merely waved an arm, indicating the man should go back inside. A second enquiry didn’t follow and Walter trusted the man had obeyed.

The swish of water over rocks became a singular buzz that no longer had definition or clarity, and Walter was lulled into a trance-like state as he sat on the damp rocks, his heels locked so he didn’t slide from his perch into the river below.

He didn’t know how long he’d waited. He was loath to check the time, for counting the seconds would make the wait all the more interminable. He merely sat, a phone in each sweaty palm, urging either to ring by bobbing each cell up and down in turn. Anyone watching him would think he was crazy, but Walter could care less.

When the horn section intro kicked in Walter almost dropped the cell in his hurry to answer.

He offered no preamble; no enquiries concerning the good health of the caller or anything else trivial, but went direct to the point.

‘Is it done?’

‘It’s done.’

Walter breathed out, long and loud.

‘Well?’

‘You have my gratitude,’ Walter said.

‘Good enough. But there’s also another matter. You owe me, right?’

‘Tell me you didn’t enjoy the task you were set.’

‘I enjoyed it. In fact, it felt real good to get back in the saddle again. But that’s beside the point.’

‘I’m a man of my word. I’ll speak to my superiors on your behalf, have you reinstated.’

‘Thanks. Since I was made to look a fool, it has been a little difficult to reassert my position. I’ve been stuck in goddamn limbo for the best part of a year.’

‘You’re back now. You’ve proved your abilities and I’ll recommend that you are returned to full field duties with immediate effect, plus recompense for what you’ve lost through being sidelined.’

Now it was the caller’s turn to sigh.

‘Who’d have thought that by assisting the very man responsible for ruining my career, justice would be done?’

‘Yes.’ Walter considered how the caller would take his next words, but chose to say them anyway. ‘You owe Joe Hunter.’

‘Yeah. I owe him.’ No clarification of the statement was offered, but it was loaded enough to send a shiver of unease through Walter.

Walter was almost done talking; he had another call to make. Yet he preferred to know the details that would ensure the man he was about to call would pay attention.

‘How did you do it?’

‘Garrotte. What else? Would be a shame to waste the opportunity this time. Never did get the chance to take off anyone’s head last time I played Vince Everett.’

Chapter 38

‘No, no, no, no . . . this can’t be happening now!’

Kirstie Long buried her face against her son’s chest, as if by breathing in his scent, feeling the beat of his heart against her cheek, she’d never be forced to let him go again. The very real possibility that he would be taken from her made her cry, but they were cold tears of rage. After everything that they had gone through, what the men assisting her had done on their behalf, she would die before willingly handing Benjamin over to his father. But she could not allow her child to be harmed.

They were at stalemate.

Harvey Lucas, McTeer, Velasquez, all of them were willing to sell their lives to give Kirstie and Benjamin a chance at survival, but should they fight, they would invite a storm of bullets to shred the car, and those bullets would be indiscriminate about whose flesh they tore apart.

The men and women surrounding the car were prepared to dispense death at a heartbeat, but they understood the consequences of harming Jorge Molina’s boy. They held their fire, but there was no allowance for Velasquez to steer the car out of the cordon that surrounded them.

Everything had gone reasonably well since Benjamin’s impromptu escape and recovery up in the hills, and they’d made progress, both in miles to the border and in Kirstie reassuring the boy that he was safe and loved. Perhaps as fatigue began to set in, as the border crossing came into their sights, they had made the mistake of relaxing their guard and had allowed themselves to drive directly into a trap. Recrimination would have to wait. It was no one’s fault that they had been surrounded, or that they had not recognised the ambush for what it was until the vehicle in front had slammed on its brakes, forcing Velasquez to take avoidance tactics, only to be rammed by another vehicle that had lain in wait on a cross street. A utility van had driven into the rear fender of their car, pinning them between the three ambush vehicles and a row of steel bollards set into the edge of the sidewalk.

Harvey was cursing himself for missing the vehicles closing in on them. Had they been out in the empty tracts they’d easily have recognised what was coming, but here in Agua Prieta it was edging towards dawn and already numbers of cars were about, people heading off to work, or making an early start across the border.

‘What are we gonna do, Harve?’ Unofficially Harvey had taken on the mantle of leader, and McTeer, a man capable of making his own decisions in a pinch, still deferred to his better judgement.

‘We have to think of the boy.’

All three adults knew that, but they shared nods of acknowledgement at Harvey’s wisdom.

Benjamin, wide-eyed with alarm at the sudden screech of brakes and dull collisions, had other ideas. ‘Mommy, I don’t want to go home.’

Kirstie wasn’t sure if the boy meant her home or the one from which he’d recently been snatched.

‘I won’t let anyone hurt you, Benjamin,’ she promised, holding him closer.

Velasquez had turned off the engine. There was no means of forcing a way out of the crush of vehicles. Instead of holding the wheel, he took out his gun.

McTeer reached across, pushing down his friend’s forearm. ‘Keep that outta sight, buddy. They see you lift a gun, they might get itchy fingers.’

‘They won’t shoot,’ Harvey said. ‘They want the boy alive.’

‘They’re not getting him,’ Kirstie said, raising her head to bare her teeth, a lioness protecting its cub.

Fighters were surrounding the car now, waving guns, challenging the occupants, yelling at them to throw out their weapons.

‘There’s not much else we can do,’ Harvey said, his voice ragged with pain. ‘It’s the only way we can save him.’

‘I’m not giving him back,’ Kirstie yelled. Her challenge was as much to her companions as to those outside.

Harvey said, ‘If we refuse, we’ll all die, Kirstie. Then there won’t be another opportunity to get Benjamin back from them.’

‘You’re saying I should hand him over on the off chance we’ll be allowed near him again? They’ll take him away and that’ll be the end of it.’

‘We have more chance alive than dead.’

‘They’ll kill us the second we hand the boy over,’ Velasquez put in. ‘I say we put a gun to his head and use him as a hostage while we walk out of here.’

‘What?’ Kirstie looked ready to rake the eyes from Velasquez’s head.

‘I don’t mean that we’d really threaten him. It’d just be an act,’ Velasquez said. ‘Until we could get out of here.’

‘No! No way. What if they decide to shoot anyway?’

‘They’re gonna shoot sooner or later,’ McTeer said.

‘Kirstie. Please. Trust me, OK?’

Kirstie snatched a look at Harvey’s pleading face, then at each of the other men. They were pale with despair and she understood that was a rare emotion for them.

‘Oh, God . . .’ Kirstie lifted her son so she could meet his gaze. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, baby.’

Benjamin’s bottom lip trembled, but for the first time he looked trustingly at his mother. Kirstie’s heart swelled with joy, but not for long.

A sharp crack introduced the next warning from outside. One of Molina’s footsoldiers jabbed the muzzle of his gun against the passenger window, close to McTeer’s skull. His words were in Spanish, but he was clearly demanding that they come out of the car. As he did so, the car jamming the doors inched away a few feet, allowing a man and woman to move in, both holding handguns. They pointed them threateningly through the windows at Kirstie and Harvey, then the woman pulled open the door.

In English, the woman said, ‘Get out, and don’t try anything stupid.’

‘Go to hell,’ Kirstie spat.

The woman contorted her face in a snarl that turned her pretty features ugly. With her free hand she reached in and grabbed Kirstie by the hair. She dragged her from the back seat, and Kirstie still was not ready to give up her son. Benjamin screamed as she attempted to push him back inside into Harvey’s arms. However, Harvey was already on his way out, waving his hands, begging for leniency. The woman snatched Benjamin, and Kirstie went for her. The man with the handgun slapped its butt hard against the back of Kirstie’s head and she sank to her knees.

‘Son of a bitch!’ Harvey struck at the man, but he was careful to do so with his open hands, merely pushing the man away. Others of Molina’s gang moved in, noisy and threatening. ‘Take it easy, goddamnit! There’s no need for violence, you’ve got the boy.’

Velasquez had also slipped from behind the steering wheel. He made a show of throwing down his pistol. He was the best placed to communicate with the gang in their own language. No one wanted to hear what he had to say though. Two gunmen grabbed his arms while another kicked him hard between his legs. Velasquez slumped down in the grasp of his captors.

McTeer came out of the car bellowing, his deep voice echoing off the buildings that hemmed them in on two sides. Harvey also was engaged in loud debate, but it was getting them nowhere. Others moved on Harvey and McTeer, frisking them for concealed weapons, some of them rough-handed, slapping and punching them into submission.