highly trained professionals.”
Bennett surveyed the troops. “What are you hopping around for?” he asked Private Foxtrot.
“Sir, got to pee, sir.”
“Down the hall.” Bennett pointed as Private Foxtrot scurried toward the bathroom, closely followed by Fire Team Leaders Alpha and Charlie. “Can I get you or your men anything?”
“I’m so hungry I could eat the butt off a low-flying duck,” Private Tango said.
“Polly, can you wrangle these boys up some sandwiches?”
“Why, I’d be delighted,” the flame-orange-haired Polly replied. “You just give me two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” The portly Aunt Polly wobbled into the kitchen on her rickety high heels, followed quickly by the sound of a plate shattering. “Crabapples! Pardon my French, gentlemen,” she called out.
“Second one today.” Bennett rubbed his head before lighting his pipe. “General, you and your men make yourselves at home.”
“Let me collect my things, and we’ll be off,” Avery said as he pounded back up the stairs toward his room, turned office, turned laboratory, turned junk bin.
“Lovely residence,” the General said as he paced around the first floor of the house. Noticing an oil painting of Stephen F. Austin hanging on the wall, he snapped to attention and saluted. Max sniffed the General’s leg before lifting his own and marking him with a quick squirt. “What the…”
“Max!” Bennett yelled before grabbing the dog by the scruff of his neck and shuffling him into the kitchen. Bennett returned with a roll of paper towels. The General patted his leggings dry. A few minutes later, the entire group crowded into the kitchen. Polly scampered to place food on the table for the group. Her rear end looked like two bobcats fighting in a flour sack as she bounced around the kitchen. The men of STRAC-BOM inhaled Polly’s sandwiches. Max made a killing off scraps that fell to the floor. Most of the militia avoided the pickles, the exception being Private Zulu, who polished off three before his head began to spin.
“These are great!” the private exclaimed before hiccupping.
“You might want to take it easy on those,” Kip whispered to the visibly swaying private, who had started on another one. “And for God’s sake, don’t blow on an open flame.”
A few minutes later, Avery and the militia ambled toward the school bus with Avery’s gear. Private Tango helped Private Zulu, who was weaving back and forth while singing a Willy Nelson song that he clearly didn’t know the lyrics to.
“Boy couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.” The General crumpled up a parking ticket stuck under the buses’ windshield wiper. “We’re not anywhere near that goldang fire hydrant.” He tossed the ticket into the gutter. “Mount up, boys — we ride!”
“We’re missing a man,” Avery said. “Need to pick him up on the way.”
“Easy enough.” The General fired up the bus. Bennett, Kip, and Polly watched the men from the front porch as they piled into the long vehicle.
“What a strange group of men,” Polly said. Bennett draped his long arm over Polly’s shoulders.
“I’ve been to two World Fairs and a Mexican donkey show, and I’ve never seen anything like it,” Bennett said.
“Do you think we’ll ever see Avery again?” Polly asked as she clung to Bennett’s arm.
“If you can guarantee it, I’ll give you fifty bucks,” deadpanned Bennett. Kip laughed. Polly slapped Bennett’s hand. Max belched and then licked himself.
It was dark, and a dog was barking down the block. But for “The Ferryman,” it always was like that. El Barquero cut the power to the house and went to work on the alarm system. It didn’t take him long. He’d done it before, many times before. The back door was deadbolted. He went to a window instead. Using one of his curved knives, he pried it open and slipped through. Inside, he surveyed the room. Modest and unpretentious, it was nothing special. That was like Cesar. Barquero had known him for years. Years ago, Cesar Beltran had been under his command in the Mexican Army’s elite Special Forces Airmobile Group. Colonel Beltran now led Barquero’s old unit. Barquero started up the stairs. He was quiet, silent as he mounted the steps.
“Freeze. Or I’ll shoot,” a confident voice called from the top of the landing.
“It’s me,” Barquero whispered.
“Who?”
“Your friend.”
“How do I know? Who are you?”
“Look,” Barquero said as he dropped his scythe. “It’s me. Cesar, you remember me, don’t you?”
“My God. What happened to you?” Cesar asked as he lowered his pistol and came down the dark stairway.
“I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Help. Cesar, I need your help.” The big man went to his knees and picked up his curved knife.
“Okay,” Cesar said as he walked cautiously past the man and toward the bar, turning on the lights on the way. “But keep quiet. Maria and the kids are asleep.” Cesar still held his pistol. He set it down and poured two glasses of mescal. “Drink, my friend.”
“To our friends, especially the ones not with us anymore.” Barquero downed the glass of warm liquid. Cesar joined him.
“You’re a goddamn ghost, back from the grave.”
“Ghost? No, but from the grave, yes.”
“What happened? The army looked for you. I looked for you!” Cesar’s voice rose.
“Quiet,” Barquero implored.
“You’re right.” Cesar looked at the staircase. “Now, what happened to you?”
“I got lost.”
“Bullshit!” Cesar yelled, and then lowered his voice. “Dogs get lost. You abandoned us. You abandoned your duty.”
“I know,” Barquero replied. His eyes were full of rage and sorrow at the same time. “I had to…”
“Had to what?”
“Leave…I had to leave.” Barquero sat down on the couch. He pulled out a silenced pistol from his jacket and placed it on an end table. “It was Rosalina. She was…”
“I know.”
“She was killed.” Barquero closed his eyes. “And the baby, too.”
“Goddammit, I know.” Cesar sat down on the couch next to his friend. He placed the bottle on the wooden coffee table. “We went to the funeral. We all did. All your men went. Why weren’t you there?”
“I don’t know,” Barquero said as he picked up his gun and lowered the hammer. “I went out to…went out to find out who did it.”
“We could have helped.”
“The army? The police? That’s bullshit, Cesar. You know that.”
“Did you find them?”
“No!”
“Quiet, please,” Cesar said as he put his finger to his mouth. “Don’t wake Maria.” Cesar scowled, then smiled. “Okay, wake Maria — she always loved you, but Jesus, not the kids.” The two men smiled, then drank. “We had orders to find you. I still have orders to find you. There are consequences for deserters.” Cesar set his glass down. “You don’t just leave the army.”
“You can if the money is right.” Barquero set his glass down also. Cesar refilled them both.
“So you left for the money?”
“I didn’t know what to do. Rosalina…”
“You’re a criminal now.”
“I’m worse than a criminal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve done some bad things. Bad things…worked for some bad people.”
“So what the hell do you want me to do for you? Feel sorry for you? You quit. You left. You knew what we
