Chapter 25

McAllen International Airport

McAllen, Texas

 

Yeager rattled the ice in his Popeye’s takeout soda cup, sucking the remaining watery slush of Dr Pepper. He and Victor were sitting outside the hangar after inhaling enough calories to keep them going for the night ahead. The sun painted the western horizon a dull orange, a last flare before the day died altogether.

Monday night. Seven p.m. Thirty-seven hours to go.

Three simple steps: get the truck back, get it across the border, and trade it for Charlie and her friend. But the number of things that could go wrong was astronomical. Stealing the truck back from a bunch of Mexican outlaws would take a superhuman application of stealth and luck.

“So let’s say we get the truck out of the compound,” Yeager said, “and the money’s still on it. And it’s not shot to shit. And we’re not shot to shit. So I’m driving this thing up to the border crossing and I’m saying to the Customs guy, ‘Hey, don’t worry about the tons of money in the back. It’s just…’ What? What is it? Gas money?”

“Income tax.”

Yeager snorted.

“Hey, man, Democrats in office, you know.” Victor clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’ worry about the border. I got that covered. Customs docs for every situation. We tell ’em you’re hauling medical waste, and they won’t even come within ten feet. Speakin’ o’ that…” He stood up. “I need to file some paperwork. Customs wants twenty-four-hour notice on anything coming in, including a manifest.”

“Contents, cash. End user, kidnappers.”

“Yeah, esé. I think I’ll be a leetle more subtle than that. When you heading out?”

Yeager glanced at his watch. “Now.” He heaved up and headed for his pickup, retrieved from his house earlier that afternoon, along with all his emergency cash.

He had over six hours to make a two-hour drive, but it was better to wait there than wait here. That way, there was room in the timetable for unexpected complications.

Besides, he needed to be moving. Sitting still, he continued to brood about Charlie.

Yeager would be crossing the border clean, no weapons and no gear except for a radio, and he would then go straight for the rally point. Victor would make a hop to Brownsville, top off the tanks, then head into the Gulf toward the oil rigs. He would drop down to wave-top level, dogleg right, and enter Mexican airspace slightly north of El Barril, Tamaulipas. If everything worked out, they’d hook up around midnight, two klicks north of the target.

As Yeager climbed into the pickup, Victor asked, “Have I mentioned I hate you for this plan? Have I said that yet?”

“About twenty times, amigo.” Yeager cranked the engine of the ’73 Ford.

All 351 cubic inches roared to life, blowing blue smoke from the tailpipe. The old power steering pump squealed in protest when he cranked the wheel around. Yeager made a wide circle and aimed the truck at the open gate next to the hanger. He wheeled left onto the main road.

Headed to Mexico.

Hold on, Charlie.

Hacienda Del Norte

Northern Mexico

 

DaSilva paced the flagstone patio behind the hacienda, a demitasse of espresso in one hand and a cell phone to his ear. “The situation is under control,” he told his boss. “Obviously, the Cruz brothers have been after our shipment this entire time. Humberto attacked the bookstore where the truck was sent, and his man stole the truck. Somewhere along the route, he must have stopped and hidden the cash. I have twenty-four men here: eight on active patrol, eight in ready-reserve, and eight sleeping. I am sending ten more to collect Oscar Cruz and bring him here. Once we know where the money is, the entire force will descend on the location like locusts.”

“Ricky, I trust you like no other,” the boss said in his rich, satiny voice. He had a velvet tongue for the only man alive who could make DaSilva’s sphincter clench. “If you say it is under control, then it is under control. I will stand by until you have something more… positive to report.”

“Sí. I—”

The phone went dead. DaSilva resisted the urge to throw the little device into the brush. It would not look right to have a temper tantrum where the peons could see. Outwardly, he maintained an air of calm detachment, but on the inside… he fumed.

Maybe he would ask for a new bed-warmer for the night. And she would not get off as easily as the last.

Abandoned convenience store

East of Austin

 

They locked Charlie and Nita in the beer cooler inside the convenience store. Empty of all but some flattened cardboard boxes, dust, and cobwebs, the cooler had glass doors on one side, blocked by racks for drinks, and a large metal door at the other end. Cut wires and thumb-sized holes indicated where the refrigeration units had once been mounted.

The place stank with an old mildew smell of a refrigerator left turned off too long. Moldy cardboard, spilled beer, and a faint dead-animal reek completed the bouquet.

Their captors blocked the handles of the glass doors from the outside with some loose lumber, so even if Charlie managed to crawl through the drink racks, she’d be unable to get out. Then they did something to the metal door, locking it from the outside. Charlie knew that because she’d already tried to open it.

After they’d finished locking them in, their muffled voices came from the front of the store. Charlie nudged open a glass door as far as it could go, enabling her to hear more clearly.

“We got a good spot here,” Harlan said. “The car’s hidden in the shed, and the women are locked up. All we need do is wait it out. We can take turns guardin’ the women until it’s time for the swap.”

“And how we gonna manage this here swap, college boy?”

“Well, calm down, dawg. Don’t be gettin’ up in my grill. Like I said, that’s Stone’s problem. No need to worry. Time comes, he’ll have us a plan.”

“Fuck.” Skeeter sounded disgusted. “I’ll take first turn guardin’ the women.”

“Naw, I need you with me, homie.”

“What fer?”

“We’re short on cash, for one thing. For another, we need to get us some campin’ supplies. I figure to kill two birds with one 9-millimeter, so to speak. Find us a sporting goods store, load up on supplies and cash at the same time. You and I can take one of these Podunk stores here’n Mayberry RFD land. Right?”

Skeeter grunted. “You hear that?” His voice, loud against the door, startled her. He must have stepped up close. “You ladies have some time together in there. Be sweet, and we’ll bring you a treat!”

“I have to pee,” Charlie yelled back.

“Pee in the corner, sweetheart,” Harlan said from farther away.

“Wait!” Nita shouted. The woman had been silent for so long, Charlie had all but forgotten her. “Wait. I need to tell you something.”

“Save it, sweetie.”

“It-It’s about the money.” Nita swallowed and glanced at Charlie with what seemed like a guilty expression.

“What about the money?” Harlan asked, sounding closer.

“I lied about the money,” Nita blurted. She moved away from Charlie to stand near the door.

“What are you doing?” Charlie whispered.

Nita refused to look at her. Her eyes stayed fixed on the cooler door. “I need to talk to your boss. Let me out of here.”

After a clink of the latch, Harlan swung the door open, hinges creaking, and stepped back. “This better be good, honey, or you’re gonna wish you’d stayed locked up.”

Nita stepped toward the door. “Don’t worry.” Her voice had gained strength, sounding much more poised and confident, as if she’d flipped a switch. “What I have to tell your boss is going to make him very happy. Take me to him.”

“We’ll see who gets taken where.” Harlan pulled a cell phone from his hip pocket. “Let’s give him a call and see if he wants what you’re selling.”

Nita nodded in Charlie’s direction. “Not here. Let’s go outside for a minute.”

Harlan shrugged and gestured for her to walk out. He swung the cooler door closed behind her and relocked it. Charlie listened as their footsteps faded and another door squealed open and shut.

For two hours after that, nothing much happened. She’d tried yelling for help but realized her voice would give out long before anyone heard her. She explored her little cage, looking for a weapon or a means of escape, and found a bunch of nothing. The cardboard boxes were just that—cardboard. There was no loose metal, pipes, racks, or shelves she could fashion into a weapon. She eventually gave up and settled as far from the door as she could get, partly to keep all the available distance from anyone coming through it, but also because she’d peed near the threshold. If nothing else, they’d have to step in a pool of urine to get to her. Petty revenge, but it felt better than curling up and crying.

The cooler was stifling hot. Before long, her shirt stuck to her, and she had to keep wiping sweat from her face. And she was damned thirsty. She couldn’t stop picturing all the bottles of cold Ozarka water in her fridge at home or going to Sam’s Club and seeing cases of the stuff racked floor to ceiling. She tried to swallow, and her throat hurt.

What was Abel doing right this minute? Was he already making a suicide run to Mexico, trying to get his truck back? Somehow, she had no doubt that he would try it. Even in the short time she’d known him, she was sure of that much.

All she could do was sit there with her questions: Had David become concerned that his mom hadn’t called or come to pick him up? And what in the world was Nita up to? How did she play into all this? Would the gang of misfit morons let her loose in exchange for the truck? How long would that take?

More importantly, how long do I have before Skeeter comes?