Night Vision

FOURTEEN

When the Mexican man with gold teeth shot Harris Squires with a rifle, Tula Choimha collapsed on the ground, in shock for a moment, regressing back to the child that life had never allowed her to be.

The lone exception: the night she had watched her father die in flames.

Tula screamed, drawing her body into a fetal position, as her eyes continued to watch what was happening. She screamed again when she saw that blood peppered the giant’s face and chest. But when the big man stumbled… almost fell… then somehow found the strength to keep moving forward, toward the man with gold teeth, Tula’s hysteria was displaced by her concern for Harris Squires.

The girl got to her feet, yelling in Spanish, “Stop hurting him! Don’t shoot him again!” Then she ran toward the Mexican, her fists clenched.

The Mexican was laughing at Squires, taunting him. He was motioning with his hand for the giant to keep coming. With every step, though, the Mexican took a step backward, staying just out of the giant’s reach.

Behind Tula, the redheaded woman was enjoying herself, calling, “V-man… Hey, Vic! Try to shoot him in the balls. See what kind of marksman you are!”

The rifle the man carried, Tula noticed, had two barrels. So maybe the rifle was a shotgun, although Tula wasn’t sure of the difference. Was the V-man carrying the gun in the crook of his arm because both barrels had been fired with one shot?

If so, Tula believed the giant might survive because his spirit was still strong despite the blood that now soaked his pretty blue shirt. The girl could tell because Squires was saying to the Mexican, “Is that your best shot, chilie? That the best you can do, douche bag?” his voice flinching with pain at each step but his eyes aflame, focused on the V-man.

Suddenly, it was as if the Mexican was done having fun, because he took two fast steps backward. Then he pointed the shotgun at Squires’s pelvis, saying, “I want to do this slow, jelly boy. Maybe shoot off your penga, that’ll make you smile for the camera. Then I’ll use the knife.”

Still grinning, the V-man looked toward the redhead as if seeking her approval… but then his expression changed. His attention shifted to Tula, who, still running and only a few strides away, screamed, “No-o-o-o!” a word that she had transformed into a sustained shriek.

The resonance of a young girl’s scream is fine-tuned by eons of adaptation to repel attackers, particularly human males. The V-man winced, his ears aching, and his awareness of Harris Squires was momentarily jammed. Then he had to stick a hand out to stop Tula, who crashed into his thigh, her fingernails flailing, as she tried to sink her teeth into the man’s arm.

Victorino’s Latin King soldiers had been pillaging the RV. But two of them were now sprinting to help as the V-man hollered, “Ouch, goddamn you!” Then: “Get this little bitch off me!”

Victorino swung his open hand at the girl’s face but missed. “Damn brat!” he hissed, then swung again and connected hard. Tula went sprawling, her nose bloody.

An instant later, the V-man’s attention returned to Squires, who was suddenly towering over him, his right fist drawn back. Victorino noticed just in time to roll his face away from the sledgehammer impact, a glancing blow that would have crushed his face. Instead, Victorino backpedaled several steps, still holding the shotgun, then went down hard on his butt.

Squires kept coming, the grin on his face grotesque because of the blood. But then the giant wasn’t grinning anymore because the V-man’s soldiers, Chapo and Zopilote, tackled him from behind.

Chapo had a small crowbar in his hand-he’d probably been looking for a secret stash inside the RV. And he began hammering at Squires’s back and butt with the bar to immobilize the man.

Victorino was dazed but still coherent enough to yell to Chapo, “Cripple him, but don’t kill him! Leave him for me!”

Then, standing, testing his balance, Victorino had to yell again, warning Chapo, “Watch out for the little cougar!” because the girl had a rock in her hand and was sprinting to help Squires.

Frankie intercepted the girl, though. She did it on the run, even with a drink in her hand, sweeping the skinny child up with her muscles, then swinging her around as if playing a game.

The redhead was still in a playful mood, the V-man could see it, which provided him an optimistic boost. So far, tonight hadn’t been nearly as much fun as he’d hoped. On the drive to the hunting camp, he’d pictured how it would go in his mind, first impressing the redhead by killing Squires with a flourish, then the two of them getting it on in front of the camera, being real sexy-dirty with the cute little chula.

But this chula was a street cat, not a whimpering child like most. And jelly boy had proven he had balls after all, almost humiliating him in front of Frankie.

Shit -Victorino was looking at his wrist where the girl had bitten him to the bone-the puta would have to pay for this. He’d make an example of her. Not kill her-a girl her age was too valuable-but maybe tie her up and use a razor like the Muslims did. Cut her body so she’d never be able to enjoy a man even when she was old and not getting paid for it.

Yeah, get it on camera. Victorino was wiping blood on his jeans as he pictured how it would go. Give the redhead a private warning by letting her watch him use the box cutter on the girl, then show the video to new chulas when they arrived in Florida desperate enough to do anything for money.

Tell the new girls: See what happens when you disobey the V-man?

But that would come later. After he and the redhead had enjoyed themselves a little, just as planned.

It would happen.

Victorino felt his confidence returning as he watched Frankie touch her fingernails to the little virgin’s throat and whisper something into the girl’s ear.

The chula had been screaming but instantly stopped, her face paling as if she was about to be sick.

It caused Frankie to beam at the V-man and brag, “You’re an idiot when it comes to girls, know that? To make a spoiled brat behave, you have to understand it’s all an act. Screaming, not putting out, whatever. It’s because they want something. Figure out what it is, then threaten to take it away. That’s how you handle a puta. Just about any girl, if she’s cute at all. They’re all the same.”

Frankie laughed into the chula ’s face, adding, “Aren’t you, darling? Aren’t you?” Then looked at Victorino, smiling. “I think the two of us are gonna get along just fine. You ready to have some fun?”

Spooky, the V-man decided, the way the redhead said that. They’re all the same. But kind of sexy, too, like Frankie was different from other women.

And maybe she was. But the bitch was already insulting him in front of his soldiers, calling him an idiot in her superior way. Which had to stop.

Victorino watched Frankie brush the girl’s hair back very gently as if playing with a doll, then he turned his head and told Chapo and Zopilote in Spanish, “Tie up jelly boy, we’ll deal with him later. Then search his truck. The tall gringa and me want some privacy for maybe an hour, with the girl. Find the money wherever jelly boy hid it. Then get the gas cans out, soak everything so the whole fucking place goes up when we’re ready. Afterward, I’ll give you the redhead as a present.”

In reply to their surprised expressions, he added, “ Seriously. Have yourselves some fun with those big chichis of hers tonight because tomorrow, maybe next day at the latest, I’m cutting them off.”

What Frankie whispered into Tula’s ear was, “Listen, you spoiled little bitch. If Harris dies tonight, it’s your fault. So shut your mouth… or God’s gonna blame you for killing your new sweetheart.”

It shocked Tula that a woman with eyes as black with fog as Frankie’s could speak of God in such a knowing, confident way. And also that the woman was able to look into Tula’s heart and recognize the sudden affection she felt for Squires.

Never in her life had a man done so much to protect her. Not since her father had died. The giant had not only tried to save Tula, he had continued to fight for her safety even after having been shot, then beaten. It squeezed the girl’s heart now, seeing him lying on the ground, bleeding and humiliated, after risking so much to help her. She wondered how many bullets were in his body and if he was dying.

He is our warrior, the Maiden said into Tula’s mind when she stopped struggling against the tall woman’s muscles. He is our knight. You must do whatever you can to help him.

As if reading Tula’s thoughts, the redhead surprised the girl again by saying, “Harris is kind of cute, isn’t he? Like a big stupid animal who’s eager to please. Trust me”-the woman laughed into the girl’s face, her breath foul with smoke and alcohol-“I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Into Tula’s mind flashed the image of the sad bear in the zoo as Frankie swung her toward the RV, bragging, “Know how I do it? I understand how women think. All their sneaky, catty ways. Plus, we’re a lot alike, me and tomboys like you. The first time I saw you, I could tell. A boy, my ass.

“Difference between us, you’re still hiding behind God. Me, I got smart quick and joined the other side. That’s where the fun is and the power. It’s all about power, nina. Power and money-money-money.”

Then the woman stumbled, slurring, “ Shit -you spilled my drink! Look at what you did. And your goddamn blood’s all over my new tank top!”

They were at the door to the RV now, and Tula was looking over the woman’s shoulder, seeing two men use tape on the giant’s wrists as the Mexican with gold teeth watched, holding the shotgun over his shoulder like a soldier who was tired of marching. In the lights of the pickup truck, Victorino’s face appeared swollen, misshapen, which reminded Tula of her own throbbing nose.

She pushed herself away from the woman and said, “I can’t breathe, please put me down. I need to blow my nose because the man hit me.”

The woman dropped Tula without warning-like a practical joke. When the girl’s head banged the steel steps to the trailer, it evoked a snort of laughter from Frankie.

“Good,” she said. “Knock some sense into you.”

The woman had found a tissue in her jeans and was rubbing at the blood on her shirt, her balance unsteady, getting madder as she smeared the blood. Then she gave up and hurled the tissue at Tula. “Stop fighting me! If you don’t, I’ll tell that Mexican to kill your boyfriend. How’d you like that?”

Tula was on her feet, sniffling, trying to stop her nose from bleeding, but her eyes were focused on Squires, who was still on his back, hands folded across his belly like a corpse because of the tape. The two men had the doors to the giant’s truck open. They were leaning inside, throwing things out onto the ground, while the Mexican with the gold teeth walked toward the RV, a bandy-legged man trying to appear taller than he was.

Frankie looked away from Tula long enough to grin at the V-man, who was close enough for her to call, “Does my Mexican stallion need a drinkie?”

Then the woman stabbed her fingernails under the girl’s chin, lifting Tula’s face, and whispered, “How’s a little saint like you gonna feel? Murdering your sweetie when God knows you could’ve stopped it.”

Tula could barely hear the woman’s words because, suddenly, the Maiden was in her head, voice firm, telling her what to do, what to say. The girl’s heart was pounding, but she wasn’t afraid-not for herself, anyway-but she ached for Squires, who lay on the ground, breathing fast, shallow breaths. She watched him turn his head to the side and cough, something bubbling out of his mouth and nose.

Blood, Tula realized.

Inside the girl’s head, the Maiden’s voice warned, “He has a bullet in his lungs. To save him, God will forgive you for anything you must do. I lied to my Inquisitors. Remember? ”

Tula remembered. Jehanne had even warned the vigilante priests that she would mislead them, if necessary, to spare her warrior knights. It was in the book Tula had left back at the trailer park.

I would rather have you cut my throat than betray my knights by telling you the truth, the saint had vowed.

Lying to an enemy wasn’t a lie-it was a weapon. And it made Tula furious to see the giant lying on the ground, vulnerable and in pain. It caused her to remember that she had weapons of her own.

You were born to do this, the Maiden whispered over the noise of Frankie’s voice. You were born to fight evil, to smite the devil down.

Evil. This woman, Frankie, was evil. Tula had known it from their first meeting. In Harris Squires, the girl had recognized the scars of the redheaded woman’s sins. A wickedness so pervading that it had clouded the man’s goodness. It clung to him like an odor.

That odor filled the air now, stronger than Frankie’s drunken breath, as Tula looked into the woman’s face and said, “I’m sorry… I don’t want you to be mad at me. I’m sorry about your blouse-you’re so beautiful, it’s a shame. Because of the way you look, a woman so tall and pretty, it scares someone like me. That’s why I tried to get away.”

The woman appeared startled. It took her a drunken moment to process what the girl had said. “You’re goddamn right you should be sorry. But maybe the stains’ll come out if I don’t let it dry. I’ve heard if you use warm water-”

Abruptly, Frankie stopped, as if she’d just realized something. She had been looking at her tank top, pulling it away from her breasts, but then grabbed Tula by the hair and tilted her face upward. “Hey! Where’d you learn to speak such good English? Don’t get the idea you can fool me, you’re not smart enough.”

The girl stared at Frankie, wanting the redheaded woman’s eyes to concentrate on her, only her. At the convent, Sister Lionza had taught her that focus was required if she hoped to influence a person’s thoughts.

Tula winced because the woman was hurting her but maintained eye contact, saying, “I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but there’s something you don’t understand.” The girl lowered her voice as if to whisper a secret. “I’ve never had anyone say the things you just said to me. It’s like you were inside my mind. You understand my thoughts. Do you really? It would be nice to know that someone really understood. I feel guilty sometimes-and alone.”

Slowly, the woman released Tula’s hair, looking at her, her expression puzzled. She watched the girl’s posture change, noting the girlish cant of hips, the innocent dark eyes, before asking, “What I said about not killing Harris, you mean? Or about the tomboy thing?”

By then, Victorino was close enough for Tula to glance at the man, then say to Frankie, “Maybe later we can talk-just us together? It’s. .. it’s not easy for me to trust anyone, but you seem… different than other women.”

Victorino arrived, throwing his arm around Frankie’s waist, asking, “What’s the problem with the little bitch now?”

The woman disentangled herself from the man and gave him a shove, demanding, “Where’s the money? Did you find it?”

The V-man couldn’t believe what he was hearing, the woman mad at him again for no reason. “You been watching the whole time,” he said. “What the hell you think? My boys are doing that job right now, stop worrying. I give them an order, you can bet they gonna do it.”

“Priceless,” the woman muttered, “a regular genius,” as she placed her hand on Tula’s shoulder. When the girl felt Frankie’s fingernails on her skin-their questioning pressure-Tula walked her hand across the small of the woman’s back and leaned her weight against Frankie’s thigh despite the welling disgust inside her.

Tula was concentrating on Squires, sending the giant strong thoughts, telling him, Stay alive… stay alive… stay alive, as Frankie said to V-man, “Tell me something-why’d you have to slap this girl? You’re so goddamn dumb, I’d slap you myself if your face wasn’t already such a mess.”

The man thrust his wrist out, saying, “The bitch bit me, what you expect?”

Frankie didn’t even bother to look. She leaned her nose toward Victorino, standing on her toes, Tula noticed, to tower over the man. “Big tough Mexican stud,” she said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Harris almost kicked your ass, that’s what really happened. So you went and did this.” The woman nodded toward Tula.

“A girl with a face as cute as hers, now I’m going to have to take her inside and get some ice. Why’d you do it? It make you feel like your dick’s bigger to bloody up some defenseless girl? Well, it hasn’t done much for you so far, amigo.”

Victorino was glaring at the woman, pretending not to notice that one of his soldiers had stopped to listen, while the shorter one-Chapo-held a VHF radio to his mouth, talking to someone.

As Frankie took the girl’s hand, turning her toward the open door, Chapo called to V-man in Spanish, saying, “Hey! Calavero says some white dude stopped, he’s asking for jelly boy. A redneck in a truck.”

Tula’s attention vectored, thinking, Tomlinson?

The girl shook her hand free from the woman, senses probing the darkness beyond the silhouettes of trees. Her mind was alert for the aura of godliness that accompanied the strange man with long hair. Instead, she discerned an unexpected force-something cold out there beneath the stars. It was a focused energy, dispassionate, moving her way. And human… Or was it?

Tula tilted her head, hoping the Maiden would provide confirmation, but received only a vague premonition of violence.

The V-man had his back to Tula and Frankie, relieved to be conversing with Chapo. A gringo stranger was easier to deal with than the redhead’s nasty attitude. Victorino called in reply, “The Gomer asked for jelly boy by name? What’s a redneck dude want, coming out here this time of night?”

Frankie, Victorino realized, had stopped at the top of the steps for a reason. Probably waiting until Chapo was done talking so she’d have everyone’s attention before insulting him again. Victorino was so pissed off by the shit the woman had said, he considered walking over and kicking Squires in the ribs-blow off some steam-then demand to know if jelly boy had told anyone that he’d be at the camp tonight.

Chapo spoke into the radio again, then called, “Dedos flipped the Gomer the finger, I guess. Pissed him off. So maybe the white dude’s a local and that’s why he turned around.”

Victorino said, “Turned around?” but then realized what Chapo meant. He said, “Don’t waste your time worrying about rednecks. Tell Calavero don’t bother us unless he’s got a real problem. Search jelly boy’s truck, then get to work doing the other shit I told you to do.”

Chapo nodded, forgetting that the woman didn’t speak Spanish. He’d already been told the V-man didn’t want her to know about the cans of gas they’d brought and the bag of rags so they could torch the hunting camp.

Frankie, still watching, waited as Victorino changed his mind, saying, “No. First you two help me drag jelly boy in there…” With his chin, he indicated the wooden steroid shack. Then changed his mind again, saying, “Shit, you haven’t found the money yet? You two drag his fat ass by yourselves. I’ll search the truck.”

The woman turned to confirm that Tula was inside the RV, doing something in the kitchen-looking for a towel because of her nose, she guessed. Frankie swung the door closed, stepped down onto the sand and wiggled her index finger, motioning Victorino closer.

“The hell you want?” The man took a couple of careful steps toward the RV, expecting the redhead to take a swing at him or launch into another tirade.

Instead, Frankie produced a joint, lit it, then offered it to the V-man, her chichis sticking out because she was holding her breath after taking a big hit.

Man, that banano grass smelled good. A couple tokes of cokesoaked weed, that’s exactly what he needed. Victorino leaned so Frankie could put the cigarette between his lips.

“The girl has a thing for me,” the woman finally said, exhaling and keeping her voice low. “She wants me to be her teacher-sort of sweet, really. You wouldn’t understand. But all the signs are there.”

Victorino said, “Probably because you talk to her so sweet,” being sarcastic.

The woman shook her head. “Don’t take it personally. I said all that nasty shit to convince her I’m on her side. But I knew you were smart enough to figure it out. I’d have made a hell of an actress, huh?”

The expression of confusion on the Mexican’s face. Priceless.

Frankie grinned, holding her hand out impatiently for the joint as Victorino replied, “Then we still gonna do it, huh? In front of the camera?”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your share.”

Victorino took a second hit of the banano as he watched the bodybuilder’s head disappear into the shack, the two pandilleros dragging the man by his feet. He said, “What about jelly boy? Do him later or after you have your fun?”

“Get his clothes off him-at least his pants.” Frankie said, taking the joint from Victorino’s hand. “You meant what you said, didn’t you?”

Cut the man’s nuts off.

The V-man replied, “A dude disrespects the Latin Kings-I got no choice in the matter.” He was studying the woman’s face, hoping to see that hungry look again. And there it was: Frankie flicking her tongue to moisten her lips, eyes bright.

The V-man couldn’t help himself. He kissed the woman, enjoying how she exhaled the last of the banano smoke into his mouth. Frankie let him slip his hand under her bloodstained shirt, too, then drew back and said, “I just wish you made better movies. Last one, you taped the girl’s mouth-you couldn’t hear her scream! What’s the point of that?”

Now the know-it-all woman was being nasty again, telling Victorino that he sucked at making movies, too.

The V-man was thinking, This is one very crazy gringa. High from smoking coke and grass, and probably thirsty for more Crown Royal, the woman’s mood swings were really pissing him off.

In that instant, Victorino decided he was done with Frankie. As of tonight. Wait any longer, he realized, and she would want part of the sixty grand, once they found it. No… she would want it all.

The realization made Victorino want to smile. He was picturing himself using the box cutter on Frankie, too, but only after reminding her why it was better if he didn’t tape her mouth.

You’re the one told me how to make movies, he would tell the woman. No… he’d say, I could make it easier on you, but I don’t want to disappoint my audience.

But the V-man kept that to himself, playing it cool, even when Frankie asked him, “What are you grinning at? You look like the cat that just ate the bird.”

Whatever the hell that meant.

She started to walk to the RV. “I’m going to see the girl. Get started on Harris. When I hear him screaming, I’ll know it’s time to come out and play.”

Tula was inside the RV, rushing to follow the Maiden’s instructions and also trying to come up with some ideas of her own. She had to escape and save Harris Squires. But how?

It was dark inside the trailer, even with the lights of the truck tunneling through the curtains, so first Tula found three candles, lit them, then got busy. Everywhere she went, everything she did, she ran. There was no telling how long Frankie would be out there talking to Victorino. Soon, the woman would come inside, expecting the girl to share her secrets-and her body, too.

Tula had known from the start what Frankie wanted. The same with Victorino, with his vicious gold teeth. The two of them were plotting together, probably outside right now, forging an agreement about who would take her body first.

It made Tula queasy, the thought of Frankie or the Mexican touching her. But she was now aware that she might have to allow it to happen. Jehanne had already promised Tula God’s forgiveness. Whatever was required to win the redheaded woman’s protection, and her help, was permissible.

The thought of submitting herself to Frankie, though, was disgusting. But her feelings no longer mattered. Tula was resolved to do whatever was necessary to save Squires and find a way for the two of them to escape. It was what the Maiden was telling her to do.

However, the Maiden’s written words were also strong in the girl’s mind: I would rather die than to do what I know is a sin.

Tula had repeated the phrase so often that it was part of who she was. She believed she could endure anything rather than disappoint God. But those words, even when whispered as a vow, did not apply to the life of another human being. Allow Harris Squires to die just to spare herself embarrassment and pain?

Tula couldn’t do that. If she could save the giant by surrendering her body to evil, she would. In the meantime, her brain was working hard to devise another way.

The RV door had a tiny window, and the girl stood on her toes long enough to confirm that Frankie and Victorino had moved away from the RV so no one could hear them. The woman was just lighting a marijuana cigarette, which suggested that she was in no hurry. Tula knew that it was marijuana because many people smoked mota in her village, even married women if they were suffering cramps during their periods. That’s what the women claimed, anyway, although the girl was dubious.

Tula thought about locking the door, then decided against it. Frankie had believed her lie about wanting to speak privately. It would only make her suspicious. So the girl hurried to the kitchenette to search for weapons.

Help yourself, and God will help you, Jehanne had written. Act, and God will act through you, she had counseled her knights.

Tula was looking in cupboards, opening drawers, hoping to find an ax or a large knife, or even a gun. Although she had never fired a weapon, the girl was willing to try. But could she kill another human being? Tula tried to imagine how it would feel, as the Maiden reminded her, These are our enemies. You must fight.

That was as true, and as real, as the revulsion Tula felt for the redheaded woman. Still… to sin against God by hurting another human being. It was a difficult decision to make.

But then Tula reminded herself that the Maiden had carried the equivalent of a gun-a sword she had found behind the altar of a church and carried into battle. Jehanne had told her inquisitors that her sword had never shed blood, yet she had also warned that she would lie to them, if necessary. And there were witnesses who swore the Maiden had used her sword to kill Englishmen, and also to punish prostitutes.

Tula pictured herself stabbing Frankie… then imagined the woman lying on the ground, dying, as the evil inside her bled out onto the sand.

If it meant saving herself and the man who had fought for her, the girl told herself that she would have to do it. Even so, she still wasn’t convinced she actually could.

Tula didn’t find an ax, or a gun, but the paring knife she had used earlier was in the sink, the blade bent but sharp. The girl wrapped a dishrag around the blade and hid the thing in her back pocket.

Squires’s wrists and ankles had been taped. She would need a knife to free the man-if she could invent an excuse to be alone with him. But why would Frankie or Victorino allow such a thing?

Thinking about it was discouraging, until the Maiden’s voice spoke again, telling the girl, God is with you. He will show you the way.

Cupping a candle in her hands, Tula trotted down the hall to the bedroom. There, a steel locker had been broken open-Victorino’s men had done it, she guessed-but there were only boxes of shotgun shells, no weapons.

Next, reluctantly, she checked the strange room with the bed and mirrors where there had been a video camera and a stack of obscene photos.

Victorino’s men had been there, too. The camera was gone. The photos were scattered across the floor, dozens of them. Tula tried not to look at them as she searched under the bed, then a tiny closet, but she didn’t want to step on the pictures, either-it was like walking on someone’s grave.

As she moved through the room, Tula winced at each new obscenity. The eyes of unknown women peered up at her, communicating a secret agony that was as apparent to Tula as the grotesque poses the women affected for the lens. They were young girls, some not much older than herself, each brown face forever trapped in a frozen silence from which Tula perceived screams of pain, of fear, of desperation.

Then, suddenly, the girl’s legs went out from under her, and she found herself sitting on the floor, weeping, holding the candle in one hand, a photo in the other.

From the photograph, despite the woman’s nakedness and despite her leering mask, a familiar face stared back at Tula. In disbelief, the girl turned away from the picture, then looked at it again, hoping to discover that she was wrong.

No… her eyes hadn’t tricked her. What Tula saw was a loving likeness of herself, the girl’s own first memories of home and kindness and safety.

It was her mother.

Still pinned to Tula’s shirt was the miniature doll that she had found earlier. The girl touched her fingers to the doll as she studied the photograph, her mind trying to ignore her mother’s shocking nakedness by focusing on the face she loved so much. Familiar odors came into the girl’s mind, then memories of her mother’s touch. Tula had been crying softly, but now she began to sob.

How had this happened?

Tula remembered the woman at the church in Immokalee saying her mother had gone to work for a man who made movies. But her mother never would have consented to something like this. Trade her dignity

… her very soul… for money? No, impossible. Even more impossible because, also in the photo, a man’s reflection was visible in a mirror-not his face but his naked anatomy.

Not since Tula’s father died had the girl witnessed anything more painful. In a way, this was even more traumatic because her mother had encouraged by example Tula’s devotion to God and the Church. Never had there been such a good and loving women-even the villagers said it was true. To Tula, she represented all that was godly and clean, a woman who had vowed to be forever faithful to her husband even though he had been dead for a year when Tula heard her make the promise.

It was beyond the girl’s ability to comprehend. Here, though, was the truth-an obscene infidelity that seemed to debase the children of all loving mothers and mocked Tula’s deepest convictions.

The Maiden came into Tula’s head, then, reminding her, Only God’s eyes know the truth. The truth is lasting but often hidden from us. Even though we see, we remain blind.

Jehanne had written those words centuries ago, but it was if they were intended to comfort Tula at this very moment. The words were true. This photograph represented only a moment in time. It proved nothing other than it had happened.

But why had it happened?

Her mother had been forced to participate in this profanity, Tula decided. In fear for her life, probably. It was the only explanation that made sense. Perhaps the naked man in the photo was holding a gun. Or the man behind the camera. Only minutes ago, Tula realized, she herself had made the decision to submit to sin if it meant saving herself or the life of Harris Squires.

Gradually, the girl felt her faith returning. Her mother had been the victim of threats and violence. The girl felt certain of it now. Her mother would confirm the truth of what had happened when Tula found her. Or… should she even mention the photo when they were finally face-to-face?

No, Tula decided. She would never speak of it. Not to her mother, not to her family, not to anyone. It would only add to the humiliation her mother had suffered. Her mother had given Tula life-like God. And like with God, Tula knew, she would never doubt her mother’s goodness again.

This photo… it felt so light and meaningless between the girl’s fingers now. Yet it was a final justification for the mission on which God had sent her-to rescue her family, to lead her people home from this terrible sinful land.

Then, as she held the photo, another realization came into the girl’s mind, but not as shocking. Her mother had been here, at the hunting camp. The photo had been taken in this very room. Tula confirmed it by comparing the background with the bedroom’s walls and the mirror hanging above the bed.

Harris Squires, she realized, hadn’t lied about knowing her mother. It had only sounded like a lie because the man honestly didn’t remember meeting her. Tula felt certain of it, just as she felt sure the giant would have remembered her mother if she had worked for him.

No… Harris hadn’t forced his mother to do this. He might have played a small role, he might even have been aware that it was happening-but only because he was under the spell of someone more powerful. Someone evil.

Tula could hear her pulse thudding as her thoughts verified what she had sensed from the beginning: Frankie was to blame for this. The drunken woman with her man’s voice, her tattoos, her viciousness. Carlson had seen her giving Tula’s mother a cell phone how many months ago?

The girl couldn’t remember, but she now knew in her heart the truth of what had happened. The redheaded woman had victimized her mother. Only one of many. Frankie’s many sins lay scattered on the trailer floor, these profane photographs like discarded souls. The woman was evil.

Her body shaking, Tula got to her feet, aware that Frankie could return to the RV at any second. She had to get herself under control. For Tula to allow Frankie to see her weak and in tears would only give the woman more power over her.

She couldn’t allow that to happen. She wouldn’t allow it to happen.

Tula considered tearing the photo of her mother into tiny pieces. Instead, she folded it and put it into her back pocket, while, inside her, the revulsion she felt for Frankie was transformed into hatred, then rage. She had never experienced the emotion before. It created inside her a determination and fearlessness that was unsettling because, in that instant, Tula understood why soldiers in battle were so eager to kill.

As the girl hurried down the hall toward the kitchenette, it was difficult to keep her hand off the paring knife. She wanted to use the knife now. She wanted what she had imagined to happen: Frankie on the ground, the evil bleeding out of her.

Which was when the Maiden’s voice surprised Tula by saying, What about the stove? The giant showed you how to turn the gas on.

The girl was confused for a moment. To be so passionately focused on one subject, it was difficult to concentrate on anything else. But she tried, wondering, The stove? Of what use was the gas stove now?

Then she understood. Frankie had been smoking a cigarette. If the woman was still smoking when she walked into a room filled with propane, she would die.

For a moment, Tula was excited. But the Maiden rebuked her, telling the girl that the stove was better used as a diversion, because it was smarter.

The girl was disappointed, but she understand. If the RV caught fire, Victorino’s men, and Frankie, would be so surprised they might forget about Harris Squires for a few minutes. Maybe they would leave the giant alone long enough for Tula to free him, then they could escape together down the lane to the road.

No… not the dirt lane. Tula remembered that Victorino had sent two men to watch the road, so she and the giant would have to escape through the woods.

But escape without confronting Frankie? That seemed cowardly after what that evil woman had done to Tula’s mother.

The Maiden entered the girl’s head and comforted her, saying, God will judge her. Can there be anything more terrible than His wrath?

Tula wasn’t convinced. As always, though, she obeyed. Equipping herself for a hike through the woods, the girl put matches, two candles and a bottle of mosquito repellent in her pockets. Then she knelt beneath the sink and turned the gas valve until it was wide open.

At the stove, however, the girl hesitated. She had extinguished the candle she was carrying, but there were still two burning candles in the room. Secretly, she wanted to blow out the candles and hope Frankie was still smoking a cigarette when she opened the door. But there were no secrets with the Maiden, who told Tula, Hurry… the woman’s coming. Do it now!

Tula opened both valves on the stove, then ran down the hall, pulling doors shut to isolate the propane, including the door to the bedroom she entered, maybe slamming it too hard, but it was too late to worry now.

On the far wall was a window. Tiny, but big enough to wiggle through. Tula bounced over the bed to the wall, then flipped the lock, expecting the window to open easily.

It didn’t. The window frame was aluminum. Maybe it was corroded shut. Tula used all her strength, pushing with her legs, then tried cutting around the edges of the window with the paring knife.

It still wouldn’t open. As the girl stood there, breathing heavily, she could smell propane gas seeping under the door. She would have been less surprised by smoke and flames. Had the candles gone out, extinguished by the doors she had slammed? Or did the concentration of gas have to be higher before the candles would ignite it?

Tula didn’t know. She knew only that she had to escape from the trailer before Frankie came in, smelled the propane and realized that a trap had been set for her.

Next to the bed was a lamp. Tula grabbed it and swung the base of the lamp against the Plexiglas window, expecting it to shatter with the first blow. It made a sound like a gunshot, but the glass didn’t break.

Panicked because she had made so much noise, Tula began hammering at the window. Finally, it cracked, but the girl had to pull the Plexiglas out in shards, piece by piece, before the window was finally wide enough for her to crawl through.

She draped a towel over the opening so she wouldn’t cut herself, then dropped to the ground, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief to be free.

The feeling lasted only a few seconds.

As Tula got to her feet and turned toward the shack where she’d last seen Squires, a low voice from the shadows surprised her, saying, “You sneaky little slut. What did you use to break the window, a damn sledgehammer? I didn’t even have to go inside, it was so obvious.”

Frankie was standing at the corner of the RV, a towering shape silhouetted by headlights. Not smoking now but a pack of cigarettes in her hand.

Tula’s fingers moved to her back pocket, feeling the lump that was the paring knife. An edge of her mother’s photograph was sticking out, too.

“It’s because you scare me,” the girl said, trying to sound reasonable. “What I told you was true. I want to talk to you, tell you things I’ve never been able to tell anyone. But my body’s afraid because of the way you look. Why would someone as beautiful as you waste time helping someone like me?”

With her deep voice, the woman said, “Liar! The whole time, you were lying,” sounding furious but undecided as if she wanted to be proven wrong.

Tula focused her eyes on the woman’s black eyes, hand inside her back pocket, saying, “We should go inside and let me wash your blouse. I know how to get bloodstains out. Where I lived in the mountains, that was one of my jobs, washing clothes.”

In her mind, Tula was picturing Frankie pausing at the steps of the RV to light a cigarette, then opening the door.

The woman was staring back, perhaps feeling the images that Tula was projecting because, for a moment, the woman’s anger wavered. But then the woman caught herself, visibly shook her head as if to clear it and yelled, “What the hell’s wrong with me? You’re lying again! Don’t tell me what to do!”

Then the big woman charged at Tula, whose hand suddenly felt frozen, unable to draw the knife from her pocket, so the girl turned and ran.

Frankie sprinted after her, yelling, “Come back her, you lying brat! Just wait ’til I get my hands on you!”

For a woman her age and size, Frankie was quicker than Tula could have imagined. After only a few steps, the girl felt a jarring impact on the back of her head. Then she was on the ground, Frankie kneeling over her, using a right fist to hit the girl so hard that Tula didn’t regain full consciousness until she awoke, minutes or hours later, in the cookshack.

Woozy and dreamlike -that’s the way Tula felt when she opened her eyes. Nauseous, too. It took the girl several seconds to organize what she was seeing as her eyes moved slowly around the room. Overhead were bars of neon light. The sound of a motor running confirmed that the generator had been started. There was a strong odor of gasoline, too.

Tula wondered about that, making the distinction between the smell of gasoline and the smell of propane, which struck her as important for some reason.

Tula lifted her head to study her body, then lay back again, eyes closed. She was tied, unable to move, her wrists taped to the legs of a heavy table. They had used short pieces of rope on her ankles, securing her legs in a way that suggested they intended to cut her jeans and shirt off next. The owl-shaped jade amulet and her Joan of Arc medallion were missing, she realized, but the girl could still feel the shape of the paring knife hidden in her back pocket. Even so, in her entire life, she had never felt so naked and defenseless.

Could this really be happening?

Yes… it was as real as the blood Tula could now taste in her mouth. The girl strained against the tape again. The table moved a little, but her legs were spread between a stationary counter. Freeing herself was impossible, so she lay back to think, her mind still putting it all together.

Frankie and the Mexican with gold teeth were standing nearby but not looking at her. The woman was concentrating on a camera mounted on a tripod, angry about something-impatient with the camera, Tula decided. Then Frankie spoke to Victorino, muttering, “I told you the battery was in wrong. Stupid wetbacks, if it’s anything more complicated than a knife, you can’t deal with it.”

A moment later, though, the woman swore, and said, “This battery’s no good-probably because of the way you did it. In the RV, I’ve got a camera bag full of shit. Send one of your pals to go get it.”

Tula’s brain was fogged, but mentioning the RV was of interest to her. She had just escaped from the RV, she remembered, where she had left the stove valves open to fill the trailer with propane.

Slowly, the girl’s attention shifted to Victorino, who was wearing surgical gloves for some reason. The gloves and the man’s wrists were stained with blood. He was glaring at Frankie with dead, drunken eyes, and seemed too preoccupied to respond.

It was because of what a second Mexican had just said to Victorino. Even before Tula had opened her eyes, she had heard the man speaking Spanish, but her mind had not translated his words yet his phrases lingered. What the man had said was important for a reason, Tula was sure of it, yet her brain had yet to unravel his meaning.

Poli -she had heard him use the word. Poli was Mexican slang, the equivalent of “cop.” If so, then it was important. But why had the man mentioned police? Tula strained to recall. She squeezed her eyes closed, her brain scanning for details.

Yes… it was coming back to her. The man had said something that sounded like The cop said don’t hurt the girl. They’re coming in. Words close to that. “The girl” referred to her. It had to… didn’t it? Don’t hurt the girl. It suggested to Tula that the police were coming to save her.

Tula wanted to believe it, but what was happening around her was so surreal that she didn’t trust her judgment. Hope was such a tenuous, flimsy thing, after the photograph she had found in the RV, after what she was now experiencing.

The Mexican who had mentioned police was standing in the doorway, holding a radio. He sounded worried. “We dumped all the gas just like you said. Why don’t we torch the place now and go?”

Gasoline… it explained the odor, which Tula filed away as the man, getting very serious, added, “The redheaded witch, she doesn’t understand a word of what we’re saying, right? So leave her here with the girl. Get the woman’s fingerprints on your box cutter and let the cops arrest her for jelly boy. Hell, maybe they’ll think they got into a fight or something. Cut jelly boy free, too-he’s not going anywhere. You know, a steroids war. Let the cops figure it out.”

The man was referring to Harris Squires. Tula had momentarily forgotten about the giant, but events were flooding back now. But arrest the woman for what? What had happened to Harris?

Confused, her mind working in slow motion, Tula moved her eyes to where the Mexican was looking. He was staring at something to her left. But to see, she would have to move her head and risk alerting Frankie that she was conscious.

Into the girl’s mind, the Maiden spoke, saying, Be fearless. You were born to do this! I have not forsaken you!

To hear Jehanne’s voice at such a moment caused the girl’s eyes to flood with tears. Because she was crying when she turned her head, she was unable at first to decipher what she was seeing. A massive pale shape was lying next to her. Tula squinted tears away, and the shape acquired detail. Even then, it took her several seconds to understand what she was seeing.

It was Harris Squires. After what they had done to the man, Tula didn’t want to believe it was actually the giant. His body appeared shrunken, deflated. Harris was naked, legs tied wide, just as they had tied her legs. His chest was peppered with shotgun BBs, his ivory skin patched with blood.

Beneath the giant’s hips, the blood had pooled like oil. Tula didn’t want to look any closer but she forced herself. Her brother was the only male she had ever seen naked, so it took the girl a moment to understand what had happened

Victorino had mutilated the giant.

Tula grimaced and turned away, comforted only by the fact that Squires was unconscious, no longer in pain, and also that he was still breathing.

When the girl opened her eyes again, Frankie was standing over her, staring down. The woman smiled and said, “Well, well, well! My sleeping cutie is finally awake.”

Then, turning to Victorino, she asked, “What are you two yapping about? What’s wrong?”

Victorino was ripping off the rubber gloves, suddenly in a hurry, as he asked the Mexican man in Spanish, “Where’s my Tec-9? Chapo’s got the other one-is he ready? Goddamn it, he should’ve been in contact! We got to be ready for anything anytime!”

The Mexican took a boxy-looking gun from the bag on his shoulder and handed it to Victorinio, saying, “It bothers me that we haven’t heard a word from Calavero or Dedos, either. Dedos, he’s probably passed out. But Calavero, if the cops grabbed him-”

Victorino interrupted, “That’s what I’m telling you,” as he ejected the magazine from the weapon, checked it, then slammed it back. “Shit,” he said, “for all we know, it’s not the cops. It’s some La Mara bangers from Immokalee. Why would cops call and warn us they’re coming? You know, Guatemalan punks talking English because they figure we’re so rich, we got lazy and stupid.”

In Guatemala City, Tula had heard of the street gang, Mara Salvatrucha. La Mara, for short, or MS-13. It was a murderous gang, always at war with Mexican gangs. She lay back, taking in details, as the V-man asked Frankie, “You and jelly boy ever do any business with La Mara? Maybe that’s who it is.”

Frankie got taller on her toes again as Victorino slipped by her, the woman yelling, “What kinda shit are you trying to pull now? I don’t know anyone named La Mara! You and your greasers found the money, didn’t you? Now you’re feeding me some bullshit excuse about why you have to run.”

Holding the box cutter in his hand, the V-man leaned over Squires for a moment, then pushed the razor toward Frankie, saying, “Cut his hands and legs free. Someone finds him, we want them to wonder what happened.”

Tula remembered what the Mexican had said about fingerprints. Frankie took the knife in her right hand and, for a moment, Tula thought the woman was going to stab the blade at Victorino. The man took a step back, thinking the same thing, which was when the Mexican warned Frankie from the doorway, saying, “Don’t even think about it, puta. It’ll be like shooting balloons at the fair. Like back when I was a kid.”

The Mexican was pointing a pistol at Frankie, holding the weapon steady until the woman muttered, “A couple of big tough wetbacks, that’s what you are,” then dropped the razor, too unconcerned to watch where it landed.

Tula was watching, though. She kept her eyes on the razor even as Frankie collected her cigarettes and pushed past the Mexican, outside, pausing only to tell Victorino, “I need a drink. Either of you disappear while I’m getting it, I’ll have your nuts!”

Then, without waiting for a reply, she was walking toward the RV, hips swinging. Tula could see the woman plainly through the open door. The girl focused her eyes on the back of Frankie’s head, then pictured the woman on the RV steps. Tula was telegraphing images, thinking over and over, Light a cigarette… Light a cigarette.

Tula could also see Victorino standing in the doorway, the weapon in both hands, his concentration intense. Maybe he hadn’t heard the woman’s insult. No… he’d heard, because as his eyes swept the darkness he called after the redhead, “You can burn in hell, for all I care-” but then stopped abruptly and crouched.

A second passed, then another, before he whispered to the Mexican, “Hey-there’s a vehicle coming down the road. See it? No lights, but it’s headed this way. How the hell they get past Calavero and Dedos?”

The Mexican started to say, “Our two guys-maybe that’s who it is. See them through the window?” then stopped talking as he watched the truck fishtail, then drift into a slow spin.

Now on his knees, the V-man was yelling, “Shit-that’s our Dodge! Those aren’t cops. They stole our goddamn truck!”

Beside him, the Mexican tried to mention Calavero and Dedos again but was interrupted by two consecutive gunshots, WHAP-WHAP! very close.

Victorino ducked his head back, hissing, “Shit, they firing on us, man! Shooting at us from our own truck!” Then he took a quick look out the door and decided, “We’ve got to get to jelly boy’s truck. Four-wheel drive, we can drive through the goddamn swamp if we need to.”

The Mexican sounded dubious, saying, “I don’t know, man, that shit’s wet out there.”

“Our goddamn truck’s got the road blocked, man!” Victorino said, getting mad. “You don’t got eyes in your head? Plus, they probably got more dudes waiting for us as we leave. We gotta take jelly boy’s truck and get the hell out of here.” The man peeked out the door again, asking, “You ready with the thing I told you about?”

The Mexican showed Victorino the lighter in his hand, saying, “You want me to wait until the gringa is inside the RV? Unless you think we don’t have time.”

Smiling, the V-man replied, “I warned the bitch. You heard me warn her. Let’s go!”

Both men took off running, the Mexican firing three shots at something, then Victorino opening up, his weapon making a continuous ratcheting sound, loud, but not as loud as the pistol.

From outside came the sound of more gunshots-maybe Victorino’s men. Maybe someone else.

Tula’s mind was too busy thinking to notice or care.

Sensing the room’s sudden emptiness, Tula lay back for a moment, concentrating on breathing into her belly to calm herself. Then she attempted to communicate with the Maiden.

They poured gasoline, I can smell it. This building might catch on fire. Please don’t let me burn.

Jehanne didn’t reply, but into Tula’s head came words Joan of Arc had written, words the girl had committed to memory: Help yourself, and God will help you. Act, and God will act through you.

Tula raised her head. Through the open doorway, she could see that Frankie was on the steps to the RV but crouched low because of the gunshots. Maybe the woman would seek cover inside the trailer and light a cigarette later to calm herself. Revenge wasn’t a priority in Tula’s mind now, though.

Her eyes moved to the razor Frankie had dropped. The box cutter had landed only inches from Harris Squires’s right hand. The giant no longer reminded the girl of Hercules or polished stone. Only a few hours ago, the veins of his body had resembled blue rivers, tracing the contours of his biceps, the muscles of his chest and calves.

Now the rivers had been drained. The giant appeared shrunken inside his own skin, a mountain of pale, dead flesh, although the man’s chest continued to move.

Tula watched Squires’s chest lift and fall, his breathing shallow. As she stared at him, the girl focused all of her attention on the man’s unconscious skull, seeking the spirit that lived inside.

Open your eyes. God will save us. Open your eyes. You are the strongest man I have ever met, open your eyes…

For more than a minute, Tula repeated those phrases, but then was stopped by more gunshots, then a Woofing detonation that shook the floor beneath her. It was a firestorm explosion so close that it sucked air from the room, replacing it with heat so intense that it felt like needles on the girl’s face and arms.

Through the doorway, Tula saw a wave of fire rolling toward her, the flames so wild and high that the RV was screened from view.

Had the trailer exploded?

The fate of the redhead seemed unimportant now, and Tula threw her head back, screaming, “Jehanne? Jehanne!” then strained to use her teeth on the tape that bound her wrists. The table to which her hands were tied moved a few inches with each effort, but the angle was impossible.

As the girl convulsed her body, trying to tear herself free, the memory of her father’s last moments came into her mind, an image so stark, so sobering, that it caused Tula to stop screaming long enough to hear a voice calling to her. When she tilted her head to listen, the voice summoned her again, a soft voice, barely audible.

Tula became motionless, head up, eyes wide, listening for what she expected to be the Maiden offering advice… or, at the very least, comfort.

Instead, she heard a man’s voice beside her say, “Sis… Sis! Shut your mouth long enough to answer me. Are those assholes gone?”

Tula turned to see Harris Squires looking at her, his eyes two dull slits. On his face was an inexplicable smile that gave the girl hope even though she knew it was because the man was in shock, probably delirious, he was so near death.

Tula began crying, she couldn’t help herself, and talking too fast as she replied, “Harris! I am so sorry they hurt you. But you’ll get better. I will take care of you myself. I will take you home to the mountains and make sure no one ever hurts you again. I promise!”

No… the giant wasn’t delirious. He was alert enough to look toward the door, see the fire, then say, “Shit! This place will go up like a bomb. I’ve got to get you out of here!”

That possibility stayed with the man for a second, but then he realized the hopelessness of what was happening. Squire’s face contorted, then he slammed his head back and began to sob. “Did you see what those sons of bitches did to me?” he moaned. “I fought and fought, but I couldn’t stop them. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m no good to anyone now.”

Tula yelled, “Harris, stop it, you’re wrong!” to snap the man out of his misery. Then she used her head to motion toward the box cutter, telling him, “We have a knife, Harris! If I can pull myself close enough, maybe you can cut the tape on my wrists.”

Squires opened his eyes as the girl added, “Don’t leave me again, Harris. Stay strong, please. God will help us-but we have to help ourselves first.”

The giant appeared to be fighting unconsciousness, his voice barely audible as he replied, “My guardian angel, I forgot.” Then, gaining focus, he asked, “What knife?”

Because of all the blood on the floor, Tula wondered how the man found the strength to open his fingers and take the box cutter into his huge right hand.

Inch by inch, Tula dragged the table closer to the giant. He held the razor, fighting unconsciousness as he waited. Two minutes passed, then four minutes. From the doorway, the girl could hear the roaring energy of combustion as the fire drew closer, feeding itself on gasoline fumes and grass. Soon heat and smoke made it difficult to breath, but the girl continued to fight the weight of the table.

Squires watched her, struggling to remain focused after losing so much blood. Every minute or so, he would awaken himself by telling Tula, “Don’t give up! Just a couple more!” These were phrases he had spoken so many times in weight rooms while spotting partners that he repeated the words by rote.

Even so, the giant’s determination was an inspiration to Tula, but his terrible wounds also caused the girl’s heart to ache.

When Tula realized the roof of the wooden shack had caught fire, she began to lose hope. She was dizzy from breathing smoke and her arms ached. For a few seconds, the girl paused to rest, and also to gauge the distance remaining before Squires might be able to cut the tape on her left wrist.

Two feet… a little less. The wooden building was burning so ferociously, though, it might as well have been two miles.

Tula closed her eyes and summoned the Maiden, resigned now that she and her warrior giant were probably going to burn to death. No.. . the smoke would kill them first, the girl reminded herself. In books she had read about Joan of Arc, witnesses all agreed that the saint had died from smoke inhalation before flames despoiled her flesh.

In a way, Tula found the recollection comforting, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Before yanking at the table once again, she spoke to her patron saint. A request.

Give us time. Just a few more minutes. If not, please grant me just one wish. Spare this good man from more suffering and pain.