Crushed Ice (19 page)

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Authors: Eric Pete

BOOK: Crushed Ice
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Chapter 39
There was a knock at the door. After a day at Elephant Butte then dinner in town, we had retired to our room.
“You wanna get that?” I groaned.
“No. You?” Collette mumbled from the other bed.
The knock came again. “Probably got the wrong room. They'll go away.”
“Maybe it's Daniel.”
“Why? I gave him his keys back.”
“Maybe you left something in his truck.”
I gave up stalling and shuffled to the door, tensing on the off chance someone had found us. I wasn't naïve enough to think Jason might not know how I got my name, or that I might fall back here in desperation. And that he wouldn't share this information with Penny Antnee.
“Who is it?” I yelled before placing my eye to the peephole or revealing my shadow under the door. No need risking a shotgun barrage. If no one answered, it was either a drunk or we were in trouble.
“It's Daniel,” our friend the innkeeper called out. “Sorry to disturb you.”
“Told you,” Collette mocked as she found the strength to sit up.
Only then did I check the peephole to see a waving Daniel. I cracked the door, leaving the latch in place.
“Everything okay, man?” I asked. As I spoke to him, I was looking beyond to the walkway for any additional shadows.
“Sí, sí. No problems,” he replied, smiling generously. “I wanted to know if you could help me with something tomorrow.”
“Shoot,” I commented inappropriately.
 
 
I heaved another of the heavy rocks over my shoulder. It landed near Daniel, where he placed it in the wheelbarrow. If a rattlesnake showed, I had a rusty shovel at the ready. “Go on, Truth. Help the man out,” Collette had egged, putting me in this spot.
“Why now?” I asked, grimacing at the desert sun beaming in my eyes. Daniel was a hazy shadow above me, obscured by light as he watched from ground level.
“Just because. Guests don't stay long these days. They all go to the nicer hotels and spas closer to town. Except for a few truckers, most only want to rent by the hour. It is nice having a couple like you two around here,” my elderly foreman admitted. “It made me think. Made me remember how this place used to look. Maybe fixing the pool will be a start in that direction. Get some kids and families coming. Maybe I too can be a success like your madre, Leila.”
The reverence with which he spoke of my mother gave me pause. Made me reconsider his interest as being more than carnal back in the day. Made me regret telling him she was still alive. No matter though. Her tragedy wasn't his. In trying to hurt him, perhaps I'd spared him even more. I waded barefoot into the gunk on the deep end of the pool once more, shovel in hand and wiping the sweat away with a forearm.
“I hope getting this pool open brings you better times, Daniel. I mean that,” I said, happy to be contributing to something positive.
“And thank you for doing this. I'm a proud man. It's hard to admit I can't do what I used to.”
Continuing the task of cleaning out the pool, I pushed that cynical voice aside, whispering that Daniel was probably a rich tightwad who was getting free labor in exchange for the use of his truck. As I looked up and smiled at him, he threw a bottle of Gatorade to me, which I caught and drank from before throwing it back. He placed the bottle next to my cell phone, which I didn't dare leave with Collette. Even set to vibrate, she probably would hear it.
After several more hours, I was exhausted. Daniel helped me pull myself out of the pit that might someday provide happiness and fun once again.
“You are a hard worker,” he commented. “Wish there were more like you.”
“I'm not done,” I said with grin, wishing that I were. “I gotta take a piss.”
I hadn't drunk enough to need to pee, instead simply missing Collette and wanting a break from the heat. Just a quick check-in and I'd be back to finish what I started. I left my phone and my shoes at the pool, sparing them the dirt and sweat covering me from head to toe. Although I ached in areas I didn't know existed, I found my burdens and stress lessened in others. I'd sleep good tonight, comfortably in Collette's welcome company; then tomorrow I would plot and plan anew, back on my “A” game, and woe be to those who stood in my way.
Those uplifting thoughts put a smile on my face, ushering forth a whistle as I strolled down the walkway toward our motel room.
But I stopped whistling. The smile disappeared next.
A massive black truck had pulled up hurriedly outside our room, occupying two parking spots on the usually empty lot. Its engine still ran, and from the cracked passenger window, the dark outline of a muscled dog was unmistakable as it looked in my direction. I froze dead in my tracks. Weariness didn't dull the warning horns blaring in my head.
Those horns would be loud enough to rupture eardrums when I saw the two men approaching our hotel room door. They hadn't noticed me yet, the dirty barefoot urchin that I was at the moment, certainly not what they would be looking for. But Collette was in there. There was at least one more in the truck—with the dog. He spotted me first, calling out to the others, who didn't want the attention. There was no mistaking their intentions.
They'd found us. They were here to kill us.
“Hey!” I yelled just before they tried the door to our room. With the man in the truck still yelling, they were quick to recognize me. They reached under their jackets for the obvious.
Game on
, I thought, knowing how this was going to end.
At least I would die knowing the love of another.
At Elephant Butte Lake, Collette told me she loved me.
Right after I lied to her.
Chapter 40
Foolish, I was.
Usually I had time to plan, to think, to plot, but the men taking aim at me would have none of that. They'd meant to be discreet, but had learned from their associates in Dallas. I was dangerous.
Foolish, I was, to be standing around as a bullet ripped through the window mere inches from my head. Back in Dallas, I was lucky to have the element of surprise, something I'd recklessly sacrificed just now in order to protect Collette.
As I waved my hands again, keeping their attention drawn to me, I thought about it. Perhaps that's what love was—selflessness. Or sheer stupidity, as it was an odd and awful time for my mind to lose focus. If I survived another shot attempt, I could dwell on that later. I ducked and turned to flee, feeling the spark of another bullet as it tore into the concrete at my feet.
Never breaking from my full-on sprint, I weaved my way behind every support column I could. The events of the past few days, as well as today's work, had me mentally in shambles, and my body wasn't any better. Hamstrings strained and tightened as I urged them beyond their capabilities. The safest strategy, besides not letting a bullet rip through my skull, was to head into town, losing them amongst the buildings. But with Collette being a potential target, I couldn't risk someone staying behind at the motel. I needed all of them after me. I could only hope Daniel heard the commotion and would get Collette safely out of there once I was gone.
I hooked a hard right, feeling them closing in on me. Ahead lay a built-up block wall to the rear of the motel. Beyond it lay an open expanse of desert and rocky terrain that might grant me escape, but would also make me an easy target. Rather than hauling ass for it, I suddenly stopped. Anticipating only one of them was in the lead in pursuit, I brought my arm up to deliver a hard swing across my pursuer's throat as he rounded the corner. Before he could slow down or level his handgun to aim, I clotheslined him. He went down hard, banging his head on the ground with a thunk as he left his feet. Definitely a cracked skull. Man was going to need a hospital.
The black Suburban roared through the parking lot, swiftly coming upon us. I picked up his handgun and leveled three quick shots into its windshield. It swerved suddenly, its passengers returning fire as it smacked into a parked Dodge. I wasn't trying for a stand-off; just wanted them to follow me. Taking one more shot over my shoulder, I dashed for the wall. Once I cleared it, I'd be in open space, but with a head start, as they'd have to go around in the truck. My foot bled from the rough, sharp stone barely covered by the sandy topping and loose gravel, but I ignored the pain, focusing instead on my survival.
For a short while, I deluded myself into thinking I would get away. The Suburban hadn't surfaced, and I could see the Mogollon mountain range in Gila National Forest on the horizon, using it as a guide while pressing on in my erratic pattern. I ran hunched over, using any small mounds, crevices, and brush I could to obscure my profile. I came upon an open patch where I would be completely exposed. When I stood up to sprint across, a cloud of dust caught my eye.
It was another black truck. This one was heading toward me in a sweeping pattern from the west. My pursuer must've called them in to cut me off.
I dropped flat, face in the sand, hoping they hadn't spotted me. A scorpion, disturbed from its home, scurried past my face. I held my breath until it was on its way. Free to inhale again, I brought the borrowed gun up from my side and checked it. Only two bullets were left. I adjusted my head enough to see the newest truck. As it moved along, I could see a large brother with dreads, dressed in black, hanging on the exterior, his feet on the step bar and an AK-47 in hand.
It was Loup Garou, Penny Antnee's boy, laughing maniacally as he fired random shots into the countryside. Shit. How serious were they about this thing? Again, it was as if they were two steps ahead of me. I spat out the sand that had accumulated in my mouth and slowly shifted myself around to see behind me. Another cloud of dust was visible and getting closer. I was in a pinch, unable to advance or retreat.
For what felt like an eternity, I lay in the afternoon sun, knowing that as the trucks converged, they'd eventually spot me and kill me. And if they didn't see me, there was the off chance of being run over as they patrolled through the sparse brush. I pretended I was somewhere in a nice air conditioned lounge as I baked, throat burning with each dry swallow. This shit had to end soon.
Loup Garou was close enough to hear. As he reloaded, he teased. “You might as well make it easier on yourself, little rabbit. The more bullets I waste, the more painful I'ma make it for you,” the Haitian Werewolf shouted in Creole. Now I could hear the first truck, the Suburban, as it crept into position behind me. Over the growl of its engine, I could make out a growl of another kind.
My options had become more limited. Canine jaws tearing at my throat weren't a pleasant scenario as far as I was concerned. Fuck that. I was born in T or C, but didn't want to die here.
Loup was closest to me, but not for long. Time was up.
I steeled myself for what I had to do, moving my body into position and waiting for Penny's enforcer to begin mouthing off again in frustration.
And he did.
I sprang up from my hiding spot, covered in dirt and sand, startling Loup Garou in mid-sentence. Made him hesitate at the bizarre sight rising like something from beyond the grave. That small delay allowed me to get off the first shot.
The bullet hit him somewhere, knocking him down. I didn't have the luxury of waiting to see where he'd been hit or if he was dead. I was too busy taking the final shot. The driver ducked, thinking he was next. I squeezed the trigger, ridding myself of the final bullet.
It landed exactly where I aimed, blowing out a front tire on the truck. With no use for an empty gun, I let it drop, running for dear life as I headed south. Even if he didn't recognize me from our previous encounters, it was some small satisfaction that I'd slipped away from Loup Garou a third time, however brief it might be.
As I did my best impersonation of a jackrabbit, shots rang out from the Suburban as they'd realized what was happening. They were still too far away to be accurate, but even a lucky shot would do the deed. I moved with the blind hope that there was a road south of here that led back to town.
And that I could somehow outrace a truck full of hired killers.
Chapter 41
Now like a mutha . . . an hour later.
 
 
“Amigo, do you need policía?”
“No. Thank you. They're friends of mine. We were playing a game,” I deadpanned with a wave of my hand. I was a limping lump of bruises, cuts, and dried blood as I exited the old truck into which I'd jumped to escape. If I were in better shape, I would've had him drop me down the block rather than at the hotel, but walking was a luxury I couldn't afford just yet. I savored the remaining Budweiser he'd given me once safely away from my pursuers, finishing off the can before wiping my cracked lips.
How many times can one cheat death before he flunks the test? Something to ponder later perhaps. For now, I just needed to get to the room and get Collette out of here. Even though they'd let me get away out there in the brush, they could easily have a change in orders that discretion be damned and come back blazing. Daniel saw my drop off and came rushing out his office as I gingerly shuffled by the vacancy sign.
“Madre de dios. What happened to you?” he asked. He looked over me from head to bare, swollen toe, making the sign of the cross quicker than I could blink.
“Water,” I requested, handing him the empty beer can in exchange. “Please.”
He stared, mouth agape, incredulous at how I looked. Overcoming his need for answers, he complied and ran back inside, quickly returning with not just a bottle of ice cold water, but my cell phone and shoes.
Except for the damaged Dodge on the parking lot whose owners hadn't discovered it yet, the motel seemed eerily business as usual. Like the bizarre display here had been a mirage long faded, except I was evidence of just how real it had been. I downed the bottle of water so fast that it gave me brain freeze. As I confronted the pain, Daniel asked, “Where have you been?”
“Out there,” I motioned lazily with my thumb over my shoulder. “Went for a run. Just some crazy stuff. Wait. You didn't see anything?” I asked, surprised.
“No. Sorry. I heard some gunshots, but we get that sometimes. Just coyotes bringing people over from Mexico. I waited for you by the pool and when you didn't re-turn . . . ” He shrugged, not fully grasping the severity of what had happened on his grounds. “I have your phone and your shoes. Kept them for you. Safe. Here.”
I had Daniel help me sit at the curb. No need walking any further barefooted. Collette was going to smell me regardless and . . .
“Wait, wait, wait,” I mumbled, trying to focus through the dull whirring sound in my head as I forced shoes on swollen feet. “You didn't go by the room?”
“No,” he replied. “When you didn't return, I thought . . . Well,
you two are young
. I figured you would come get me when you were ‘done,' so I returned to my office and the air conditioning,” he admitted with a sheepish grin.
I tried to stand too fast. Daniel had to assist me yet again, but I quickly pushed off to get a painful trajectory going that would take me directly across the parking lot to our room.
“Please, please. Please be there,” I pled faintly, afraid that if my fears were spoken too loudly that they would manifest as punishment for my multitude of sins. I needed Collette to greet me with that smile, to innocently chastise me for taking all day, and ask me how the pool looked. I needed her to take me in her arms, despite my current state. To cradle me and tell me it all would be okay.
A few doors down, the cleaning lady was knocking to provide room service. One more stop and she would see the bullet hole left in the vacant room's window or the shell casings scattered here and there. When the hidden signs were revealed or when my pursuers returned, all hell was going to break loose. I tried to retrieve my key, but must've lost it somewhere in the barren expanse round back.
“I have a another key,” Daniel said as he trailed me, ready to render assistance if I should fall over, but also seeking complete answers as to what happened to me.
“It's okay,” I said, trying to get him to return to the office. My act was a flimsy one as every syllable still stung, my throat burning in retaliation for my daring to communicate. As I resumed my mission, I found myself chilled to the bone despite the oppressive heat. Fresh streaks of crimson were present on the walkway outside our room. My remaining adrenaline kicking in, I limped as fast as I could, bashing the door open in frantic desperation.
“Collette!” I screamed, wincing immediately from the pain. Collette wouldn't be cradling me or chastising me for she was nowhere to be seen. In her stead was a room that had been decimated. It didn't take much of an imagination to figure out how valiantly she'd fought despite her disability. But her reward for that struggle was evident by the blood soaked comforter I'd bought for her.
So much blood.
“No! No!” I screamed, crumpling onto my knees. I clawed at my face, sobbing uncontrollably before erupting in a primal scream contained only by my strained vocal cords. Housekeeping came over to see what the commotion was about, but Daniel cursed at her in Spanish to move on. He shook me, coaxing me away from the despair threatening to engulf me all the while horrified by what he witnessed.
I'd never see Collette again. They'd taken away the only real thing that meant something to me. I knew how people like this operated. Either her body would never be found or it would conveniently surface in connection with me. It was never more evident how utterly powerless I was. No need for them to return. In spite of my miraculous escape, they'd gotten me. I was broken, tumbling in freefall as my mind fractured until Daniel shook me.
“Don't know what is going on, but you must leave now!” he commanded.
“They . . . they think I kidnapped her,” I babbled, but I was . . . trying to protect her. I . . .” I wept openly before Daniel.
“Hush. I know you didn't kidnap that woman. I wouldn't have let you stay if I thought you had,” he offered, admitting for the first time that he'd seen something about Collette's disappearance on the news. “But you must leave now and never come back. This is a small town and people talk. Especially the help.”
“She didn't deserve this,” I said, my hands trembling uncontrollably.
“Don't do this to yourself. She wouldn't want it this way. You must know that.”
More of the cleaning staff had gathered, word spreading of what was unfolding at the motel. Too many people looking at my exposed face, scoured free of all masks by the day's events.
“Thank you, Daniel,” I said for a final time, shaking his hand. I straightened up; tried to hold my head high for the onlookers that had accumulated as I morphed into another role, that of a survivor, as best I could under the circumstances.
“Adios, my friend. Try to be well. Do it for her,” he offered. “Be sure to tell your madre what I did for you today.”
“My mother's dead. Been dead,” I finally admitted as I walked away.
And now so was I.
I'd slept for days, having checked in under another of my assumed names. The bandages I'd used to cover my injuries and obscure my face were discarded. Rather than exploring Glendale, Arizona, I'd stayed in, ordering room service sparingly just to regain some strength. The body would heal, but I was wounded far beyond that. The TV had remained off as my mind drifted back and forth; torn between grand mayhem and the deliverance of suicide as I stared up at the textured ceiling.
My cell phone rang, temporarily halting my pathetic debate. I looked at the number then answered.
“Hello.”
“Hey, I got the whereabouts of that Sophia girl you were asking about,” Dom Fuentes, the parole agent from California stated. “We're straight after this, right?”
“Yeah, we're done,” I replied, an eerie calmness sweeping over me. Suicide could wait a little longer.

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