The Padre pulled the camouflage netting off the Jeep hidden by the exit to the tunnel from the barn. Climbing inside, he searched his keychain for the right key.
“Goddammit! Which one is it?”
“Padre, wait for me,” Carnicero called out as he climbed out of the tunnel, still carrying the ground-to-air missile launcher.
“Hurry up,” the Padre said as he found the right key. The Jeep’s engine struggled to turn over as Carnicero climbed into the back. The Padre tried it again. Just then, a large-caliber bullet tore into the passenger-side seat. From above, blinding light and a loud, whining roar erupted. Carnicero quickly tossed his rifle from off his shoulder. It flipped out of the back of the Jeep. Carnicero lifted the rocket launcher to his shoulder and targeted the small gunship in his target receptacle. Another sniper round impacted just behind the Jeep. Carnicero released the safety and fired. His vision went blind as the light from the missile’s propellant exploded with white light. The projectile streaked into the dark night. A second later, an explosion from above rocked the Jeep. Shards of burning metal rained out of the sky as the helicopter crashed to the ground. Carnicero’s vision slowly began to come back as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
“Hang on,” the Padre said as he finally was able to get the engine to turn over. He put the Jeep in gear. In the back, Carnicero’s vision was finally coming into focus just as the Padre stepped on the gas. The first clear thing Carnicero saw were the fiery eyes of Barquero as the bare-chested, muscled behemoth of a man pulled him from the back of the vehicle.
Cesar’s commandos rounded up General X-Ray and his men. He led them to the courtyard and had them sit on the ground with their hands bound as he tried to sort out what was going on. From inside the farmhouse, more of Cesar’s men brought out the handcuffed dinner party guests and associates who had weathered the chaos from inside the safe room. A few minutes later, Esmeralda, El Coyote, Private Zulu, and Avery were escorted out. Avery had a laptop computer under his arm. Avery looked at the shell-shocked group sitting on the ground.
“Where’s Ziggy?”
Barquero pulled Carnicero from the back of the Jeep as it pulled away and threw him to the ground. Red light illuminated the area as the Padre stepped on the brakes and stopped the vehicle. He turned to look back.
“Padre… don’t leave me,” Carnicero begged as he lay on the ground. The Padre looked at his adopted son and then at Barquero, then back at “The Butcher.”
“I’m sorry, my son.” The Padre sped off into the darkness, leaving the two men behind.
“Don’t leave me!” Carnicero looked around him. Barquero was gone.
A voice came from the pitch-black night. “It’s your time.”
“Where are you?”
“Where I’ve always been. Right where you can’t see me. I’m invisible, Carnicero.”
“No!” Carnicero said as he spun around in the darkness. “No!”
“I’m right here.”
“Okay… okay.” Carnicero picked up his rifle and fired a long burst into the night. In the muzzle flash, he thought he saw something move.
“Try again, Carnicero.”
Another long burst from the longhaired man followed. Then silence. Complete silence. The beating of Carnicero’s heart pounded in his ears. The veins in his temple pounded to the point of pain as he searched the blackness for Barquero. Carnicero took a deep breath. He tried to focus. He tried to stay calm.
“You do know, I didn’t want to kill your woman…it was the Padre…not me.”
A voice came from behind him. “It was you.”
Carnicero spun, dropped to his knee, and fired his AK-47. Two rounds flew into the desert, and then the bolt locked open. He tossed the empty weapon to the ground.
“She wasn’t my woman,” a raspy voice growled. “She was my wife! And you didn’t kill just her.”
“I swea…I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Carnicero turned to look behind him. He didn’t see anything. Carnicero calmed himself as he slowly turned in a circle in the dark. “Barquero. Ferryman. Please, we are brothers…brothers,” he pleaded as he turned around again. “The Padre…the Padre…he can work this out. I promise you, we can make this right.”
“Don’t worry — I’ll make this right with him, too.” From behind, Barquero grabbed Carnicero’s long hair in a ponytail and pulled him down to his knees. Barquero placed his powerful hands around Carnicero’s neck and began to squeeze. Carnicero punched his fist straight down on the instep of Barquero’s bare foot as hard as he could. For a second, Barquero’s grip loosened, and the longhaired man spun out of his grasp. As he climbed to his feet, a straight kick from Barquero caught him squarely in the solar plexus. The force of the kick drove Carnicero staggering backward. Barquero picked up the discarded AK-47 by the barrel and swung it in a wide arc. The butt of the weapon smashed into the side of Carnicero’s head, dropping him to the ground. Blood gushed from the ragged gash in his scalp. Barquero dropped the rifle and slowly approached his fallen opponent. Carnicero rolled over on his back, moaning. A dull flame seemed to glow in Barquero’s eyes as he stood directly over the bleeding man. Placing his foot on one of Carnicero’s hands, he pinned it to the hard ground. With his other foot, he stepped on Carnicero’s neck. With all of his weight, he pressed down on the struggling man’s windpipe. Carnicero pounded wildly on Barquero’s thigh with his free hand as the sound of his throat slowly and deliberately being crushed filled his ears. The helpless man began to make gurgling sounds as the immense strength of Barquero’s leg did its damage. Barquero began to twist his bare foot on the man’s throat. It felt as if his foot was almost flat against the hard, dry desert floor. He could feel the man’s spinal column giving way as he pushed down hard on it. Carnicero stopped pounding with his free hand, and grabbed onto a handful of Barquero’s pants and clutched it in his fist, but his strength was quickly fading. He desperately fought for a few moments more, and then his vision began to fade. Like an ever-shrinking circle, his perception began to diminish, smaller and smaller until the only thing he could see looked like a small, dark marble. Then it was over.
“Rosalina,” Barquero whispered as he removed his foot from the dead man’s throat. The cool night wind blew over him as he closed his eyes. Somewhere in the desert, something howled.
PART III
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
They Can Come in Pretty Handy
Ziggy ran through the desert night like he’d never run before, which really meant like he’d never run before, because Ziggy didn’t regularly run, unless chased. Ziggy had never been naturally predisposed to physical activity. He’d tried some yoga here and a little Pilates there, but it wasn’t really his thing. Of course, though, he’d been chased, quite a bit, actually. Mainly in school, but the races weren’t terribly long. A swift beating and forfeiture of his milk money usually occurred before he could make much of a getaway. For the most part, Ziggy practiced the defensive art of rolling into a small ball for protection. He found that the schoolyard bullies would get tired of kicking him after a few minutes. No one knows for sure if the armadillos learned this tactic from Ziggy, or Ziggy learned it from the armadillos.
He ran until he reached the hills. Then he ran some more. His lungs seared despite the cool night air. Soon the hills turned into canyons. He twisted and turned his way back and forth. Finally, when he couldn’t take another step, he collapsed. His skinny chest heaving, he looked up at the sky. The heavy clouds slowly parted, and a full moon shone its bright light down on him. Milky clouds of stars illuminated the canyon walls with a faint glow. Drenched in sweat and parched for water, he searched his shorts for something, anything. All he found was the set of tarot cards that Mae Mae had given to him back in New Orleans. In despair, he threw them away. The cold
