Mexican hat (31 page)

Phil's raw sexual glance sent a shiver up Karen's spine. She leaned against the seat and stared at her cuffed hands. Phil's rifle was in the gun rack, but she doubted she could get to it before he could react. She needed to hit him with something, but there was nothing substantial in sight to do it with.

After a mile on the flats, the ranch road cut through some low hills. Phil drove with one eye on the road and the other on her, shifting his gaze back and forth before each curve. There were pools of standing water in the ruts from the heavy morning rain, and Phil slowed down a bit going through them. Silently, Karen started counting seconds between Phil's glances. There was about a ten-second break in eye contact.

The next curve came up, and Phil's eyes moved back to the road. Karen pivoted on the seat, brought her legs up, and kicked at Phil's face with her boots.

He saw the blow coming and threw up a hand to deflect it. Karen's foot slammed into the steering wheel. Phil clamped his hand on her calf and lost control of the truck. They lunged off the road into an arroyo. Phil wrenched the wheel as they slid sideways down the slope.

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Karen kicked Phil in the cheek with her free leg. The truck fish-tailed into a tree, bounced, and landed on its side. Phil's head snapped against the doorpost, and Karen landed on top of him, her knees grinding into his ribs.

She waited for him to move, but he remained still. She pushed herself upright until her head bumped the passenger door. She swung the door open, gripped the roof with both hands, pulled herself free, and landed hard on her feet. Unsteadily she walked to the front of the truck. Through the cracked windshield she could see that Phil was out cold. She had to get the handcuffs off before he regained consciousness. She shattered the glass with a large rock, reached in, and fumbled in his shirt pocket for the handcuff key.

Her hands were shaking, and it took several attempts to get the key in the lock. Wooziness hit her, and she stopped until it passed. She got the cuffs off, wrapped Phil's arms through the steering wheel, cuffed him, and threw away the key. She crawled halfway into the cab, picked up the rifle from the floorboard, and scrambled out.

She sat on the ground and trembled, her eyes locked on Phil's unconscious face, wondering where the insanity in him came from and why she hadn't seen it before. Maybe it had been there all the time, lurking under the surface. Maybe it was the legacy of bitterness and rage passed on from father to son.

Finally calm, she considered her options. She could walk to the highway and try to flag down some help or head to the ranch. There wasn't enough time to turn back. It would be the ranch, she decided, even if she had face down Omar Gatewood and Uncle Eugene by herself to free Kerney.

She checked the Winchester, found it fully loaded, and set out for the Slash Z.

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IMPATIENTLY, Stiles checked his watch every few minutes. The thought that Kerney and Karen might be in trouble gnawed at him, but he didn't have anything soHd to back up the feeling. He gave in to his anxiety and started punching in Phil Cox's number on the cellular phone when a pickup truck sped by and braked quickly for the turn to the Slash Z. Jim dropped the phone in his lap and hit the car horn repeatedly. The truck stopped at the cattle guard.

"What is it?" Molly said, somewhat startled.

"That's Edgar Cox. Drive over to him."

Edgar Cox waited for the car to pull up, wondering who in the hell had flagged him down. Cody crawled into his lap, rolled down the window, and leaned out. Elizabeth, kneeling on the bench seat, stared out the rear window.

Jim got out of the Mustang and stepped over to Edgar's truck. "Mr. Cox," he said.

"I'm in a hurry, Jim," Edgar replied.

"Looking for Karen?"

"How did you know?"

"We saw her drive in with Phil."

Edgar relaxed a bit. "That's a relief."

"Why do you say that?"

"She left me a note. It threw me for a loop. Maybe I'm getting too suspicious in my old age."

"Can I see it?"

Edgar handed Jim the note.

"I thought maybe she was in some sort of trouble," Edgar said.

Jim read the note. "What makes you say that?" Molly was at Jim's side. He passed the note to her.

"The way it's written, the words she used, the little squiggle

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near the end of it. I thought it looked like a Z with a slash through it."

"It does," Jim replied.

"I agree," Molly said as she returned the note to Edgar.

"Who is this woman?" Edgar asked, as he put the note away.

"My partner, Officer Hamilton," Jim replied.

Edgar nodded a greeting at Molly and turned his attention back to Stiles. "It's just as well Karen is with Phil. I can kill two birds with one stone."

"Meaning?"

"Family business, Jim." He clutched and put the truck in gear. "It's not your concern."

Jim reached in, killed the engine, and took the key from the ignition.

Edgar gave him a hard look. "Why did you do that?"

"What if Karen is in trouble?"

"Sitting here jabbering with you and your partner won't answer that question," Edgar snapped. "I'm sure it's just a family visit."

"Don't bullshit me, Edgar. Karen hasn't stepped onto Slash Z property in over twenty years, if ever. And we're just back from Arizona, where we had a nice chat with Eugene's wife, Louise. So whatever is going on, we're in on it. Now, I'm going to call and talk to Phil before any of us move down that road."

"What for?"

"Because I've got a bad feeling about this. Was Kevin Kemey with Karen today?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen my daughter since early this morn-ing."

Jim stepped back to the Mustang, grabbed the cellular phone,

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and dialed the number. Phil's wife, Doris, answered.

"Doris, this is Jim Stiles. Is Phil home?"

"Jim! I was so very sorry to hear what happened to you. Are you up and around now?"

"I'm much better, thanks. Is Phil there?"

"Not yet."

"Do you know where he is?" Jim asked.

"I have no idea."

"Is he with Eugene?"

"No. But Sheriff Gatewood is. His police car is parked outside."

"Is anyone with Omar, Doris?"

"I think so. PJ said he saw a man with him. I don't know who

it IS.

"Let me talk to PJ."

"He's down at the barn doing chores," Doris said. "If you miss Phil, I'll let him know you called when he gets home."

"Thanks, Doris." Jim hit the disconnect button. "Phil and Karen haven't showed up yet, and Omar Gatewood, who was supposed to be in Silver City, is with Gene. He brought somebody with him. I think it may be Kerney.

"I'm going to give you some lawful orders, Edgar, and I expect you to follow them," Jim continued. "Officer Hamilton and I are going to ride in the back of your truck. If we see anything unusual at all, I'll order you to stop. Do it right away. If not, just before you reach the ranch, there's a slight downgrade as you come around the last hill."

"I grew up here, damn it!"

"Yes, sir. I know that. Stop the truck before the curve and stay in the vehicle until I do a sweep, just to make sure everything is all right."

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"Is all this necessary?" Edgar demanded, as he took the truck keys back from Stiles.

Cody looked at Jim with wide, excited eyes. Edgar pulled him away from the open window and sat him down on the seat.

"Just do as I say, Mr. Cox," Jim said in exasperation. "Understand?"

"I can follow orders."

"Good. Are you carrying any firearms?"

"There's a Colt thirty-eight in the glove box."

"Grab it by the barrel and hand it over."

Edgar gave Jim the pistol, and he handed it to Molly. "Hold on to this for me."

"This is ridiculous," Edgar said.

"Maybe so, but Padilla Canyon taught me a lesson. I'm not making any more assumptions about what is safe and what isn't until I check things out."

"You'd better know what you're doing," Edgar warned.

Bouncing along in the back of the truck, Molly sat with the pistol cradled in her hands. She looked at the gun and glanced over at Jim, who was resting against the wheel well.

''Officer Hamilton?" she whispered.

Jim grimaced. "I didn't want to tell him you were my girl."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"I think so."

"It turns you on, doesn't it?"

"What turns me on?"

"Cop stuff."

Jim chewed his lip before answering. "Yeah, sometimes it does. Does that bother you?"

"No. What bothers me is that maybe you'll get hurt again."

Mexican Hat ■ 29

EUGENE COX sat in his wheelchair in the front room dressed in starched military fatigues. An AK-47 rested against the side of the chair. On the collar of his shirt were the eagles of a bird colonel, and on the left sleeve he wore a Catron County Militia unit patch. Freshly shaved, Eugene had combed his hair straight back over his ears.

The room was trashed with newspapers, magazines, military training manuals, maps, and a clutter of old household appliances that would make an antique dealer drool. There was a floor-size Emerson radio against one wall with a Polar Cub oscillating fan on top that pushed warm air around the room, fluttering the piles of newspapers.

Gatewood forced Kerney to sit on the floor and stood behind him. Kerney smiled up at Eugene Cox. The old man ignored him. Caressing the barrel of the AK-47, he spoke to Omar.

"Where is Phil?"

"He'll be along shortly with Karen," Gatewood replied. "We thought it best not to travel together."

Eugene nodded.

"I'll tell you what I told Phil," Omar added. "You'll have to do your own dirty work on this one."

"Covering your ass, Omar? Or are you just a pantywaist?"

"You figure it out."

Eugene grunted. "Sometimes I think you're just another dumb-ass politician."

"Think whatever you like," Omar replied. "You still have to kill them if you want them dead."

"Fine." Eugene shifted his gaze to Kerney. "Why are you smiling at me like a jackass? What's so damn funny?"

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"Was I smiling?" Kerney answered.

Eugene's eyes bored into Kerney. "Don't be a smartass. Answer the question."

Kerney considered the man in the wheelchair dressed in combat fatigues with his useless legs dangling to the floor. "I was admiring your uniform."

Eugene sneered. "You like it?"

"Not really. But I'd love to hear about the militia."

Eugene threw his head back, smiled widely, and showed his stained teeth. "I bet you would."

"Why did you go after Jim Stiles?"

"Because he's the enemy, just like you. He's a diehard conservationist who doesn't understand history."

"What history is that?" Kerney asked.

"The history of revolution. The history of this country. The history of the men who settled the west. Who in the hell do you think preserved the land before the environmentalists began beating the drum? Ranchers. Ranchers brought the elk back. Ranchers protected the antelope. Ranchers saved the white-tailed deer."

"What's your point?"

"Blind, stupid government," Eugene roared. "That's my point. When a man can't manage his land as he sees fit, something ain't right. The government forces us to move fences so elk can migrate, tells us to keep our cattle away from streams to protect the fish, orders us to shut down winter pasture that can't be replaced because it's a habitat for some worthless, disease-carrying rodent or an exotic butterfly nobody gives a damn about. It doesn't make a fucking bit of sense."

Eugene warmed to his speechifying. "We pay taxes, higher

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grazing fees, and we still can't use the land the way God intended it to be used. We get shit on, and shit for it."

"It's a tough life," Kerney noted with sarcasm.

"Government interference will stop. That's what the militia stands for. That's what we're all about."

"Killing people will certainly get the government's attention," Kerney said, tired of Gene's harangue. He changed the subject. "Who shot Jim Stiles?"

"Phil," Eugene said proudly. "He volunteered. Is there anything else you're dying to know?"

"Tell me what happened between you and Edgar at Elderman Meadows."

Eugene chuckled. "It's a good story."

"I'd love to hear it."

Eugene thought about it for a minute. "Why not?" He grinned. "But you've gotta promise you won't tell."

"I promise," Kerney replied.

Eugene slapped his thigh and chuckled. "I like a man with a sense of humor. Back when Edgar and I were boys, our daddy sent us to Mangas Mountain to herd Padilla's sheep down to where some trucks were waiting to load them up. Now, Edgar had this real deep moral, do-right streak to him—he still does, far as I can tell—so Daddy told him we were just gonna be helping Padilla move his stock out of the mountains.

"Of course, we were rustling, but Daddy knew Edgar wouldn't stand for that, so he made up a helping-hand story for Edgar to swallow, figuring when it was all over the damage would be done and Edgar would have to put up with it or get the shit kicked out of him. He got the shit kicked out of him a lot back in those days."

"But not you, I bet," Kerney proposed.

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"Hell, no, not me. My daddy and I thought alike in a lot of ways. He trusted me. Relied on me as I got older.

"We got the herd delivered and were coming back home when snow started falling. When we reached the meadows we heard sheep bleating off on one of those little fingers where the open land snakes into the forest. It sounded like a goodly number, and we were short about twenty-five head on the drive down, so Edgar and I went looking.

"About a quarter mile in from the last stretch of meadow we found them in this craterlike field that was ringed by trees and a rock cliff. Never would have found it if it hadn't been for the bleating. The tree canopy looks unbroken until you get right under it. You could tell it had been used for a long time as a natural corral. Grass was scant, and there were old campsites all over the place.

"Well, Edgar wanted to take those sheep right to Don Luis, but I knew Daddy wanted every last one of them gone. He got real riled when I started shooting those lambs and ewes. I had to stand him down with my rifle until the job was done.

"When I was finished, we walked out of that crater to our horses. Edgar was crying like a baby. We ran smack into Don Luis, who wanted to know where his sheep were, and what the hell all the shooting was about. I had no choice but to kill him. Just as I pulled the trigger, Edgar shot me in the back with his pistol."

Edgar threw back his head and laughed bitterly. "The poor son of a bitch couldn't even kill me. Being the moral, self-righteous little pussy he is, he carried me home. My daddy beat him within an inch of his life before the doctor came."

"Didn't anyone raise a question about the slaughtered sheep?"

Euenge snickered. "There wasn't anyone left who gave a damn enough to ask questions. The Padillas had all scattered. Besides, by

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the time the spring thaw came, coyotes had picked those sheep clean."

"Still, Calvin had to hush it up," Kerney proposed. "How did he do it?"

"With money. How else? Besides that, there wasn't a white man in Catron County who would side against us with the Padillas. I doubt there are many today who would." Eugene switched his attention to Gatewood. "Omar, are you going to arrest me now that you've heard my confession?"

"I don't think so," Gatewood answered.

Eugene nodded his approval at Omar's reply. "See what I mean.''

"Does killing Karen even the score with Edgar?"

Eugene showed his stained teeth and smirked. "It doesn't even come close. Why are you sneering at me?"

"Wearing army fatigues with eagles on your collar doesn't make you a colonel," Kerney said, "Your brother won his rank in battle. All you are is a sick, crazy old man playing soldier."

Eugene snarled, picked up the AK-47, rolled the wheelchair within striking range, and slammed the butt on Kerney's gimpy knee. The pain sent shock waves through him.

THEY FOUND PHIL COX inhis Wrecked truck, chained to the steering wheel, barely conscious, and incoherent. He had a smashed cheekbone and an ugly bruise on his left temple. Jim checked his vital signs while steam hissed out of the cracked truck radiator. Edgar Cox leaned over Jim's shoulder with panic on his face, demanding that he ask about Karen.

Phil's eyes were unfocused. All he did was grunt when Jim

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