The Contractors Read online

  I sprinted, gun in hand.

  They were waiting for me around the bend.

  Sheriff Stepanek and two men, one holding Piper’s neck in the crook of his elbow.

  I skidded to a stop, gun up.

  “Mister DEA.” The sheriff coughed, a wet, hacking sound. “Goddangit, but you brought in a heap of trouble.”

  His shirt was darker on one side. Moist.

  The two men with him appeared unhurt.

  I aimed at the sheriff. “Let her go.”

  “That old boy who’s holding her right now.” He pointed his Colt at me, wincing a little at the movement. “He’s what they call a sicario.”

  Eva had been right. And we’d left her handcuffed right by a nest of cartel shooters.

  “He killed an undercover DEA agent in Piedras Negras last week,” Stepanek said. “Cut him up into little bits, fed him to a pig.”

  The second man flanked out, moving away from the sicario holding Piper, splitting my targets.

  “I like the knife.” The sicario smiled. “Maybe I cut up you and the chica here.”

  I aimed at the man on the move, then back to the sheriff. Then back again.

  The guy on the move eased toward me, gun in hand.

  My limbs were still shaky from the trek across the ledge. Bone-crushing fatigue and adrenaline mixed in my system.

  “Shoot him, Jon.” Piper’s voice was a croak.

  “Don’t talk, chica.” The sicario struck her side with his gun, a wicked blow that made her whole body convulse. She groaned and slumped.

  I couldn’t decide who to take out with the one shot I would have. The sheriff or the closest danger, the guy moving toward me?

  Before I could make a decision, Sheriff Stepanek’s hat flew off, a strange occurrence because the instant before he hadn’t been wearing one.

  The hat landed at my feet. It wasn’t actually a piece of headgear, more like a piece of head, the top portion of his skull along with a few ounces of brain matter.

  The sheriff fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

  The guy who’d been approaching me stopped, eyes wide. He stared at the sheriff’s skull fragment on the ground.

  Through the fatigue, I took this as an opportunity and fired twice, both rounds connecting, one in the chest, the other in his face.

  He fell too, dropping his gun in a clatter on the asphalt.

  From the darkness at the end of the deserted highway, a figure emerged. Eva, carrying one of the silenced subguns from the Tahoe. She’d managed somehow to get free from her restraints.

  The sicario holding Piper moved to the other side of the road. His eyes darted back and forth between me and the new arrival, his attention split.

  “Let her go.” I aimed at his face, the only clear target.

  “Ay-yi-yi.” He smiled. “Eva está aquí.”

  Eva rattled off a string of Spanish; I caught a couple of swear words.

  “Mucho dinero, sí.” The sicario pulled Piper closer, inching her head up to the level of his, blocking the shot. “Everybody wants the rat dead.”

  A standoff.

  Neither Eva nor I spoke.

  I stepped closer.

  The sicario jammed the muzzle of his gun against Piper’s head.

  I glanced at Eva, about thirty feet away. She held the MP5 pressed against her shoulder like someone familiar with such a weapon.

  “Let her go,” I said. “Two against one. You’ll never make it.”

  The sicario looked down the road like he was expecting help.

  “Your amigos,” Eva said. “They’re not coming.”

  The sicario took a step to the left and then one to the right. He appeared nervous now.

  Eva kept the subgun to her shoulder but didn’t move.

  I eased in the opposite direction, hoping to draw out the man, make him lower his guard.

  The sicario shifted his stance, tightened the choke hold on his prisoner, gun not moving.

  Phbbt. The spit of a silenced weapon.

  The sicario screamed. He hopped away on one foot, gun coming away from Piper’s temple. His other foot appeared to be missing a few toes, blood spewing out from where they should have been.

  Eva fired twice more, both to the chest, and the man fell dead.

  Piper jumped away from his corpse, eyes wide, breathing heavily, clutching her side.

  I holstered my Glock, rushed next to her. “Are you all right?”

  She fell against me, and I eased her down, knelt beside her, holding her. She clutched my arms, taking big gulps of air.

  After a few moments, we both looked up.

  Eva stood about five feet away, aiming the MP5 at us.

  “I had a handcuff key in my pocket,” she said.

  “You carry one of those all the time?” I asked. “In addition to a stash of euros?”

  “My boyfriend is a DEA agent.” She shrugged. “There’s this game he likes, with the handcuffs.”

  “You’re married to a cartel bigwig.” I frowned. “But your boyfriend is a cop?”

  “My life is complicated. What can I say?”

  “A girl’s got to look out for herself.” Piper struggled to catch her breath. “Right?”

  “You understand.” Eva nodded. “Bueno.”

  “What’s his name?” I asked. “Your boyfriend?”

  “Always with the questions.” She tightened her grip on the gun. “I’m tired of questions.”

  Nobody spoke for a few moments.

  “What happens now?” I stood.

  “The tire is fixed on the Tahoe?” Eva asked.

  Piper hesitated, then nodded.

  “I could take the vehicle, leave you here.” Eva smiled. “No one would know for hours. Maybe days.”

  Piper grabbed my arm, pulled herself to her feet.

  “But I won’t.” Eva tossed me the submachine gun. “We should hurry.”

  I caught the weapon, slung it over my shoulder, confused. Piper hesitated for a moment before pulling her Glock from the dead sheriff’s waistband. Then, the three of us ran toward the tiny town where our vehicle was parked.

  - CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE -

  Schwarzemann Hall and our Tahoe were about a quarter mile away, down the road from where we left Sheriff Stepanek and the two cartel shooters.

  I knew this long before we got there because of the flames.

  The dance hall was engulfed. The siding gone, nothing but fire on a wooden skeleton that was the burning frame of the old structure and a blazing roof. Bad wiring, shot-up gas lines, who knows what caused it.

  We stopped about thirty yards from the hotel, at the extreme edge of the light from the fire, the town in clear view. After a few moments, it became apparent there wasn’t anybody out searching.

  All the trucks and sedans that had been parked by the hall were gone.

  Across the street, a couple of cars were in front of the hotel, and the hearse was still next to our Tahoe. A tiny figure sat on the open tailgate by the casket. Sadie, Angus’s daughter.

  “Why did you give me back the gun?” I looked at Eva.

  “What’s American expression, ‘safety in numbers’?” Eva paused. “You think this is the only town where the sicarios hide out?”

  “What about the hotel?” Piper said. “How many are in there?”

  Eva shrugged. “Don’t worry about them.”

  I ejected the magazine from the submachine gun. It was half empty, low fifteen rounds.

  “Piper, wait here.” I replaced the mag, jogged across the street, and approached the hotel.

  Nobody outside. A half dozen empty lawn chairs were on the front porch clustered around a pair of tables.

  The front door was open.

  I stepped inside, subgun pressed against my shoulder.

  A lobby with a cracked tile floor, wobbly ceiling fans. Straight ahead was a check-in counter by the stairs. Behind the counter a peg board with room keys.

  To the right was a sitting
area. Old leather couches and easy chairs around a wagon wheel coffee table and a big screen TV showing a Mexican soap opera.

  The dead bodies were there.

  Three Hispanic men wearing jeans and soccer jerseys were sprawled on the furniture and floor. A young woman lay in front of the television, arms stretched out like a crucifix. Another pair of men rested in the corner, one on top of the other.

  The volume on the TV increased suddenly, startling me. A political advertisement for US Senator Stephen McNally came on, the good senator prattling on about jobs or immigration or something in pretty passable Spanish.

  Some of the corpses had bullet wounds in the head, others in the chest. A smoldering cigarette with two inches of ash sat on the coffee table by an overturned can of Bud Light.

  A couple of the sicarios had tried to fight back. The woman, a teenager, had a nickel-plated Colt in her grasp. Another clutched a long-barreled revolver to his chest like it was a baby.

  The carnage was overpowering, hard to fathom even for someone who’d been in combat. I stared at the macabre scene for a few moments, wondered what was upstairs.

  No sound but the cackle of the senator on the television.

  I threaded my way between corpses as quietly as possible and picked up the remote from the coffee table. Clicked Mute. Wiped the device with my shirt and dropped it back where it had been. Listened.

  Nothing but the groans of an old building in the summer night.

  One of the bodies expelled some air, a soft whistle.

  I shook my head several times, tried to clear my head of the image in front of me. Then I left.

  Eva and Piper were by the back of the hearse with Sadie. The dance hall continued to burn, the flames illuminating the intersection and our little cluster of vehicles.

  “Where is your father?” Eva touched Sadie on her shoulder.

  The girl shook her head but didn’t speak.

  Piper glanced at me and then at the hotel, an eyebrow raised.

  “All of them.” I made a slash across my throat with one hand.

  Piper blinked several times, clearly trying to process what I had just told her. Then she looked at Eva Ramirez, her eyes wide.

  “Did your father come out of the building?” Eva pointed to the fire.

  Sadie stared at her, expression blank, and leaned against the casket.

  “How many?” Piper pointed to the hotel.

  I opened my mouth but didn’t say anything. I shook my head.

  Eva turned away from the girl by the casket. She looked at Piper and said, “Does it matter how many?”

  “You kil—” Piper bit her lip. “You did all of them?”

  “Do you know what they would have done to me before they killed me?” Eva asked. “What they would have done to you?”

  A tank of some kind exploded near the burning building, throwing off a huge shower of sparks and flames.

  “Do you think I want to be like this?” Eva said. “Do you think I chose this life?”

  Nobody spoke. The dance hall continued to burn.

  “We need to get out of here,” I said.

  “What about the girl?” Eva pointed to Sadie.

  “She should come with us.” I ran through the scenarios in my head. The additional complications that would come from having a fourth person on the road.

  “I’m not leaving.” Sadie shook her head. “Not without Daddy. Not with Mama here.”

  Piper got two bottles of water from the Tahoe and walked to the rear of the hearse. She handed one to Sadie.

  “When did your mother die?” She opened her bottle and took a long drink.

  Sadie cocked her head. “W-w-what?”

  “Your mother.” Piper tapped the coffin. “How long ago did she pass?”

  Sadie took a drink of water, wiped her mouth. “A month ago.”

  “And how old are you?” Piper said.

  “Nineteen. Be twenty next February.”

  “I never knew my mother,” Piper said. “So you’re pretty lucky that you had all those years with yours.”

  Sadie frowned, a confused look on her face. Then she nodded slowly.

  “What I’m saying is you might think about letting go.” Piper drained her bottle.

  Nobody spoke for a couple of moments. The fatigue settled on me like a wet coat.

  “You need to come with us.” I sat beside her on the tailgate. “We can’t leave you here.”

  The girl shook her head. “I gotta find Daddy.”

  Eva grimaced. Piper pursed her lips, went to the truck.

  A portion of the dance hall crashed inward. Sparks billowed out. Flames shot upward.

  “We’ll come back later,” I said. “And look for him then.”

  “No.” She shook her head violently. “No-no-no-no.”

  Piper returned, unfolded a map, tilted it toward the burning building for light.

  “We head south on this road.” She pointed to a thin gray line. “Skirt the border the rest of the way to Marfa.”

  “Yes, that is a good plan.” Eva nodded. “There are very few towns on that route.”

  “But we got to get out of here pronto.” Piper folded the map.

  “These towns,” I said. “Are any of them hideouts for the sicarios?”

  “Not that I know of.” Eva shrugged. “But there’s more than one cartel out there.”

  “That’s comforting.” Piper stuck the map in her pocket.

  “Sadie.” I stood up. “You really need to come with us.”

  “I’m not gonna.” She shook her head again. “Daddy’s gonna be along in a bit. I got food and stuff. I’ll be all right.”

  Piper and I looked at each other. Piper shook her head slowly.

  “Why don’t I drive for a while,” Eva said. “You two have been through enough.”

  Nobody spoke for a few moments. A jet of flame shot out from the building. Then Piper said, “Okay. I’ll ride shotgun.”

  - CHAPTER FORTY-SIX -

  Sinclair smelled it before he saw it.

  Charred wood. Burnt shingles. The unpleasant stench of a fire-damaged building.

  He rounded the corner on the narrow road and saw smoke, thin gray ribbons wafting upward in the cool dawn air.

  The building was a pile of ash-covered, blackened rubble. A power pole a few yards away remained standing. The trees surrounding the demolished structure had been burned as well. Across the road sat a stone farmhouse and an old hotel, a hearse of all things parked in front of the house.

  Sinclair pulled up next to the funeral wagon and got out, gun in hand. He’d been driving all night, running on coffee and the speed tabs he’d scored at a truck stop just outside of Dallas. His side was stiff but not especially painful.

  He walked to the rear of the hearse. The tailgate was open, a casket inside.

  The girl seemed to materialize from nowhere, appearing next to the back of the vehicle.

  Sinclair tensed, brought the gun up, then relaxed.

  She was a wisp of a thing, young, maybe the same age as one of his granddaughters, the cross-eyed one who married the Marine. Her skin was pale, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. She wore a calico dress that covered most of her flesh but still outlined the curves of her body.

  “Well now. Who might you be?” Sinclair cocked his head.

  The girl didn’t reply.

  “You from around these parts?”

  “We were supposed to bury Mama,” she said. “I didn’t want to come here.”

  Sinclair peered through the front window of the hearse but didn’t see anybody.

  “Daddy.” The girl sat down on the tailgate. “I don’t know where he is.”

  “Is that your mama in there?” Sinclair pointed to the coffin.

  “This was all Daddy’s idea.” The girl wiped tears from her eyes. “‘Unfinished business’ what he called it.”

  “You go to school on the short bus or something?”

  The girl frowned. “I don’t go to school.”

&
nbsp; Sinclair pulled out the cell phone and looked at the screen. No signal. Amazing how hooked a person could get on these things. He wanted to get in touch with Imogene to see if he was on the right track. This was the most logical road leading to the Big Bend region and Marfa. Tiny, isolated, threading its way through the mountains far from what constituted a populated area in this desolate chunk of Texas.

  But there were other roads after this, choices that could be made. If he picked the wrong path, he’d lose the scent, waste valuable time backtracking and casting about for a fresh lead.

  “Have you seen my daddy?” the girl asked.

  “Nuh-uh.” Sinclair put the phone away. “What’s your name?”

  “Sadie.” She paused. “What’s yours?”

  He told her and then pointed to the rubble. “What happened over there?”

  “I want my daddy.” She sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “But I don’t think he’s coming back.”

  Sinclair nodded slowly. If her father was anywhere in that pile of burnt crap, there was no way he was alive. He turned toward the hotel. There had to be a phone inside.

  “Are you hurt?” Sadie said.

  He stopped, looked at her.

  “Your shirt’s bloody.”

  He ignored her, walked to the hotel. His side was aching but nothing he couldn’t handle.

  The inside of the hotel made him forget all about his wound.

  Six dead Mexicans in the lobby, plus an old gringo who looked like the clerk on the second floor. Based on the color of the flesh and the number of flies, he estimated they’d died about six or eight hours before. And the phone on the check-in counter didn’t have a dial tone.

  Outside, he approached the hearse. The girl was still sitting on the tailgate.

  “Sadie.” He sat beside her. “Do you know what happened inside the hotel?”

  “The Mexican lady.” She opened a purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. “Don’t tell Daddy about this makeup.”

  Sinclair watched her smear red lipstick on her lips until she looked like a South Dallas hooker. Then he said, “What Mexican lady?”

  “The one with the gun.” Sadie produced a compact from the purse.

  “Did you see her shoot the men in the hotel?”

  “I wonder when Daddy’s gonna come back.” She powdered her cheeks.