Short Straw

Thirty-two

JOE BIG BEAR SAT IN HIS PICKUP A HUNDRED YARDS UP THE mountain from Ed Eagle's driveway. He checked his watch again: eight o'clock. As if a button had been pushed, Eagle's Mercedes came out of the driveway and turned downhill toward Tesuque. Joe did not follow; there was no point. There was just the one road.

He waited until the car had disappeared down the road, then he started the pickup and drove slowly down the hill. Halfway to the village, he went round a bend, then pulled over at a wide place on the shoulder and got out. This was good, he thought. Eagle would come around the bend and see the truck there with the hood up. Joe would step out and flag him down, as if he needed help. Eagle would recognize him and stop, roll down the passenger window. Joe would put both barrels into him, get back in his pickup and drive away.

He waited in the spot for another half hour, and no one drove by. No commuters at this time of day, except Eagle. Good.

ED EAGLE WALKED into his office at 8:30 a.m. and called the agent representing the seller of Susannah's new house. Within a few minutes he had moved up the closing a week. He called Susannah.

"Hello?"

"Good morning. How did the unpacking go?"

"Very well, thanks, and I got a good night's sleep. By the end of the day it's going to look like I've always lived here."

"Good. I moved up the closing to this Friday. That okay with you?"

"Sounds great."

"Can you fly here tomorrow?"

"I can. I think I might even be able to wangle a seat on the Centurion Jet. Rick Barron has a place in Santa Fe, and he goes every weekend."

"Let me know, and I'll meet you at the airport."

"Great, because I don't have a car in Santa Fe, yet. I'll have to buy one."

"I'll take you car shopping."

"That would be very nice."

"And I'll cook you dinner tomorrow night."

"That would be wonderful. You sure you don't mind putting me up until Friday?"

"Longer, if you can't get your furniture here by then."

"I've already told them to ship it. I'll call and see when I can expect it to arrive."

"Call me from the airplane and let me know your ETA tomorrow." He gave her his cell phone number.

"Will do. I'm looking forward to seeing you."

"And I you." Eagle hung up feeling just wonderful.

They drove into Mazatlan and followed the signs toward the ferry. Vittorio pointed ahead. "There's a pack-and-ship place," he said, pulling into a parking place. "I'll be right back." He got out of the car.

Barbara, lying in the rear seat, lifted her head and watched him go, the FedEx envelope in his hand. Less than ten minutes later, he returned empty-handed. She was very disappointed with him. When Ed got the envelope with the blank pages, he'd be on the phone to Vittorio, and there would be hell to pay.

She lay back down and thought about her plan. It wasn't foolproof; she'd have to get lucky. On the other hand, she'd always been able to make her luck, one way or another.

HALF AN HOUR LATER they rolled onto the car ferry. Barbara stole a look around as they drove on. It wasn't very big: half a dozen vehicles and some foot traffic.

"Barbara," Cupie said, "you're going to have to stay where you are; we can't take any chances. There's a snack bar one deck up. Can I bring you anything?"

"No," she replied. "I'm going to take a nap. How long is the ferry ride?"

"An hour and a half," Cupie replied. "Vittorio, you want a sandwich?"

"No, I'm going to the top deck, I think. I like to be as far from the water as possible on boats like this."

"Suit yourself." The two men got out of the car.

Barbara thought back to their first dip in the Pacific the day before. Vittorio had refused to go into the water more than waist deep. Vittorio couldn't swim.

HAROLD FUENTES sat in the dining hall of the Santa Fe County Correctional Center and ate his Jell-O. It wasn't going down very well. This Joe Big Bear had pissed him off. Big Bear had taken twelve thousand, five hundred dollars of Harold's money and insulted him in the process. The man had no respect, and Harold was very big on respect.

Harold had already decided to kill Big Bear as soon as he got out. He knew where the guy lived, in that trailer next to the junkyard on the road to the airport, so it wouldn't be all that hard. When it was done he'd ransack the trailer and find the money, get it all back. But as he thought some more about it, he didn't relish doing the actual deed. After all, Big Bear had weapons of his own, and he might be a light sleeper. Then Harold smiled to himself. Maybe there was a better way.

He finished his lunch, then went and stood in line at the bank of pay phones outside the dining hall, fingering the quarters in his pocket. He'd show the son of a bitch, then he'd get his money back.

WHEN EAGLE GOT BACK from lunch, Betty followed him into his office and closed the door.

"What's up?" he asked.

"You had a phone call a few minutes ago," she said.

"Who?"

"I don't know, but the caller ID. said it came from the county jail."

"We got any clients in there right now?"

"This wasn't from a client; it was about a client."

"Who?"

"The caller said that your client, Joe Big Bear, is going to try to kill you, so to watch your ass."

Eagle sat down. "Why would Joe want to kill me?" he asked. "I mean, I just got him off a triple-murder rap."

"The caller didn't say why; he just said that Big Bear was going to try and kill you."

"That doesn't make any sense," Eagle said. "Well, thanks for letting me know, Betty, but I wouldn't worry about it."

"I think the guy was right; you'd better watch your ass."

"I will, thank you."

The phone rang, and Eagle spoke to another client. He forgot about the earlier message.

WHEN THEY REACHED the snack-bar deck of the ferry, Cupie put his hand on Vittorio's arm before he could continue up the stairs. "Wait a minute," he said.

"What's up, Cupie?"

"There's something wrong about this kidnapping thing and the interest of the Mexican police in our Barbara."

"What do you mean, wrong?"

"I mean, these kidnapping rings down here have got this down to a science: they pick on business executives whose companies have big insurance policies covering kidnapping. They snatch a CEO, or somebody like that, then they do a deal for five or ten million dollars. The insurance company pays, the businessman gets sent home, maybe minus an ear, and everybody but the insurance company is happy."

"Yeah, I've heard about that. What's your point?"

"My point is, they wouldn't be chasing Barbara around for the three hundred grand in traveler's checks in her handbag. That's small potatoes to these people."

"It doesn't sound like small potatoes to me," Vittorio said.

"Not only is it small potatoes, but it's one hell of a lot of trouble for them, too. They've lost one man and had another shot."

"That means nothing to these people. To them, life is cheap."

"And we messed up their Suburban pretty good, too."

"Well, maybe we pissed them off enough that they would keep looking for her."

Cupie shook his head. "I don't think so. I think it's something else."

"What else?"

"I don't know. I just think there's another reason for all this, and I wish I knew what it was."

"Cupie, my friend, you're getting paranoid. Relax. We'll be in Tijuana by lunchtime tomorrow, and we'll be rid of Mrs. Eagle."

"I hope you're right," Cupie said doubtfully.

"I am," Vittorio replied.

Cupie watched him climb the stairs to the upper deck. "Something's wrong," he said aloud to himself.