Badlands (11 page)

He’d also grown bored with her quickly. Listening to Janelle’s voice had reminded him that all women weren’t interchangeable. It was a shame that the best ones always seemed to require more work, because he was an instant-gratification kind of guy.

“I’m still not getting a signal,” he said, staring at the blank screen.

“That’s not good.”

Shane felt a prickle of unease. Owen had taken Brett’s walkie-talkie and turned it off. Had Roach met a similar fate? The last thing Shane needed was another man with a gunshot wound to deal with. “I told him to follow at a distance,” he said, shaking the device. “Doesn’t anyone fucking listen?”

“You can track his movements,” Dirk said, taking the walkie-talkie. He fidgeted with the buttons, bringing up a map and coordinates.

Shane was confused by the information. “That’s where he is now?”

“That’s where his last signal was transmitted from.”

He couldn’t get there by driving, so they exited the Jeep, bringing their hats and a jug of water. It was a bitch of a hike. The sun was relentless. Shane and Dirk had kept in shape by lifting weights in prison, but heavy muscles were more of a hindrance than an asset here. Dirk, with his gorilla-like frame, had even more trouble. The extra bulk slowed him down.

After what seemed like hours, Shane spotted a cluster of palm trees at the summit. He vaguely remembered visiting a pool of water here as a kid. There were a handful of springs and mud caves in the area, and many of the landmarks looked alike, so it was hard to tell. Whether he’d been there or not, he felt certain that they were on the right track. Owen would seek a shady resting place during the hottest hours of the day.

They reached the coordinates that the GPS indicated. It was a safe distance from the summit, well out of range of a 9 mm handgun, but Roach wasn’t in the vicinity.

“Looks like a scuffle,” Dirk said, pointing at the ground.

Shane squinted at a few dark spots on the path. He bent down, rubbing the grit between his fingertips.

“Blood?” Dirk guessed.

“I think so.”

A crow swooped down the canyon, leading them straight to the body. Roach was lying on a pile of rocks about fifty feet down, already being picked at by the black-feathered scavenger. His T-shirt was torn and bloody, his eyes blank.

“Son of a bitch!” Dirk said. “Your brother killed him.”

Shane raked a hand through his hair, stunned. This was so much worse than he’d expected. He was a dead man, as dead as Roach.

“Ace is going to shit,” Dirk said.

Shane grasped the front of Dirk’s shirt. “We can’t tell him.”

“What?”

He would draw his weapon if Dirk refused to play along. There was too much at stake. “He’s already gone,” Shane said, pointing at Roach. “As long as he doesn’t get found, no one will ever know what happened to him.”

Dirk stared at the corpse, his throat working in agitation. For all his bluster and bravado, he wasn’t as cold-blooded as Shane.

“It’s easy to get lost out here,” Shane said.

“What will you say to Ace?”

“That he took off, and we never saw him again.”

After a short pause, Dirk nodded. Shane released his grip on Dirk’s shirt, watching the wrinkled cotton untwist. He didn’t trust Dirk to keep this secret under duress, but he’d deal with that problem later. Right now, he needed Dirk’s help. He was down three men. One more and he’d have to abandon the plan altogether.

“Your brother fucked up,” Shane reminded him. “I did him a favor by sending him to Mexico.”

“You said Ace ordered that.”

“He didn’t.”

Dirk’s mouth tightened at this news. Shane hadn’t been concerned about Brett’s welfare, but he could exploit this side benefit. More importantly, his words acted as a warning that Shane was still in charge. He wasn’t afraid to lie to the boss, and Ace would believe Shane’s version of events over Dirk’s.

Shane considered Dirk a friend. They’d done time together and had each other’s backs in prison. Even so, Shane would double-cross him in a heartbeat. He didn’t have feelings for Dirk. He didn’t have feelings, period.

“What about
your
brother?” Dirk asked.

“What about him?”

“You said he’d cooperate.”

“I thought he would.”

“You were wrong.”

Shane had promised to take care of Owen if he caused trouble, but he’d never intended to follow through. He wasn’t worried about his brother indentifying him to the police. Shane wouldn’t stick around to get arrested.

“You know what needs to be done,” Dirk said.

“And I’ll do it,” Shane replied, wishing he’d shot Brett in the head. “Let’s bury this motherfucker.”

They made their way into the canyon, with some difficulty. It was a steep slide down a cactus-riddled hill. When they reached the body, Shane crouched next to him, inspecting the wound in his chest.

“That’s not a bullet hole,” Dirk said. “He was stabbed.”

Shane glanced up at the trail, trying to imagine what happened.

“Maybe your brother came to shoot him, but the gun jammed or something. Roach pulled a knife to defend himself.”

Ace hadn’t wanted the crew to be heavily armed. He’d said that too many guns meant too many problems. Shane had allowed Dirk to bring one, but he’d insisted that the other men leave theirs at home, along with their cell phones. Roach had been carrying a knife instead; it was his preferred weapon.

“They wrestled and rolled downhill,” Dirk continued. “Roach bled out here.”

“Why is there blood on the trail?”

Dirk considered the location of the drops. “I think it’s your brother’s blood. He left it walking away.”

Shane doubted Owen was seriously injured, judging by the small amount of blood. They wouldn’t find him holed up at the summit, nursing his wounds. He was probably several miles down the trail by now.

They didn’t even try to dig a hole. Under a thin layer of pebble-strewn sand, there was hard-packed desert clay, which presented too much of a challenge. During a rainstorm, the stuff would suck the shoes right off your feet, or give you a pair of concrete boots. In dry conditions, it was as impermeable as brick.

Shane dragged the body about a hundred yards, where they wedged it into a crevice between boulders. Then they piled rocks and dirt into the narrow space until no hint of skin or clothing was visible.

“You think that’s good enough?” Dirk asked.

Shane nodded, dusting off his hands. It would have to be. The only people who came out here were desert hipsters, driving their hybrid cars and searching for inner peace. They liked the wildflowers in spring. By that time, Roach would be bones.

They hiked the remaining distance to the summit. He saw a pair of kid-sized footprints in the mud by the pool of water, along with a scrap of sheer green fabric. Dirk picked up the cloth and launched into a graphic description of sexual acts he wanted to force on the mother. Shane didn’t really see the appeal of an unwilling woman. There were plenty of sluts to choose from. Whores, if you were desperate.

“You talk too much,” he said, weary.

“Wouldn’t you take a turn on her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It feels better when they want it.”

“Shit,” Dirk said, throwing the scrap down.

Shane decided he was full of it. Dirk didn’t have a girlfriend, which was no surprise. Maybe he was intimidated by women or frustrated with his inability to score. He probably had a small dick. His big muscles and big mouth reeked of overcompensation. So did the fake name he’d chosen.

Shane walked to the highest point and looked down the opposite side of the mountain, figuring Owen had gone that direction. There was an old railroad to the south. Their dad had taken them to the tracks to search for salvage materials once or twice.

“When was Roach’s last signal transmitted?”

“Noon,” Dirk replied.

It was almost six now. Owen and his cozy little family had a significant head start. Shane didn’t know if he could find their tracks in the dark, let alone catch up with them. But he could cut them off at the other end.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

P
ENNY
TOOK
THE
LEAD
AGAIN
, with Cruz in the middle and Owen bringing up the rear.

The downhill grade was much easier to traverse. After a few hours, the temperature finally began to drop, but Cruz lost momentum when the trail evened out. Owen carried him on his shoulders for the next several miles.

They stopped at dusk for dinner, sharing another sausage stick and the last box of raisins. The snack woke up her taste buds but failed to satisfy the gnawing ache in her stomach. They were all hungry. Cruz was cranky and lethargic. Penny didn’t think she could go much longer, but she held her tongue. They weren’t even to the railroad yet. The real hike would begin once they found the tracks.

She wanted to quit. To lie down and give up.

The feeling was a new one for her. She’d never pushed her physical limits this way, except maybe during childbirth. But labor was a faded memory with a happy ending. This was a grueling, torturous slog. Cruz had never gone without food before, either. Being unable to provide for him was heartrending. As a mother, it was her job to keep her child healthy and safe. For the first time in her life, she was failing.

The obstacles seemed insurmountable, the trail endless.

In a small corner of her mind, she was aware of how lucky she’d been until now. She’d done hours of volunteer work and interned at a women’s clinic, but she hadn’t been familiar with suffering on a personal level.

Owen seemed to endure the hike with ease, despite carrying extra weight, which emphasized the differences between them. He accepted hardships as if they were his due. She stumbled along as if she were dying.

“This is what it must be like to cross the border illegally,” she said.

“Same terrain,” he replied. “We’re only twenty miles from Mexico.”

“How many miles from the main road?”

“I don’t know. Ten.”

“How many have we traveled so far?”

“Seven, maybe.”

Penny’s spirits plummeted. There was no way she could walk ten more miles.

Owen stopped and put Cruz down, studying her discouraged face. “Are you okay?”

When she tried to answer, the words stuck in her throat. She wanted to be stoic and calm. For her son.

“Can you carry my mommy?” Cruz asked Owen.

“No, he can’t,” Penny said. She was tall and slender, but not small. As fit as Owen was, he couldn’t bear her weight for miles.

Cruz didn’t believe it. “Can you?”

“I can carry her to the railroad,” he said. “It’s close.”

“How close?”

“Less than a mile, I think. Traveling along the tracks will be easier because it’s flat. We’ll find a place to rest for the night.”

She nearly swooned at the word
rest.
Maybe she could drag herself as far as the railroad before collapsing in a boneless heap on the tracks. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ll try to make it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, grasping Cruz’s hand.

“I’ll help you, Mommy.”

“Thanks,
mijo.
”

They started off again, her muscles weeping with every step. Owen told Cruz the entire history of the Carrizo Gorge Railway. Apparently the line had transported supplies between the U.S. to Mexico before it fell into disrepair. Penny listened with one ear, trudging forward to the sound of Owen’s steady voice.

“Look,” he said finally, perking up. “A loading dock.”

She spotted a crumbling concrete ramp in the distance, next to a windblown shack. Rusted wheels and gears littered the area leading to the tracks. The sight of the railway didn’t lift her morale. It appeared to go on forever, winding through a deep desert gorge. She inspected the shack, which had no roof.

They couldn’t stay here.

When they reached the ramp, she sank down on the rubble, numb. She didn’t even have the strength to cry.

Owen and Cruz, however, found the energy to explore the scattered wasteland. They came back with an old wheelbarrow. It had sturdy wooden handles and a modified metal wheel, flanged to ride along the track. “Hop in.”

She sipped water from the canteen. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious.”

“You’re going to wheelbarrow me down the track like a pile of rocks?”

“You and Cruz.”

“I’m too heavy.”

He studied her slender figure appreciatively. “You’re not heavy at all, and pushing a wheelbarrow is a piece of cake. Easier than carrying you, or even carrying Cruz on my shoulders. I only have to balance the weight.”

She squinted at him, evaluating his sincerity.

“Scout’s honor,” he said.

“You’re not a Scout.”

“Can I be a Scout?” Cruz asked.

“We’ll see,” Penny said, taking a seat in the bin. She gripped the edges, feeling silly. “Try it with just me first.”

Owen guided her along the track without difficulty.

Cruz hopped in with her, sitting on her lap. They stayed in the middle so it wouldn’t tip. “How’s your arm?” she asked, glancing at the bandage.

“It’s all right.”

She held on for the ride, too exhausted to protest. His increased breathing pattern indicated that the task wasn’t as undemanding as he’d claimed. He smelled like sweat and blood. As the sun dipped below the horizon, she grew drowsy.

At least it wasn’t hot anymore. Over the space of an hour, the night air had become mild and pleasant. She sang songs to Cruz to stay awake. If she slumped over, she might fall over the side of the wheelbarrow and take a hard tumble into the gorge.

When they reached the first tunnel, Owen paused. It looked dark and spooky inside. Warning signs were posted at regular intervals along the tracks. This was an unmaintained railway. No safety inspector had declared the route passable, and no rescue crew would come to their aide if it collapsed.

Owen turned on the flashlight and handed it to Cruz. “Hold it steady, okay?”

“Okay.”

They couldn’t go around the tunnel, so this risk was unavoidable. Heart racing with anxiety, she hugged Cruz tighter as they entered the dark passage. It smelled of damp wood and rust and something unpleasant, like cobwebs or rat droppings. Her imagination conjured bats on the ceiling, and spiders the size of mice scuttling along the tracks. She couldn’t see beyond the weak beam of light. Her feet dangled over the edge of the wheelbarrow. About halfway through, she felt a sharp pain in her calf, like a bite.

Gasping, she brought her leg up to inspect it. The discomfort increased as her muscle seized, hard as a rock.

“What’s wrong?” Owen asked.

“Leg cramp,” she said between clenched teeth.

He pushed them through the end of the tunnel quickly. Once they were out, he put down the handles and massaged her calf. She extended her leg, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. It hurt more than a regular cramp, and lasted longer. Cruz hugged her tight, worried. Finally the spasm eased.

“Drink some water,” Owen said.

She lifted the canteen to her lips and drank, letting the cool water ease her parched throat. Fearing they’d run out, she’d been taking small sips all day. Saving water for Cruz. In retrospect, that hadn’t been smart. Muscle cramps were a sign of heatstroke, along with light-headedness and nausea.

If she started vomiting, she’d only get more dehydrated.

Owen picked up the pace after that. He seemed to want to get as far down the tracks as possible before they stopped to rest. She didn’t blame him for preferring to travel under a blanket of night. She wished she could contribute, but she couldn’t even stay alert. Her limbs were heavy like sand, her eyes grainy from lack of sleep.

The railway gorge was surreal in the moonlight. Although the tracks were smooth and flat, they crossed through tunnels and skirted steep cliffs. Falling off the edge would mean certain death. Between canyons, there were wooden bridgelike structures Owen called trestles. There were no safety rails, just a braided steel cord.

He paused when they came to a section of abandoned railcars. They loomed in the dark next to the tracks, too huge to be moved. Penny had seen rusted cars and junkyards before, but not on this scale. It was almost beyond comprehension, like the Salton Sea. This barren wasteland killed everything it touched. Even the most immense, powerful structures were useless here, reduced to nothing.

Owen pushed the wheelbarrow off the tracks and hid it behind the railcar before they ventured inside. He checked the interior for signs of life, directing the flashlight beneath the rows of seats. There was an open area in the back of the car, where someone had collected a pile of torn seat cushions.

Deeming it safe, Owen led Penny to the cushions. He gripped her elbow, as if afraid she’d pass out on the way there. She could barely walk. When he lowered her to the cushions, she moaned with relief.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?”

She was too tired to answer.

“I’m going to check the other cars for supplies,” he said.

“Can I come with you?” Cruz asked.

Owen looked to Penny for permission.

“Okay,” she said, closing her eyes. She was overly protective of Cruz, rarely leaving him alone or letting him out of her sight. He didn’t go anywhere without her, but she trusted Owen with their lives.

Before they’d left the car, she was asleep.

* * *

J
ANELLE
PARKED
NEAR
the club’s front entrance, hoping the manager wouldn’t notice.

She wasn’t supposed to take the best parking spots, but she preferred to stay close. She didn’t like walking past drunken creeps in the wee hours of the night. Now she feared an intruder would climb through her broken window and wait for her.

She needed another job. Badly.

Before she’d transferred from Indio Community College to a “real” university in San Bernadino, she’d held down two jobs. She’d worked afternoons as a massage therapist—no happy endings—at a fancy resort. But the extra commute and more demanding classes had meant she had to quit the weekday gig. She couldn’t do both, and she earned twice the money in half the time dancing.

The business wasn’t as lucrative as it used to be, either. The best clubs in L.A. paid really well, but many of their girls were professional dancers or aspiring actresses, young and fresh and beautiful. In Coachella, a sprawling industrial city near Palm Springs, the women were like Janelle. Single moms and washed-up tramps, making their way the only way they knew how. Since the recession hit, she was lucky to pocket a few hundred dollars a night. Less on Sunday, but she was required to cover some slow shifts.

Grabbing her bag, she locked up her car even though the plastic-covered window wouldn’t deter theft. Her bag was heavy, full of makeup and outfits. She hurried across the hot parking lot and into the dark recesses of the club. Vixen was a tacky place with flashing strobe lights and red neon, faux leather and mirrored walls. The familiar stench of booze, cigarettes and male sweat hit her nostrils even as a blast of cool air ruffled her hair.

She nodded at the bartender and headed to the back, where the girls got ready. They kept the side entrance locked now. Last year, Tiffany’s estranged husband had walked in with a gun. He’d held her hostage for several hours, claiming he was going to kill himself if she didn’t come back home. The police had finally talked him down with a sandwich and a six-pack. He’d had an axe, a shovel and a map of the badlands in the back of his truck, belying his claim that he meant to commit suicide. He’d be in prison for a while.

Vixen wasn’t an upscale establishment, but neither was it a sleazy dive. They served alcohol, so the girls went topless only. The customers couldn’t touch, not even in the VIP room. These rules were strictly enforced by the bouncer and owner, Chuck Finch. He was a Hells Angels type of guy with a gray ponytail and a thick mustache. He’d married one of his dancers twenty years ago, and he treated the others well.

His brother, Kevin, wasn’t as nice. He managed the club and often took in girls who gave him sexual favors.

Janelle couldn’t do anything about that, so she ignored it. She didn’t have to suck Kevin’s dick or anyone else’s. They kept her on because she was a good performer and the customers liked her.

She’d agreed to cover two shifts today, early and late. On slow afternoons, she served more drinks than lap dances. The girls could either work as independent contractors or earn an hourly wage plus tips. Janelle had chosen the second, which meant she had to move her ass even when she wasn’t on stage. During the hectic evening shifts, she didn’t waitress because Kevin wanted her to be available for VIPs.

Tossing her bag down at an empty makeup station, she said hello to the other girls, Tiffany and Ginger.

“You look like I feel,” Tiffany said.