Deadly Journey (25 page)

Chapter 41

Unarmed Combat

If it weren’t for
Leandra, lying unconscious in the dirt, I would have tried to run. I doubted
Squat would have the stamina to catch me. Nevertheless, over a short distance,
I didn’t think either of us would chance going for the gun lying by the gate.
Toxic fumes drifted around us, carried by the smoke from the fire, smarting in
my eyes and leaving a bad taste in my throat. Holding the knife didn’t give me
any comfort; it was more of an encumbrance. I was more skilled at defending
against a weapon in unarmed combat, than in using a knife.

He made to lunge at me with the machete,
and I stepped out of reach. Still, his blade swished past my nose,
uncomfortably close. We continued to circle. His attempt at a chop was
telegraphed, and I avoided it. Without the knife, I could have stepped into his
movement, throwing him off balance. I threw the knife at him, but the handle
struck his arm as he turned sideways and it fell lamely to the ground.

‘Very brave, but you’re making it easy for
me, American.’

‘That’s how you like it, isn’t it
–
defenceless victims, like the family back at the farm and Miguel?’

‘Why should I care? None of you mean
anything to me.’

Squat didn’t need to tell me; I already
knew the psyche of bullies and he was as psychopathic as they came. He struck
again, with a forceful sweep from left to right. With little room to spare, I
drew my stomach backward to avoid the slash of the cutting edge. The momentum
of the sweep had him drawing his arm around his body, pulling the blade out of
harm’s way. Changing my stance, one foot in front of the other, before he had
time to draw back his blade, I launched a kick at his arm. The blow connected
my boot full on with his biceps. Squat lost his balance, stumbled, and fell
backward. I stepped back. He still had control of his blade, and he scrambled
to his feet.

‘Brave? You don’t know the meaning of the
word. Better to be who I am than to be the coward that you are. You should try
being a man,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you drop the machete while you can and
surrender?’

He gritted his teeth and his complexion
darkened as we continued to circle.

‘Surrender! I’ll show you who’s a coward
when I part your head from your shoulders, American.’

‘You’re all talk, like all the thugs I’ve
ever come across. I’m ten times the man you’ll ever be. I’ve seen your dick,
remember. You’re nothing but a fat tub of lard. I bet your wife has to
masturbate to a picture of some pop star.’

The jibes had the desired effect as he tore
toward me growling. Swinging wildly, holding his machete aloft, he committed to
a downward strike. I sidestepped, chopping him in the nape of the neck as his
momentum took him past me. He tripped, with his machete digging into the dirt.
I delivered a solid kick to his butt, and he sprawled headlong on the ground, leaving
his machete behind.

‘Sanchez, grab the gun,’ Squat said.

His cry distracted me. In my peripheral
vision, Sanchez stooped to pick up the gun. We both dove for the machete. Squat
beat me to the handle. Grasping his hands in mine, I forced the blade further
into the soil as he fought to extract it. Our heads clashed, like rutting bulls
using each other’s foreheads for purchase, both of us gritting our teeth and
growling at the exertion.

Leandra screamed out, ‘Sanchez, no, pass
the gun to me.’

Squat drew back his head and butted,
leaving me stunned. He ripped the machete from my grasp. Rising onto his knees,
he raised the blade. I expected him to strike, but his body froze like a
snapshot, his frame held rigid to the sound of a gunshot. His vest tore apart
as a bullet entered his shoulder and he flinched, his eyes bulging. A second
bullet hit his arm and he dropped the machete. His arms fell limp to his side
and his eyes glazed over. A third shot rang out and his body jerked as a round
sunk into his gut.

‘Who’s going to hell now?’ I growled and
rolled away as he keeled over and hit the dirt with a thud.

I turned, expecting to see Leandra holding
the gun. Instead, the boy dropped to his knees next to Leandra, holding the gun
with both hands. The Glock fell from his grasp and he let go, as if he’d been
holding a hot coal. Leandra sat upright and placed an arm around Sanchez’s
shoulder. He began to sob and mumble, burying his head in her breasts.

‘What’s he saying?’ I asked. I sprang to my
feet and walked over to pick up my knife and the pickup truck keys.

‘He’s saying that Squat can’t hurt him or
his mom, or me anymore.’

Standing between Squat’s corpse and the two
of them, all I wanted to do was to get the hell out of there and alert the
authorities.

Leandra screamed. ‘Look out!’

I turned, horrified to see Squat on one
knee. He used his machete as a lever so he could stand. He was unsteady on his
feet, his shattered left arm hanging by his side.

‘Come on, pussycat, let’s finish this. I
should have killed you along with that family.’

He stumbled toward me and raised the
machete. A vision of him putting that final shot into the twitching body of the
child flashed through my mind. I rushed to him, grabbed his wrist as he
attempted to strike, and dug my knife into his belly just below his rib cage,
thrusting upward and twisting the handle, until the hilt prevented the blade
from penetrating further.

He fell backward and I landed on top of
him.

‘See you in hell,’ he moaned.

‘I doubt it,’ I replied through gritted
teeth.

In a final life-and-death struggle, he
gurgled and blood trickled through his lips. His chest twitched, rising and
then falling as a final exhale escaped his mouth. His body relaxed and I rolled
off him in time to hear the hiss of his bladder emptying. When I took hold of
his limp wrist, I found no pulse. I let go, as if releasing a piece of garbage.

Finally, we were free.

‘Let’s get the hell out of here before
anything else crawls out of the ashes,’ I said.

My entire body trembled. Leandra’s temple
was gashed and already swollen. I walked over and picked up the gun, slipping
it into my belt. The boy was still snivelling when I tapped him on the shoulder
and signalled for him to stand.

‘Sanchez,
por favor, ayudar
,’ I
said.

He did as I asked and helped me lift
Leandra to her feet.

‘You’ll have to carry me to the pickup,’
Leandra said, her voice weak, and she winced at her pain.

I nodded, still dazed from the experience.
Lifting her into my arms, I carried her to the pickup. The boy opened the rear
door and I eased her onto the back seat. Sanchez followed Leandra onto the seat
and snuggled up to her, and I closed the door. My hands still trembled as I
climbed onto the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel, taking a moment
to gather some composure. I glanced over at where Squat was lying, the knife
buried to the hilt in his body. Avenging the deaths of Leila and her family
gave me little comfort, though some degree of closure. No amount of revenge
could bring them back.

I pushed my back into the seat, shook my
head, and shuddered.

‘You okay back there?’ I asked, as I turned
the key in the ignition and fired up the engine.

‘Just get us away from here. I feel like
crap, but I’ll mend,’ Leandra said.

I doubted anything could go wrong now. But
something at the back of my mind told me not to be complacent. I’d been wrong
before.

Chapter 42

Phone Call Home

I drove out the
gate and turned right along the dirt road, veering past the corpse of Squat’s
sidekick and along to where we had thrown the bags into the ditch. When I
jammed the brake pedal, the vehicle stopped. The top of the crop duster was
visible above the hedgerow. My fingers still trembled as I pulled on the door
handle and elbowed it open.

I made my way through the hedgerow and into
the ditch to retrieve the bags. The stench from the fire engulfed me and with
an already fluttering stomach, I threw up. Swiping my arm over my mouth, I held
my breath and wriggled back through the hedgerow, then dashed to the pickup.
Not wasting time, I threw the bags into the footwell on the passenger side and
eased onto the driver’s seat. With tyres spinning, we set off and sped along
the road. Once away from the scene, I wound down the window, relieved by the
inrush of fresh air.

It must have taken twenty minutes for the
trembles to subside. Leandra and the boy exchanged words during the ride, but
my mind was elsewhere, so I didn’t even attempt to translate what they were
saying.

We came to an unsigned junction. Sanchez
leaned over my seat and pointed left.

We drove on for some time before we saw a
road sign as we approached another junction. After a left turn, it was maybe a
thirty-minute drive to the border. Right and we’d be heading toward Leila’s
home and Squat’s farm. I stopped the pickup and pulled over. With millions in
hundred-dollar bills in the truck, me armed and wearing a blood-stained
uniform, not to mention that neither Leandra nor I had documents, I felt wildly
uneasy. I thought it would be better to call DEA headquarters and ask them to
contact their counterparts in Mexico and arrange an extraction.

‘What’s wrong?’ Leandra asked.

‘We need to find a telephone.’

‘Sanchez is saying we’re nearing his home
and he wants his mom. Drop him off first and then we can find one.’

‘We can’t go too near. Last time I was
there, there was a dozen of Squat’s gang at the farm, and they’ll be heavily
armed.’

My stomach tightened as I turned right,
then accelerated and headed along the road toward Leila’s home.

‘Ask him where the nearest village is where
we can get to a pay phone.’

They exchanged words and Leandra tapped me
on the shoulder.

‘He says the closest village is past a gas
station in the opposite direction, near the border.’

Over on my left, I could see Leila’s home,
set back fifty yards from the road. As we neared, I tried to look straight
ahead as gloom descended. I couldn’t stop myself from glancing left as we
passed the entrance. Police tape straggled the posts of the dirt-road drive
leading to the farm. At least I knew they’d had a decent burial.

We drove on for another ten minutes, then I
pulled over. I placed my arm over the seat and turned.

‘It’s around three-quarters of a mile from
here. He can walk from here and we’ll be long gone before he gets home.’

Leandra talked to Sanchez in a soft voice
and they hugged. Then he opened the door and climbed out of the pickup. He
stood at the side of the road and I tipped him a salute. Sanchez responded with
a smile and mimicked a kung-fu fighter’s actions. Weaving his hands and kicking
a leg in the air, he wobbled on one leg. I had to smile back at him as he fell
on his backside, still smiling. For all his disadvantages, he had stood tall.
He was more of a man than Squat had ever been. Sanchez had saved my life.

‘I’m so glad I didn’t shoot him back there.
Thanks for stopping me.’

‘So am I, or we both could be dead. It
really is tragic, but I’m glad he’s finally free.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘His dad, Squat, and his uncle who you left
dead in the road, both abused him as a child. His mother didn’t fare much
better, from the sound of it. He told me Squat was forever beating her.’

‘Well, I guess neither of them will have to
worry about it now.’

Sanchez stood and waved as I twirled the
steering wheel, made a U-turn, and headed for the border.

A mile past Leila’s home, I spotted a
single-storey house.

‘I’m going to stop here and see if they
have a phone.’

With the pickup parked, I walked up the
path and knocked on the front door. After several knocks with no response, I
walked over to the window. A glance inside revealed an empty room. Working my
way around to the back yard, I stopped and looked through another window.
Inside was a single bed with a mattress, but no bedding.

I passed some patio doors with one of the
glass doors smashed and headed back to Leandra.

‘Any luck?’ she asked.

‘No. It’s empty.  No phone.’

‘Kurt, my ankle really hurts, and I have a
terrible headache. Can’t we rest a while? The pickup isn’t doing me much good,
bouncing around on the potholes.’

My need to get to a telephone to speak to
Mary and the authorities was tempered by my concern for Leandra. Her expression
told me she was in agony.

‘Wait here.’

I hurried back to the patio doors. Reaching
through the break in the glass, I unhinged the catch and slid the door open.
Retracting my hand, I snagged my finger, slicing a small cut. Back at the
pickup, I lifted Leandra out and carried her along the pathway, through the
patio doors and into the bedroom. Setting her down on the mattress, I sat
beside her.

‘Listen, I don’t feel comfortable driving
around with all that money and the computer. How about I go on to the village,
pick up some painkillers and something for that gash from a drug store? I can
call and explain where we are, then head back here, and we can wait for someone
to arrive.’

‘Fine by me, but don’t hang around. Get
back as quickly as you can.’

I slipped the gun from my belt and tucked
it under the mattress.

‘That’s just in case. Listen, I’ll get the
bags. If anyone arrives back here before I do, don’t tell them about the bags
–
whoever it is.’

I hurried from the room to the pickup.
Unzipping one of the bags, I managed to squeeze my automatic rifle in with the
contents. Looking left and right, I returned with the bags and hid them under
the bed. There was a broken mirror fastened to the wall, and I took a moment to
examine my reflection. I looked like someone from a SWAT team, but without the armoured
vest and helmet. Still, I was thankful the black clothing didn’t show the
bloodstains.

I turned and walked over to the bed.
Leandra had curled her knees to her stomach and was resting her eyes. I ran my
fingers through her hair.

‘Back soon.’

She opened her eyes and smiled.

Driving along the
highway, I could see the gas station sign. Farther ahead, cones created a
filter lane to a rest area, with cars parked and their lights flashing. I could
just about make out a police officer waving a truck into the rest area. It
didn’t surprise me, as we used the same tactic north of the border to catch
drug traffickers. I pulled into the gas station and parked. They were bound to
have a pay phone, or so I hoped. As I walked over to the shop, to my relief,
there was a pay phone hanging on the wall.

I fished in my pocket and pulled out a
hundred-dollar bill.

‘Do you accept American money?’ I asked the
cashier.

‘Sure, if you have ID.’

‘Look, I don’t have it with me, but I
desperately need to make a call. Just give me the equivalent of ten dollars in
change and you can have the bill.’

I slapped the bill on the counter. He
picked it up and held it to the light.

‘What’s that stain?’

‘Oh, that. Cut my finger.’

I held out my finger.

‘I’ll change it for you, buddy,’ said a guy
with an American accent standing behind me in line. He snatched the note from
the cashier. ‘I’m on my way home and I have a stack of change and some Mexican
bills. I don’t need none of that ID crap from a fellow American.’

The cashier looked pissed at losing a
bonus. I took the change, thanked the guy and walked outside. As the glass door
swung open, I could see the cashier glare at me in the reflection and pick up
his telephone.

Ignoring him, I picked up the handset and
inserted some coins in the slot. I dialled the country code and my home number.
Two rings and Mary answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Mary, it’s me, I’ve escaped.’

‘Is this a joke?’

Mary’s words weren’t delivered with the
warm welcome I had been expecting. I wondered if maybe I had dialled the wrong
number. The handset sounded as though she had dropped it and all I could hear
was muffled voices. I guessed the shock had overwhelmed her.

‘Kurt, it’s Rob. Where are you?’

‘Mexico, near the border. I—’

The phone went dead as a hand reached over
my shoulder and tapped the cradle.

‘Put the phone down and turn around.’