Showdown in West Texas (3 page)

A fly buzzed around his face as he stepped through the door and stood for a moment glancing around. A bar to his left ran the length of the place, but the five or six patrons were all seated around a table in the back. The light was so dim, Cage could barely make
out their features, but he knew he had their attention. He heard a mutter in Spanish, followed by a mocking guffaw.

Ignoring the stares, he slid onto a stool and placed his phone on the bar.

After a moment, the bartender threw a towel over his shoulder and sidled over to Cage. “What can I get for you?”

“Cerveza,”
Cage said. “Whatever you've got that's cold.”

“A man with discerning tastes, I see.” The bartender reached for a chilled mug.

“Discerning, no,” Cage said. “Parched, yes.”

The bartender gave him a curious glance. “Haven't seen you in here before.”

“Never been in before, but you come highly recommended.” Cage picked up the beer and took a thirsty swallow. “Damn, that's good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, just appreciative.”

“Well, it's always nice to be appreciated. I'm Frank Grimes, by the way.”

“Cage Nichols.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Cage.”

They shook hands.

“Likewise.”

Frank Grimes was a tall, slender man of about fifty with longish gray hair and dancing blue eyes. His faded jeans and madras shirt looked straight out of the sixties, as did the silver peace sign he wore on a black cord around his neck.

He had the look of an artist, Cage decided. The kind
that spent his spare time painting coyotes silhouetted against sunsets.

“So, what brings you to our fair town?” Frank folded his arms and leaned against the bar.

“Car trouble,” Cage said.

Frank nodded. “A story with which I'm intimately familiar. I was on my way to Juarez when my fuel pump went out just south of town. I had to wait overnight for a part that never came in, and I've been here ever since. That was three years ago.”

Cage grimaced. “Well, I hope to have a little better luck than you. I need to be in El Paso by five.”

Frank's brows rose. “Five o'clock
today?
”

“Yeah.”

“Life or death?”

“More or less.”

“That stinks for you, then.”

“Tell me about it. I'm still holding out some hope I'll be able to make it on time,” Cage said as he took another drink of his beer. “The mechanic at the garage is on his way to Redford now to pick up a part for me.”

“You mean Lester?”

“Yeah, that's him.”

Frank's eyes twinkled. “How much did you have to pay him?”

“What makes you think I paid him?”

“Because Lester never does anything out of the kindness of his heart. So, how much?”

“Fifty up front and fifty when he returns with the part.”

Frank whistled. “That was a big mistake, Cage. You never give Lester anything up front. He gets a little coin
in his pocket, you'll be lucky if you see him by the end of the week.”

“Damn.”

“Damn is right. Might as well have another beer while you wait. I doubt you'll be doing any driving today.”

“I don't suppose there's a rental car place in town?” When Frank shook his head, Cage said, “What about a bus?”

“Last westbound Greyhound left two hours ago.”

Cage flipped open his cell phone. “What's up with the signal around here?”

“We're in a dead zone,” Frank said.

“How the hell can you be in a dead zone? You're out in the middle of nowhere. The signal should be able to travel for miles.”

“I've been told it has something to do with electromagnetic currents in the air.”

“Personally, I think it's the aliens,” a female voice said behind Cage.

He turned to see the blond woman he'd met earlier in front of the post office. For a moment, he flattered himself into thinking she'd come in especially to see him, but then she went around the bar and kissed Frank on the cheek before grabbing an apron from a nearby hook. As she tied it around her slender waist, she gave Cage another one of those knowing smiles.

“See? I told you this place had the coldest beer in town.”

“Never mind that we're the
only
place in town,” Frank said.

“All the more impressive that we maintain our rigid standards.”

Cage hadn't noticed before the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, or the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled. She really was a very pretty woman.

“So, E.T. or undocumented workers?” he asked, deciding a little flirtation wouldn't do any harm. As long as he was stuck here, he might as well make the wait pleasant.

“Excuse me?”

“You said aliens were responsible for the cell phone blackout around here,” he reminded her.

Frank laughed. “That would be E.T.,” he said. “Sadie here drives out to the desert every night with a lawn chair and a six-pack hoping for her very own close encounter.”

“Ha-ha, very funny,” she said as she took a rag and started wiping down the already spotless bar. “I happen to like watching the desert sky. It's beautiful, and you'd be amazed at some of the things you can see out there.”

An argument erupted behind them, and Sadie's smile faded as her gaze shot to the table in the corner. But when Cage started to turn, she put her hand on his arm and said softly, “Nah-uh, hon. Best to mind your own business around here.”

“I find it best to do that most everywhere,” Cage said.

She nodded. “Smart man.”

Someone from the table called out her name. She and Frank exchanged a quick look before she rounded the bar and hurried over to the table.

Cage watched in the mirror as a tall, dark man with a ponytail down his back rose from the table and took Sadie's arm. She flung off his hand and said something in Spanish, her tone furious. A chortle rose from the
group, and she shot a murderous look at the whole table.

“Perros mugrientos,”
she muttered as she came back over to the bar.

“Everything okay?” Cage asked.

She shrugged.

“Boyfriend trouble?”

“Husband,” she said with an apologetic smile.

Cage's gaze dropped to her left hand.

“I don't wear a ring,” she said. “It drives Sergio crazy.”

“From now on, take the family squabbles outside,” Frank said. “I don't want any trouble in here.”

“You were asking for trouble the minute you agreed to let them meet here,” she warned angrily.

“Why don't you just take the rest of the day off?” Frank said. “I can handle things here.”

Sadie glared at him. “No way. I'll tell you the same thing I just told Sergio. I'm not leaving until I'm damn good and ready. Or until you fire me.”

“You know I'm not going to fire you,” Frank said wearily.

“Then let me stay and do my job. You won't have any more trouble. Not from Sergio. I'll make sure of that.” She turned to Cage with a weak smile. “Sorry about the floor show.”

He shrugged. “We've all got problems.”

“Another beer?”

“I need to find a phone first.”

“There's a pay phone in the back.” She waved a hand in the general vicinity. “Need some quarters?”

“I've got a credit card, but thanks.”

She picked up his cell phone and slipped it into the
pocket of her apron. When he lifted a questioning brow, she grinned. “Insurance, so you don't get the bright idea of skipping out on your bill.”

“She's only half joking,” Frank said.

“Don't worry, I'll be back. But you do realize that thing is pretty much worthless around here.”

Cage knew he was the focus of attention from the men at the table, and he sized them up as best he could from the corner of his eye as he headed toward the back. Three young Hispanics and two middle-aged Caucasians. All thugs, by the looks of them, but Cage wasn't about to involve himself in whatever shady dealings they were plotting. All he wanted to do was get his car running and make tracks for El Paso, the sooner the better.

He located the phone and punched in a series of numbers, including his credit card number. The dark-haired man—Sergio—brushed past him on his way to the restroom. Cage caught a glimpse of a nasty-looking scar that curved around the man's throat before he disappeared through the door.

Cage had seen a scar like that only one other time—on an ex-con who'd had his throat slashed in a prison brawl.

He stared after the man for a moment, then turned back anxiously to the phone when his party answered on the other end.

“It's Cage.”

“¿Qué pasa, tío?”
Andy Sikes drawled jovially. “You already in town?”

“No, that's why I'm calling. I've run into a little trouble on the road.”

“What kind of trouble?” Andy asked suspiciously. The two men went back a long way, far enough that Andy was a little too familiar with Cage's track record.

“My car broke down. I'm about a hundred and eighty miles from El Paso in a little Podunk place called San Miguel. Doesn't look good about making that four o'clock meeting.”

“Damn it, Cage—”

“I know, I know, you went out on a limb to set it up for me—”

“Jumped through hoops is more like it. It's not just your ass on the line here. If you don't make that meeting, my boss is going to be
muy
ticked off, and that's putting it mildly.”

“I hear you. But there's nothing I can do but wait for a part. If I can get on the road within the next hour, I may still be able to make it. It'd help, though, if you'd run a little interference for me.”

“Stall, you mean.”

“Just for an hour or so.”

Andy's exasperated sigh came through loud and clear. “I'll do what I can, but you get your ugly hide to El Paso if you have to sprout wings out your butt and fly here.”

“I will. And I owe you one, okay?”

“No, you don't. Let's just call it even. After all, if I hadn't thrown that illegal block sixteen years ago, you might be playing for the Cowboys instead of hustling drill bits for that
pendejo
you call a brother-in-law.”

“Water under the bridge. I'll see you in a few hours.”

Cage hung up and looked around. He hadn't seen Sergio come out of the bathroom, but he tried the door anyway. It was unlocked and he went in to wash up.

As he stared as his own reflection—the gaunt face, the receding hairline, the tiny grooves that had begun to fan out at the corners of his eyes—he thought again of his father. Maybe he was starting to understand a little of the old man's desperation.

Not much liking what he saw in the mirror, Cage turned on the faucet, and after washing his hands, splashed cold water on his face.

As he was drying off, he noticed that the window was open, and it occurred to him that the reason he hadn't seen Sergio come out of the bathroom was because he'd gone through the window. Evidently, he was giving someone the slip—

A woman's scream brought Cage's head around with a jerk. In two strides he was across the room and flung back the door a split second before another sound registered…the steady
spit-spit-spit
of silenced weapons.

In the space of a heartbeat, Cage took in the bloody massacre as he stood there in the doorway. Two of the men at the table were slumped over in their chairs and a third had fallen to the floor. The fourth had tried to crawl toward the door and now lay twitching in a deepening pool of red.

Cage saw a bloody hand protruding from the end of the bar, and he recognized Sadie's pink nail polish. She was clutching his cell phone. Two crimson splatters on the wall behind the bar marked the spot where she and Frank had been caught by the bullets.

The gunmen were still inside the bar. They were young white guys, unmasked, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. As one of them pumped another round into the
man on the floor, the shooter nearest the bar looked up and caught Cage's eye in the mirror. His reflexes seemed almost supernatural as he spun and fired in one fluid movement.

Cage jumped back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

During the hospital stay after his shooting, he'd often wondered what would happen if he found himself again on the wrong end of a loaded weapon. Would he freeze up? Beg for mercy? Roll over and play dead?