The Serpent's Bite (32 page)

“He no die,” Tomas said, his eyes narrowing.

“You think so. Hell, you were going to shoot him. And me.”

“I no shoot. I not stupid.”

“He dies, your little blackmail scheme goes down the drain,” she pressed, hoping she was reaching deeper, putting a needle into the balloon of his dreams. “No going back to your village rich, Tomas. Nada. You wouldn't want to go back a peon with empty hands.” She paused, watched his face. “Would you?”

“He no die.” He looked over to where her father lay sleeping. “He not that bad.”

“He be fine,” she mimicked. “It's time to stop bullshitting yourself, Tomas. You got a problem.” Her eyes met his. She read his suspicion in them, waiting for the message to sink in. “So have I. Two problems.”

His reaction seemed attentive. He cocked his head in concentration and suspicion. At the same time he touched the stock of the rifle that lay secure across his lap, as if it were a gesture to emphasize his authority.

“Them,” Courtney said, glancing toward her resting father and brother. She knew she was about to make the most crucial and life-changing statement of her life. Tomas's brow wrinkled. He glanced toward Temple and Scott.

“If they both were to have say …” She paused. “… an accident.”

His eyes narrowed and met hers. She was certain that she had gotten his full attention.

“You would get, say …” She had wanted to say a million, but stopped herself. A million would be beyond his wildest
dreams, a figure he would surely mistrust. “Five times a hundred thousand. In your village it would last a lifetime. Maybe two. You would be a…a
patrono
, a man of deep respect.”

She noted a nerve begin to palpitate in his jaw. His tongue licked his lips. His eyes appeared feral, alert. The message had been received.

“I listen.”

She sucked in a deep breath, expelled it with a sigh. Unfortunately, she could only offer an objective, not a means. Again, she looked toward her father and brother.

“There are ways, Tomas. Horses slip on the narrow trail.” She paused, watching him. “It's a long way down.” She paused, waiting for some sign of his understanding. “They die, my father's money comes to me. Do you get my drift?”

He swallowed hard and rubbed his chin.

“You say die,” he whispered, moving his face closer to hers. She nodded.

“By accident. It must be an accident.” She paused, then wet her lips and smiled. “Like Harry.”

His eyes narrowed and met her gaze. She could tell even from the briefest rearrangement of his facial muscles that she had struck pay dirt. From her standpoint, it was a wild guess, but she knew she was onto the truth.

“You understand what I'm saying Tomas?”

He nodded.

“You
perra
. Kill your
padre
? And your brother who you fuck?”

He spit on the ground and chuckled, his lips curling in a sinister smile. She let him contemplate the idea through a long silence. Her heartbeat accelerated, and her pores opened in a
copious sweat. Her mind clogged suddenly with doubts. Had she gone too far? How could she possibly trust this venal Mexican?

“Where the trail is narrow,” she persisted. She wondered if such an accident had precedent.

He rubbed his chin again, his smile fading.

“A misstep by a horse,” she pressed. “Something as simple as that.” She watched and waited. “An accident. Only you and I would know the truth. And for that…five hundred thousand dollars, American.”

She felt a sudden laser look as his gaze met hers. His eyes narrowed, as he seemed to look deeply into her thoughts.

“Five hundred thousand.” He seemed to hiss the words through clenched teeth.

“You bullshit me?” He broke his gaze and looked toward her father and Scott.

“He rich like that?”

“Yes. And when he dies, it goes to me and my brother. All to me if my brother is not around…you get my drift, hombre?”

He lowered his head and studied her with a laserlike look.

“When I get that money?”

“When I get mine. He has to die first.”

“How do I be sure?”

“Trust, Tomas. We would have to trust each other.”

“I kill you if you fuck me over.”

“I have no doubt.”

“Maybe I just shoot them?” He chuckled and lifted the rifle, aiming it but not to the suggested targets.

“Don't be ridiculous, Tomas. I told you it must be an accident. It must stand scrutiny. There could be an investigation. It must look like an accident.” She paused, watching his face,
and repeated her previous subtle accusation. She paused for a moment then took a shot in the dark. “Like Harry.”

“Harry killed by a grizzly,” Tomas snapped. It struck her as oddly defensive.

“You think we're dumb gringos, Tomas? Something about it is very strange. Very strange.”

Tomas, in a quick reaction and still seated, moved the rifle into firing position. Courtney moved the barrel with her hand. She met no resistance, but the act confirmed her suspicion.

“Don't be an idiot, Tomas. As far as I'm concerned, a grizzly killed Harry. End of story. As for the others …” She shrugged.

“They don't believe no wetback. I go far from here.”

“Without a doubt. Of course, I'll tell my version of what happened, a series of unlucky accidents. Believe me, I can be very convincing. I'm an actor, Tomas. I make people believe. I'll make sure no suspicion of any wrongdoing falls on you, Tomas.”

She was working it out in her mind now, filling in the blanks based on what she could recall of all those suspense movie scripts she had read over the years. Tomas would split as soon as they arrived back at the trailhead. She felt certain that he would hook up with some secret system that illegal Hispanics had established, a kind of underground railway like in the old American-slave days. Besides, they might break him down and spoil her scenario.

“Then how I get my money?”

“Believe me, Tomas. I won't be hard to find. Frankly, I expect to be a known figure. Maybe a celebrity. You trust me. I trust you.” She pulled a card out of her pocket. “Believe me, I'll be easy to find.”

He looked blankly at the card and slipped it in his pocket.

“You don't give me my money, I kill you.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

Yes, she told herself, I will be happy to give him the money. Of course, there was always the chance he would, like most blackmailers she had encountered in movie scripts, be asking for more and more. She would cross that bridge when she came to it.

Tomas grew silent for a long time. He looked over to where her father and Scott lay. Temple had dozed off, and Scott, using his arms as a pillow, was staring into the sky. The weather was becoming more and more overcast. In the distance, they could see bursts of lightening and hear the echoing sound of thunder. Tomas grimaced as he inspected the sky. He shook his head and made no comment.

The impending bad weather seemed a sign that her plan might gain traction in Tomas's mind. A slick, soft, and muddy trail could make the consequences more believable. Rain was yet another movie signal anticipating ominous events approaching. She imagined she could hear the background music.

She felt little pity or remorse for what she was planning. Like a true actor, she had immersed herself in the character of the person she was portraying: ruthless, unsentimental, focused, and determined. Impatient, she broke into the Mexican's silence.

“We got a deal, Tomas?”

His response was a blank look and a snarl.

“How I know you not fuck me?” he muttered.

“Why would I do that?”

“You gringo. Gringo's fuck Mexicans.”

She looked into his eyes. He was obviously wary and uncertain.

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and spat out a wad of phlegm on the dirt in front of her.

“Of course, you could refuse,” she said. “If he lives, you'll get your hundred thousand as promised. If not …” She shrugged.

He glanced to where her father and brother were reclining.

“Business, Tomas. Why settle for one hundred when you can have five hundred thousand. Why would I not meet my end of the bargain?”

“Me dumb Mexican wetback. You crazy lady.”

“Dumb, Tomas? What I see is the shrewdest fucking Mexican on the planet. Look what you pulled off. Go ahead. Consider your options. I'm offering you a fucking future, fella.
Dinero
. Lots of
dinero
. You want to be a peon for the rest of your life, taking orders from bastards like Harry? Don't sell yourself short, hombre. You're one smart fucking Mexican. Listening. Watching. Looking for the main chance. Don't give me that humble poor dumb wetback shit. I've seen you in operation.” She pointed with a gesture of her head toward her father and Scott. “You give a fuck about them? No way. What do they mean to you? I'm offering you the deal of a lifetime. And remember. I'm on the line, too. I've got to convince the authorities that everything that happened was purely accidental, a bad string of tragic events. That's my job. That's my risk.”

She knew she was running at the mouth, slightly hysterical, maybe even illogical, but enraged at his resistance. Besides, she wasn't certain he even understood what she was getting at. He shook his head and showed her a thin smile.

“Tell you what, lady,” he said, lowering his voice. “I got idea.”

She grew hopeful.

“Okay, Tomas. I'll buy.”

He moved closer, his mouth near her ear.

“You fuck me like you fuck your brother, and I decide.”

She had vaguely considered such a proposition and had actually pondered a reaction, then dismissed it. Instead she contemplated yet another stance, insult and indignation. Then discipline prevailed, and she held back her pose of scorn, assuming yet another role requiring the usual clichéd movie dialogue.

“I guess you could call that a sweetener, Tomas. Okay then, you do this deal, and I'll give your Mexican dick a ride to paradise. Not before.” She looked toward her sleeping father and sibling and grabbed his crotch. “And that's another promise. And it'll prove that I keep my promises.”

She could tell the Mexican was startled by her response. He rubbed his chin and grabbed her breast. She brushed his hand away. His expression betrayed nothing. He had not committed himself. Opening her mouth, she showed him her tongue.

“Bet you're horny as hell, baby,” she whispered between clenched teeth. He offered a tiny smile and looked away, leaving the question up in the air. She waited for a response, and when none came, she said, “Deal?”

“We see.”

“That's no fucking answer, Tomas,” she said sharply.

He scowled and turned away.

Frustrated, she shook her head. By her lights, she was making him an offer he could not refuse.

For a long time, she sat, slumped against a tree, her mind raging with possibilities. Perhaps, she conjectured, she might
find a way to perform a triple accident, do away with all three. Like a chain reaction on a highway. Such an outcome intrigued her.

In that action, there would be no witnesses, no obvious evidence, and she felt certain that she would be able to concoct a credible story. Her role would be that of sole survivor, a sympathetic grieving figure, a perfect candidate for a headline story on the world media.

She was sure she could pull it off, complete with tears. Hadn't she auditioned for such roles, over and over again? Think of the publicity. She chuckled. It was one way to become a celebrity. The media were suckers for sole survivors.

The problem, of course, was the method. She glanced toward her father stretched out, snoring lightly. If only he would die of natural causes. This would eliminate any possibility of blackmail, but it would not eliminate her brother. She had become fixated on that new idea. Of course, now that she had announced her intentions to Tomas, he would possess damaging information about her attempt to eliminate her brother. It had become a conundrum.

She felt as if she were having a movie story conference with three sides of herself, coming up with plot points. She tried out numerous scenarios, none of which seemed foolproof. She wished she could wave a magic wand and eliminate all three of the male protagonists. Unfortunately, nothing she could think at that moment seemed adequate to the task, meaning foolproof and untraceable to her.

Think hard, she urged herself. Imagine, conceive, conjure.

T
hrough his almost-closed eyelids, Scott saw tiny slits of light and felt little dabs of cold moisture on his skin. It took him a few moments to become conscious of his surroundings. His brief sleep had been dreamless but deep and disorienting. With awareness came clarity and remembering. It had started to rain, and in the distance he saw black clouds gathering.

Beside him, his father stirred. He studied his face, pale, unshaven, sickly. Still, he could see the outlines of the younger face, Dad's face, the face that dominated his memory. Earlier, his father had conveyed to him the anguish and guilt that lay just beneath the surface.