The Territory: A Novel (25 page)

Josie had set her cell phone’s alarm clock for five in the morning to give her time to get home and shower before her morning shift. Warden Escobedo had promised to call when something broke loose at the jail, but she wasn’t sure how much longer she could wait before placing the call herself. He had said he wanted the transport ready by 8
P.M.
, another hour. She felt the heavy thump of her heart pressing against her chest.

After she and Dell finished dinner and laid out their bedrolls on cots in the lookout room, they settled back into their chairs on the observation deck to watch for movement along the Rio to the south. Josie filled Dell in on the current drama, including the threat by Medrano to blow her house up if she didn’t release the prisoners by tonight at midnight, and the probable gun connection with Red, Bloster, and the Gunners.

“It’s guys like Bloster and Red you have to keep an eye on. Any man that has to join a club to protect his house or prove his manhood is a weak imitation. I don’t need a club to keep people off my land.”

“Who do you think killed Red?” Josie asked.

“That’s just the problem. Those gun nuts get so paranoid, they think the whole world is out to get them, when in reality, ninety-nine percent of us couldn’t give a rat hole less what they do in their little meetings. In the end, usually turns out to be one of their own that punches their clock, leaving the rest of us shaking our heads.”

Dell had turned his chair to face north and was sighting down the barrel of his shotgun toward Josie’s house. He tapped her on the thigh with the gun barrel to make a point he had made a hundred times.

“A man loses his common sense, his ability to think rationally, he loses his ability to survive. And, what’s the number one rule of the desert?” he asked.

“Survival of the fittest.”

“That’s why the good guys will always have the advantage.”

THIRTEEN

Pegasus Winning stood in the stockroom in the back of Value Gas, sneaking a cigarette. She was the only employee on duty, and the store and lot were currently empty. From her vantage point, looking out the square window in the stockroom door, she had a clear shot to the front entrance. It wasn’t even eight o’clock, and she didn’t get off until two in the morning. She was bored out of her mind and had already restocked the chips, her only chore for the night, outside of running the register and locking up. Sundays were torture.

She had time to finish two cigarettes before she heard the buzz of the front door and saw her brother lope inside. He scoped out the aisles and walked the perimeter of the store, looking for either Pegasus or trouble, probably both.

“Hey,” she called, stubbing out her cigarette on the stockroom floor.

“You here by yourself?” he asked.

She nodded and walked to the front of the store to stand behind the register. He followed and threw a bag of cookies and a pack of gum on the counter. She thought he looked tense.

“I’m taking off soon. I’ll try and stop by tomorrow. Just in case, though, I wanted to let you know. Tell you to watch your back. Be safe. Remember to knock the safety off if you have to use it.” He smiled, a half grin, and chucked her on the chin. “Be careful, sis.”

She didn’t speak. She could not force the words out, so she just smiled and nodded her head at his back as he turned from her. He didn’t do good-byes, and his effort to see her now made her nervous. She usually found out he was leaving through a note or phone call after the fact. She watched his car pull out of the lot, and the loneliness felt like a thousand pinpricks through her heart.

The tears had just begun to roll when a sheriff’s deputy walked into the store. He glanced at her and then gave her a second look as if assessing the situation. She wiped her tears off with the backs of her hands and sniffed to stifle the flow. The cop walked quickly around the store, as if he wanted something specific but couldn’t find it. He didn’t bother to ask questions, and she didn’t offer to help. He finally grabbed a Mountain Dew and set it on the counter.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stared down as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. “Son of a bitch.”

“No money?” she asked.

“What a day.”

“What a life,” she said.

He shook his head and smirked as if understanding completely.

“Just take it,” she said. “Pay me back another day.”

He started to protest, but she scooted the Mountain Dew across the counter toward him. “You’re good for it, right?”

*   *   *

Hack Bloster sat in his squad car and twisted the plastic cap. He stared at the girl behind the counter through the window. He had almost refused a dollar-and-fifty-cent soft drink because it felt too much like stealing, yet he was headed to work to break four murderers out of jail in exchange for money. What had happened to him? He stared at the girl, remembering the tears running down her face when he walked into the gas station, and he wondered if it was too late to change things.

*   *   *

Warden Escobedo had called Sheriff Martínez and filled him in on the setup at his jail. Josie had been right about Martínez: he needed to know what was happening at his jail, not because of misguided interoffice courtesy, but because he could make an off-duty stop at the jail and blow the entire operation wide open. At this point, if Martínez did anything to sabotage the operation, he effectively implicated himself as well as Bloster. Martínez was instructed to remain at home and talk to no one until he received further notice. Escobedo knew the sheriff was furious at being ordered to stay away from his own jail, but he was respectful and agreed to the terms.

Two local employees, jailers Maria Santiago and Dooley Thomas, were on duty inside the jail that night. Escobedo had already briefed both of them on their roles, the confidential nature of the prisoner transfer, and the volatile, life-threatening situation they were facing that night. After talking with them, he felt confident that both would handle their roles professionally.

Escobedo was sitting in the white prisoner transport van waiting on Bloster to make contact. Escobedo had changed out of his suit and dressed in a jailer’s uniform from the federal prison in Houston. When the National Guard caravan drove past the jail and continued on another mile to Main Street, he pulled binoculars out of the glove compartment and watched a man dressed in black jeans, cowboy boots, and a denim-style shirt riding a white Harley Davidson Super Glide escort the unit around the courthouse square. Escobedo watched in amazement as the caravan of four Humvees and two covered trucks wrapped the block twice like a parade route with the man waving to the pedestrians like a grand marshal.

He hadn’t planned on the addition of the National Guard to the equation and had no idea how they would fit into the scenario, or if they were staying around the courthouse or moving in around the jail. Escobedo called Sheriff Martínez’s cell phone.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had National Guard troops arriving tonight?” Escobedo yelled.

“What are you talking about?” Martínez asked.

“It’s like a city parade around the courthouse. Some crackpot on a white Harley is leading them around the block, waving.”

“That’s Mayor Moss.”

“The streets are filling up. People are cheering on the guardsmen,” Escobedo said, reaffirming his hatred for small towns, confirming his love for Houston. “Do they not realize the guard is here to protect them from mass murder?”

“Last word I heard from the mayor was that the guard was on hold until further notice. Let me give him a call and—”

Escobedo cut him off. “You don’t call anyone. The only phone call you answer is from this cell phone. Understood?”

Escobedo noticed the hesitation before Martínez answered, “Yes, sir.”

*   *   *

Bloster parked his cruiser behind the jail as a white transport van pulled in the back lot and drove toward the prisoner transport area. All the pieces were fitting together, which did nothing to calm his nerves.

He watched the continuing parade of National Guard trucks file around the courthouse. They added yet another variable to a night full of them. He worried some of the guard members might fan out to check the area and question him about his purpose, but as a deputy, he should be in the clear.

He shut his car door and felt as if every eye in Artemis were trained on him, his hypocrisy laid bare for the world to witness. He had reached the lowest point in his life, and he imagined his deceit and dishonor glowed from his skin like radiation.

After being buzzed into the jail, he signed his name on the sign-in clipboard Maria handed him and asked how she was doing.

“Not bad,” she said. “You doing okay?”

“Not so good. I had a shift change. Wasn’t supposed to work tonight.”

“It’s no good coming in on a day off,” she said, and turned back to her paperwork.

“I got assigned the prisoners. I’ll be organizing transport later this evening. The sheriff asked if I’d take care of this. I’ll get the paperwork all filled out and get it back to you before I go.” With his nerve endings on fire, he shut his mouth, aware he was explaining too much.

“No problem. We’re down a man tonight, and I’m stuck here at the desk.” Usually cheerful and talkative, she seemed busy and preoccupied.

He looked down at the clipboard in his hand. “What’s going on with the National Guard?”

“I’m not sure. I guess the mayor organized it.”

“Are they stationed outside, or are they coming inside the jail?” he asked.

“No one told me anything,” she said.

Bloster nodded and wondered at her attitude. She was usually one of the friendliest employees at the jail. He hoped he was just being paranoid.

“Can you buzz me back? I need to check in with the guard about the transport.”

Maria buzzed him through to the center of the jail, where the inmate pods were located. As the door locked behind him, Bloster slowed his breathing and took measured steps down the short hallway. He pressed a red button on the wall, and Maria buzzed him into the day space.

Just inside the door, Dooley, the day-shift guard, sat at a desk, watching three inmates who were lounging at a metal table, watching a TV on the wall. Dooley was a giant man who barely fit into the folding chair he sat in.

Seeing Dooley at the guard desk caught Bloster by surprise. “How come they have you working night shift?”

“Sheriff called me in tonight.”

Bloster broke out into a cold sweat. He had told Maria the sheriff had also called him in, which was a lie. What if Dooley and Maria talked and decided to call the sheriff to check on the schedule mix-up? If everyone remained quiet tonight, Bloster knew he could cover his schedule with the sheriff and explain it as a mistake.

“You here to cover me for supper break?” Dooley asked.

Bloster was starting to panic. He needed time to sit down and work through his plan again. He had to check in with the transport driver first and make sure it was set up as a legitimate prisoner transfer.

“Give me ten minutes to run an errand,” Bloster said. “I’ll be right back.” He pressed the intercom. “Maria? I need back through again. Then I’ll relieve Dooley for supper break.”

The door buzzed and the lock clicked loudly. Bloster maneuvered through the series of locked doors, with each step expecting disaster.

Once outside, he felt a rush of adrenaline and a tinge of hope that he might actually accomplish the prisoner exchange without becoming one himself. He avoided eye contact with the guardsmen, now standing outside their trucks and talking in small groups in front of the jail. Bloster took the sidewalk beside the brick building to the back parking area, where the van and his own patrol car were parked.

The driver of the van wasn’t in the driver’s seat, but his head appeared after Bloster knocked on the window. The van was running and the driver lowered the window. He was a middle-aged man dressed in the uniform worn by jailers at the federal penitentiary. Bloster had never been to the jail, but he recognized the federal patch below the man’s name on his pocket.

“You here for the prisoner transport?” Bloster asked, his blood pounding like a hammer in his head.

“You got four for me to take back?”

“Yes, sir.”

The driver passed Bloster paperwork through the window, and he was shocked to see that it appeared legitimate, with signatures and times and the names of the prisoners. With the paperwork in his hand, Bloster realized he was making what would look like a legitimate transfer. He couldn’t believe the Mexicans had that kind of access to the inner workings of their prison system, but at that point, he was glad they did.

“You need help with the prisoners?” the driver asked.

Bloster said no, that he would bring them out to the loading dock on the basketball court. He had started to walk away when the driver called him back to the van.

“Let’s do this now before the prisoners are out here,” the man said. He reached down between the driver and passenger seats and picked up a briefcase, which he laid on his lap. He flipped the latch and opened the case to reveal stacks of twenty-, fifty-, and hundred-dollar bills.

“You want to count these?” the driver asked.

Bloster shook his head and attempted to keep his paranoia in check, forcing himself to face the driver and not look over his shoulder.

“You get all four prisoners in the van, I give you the case, and I’m out of here. I don’t like that convoy of National Guard sitting out front. The faster we get out of here, the better.”

“What happens to me when it’s discovered these prisoners were never received in Houston?”

“The paperwork is done. As far as your jail is concerned, the prisoners were taken as planned. These men get erased from the system, and you made a good day’s wages.”

Bloster directed the driver to pull the van to the gym entrance, where a large garage door would open via Maria in the central hub. The van entered, the door was shut again, and the basketball court was secure now for a prisoner exchange. The van turned around and backed up to the only entrance to the jail from the court while Bloster went back around the front. Maria buzzed him in, and he moved directly to the pod of prisoners again. Dooley, who was supposed to get off for supper, grumbled, but he helped Bloster handcuff the first three prisoners.