Bad Penny (26 page)

26
Target

THEY COULDN’T JUST let Carmen off in full view of the house, so Frank directed Sam to drive about half a mile past the house and then pull to the side of the road. Carmen took Sam’s binoculars, scrambled down the shoulder, over a fence, and into a stand of trees. Frank figured it would take her about seven minutes to get in place. So he and Sam got out of the van and walked around like they were doing something important. Frank’s leg was still hurting, but he tried to loosen it up anyway. He brushed the stray Cheerios out of the van and moved the diaper bag and anything else that said this was a family vehicle into the trunk with the Cub Scout crap. With every Cheerio that fell to the ground he realized just how sketchy this plan really was.

They heard Carmen’s hard breathing on the conference call as she ran. A few minutes later she said, “Okay, I can see the knocker on the front door and the labels on the beer bottles the men are drinking on the patio.”

“How many people are there?”

“There are eight out on the patio. No, wait. Two more coming out of the house with plates of food.”

“Is Flor there?”

“I don’t see her. It looks like there are two sentries, one by the driveway, and another out back talking to a girl by the barn. That’s twelve men.”

“Who else is there?”

“There’s a young girl serving drinks.”

“Do you recognize any of them?”

“I see José. I see Hector. The rest I don’t know. I wish I had a camera with a telephoto lens.”

Frank wondered about her previous operation, how they operated, what success they’d had. “I bet you a penny this is their pow-wow,” he said. “They’re discussing Jesus’s death, and how to react should the authorities trace anything to them. Probably some other contingency planning. And, of course, they need to plan the operation outside Hudson where we present ourselves for a four a.m. execution.”

A lawn mower cut into the call. “I’m back,” Pinto said. “We miss anything?”

“Christmas,” Frank said and looked up into the sky. Pinto’s plane was small and high up. “What do you see?”

Pinto said, “You’ve got a lot of people at the house.”

Frank wondered if Ed was there. A big meeting like this, he ought to be there. “Carmen, can you see Tony?”

“No Tony,” she said.

Pinto said, “Someone’s on a horse ride south of the property. There’s something down there, back in some rocky overhang. I think it’s a statue.”

“That’s the grotto,” Frank said.

“The rest of the area’s clear. Everyone else is moving about close to the house.”

Eyes in the sky, com-linked to the whole team, someone watching Frank’s back—it was just like old times. Except not really.

“Any propane tanks?” Frank asked.

There was a pause while he checked. A moment later he came back on. “None visible from the air.”

Frank said, “Carmen, you keep us apprised. Anybody new shows up, anybody changes locations—I want to know. Pinto, watch the wider area.”

“Roger,” Pinto said and muted his phone.

“Carmen?” Frank asked.

“Roger,” she said.

Frank said to Sam, “It’s time.”

They got back in the van. Only then did Frank realize that the license plates on the van were Wyoming plates. Someone working for Xcel of Colorado would not be driving a Wyoming minivan.

Frank got back out and used his wrench to unscrew the bolts holding the plates. Then he put them in the back with the rest of the stuff and wondered what else he’d missed. “When we go down the driveway, don’t turn around until it’s time to leave. A missing front plate is less noticeable than a missing back one. And you busy yourself in the van, like you’re taking calls and doing work. Get some paper and make notes.”

“Okay,” Sam said.

The sound of the Cessna roared into the call. Pinto said, “There are actually two riders. I missed the one. The riders have passed you. You’ll see them on your right as you drive toward the house.”

“Roger,” Frank said.

Pinto muted his phone again and the sound of the Cessna cut out.

Sam turned the minivan round once more and drove down the road back toward the long driveway that led to the house.

The key was going to be getting inside the house to get as much a feel for it as he could. He had a flashlight in his tool belt. He figured he’d bluff them, tell them that the survey was prompted by contaminants, and that he needed just a few seconds to judge the color of their gas flame.

He figured that would work, unless, of course, Pinto had missed the propane tank. In which case, the Gorozas would tell him they had no natural gas and would immediately become suspicious. Maybe demand credentials.

The other problem was that Ed had probably already made sure they’d seen his picture. They would have wanted to know who had killed their son. They would want to make sure all their people knew. In fact, they probably had a copy of his photo and were passing it around to the men on the patio. Frank’s face would be fresh on their minds. He just hoped the black-rimmed glasses and cap would be enough.

Frank shook his head. This was all such a long shot.

Sam slowly accelerated down the road.

“You okay?” Frank asked him.

“Capital,” Sam said.

“You better put on some sunglasses,” Frank said. “You’ve got the worst poker face I’ve ever seen.”

Sam tapped a flat compartment in the ceiling of the van. It opened up to reveal a pair of sunglasses with big lenses and thick white frames—something only a woman would wear. “I don’t wear sunglasses,” Sam said, but he removed the glasses and put them on. He glanced over at Frank for an assessment.

“You look like an escapee from the Village People. Put ‘em back,” Frank said. “We’ll have to hope nobody questions you. But if they do, just imagine your face is a frying pan.”

“That’s what they teach you in the army?”

“No,” Frank said. “But it’s the best we’ve got right now.”

Up ahead on the right, the riders came into view. Frank hadn’t noticed it before, but there was a trail about thirty yards off the road that ran through the ponderosa and prairie grass. The horses looked like fine animals, well-muscled and sleek. One was the color of pale sand with a black mane and tail. A girl rode on it. The other horse was black as night. Its tail was bobbed, its mane braided. It looked like a show horse. An older woman rode it.

Sam slowly caught up to them and passed. Frank caught a glimpse of the older woman’s face before she moved back into the pines.

“Plan change,” Frank said. He looked down the road. Saw the perfect place. “See that big dead pine a ways down?”

“Yeah.”

“Get this thing down there quick and pull over. We’re getting out. We’re going to hop the fence and hustle out into that field.”

“What’s going on?”

“That was Flor Goroza on the lead horse. Probably just finished praying for her son in that grotto.”

“And swift vengeance on the ones responsible for his death.”

“We’re going to do it here.”

“They’re on horses.”

“Barging into a house is like storming a castle. Riskiest thing there is. Taking someone out in the open, away from all those beer drinking guns—dude, this is our opportunity.”

“Maybe the desk jockeys came through,” Sam said.

“What would Pinto say?” Frank asked.

The lawn mower cut in. “Pinto would say that you’d better speed up, or you’re going to miss this window.”

“Okay,” Sam said, screwing up his courage. “Okay.” He accelerated, sped down the road toward the pine. Frank grabbed the clipboard and duct tape. He had his glasses on. Had his baby blue baseball cap. Had the tool belt. Operation Flor was a go.

“Right here,” Frank said. “Turn it around so we’re facing away from the drive; as soon as we have her we want out of this place.” He glanced back. The riders hadn’t appeared through the trees yet, but he and Sam didn’t have much time before they would come into view.

Sam braked hard, moved to the other side of the road, and made a tight U-turn that put them right alongside the shoulder on the Goroza side of the road. Sam put it in park. “So what are we going to do? Jump out of some bushes? I don’t see much cover.”

“We’re going to act like we’re surveying. Like we own the place. We’re going to talk loud. Gesticulate large.”

Sam swallowed and nodded.

“We’ll be back here in less than three minutes.”

“Okay,” Sam said again, obviously feeling his nerves. “Time to go get us a slaver.”

He turned off the van and they both opened the doors and hustled off the road’s shoulder to the barbed-wire fence. Frank gimped along, but he could bear a little pain for Tony. For those children.

They climbed over the fence into the Goroza’s property. This particular spot was a nice swath of open prairie grass about a hundred yards long. At one end were the pines from which Flor would emerge. At the other was the last stand of pines before the land opened up on the open fields around the Goroza’s house.

The horse trail was only a couple dozen yards up ahead. “Right here,” Frank said. “Just walk.”

Sam slowed to a walk. He was breathing hard, looking all wide-eyed.

“We own the place,” Frank said.

“Right.”

Frank patted his belt. The duct tape was still there. This was going to work.

At the end of the field, the riders flashed between the trees.

Frank said, “They’re going to come talk to us. When I grab Flor’s reins, you grab the reins of the second rider. You’re going to need to pull her off the horse. We’ll duct tape them both. Then we’ll take Flor with us.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling, Frank.”

“This is your first dance. Of course, you do. We all get a bad feeling the first time out.”

“I know, but it’s kidnapping.”

“It’s Tony. It’s those children.”

Sam blew out a big sigh.

The two riders began to emerge from the trees.

“Showtime,” Frank said. “Pace with me.” He strode off fifteen paces like he was measuring something. Then he turned his back to Flor, pointed down. He spoke loudly. “This spot here is where the pipe’s coming through.”

Sam got into his role. He pointed out to the road. “Over that hill, then run it the rest of the way out past the house. All these trees will have to go.”

Frank nodded. He spread his arms wide. “We’re talking a swath twenty feet wide for all the equipment.” He acted like he’d just glimpsed the riders out of the corner of his eye, looked at them bold as you please, then he stepped off another ten paces and pointed from his current spot to the previous one where Sam stood. “We’re talking this wide,” he said loudly.

Sam nodded. “I think that will work.” He was getting into his role.

Flor was now only a few dozen yards off, looking at them from atop her horse with some annoyance. Of course, from the photo Frank had seen, that could be her happy face. She had shorter hair than in her photo and a good amount of blue eye shadow. The second rider was much younger than Frank had first thought. She looked young enough to be Flor’s granddaughter.

Frank pointed at the riders and said loudly, “Let these folks pass.” Then he turned over his clipboard and began writing and diagramming, making notes, ignoring Flor like she was some kind of tourist.

When they got close, he looked up and smiled. “Hello,” he said.

Flor gave her reins the slightest tug, and her splendid black horse stopped. The girl behind stopped her horse as well. They were amazing animals. Even Frank could see that. Flor held a black leather riding crop in one hand. Behind her were two saddle bags. In the bags were tall candle glasses. The wax had all burned away; the glass was smoky.

“Who are you?” Flor demanded.

Frank took on happy helpful tone. “Well, Ma’am, my name is Clarence Thomas. I’m with Xcel Energy.” He folded his clipboard under his arm and walked toward her. “We’re out doing a survey. Is this your land?”

“I don’t know of any survey.”

Frank continued with the happy helpful worker bit. “Well, Xcel Energy is always looking to develop domestic energy sources. And our geologists are thinking there might be something in this area.”

“What are you talking about? Oil?”

“Natural gas.” He walked right up to her. “Natural gas is our future. There’s a big old fault that runs parallel to I-25. Every so often a secondary fault will shoot off. Those formations are rich with gas.”

Frank had no idea what he was talking about. He’d BS’d with a driller that worked for Halliburton a few weeks ago. He was making this all up from what he could remember of that conversation.

He glanced at Sam who had just realized he needed to be next to the girl’s horse, not ten feet down the trail.

“So, Ma’am, we’re just out doing a preliminary. But we do want to talk to the owners. Do you know who owns this property?”

“I own this property.”

“Well, that’s perfect. You’re going to get a letter and a call. I can’t promise anything, but if things check out, there might be a lease opportunity.”

“I am not interested in trucks and drilling rigs ruining my land, Mister . . .”

“Thomas. Clarence Thomas. Like the supreme court judge.”

“Whatever.”

“Don’t be too quick. Things aren’t like they used to be. The way they drill now, they can go in from the side. Set up the rig a mile away, off your property, and go in sideways. You’ll never even notice.” Frank was waiting for Sam to get into position, but he was taking his time.

“Is that so?”

“There’s a lot of good money to be made. Of course, this land might be dry.”

“Well, today is not the day for me to talk. We’ll wait for your letter and call.”

Frank’s golden opportunity was about to ride off. He looked at Sam.

Sam smiled broadly. He said, “You have got some fine horses here. Is this palomino a Morgan?” He walked up to the girl’s horse and patted its flank.

“It is,” Flor said, her face as bitter as old beer.

“Not as high-strung as an Arabian, but a much finer sit than the Quarter Horse. When I was a kid, our troop rode Morgans to get our equestrian merit badge.”

“How nice,” Flor said. “And now we need to go. Excuse us.”

Show time.