Finnegan's Week (34 page)

Then Abel leaped up, yelling, “Buey! Buey! Ees okay! Outside! We go outside!”

By now most of the diners were on their feet. People were whispering, gesturing. Several men came forward.

The mariachis, including the boy, had stopped playing. The lights remained dim, but Abel Durazo, with his arm crooked through the arm of Shelby Pate, led the ox toward the door.

“We can't follow yet,” Fin said. “Give them a few minutes.”

He and Nell kept putting money on the table to pay for the food and drinks until Nell said, “That's enough.”

“Lemme go alone!” Bobbie said. “He's so tanked he won't recognize me.”

“Watch yourself!” Fin said. “Durazo isn't drunk. He might make you.”

Bobbie nodded, and put her purse strap over her shoulder on the way out.

“Should I have let her go alone?” he asked Nell. “Can she handle it?”

“Of course not,” Nell said. “Women don't have testicles, we have ovaries. We keep forgetting that.”

After the disturbance was over, the diners went back to eating, and the mariachis stopped searching for The Lost Child. The musical interlude had ended for the time being.

Abel Durazo led Shelby Pate back through the passageway toward the busy street, with Shelby bouncing from one wall to the other as he tried to negotiate the narrow corridor. Soltero and his companions stood in the small patio for a moment, whispering in Spanish, paying no attention to Bobbie when she walked past them on her way out of Sombras.

When she emerged onto the street the traffic from pedestrians and cars had totally clogged Revolutión. Most of the deafening noise came from young Americans screaming at the top of their lungs. Not at anything in particular, just screaming. Bobbie saw Shelby Pate leaning against a wall, rubbing his face as though he couldn't feel it. Abel Durazo stood in front of him gesturing wildly and yelling things she couldn't make out.

Bobbie walked directly behind Abel and when she was nearly at the corner, she ducked into a doorway to observe them unseen. She was startled by a whimper and looked down at a bony, mangy, flea-bitten mongrel dog, chewing on a sandwich wrapper and looking at her fearfully.

The three Mexicans emerged from the passageway and joined Abel Durazo and Shelby Pate. Then all five men crossed the street and got into a Ford Explorer. By the time Bobbie could cross, the car was already into the traffic and gone. She was sure that it had California license plates.

Abel and Shelby sat in the back seat with the mustachioed Mexican. Soltero sat in the passenger seat, and the small one drove. Abel was crushed between the burly Mexican and the ox. He couldn't move either arm until he managed to squeeze his body forward. They drove for ten minutes without talking.

Shelby was very still now, and Soltero said soothingly to him, “The drugs and the tequila do not go well together.”

Abel wasn't sure that the ox even understood what was happening, and he said in English to Soltero, “I theenk my
compañero
would feel better eef we get our money now and go home to San Diego. Yes, I theenk that would be the bes' theeng.”

“Of course,” Soltero said. “But I had to get you away from Sombras. The proprietor was going to call the police.”

“Yes,” Abel said. “But now eef joo can drive us to my car and geev us our money, please?”

“Of course,” Soltero said.

But the little Mexican kept driving away from downtown and oncoming headlights were becoming infrequent.

Abel said, “Señor Soltero. We wan' our money now!”

“Stop,” Soltero said to the driver, who pulled to the side of the road.

Shelby looked around. They weren't in the city center anymore. It was quiet out here. There were some houses nearby that looked as though they might be lit by kerosene lamps rather than electricity.

Soltero said, “I want us to do business in the future, but I do not want you to create any further disturbance tonight. That is why I have brought you out here. In case your friend makes a disturbance there will not be a problem.”

For the first time in twenty minutes, Shelby Pate spoke. He said, “Why the fuck would I make a disturbance? You intend to pay us our money, right?”

“Certainly,” Soltero said. “But there is a problem.”

Shelby looked at Abel and said, “What
kinda
problem?”

Soltero withdrew an envelope from the pocket of his jacket. He handed it to Abel Durazo, and said, “There are eighty fifty-dollar notes. I hope you are pleased.”

Shelby said, “
Four
grand? You owe us
six
grand!”

Abel could smell the ox. His body odor was powerful, and when Abel's hand brushed against Shelby's, the ox's hand was clammy.

Abel was terrified. He said, “Ees okay, Buey!”

“No!” Shelby said. “Fuck,
no
! We got
six
grand comin!”

“I thought I could sell them to my contact for several dollars a pair, but I could not,” Soltero said, reasonably.

Shelby said, “And you got no profit for yourself, right?”

“Not very much,” Soltero said. “I spent most of my profit on your food tonight.”

“Okay,” Abel said. “Okay. Ees okay, Buey!”

“Sure,” Shelby said, very quietly. “Sometimes things don't work out.”

Abel had heard that tone once before, when the ox had smashed the bottle of beer across the eyes of the bearded biker. Abel was petrified.

Then Soltero yelped! Shelby had grabbed his ponytail with his left hand and jammed the derringer against the bone behind Soltero's right ear, saying, “Tell your pals to get outta the car or I'll put one right between your runnin lights!”

The driver reached under his jacket, but Soltero yelled, “No!”

Then Soltero said something in Spanish that Shelby didn't understand, and his friends opened the doors and got out slowly.

“Buey! Don' do eet, Buey!” Abel pleaded. He was afraid to even touch the ox for fear he might pull the trigger.

“Get out, dude!” Shelby said to Abel. “You're drivin!”

“Where?” Abel cried.

“Back to our car,” Shelby said. Then he released Soltero's hair, but reached inside Soltero's coat pocket, removing his wallet. Then he said, “Take that fuckin watch off!”

Soltero removed his gold wristwatch and handed it to Shelby Pate, who put it in the pocket of his leather jacket. Shelby said, “We're gonna take Señor Soltero with us and make sure he ain't got some hideout money. Then we're goin home. If this's a
real
Rolex maybe it'll make up for what he owes us.”

“Crazy!” Abel whispered. “
Crazy
!”

But now there was nothing Abel Durazo could do except go along. He stepped out and started to open the front door. Soltero's men stood in the headlight beam, whispering.

Then the small one moved out of the light and came toward Abel, saying in Spanish, “The keys. I have the car keys.”

Shelby said to Soltero, “Jist relax and this'll be over before ya …”

“
Aaaaaaahhhhhh
!”

A loud sigh. It sounded to Shelby like Flaco was taking a badly needed piss. Then Abel looked in at him through the side window of the car.

His eyes were white in the moonlight. “Buey!” he cried. “Buey!” Abel's right hand came up to the window and smeared it with blood.

Soltero hit the door handle and fell out onto the roadside. Shelby heaved himself out just before three explosions shattered the bloody glass!

Abel staggered around the car toward Shelby, clutching the steel that protruded from his belly. Then his hands relaxed and he toppled onto the road.

Shelby bellowed and stood over Soltero, who held his palms up to ward off the bullet. Soltero was silent when Shelby kept his promise and fired the derringer point-blank, right between his running lights.

Then an orange fireball exploded at Shelby from the other side of the car.… The explosion revived him.… The fireball seemed to blow him down.… He lost the derringer.… He got up and ran!

The two Mexicans screamed to each other in Spanish and Shelby heard footsteps padding after him. He kept going, running up the hillside, plunging into the mesquite, plowing through it! In a few minutes the Mexicans' voices grew fainter.

There were two rows of houses on the hillside, and an open field off to the right. There were no streetlights on that hardpan road, not one. Shelby started for that open area but stopped in horror!

Through the darkness, strange shapes loomed up from the earth.… Crypts and gravestones … Figures moving among them … Flickering candles floating as though through the air … It
was
a graveyard! Shelby screamed and ran the other way.

He doubled back again and scrambled up a desolate hill, away from houses and cars, away from tombstones and flickering candles. Shelby ran into the blackness of the night, which was not nearly as terrifying as those flickering floating candles.

When Fin and Nell had left the restaurant they'd found Bobbie waiting at the mouth of the passageway. She'd described the Ford Explorer and told them she didn't get the license number, but was sure it was a California plate. Then, with nothing further they could do, the three investigators had headed for Nell's car in the parking lot of the
Frontón
.

The traffic leaving Tijuana was unusually busy for early evening. The vendors were out in force, and they walked between the traffic lanes hoping to interest the tourists in pottery, leather belts, blankets and plaster figurines.

An old woman in a shawl shuffled among the throng of vendors. She had nothing to sell. She was bony and stooped and so badly wrinkled it would be difficult to say she
was
a woman were it not for her shawl and long dress. On her feet she wore the remnants of a man's shoes.

Bobbie thought of the mangy starving dog in the doorway, of how the dog had whimpered in fear. She reached into her purse and handed the old woman a twenty-dollar bill.

*   *   *

Shelby Pate was hopelessly lost and there was no one to light his way. No one to call him with a golden trumpet. No mother to await him on the Day of the Dead. He was exhausted, panicked, battling wave after wave of hysteria. He'd sometimes hallucinated when he'd snorted this much methamphetamine, and he thought he might be hallucinating now. He wasn't sure that any of this was real.

He was lying on a dusty hilltop in the darkness and could hear dogs barking, and children shouting in the distance. Out in front of him he saw a road traversing a lonely ridge. A vehicle moved slowly along the road and someone was searching from the vehicle with a flashlight. He was certain it was Soltero's men hunting him. To kill him with a knife the way they'd killed Abel Durazo. Or to belly-shoot him and let him writhe in agony.

Then he saw a silhouette of a
boy
coming his way out of the darkness! It was all he could do to keep from screaming! Shelby pressed his face into the earth. When he raised up the child was still there. The child moved without a light, seeming to float through the night. Then the phantom boy vanished into a small tunnel, into the darkness.

Shelby heard a voice down the hillside behind him. It sounded like the Mexican with the Zapata mustache. He got up and ran,
staggered
, after the boy. Toward the fearful tunnel, and whatever lay beyond!

When Shelby got close he could see that it was not a tunnel but a hole in a tall metal barrier. There was an opening chopped clear through, but he was so fat he almost couldn't follow the small boy through the hole. He ripped his jacket and cut his hands on the rusty metal. He got stuck for a moment and began to weep, but kept wriggling, finally getting his hips through, tearing his jeans, bloodying his legs. Then Shelby got up and limped across a desolate plateau in the moonlight.

He heard the sound of Mexican music from a boom box far off to the left. He heard voices chattering and laughing off to the right. But there were no lights, none at all, only an occasional dagger of moonlight.

Shelby looked for the boy but couldn't find him. Then he tripped and fell, rolling down a dusty hillside. When he got up, he couldn't run anymore. His legs wouldn't obey him, and he heard a sawing sound, realizing it was coming from himself. His breathing sounded like a hacksaw cutting through steel pipe; a screeching raspy saw-blade was buried deep in his chest. Shelby Pate was sure he would die then, there in the devil's gorge.

An English-accented voice said, “
Arriba las manos
!”

Shelby dropped to his knees. In a way, he
wanted
to die, to get it over with. A flashlight beam struck him like a club. He was blinded. He put his hands up to his face.

A voice said, “Hey, Phil! This guy's an
American
!”

Five minutes later, Shelby Pate was handcuffed and sitting in the back of a Bronco, heading toward the Chula Vista Station of the U.S. Border Patrol.

C
HAPTER
25

I
t was nearly 11:00
P.M.
by the time Nell's car arrived back at the main gate of NAS North Island.

Before she parked, Fin said, “I was thinking about stopping someplace in Coronado for a nightcap. Anyone wanna join me?”

“Not me,” Nell said. “I've had enough for one evening.” She didn't say enough of
what
.

“I'm a little tired,” Bobbie said.

“Okay, guess I'll have to go it alone,” Fin said.

Almost in unison, both women started to indicate he shouldn't drink alone. They both stopped, and Nell said, “You go ahead, Bobbie. I've really gotta run along.”

Bobbie said, “No, I just didn't want Fin to have to be by himself. Why don't
you
join him? I gotta wash my hair and do some ironing.”

“Well, I won't be stopping,” Nell said.

“I gotta run along home,” Bobbie said.