Castroville: Countdown to Armageddon: Book 7 (14 page)

     And even better than teaching a child the difference between there, their and they’re was the semblance of normalcy the school had brought back to the community.

     It seemed to be a very big step in getting things back the way they were “before.”

     But there were no lights on in the Castro home. There was no SAPD cruiser parked in the driveway. There was no flurry of activity within the house, no little kids crying out, “Mom, I can’t find my shoes.”

     The house was as lifeless as Robbie’s soul.

     It had been that way for awhile. Robbie had been here before and encountered the same thing. The Castros had moved out quite some time before to protect Hannah and the kids. From him. From Robbie. From the man they once called a friend but now knew was a madman.

     Robbie’s mind, though, couldn’t understand why they hadn’t returned so he could exact his revenge.

     In Robbie’s world, they would be there. So that Robbie could surprise John as he walked to his car by rolling a hand grenade between his feet.

     So Robbie could watch as John’s body turned into an exploding mass of pink and gray mist and body parts flying in all directions.

     So Robbie could catch Hannah in his arms as she came rushing out the front door to investigate the blast.

     So he could recite the speech he’d said to himself so many times. Only this time, on this particular day, it would be the time which counted.

     In Robbie’s world, this was to be the day Hannah finally went to him, and agreed to be his.

     And if she didn’t, he’d leave her dead right there on the front porch of the very same house. If she wouldn’t have Robbie, then she could join her husband in hell.

     In Robbie’s world, there was very little chance she’d refuse him. But if she did, she’d pay the ultimate price. And so would her children.

     If she’d refused him, the carnage at the Castro house would be but the first attack in an ongoing guerilla campaign.

     A campaign that would take down Chief of Police Mike Martinez next.

     Then as many of his former brothers in blue as he could take out, until he wiped them all out.

     Or until he fell himself.

     This was the morning everything was to have been decided once and for all.

     And in a way, it was.

     For Hannah had refused him after all.

     And in a way he hadn’t expected. In a way his damaged mind couldn’t comprehend, hadn’t planned for.

     She refused him by not even having the courtesy of showing up.

     That wasn’t acceptable.

-28-

     Bennett knew that Payton would be up. He always was at that time of morning. So he wasn’t necessarily worried about being chewed out for waking up the boss.

     He was a little bit nervous, though, about how the boss would react when being told his elite guard had vamoosed and left the main gate deserted.

     Jack Payton didn’t like deserters. Regardless of their motivations or reasons, they were all from the same ilk. They were all cowards in his mind. How hard could it be, really, to tell the boss you no longer liked your job and planned to move on to something else?

     It was quite hard, actually. For Payton didn’t take rejection well. There were a couple of occasions in the past when his anger got the best of him. One time in particular, he didn’t accept a lieutenant’s claim that he “just got tired of the killin’.”

     He’d shot the unarmed lieutenant dead in his tracks. And from that moment on men wanting to move on started doing so without warning, and usually in the dead of night.

     Besides rejection, there was something else Payton didn’t take well.

     That was bad news, and finding out that his main gate was left attended for most of the night would rile him for sure.

     Bennett knew, however, that as the one who’d discovered the deserters, he was also bound to deliver the news and suffer the man’s wrath. It was something he couldn’t delegate, for no one else would want the task either. Not even Wimberly.

     Bennett rapped three times on Payton’s bedroom door.

     A booming voice queried from within, “What do you want?”

     “Sir, it’s Al Bennett.”

     Several seconds passed. Bennett presumed the boss was putting on his pants, as he usually took one of the women servants to bed with him at night.

     The door swung open, and a red faced Payton stood glaring at him.

     He seemed a bit… perturbed.

     “I didn’t ask who you were, Bennett. I asked what in hell you wanted.”

     “Sir, I just rode out to the main gate to take the men’s breakfast orders. They’re gone.”

     The calm before the storm was very brief. Less than a second went by while Payton processed the man’s words.

     Then he exploded.

     His face grew even more flushed and he shouted, “God damnit! Both of them?”

     “Yes, sir. Gone without a trace.”

     “Who were they?”

     “Redding and Hadley.”

     “Redding and Hadley? Are you sure?”

     Redding and Hadley were two of his most reliable men.

     “Yes, sir. I looked for them and called out for each of them. Nobody answered.”

     Payton drew back a fist and put it through the sheetrock in the hallway wall. At the same moment Wimberly came rushing out of a bedroom two doors down in his skivvies. Bennett could tell from his puffy eyes and tussled hair that he’d been sound asleep.

     “What’s the matter, Jack?”

     Payton looked at Wimberly and said, “The bastards ran. Redding and Hadley.”

     “Redding and Hadley? Are you sure?”

     “God damnit, do I look like I’m joking?”

     Bennett saw the opportunity to secure a spot on the gate sentry team.

     “Sir, shall I go back out and secure the gate while you look for the sons of bitches?”

     Payton looked at him, full of rage, and wanting to strike out at someone. Still, even with all his anger, he realized that shooting the messenger might not be the most brilliant idea.

     Also, Bennett was right. The gate must be secured before the ranch came under attack from another of the thugs in the area who might decide this would be a good time to take it.

     “Yes. Go back and secure the gate until you’re relieved. Don’t let anyone in under any circumstances.”

     Bennett hurried off, relieved to be out of the line of fire.

     That left only Wimberly, Payton’s right hand man.

     Wimberly saw the fire in his boss’s eyes. He’d seen it before, and he knew what it meant. It was the lust for blood. When Payton was overcome by rage, it meant somebody had to pay with their life to make him feel avenged. It usually didn’t matter who, or for what reason, but Wimberly knew that someone was going to die on this particular morning.

     And that was fine by Wimberly, as long as it was someone other than him.

     Payton looked at his number two and barked instructions.

     “Send someone to the bunkhouse. Wake up all the women and children. I want everybody who isn’t on sentry duty to meet at the barn in ten minutes. And I mean everybody. Anybody who’s not there in ten minutes will be shot.”

     “Yes, sir. Why should I tell them to be there?”

     “I just told you, dumbass. They need to be there so they won’t get shot. That’s all they need to know. But for your information, I’m tired of this undisciplined bunch of misfits thinking they can come and go as they please around here. We’re gonna slice our prisoner’s throat and tell everybody that from now on anybody who deserts their post will be hunted down and will get the same damn thing.”

     Wimberly quickly left to fulfill Payton’s instructions and Payton moved his fingers, wondering why they were hurting him so. Then he remembered and looked at the hole he’d punched into the wall.

     He walked back into his bedroom and told the cook, a girl of twenty one who was cowering behind a pillow on his bed, “Put your clothes on and hightail your sweet ass over to the barn. If you’re not there in nine minutes I’ll shoot you in the head.”

     Payton didn’t take bad news well. Not at all.

-29-

     Sara, still in socked feet, had made her way back to the front of the hayloft to provide cover for Randy as he entered the barn below.

     Randy, just outside the barn’s door, gave her a full minute to get into position before he made his way into the barn. His plan was to sneak up on the whistling man, overpower him, free Tom, and skedaddle before anyone else on the ranch knew they were there.

     Just as he stepped one foot into the barn, though, he was distracted by a large commotion just outside the main ranch house.

     There seemed to be a stampede of humanity, pouring out the front door of the house, and the side door on its east wing. A horde of people, in all manner and stages of dress.

     There were women in nightgowns, cowboys in untucked shirts, men and women without hats and with pillow hair. Even a boy of about twelve trying to run with one shoe while undoing a knot in the other one.

     Randy looked at them, half in bemusement and half in bewilderment.

     Then he noticed they were heading straight for him.

     Or, more specifically, for the barn.

     There were only two places Randy could go. One was around the side of the barn to reformulate his plan while trying to figure out what in the world was going on.

     But that would have left poor Sara in the hayloft by herself, and no way to call out to her to get herself back down the ladder pronto.

     The other option, really the only one he had, was to continue into the barn.

     As the stampede closed in on him, he slipped into the barn and disappeared into the shadows of one of the horse stalls.

     Sara didn’t see the crowd coming as Randy had. From her vantage point she expected to see Randy skirt the walls of the barn until he was in a position to charge the whistling guard, then to overtake him before he could call out.

     Instead, she never saw Randy at all.  Just a fair haired woman of about twenty or so, followed by a lean cowboy with no hat and wiry hair, and another cowboy who looked remarkably like Robert Redford.

     She couldn’t help but mutter, “What the hell…” before realizing it might be best to keep her location a secret.

     Like Randy, she skulked back into the shadows and wondered what was going on.

     The last two men in the barn were Payton and Wimberly, in that order.

     Payton waved his hand toward the barn door and looked at his second in command, silently issuing an order to seal the barn.

     It was an unnecessary gesture, since both men knew no one would defy Payton’s command to be there and try to leave. But Payton was a showman above all else, and he wanted to heighten the tension by implying to everyone else that they were his prisoners. They would be free to leave when he said so, and not a minute before.

    He walked directly to Shiloh, who by this time had stopped his whistling and stood at parade rest. He had gotten up in time to avoid Payton catching him goofing off, for which he was supremely glad. He was very upset at Stan for not signaling him that someone was coming. But he’d deal with Stan later.

     Payton demanded of Shiloh, “This prisoner give you any trouble tonight?”

     “No sir. He’s slept most of the night.”

     “Wake him up. It’s time for his trial.”

      Shiloh didn’t have a clue what Payton was talking about. But he darn sure wasn’t going to challenge him on it.

     He walked over to Tom Haskins and grabbed him by the shoulder, shaking him vigorously. “Hey, wake up!”

     Payton showed neither patience nor compassion when he rushed over the Tom and said, “Not like that. Say it like you mean it!”

     He kicked Tom in the ribs with the full force of his pointed boot and shouted, “Get up, you asshole, or I’ll just shoot you now and get it over with.” 

     Sara, watching from above, had to work hard to restrain herself. She wanted to jump from the hayloft onto Payton’s back and beat him to death. Instead, she bit her lip and continued to watch.

     Tom stirred, winced from the pain, then sat up. He opened up his blood-crusted eyes as best he could and looked around, genuinely puzzled at the spectacle that lay before him.

     Randy, from the shadows of the stall, couldn’t see Payton but could hear him quite well. He could see the back of Wimberly’s head, so Wimberly was his main target if things got ugly. He counted heads of those assembled. Seventeen. Mostly women and children. He assumed those cowboys in attendance were day shifters who would soon relieve the sentries who’d been on post all night.

     Seventeen plus Payton, who was still out of sight and towering over Tom on the opposite side of the barn.

     Seventeen people who looked worried and restless. As though they’d rather be somewhere else.

     That was really the only thing Randy had in common with them.

     Payton, the showman, was ready to begin.

     He walked over to a wall where many farm implements were hung.

     “You people in the back, if you can’t hear me, come closer.”

     No one moved. They were as close to him as they cared to be.

     “This blackout hasn’t been easy on any of us. We’ve all had to change our way of life in so many ways. You’ve had to relearn the old ways of doing things. Doing laundry by hand. Giving up your computers and your internet and your trips to the grocery store.

     “You’ve had to learn new skills. Growing gardens and raising livestock. Catching rabbits to breed for food. Caring for livestock. Hunting and fishing for your suppers.”

     He took down a scythe and ran his thumb along its sharp blade.

     He carried it as he walked back toward Tom.

     “You’ve learned to farm the way your ancestors did. Instead of harvesters and thrashers and trucks you’ve learned to use scythes and machetes and rakes.

     “These tools are great for harvesting our wheat and our hay crops. Without them we’d have no bread. And we’d have precious little livestock.”

     He held up the scythe for all to see.

     “But these tools we use from day to day to make our lives better have another purpose as well. They can be used as teaching devices. They can show us new things. They can teach us lessons.”

     Some in the crowd starting looking down at their feet. One woman’s hand went to her mouth as though she were trying not to throw up.

     One by one, the people in the crowd realized what the madman before them was planning to do with the scythe.

     He continued.

     “You may not realize it, but I’ve had my own struggles too. A leader is always misunderstood as someone who has it ‘easy.’ As someone who has fewer problems than others. But that’s not the case. Leaders have their own kinds of struggles. Leaders do the thankless job of taking care of others. Of providing protection for them. Sustenance for them. Medical care and leisure activities. When leaders do a good job of that, no one seems to notice.

     “But when things fall short, only the leaders take the blame.

     “Some of you see me as just a man, not unlike yourselves, who has many more benefits than you have. And I do enjoy more benefits. But with leadership comes great responsibility, so those additional benefits are appropriate.

     “For example, in addition to the other responsibilities I bear, I also have a great responsibility which brings me no joy. It brings me sadness, in the same way a father must spank a child for indiscretions. As the leader of the group, I am also the group’s enforcer.

     “I take no joy in punishing people for their indiscretions. But sometimes, as a leader, I must do so, to keep everyone in line.”

     He paused for a full minute.

     To let his words sink in.

-30-

     When homicide detective Frank Woodard had produced enough evidence to implicate Robbie Benton in John Castro’s murder, it wasn’t well received.

     Police Chief Mike Martinez had prayed the old detective had made a mistake. Had missed something. Had misinterpreted a piece of evidence. No police chief ever wants to believe that one of his men has gone rogue.

     Especially when it involved something like attempted murder of another of his officers.

     Still, the evidence had been irrefutable. The ballistics test Frank performed on Robbie’s rifle could not be disputed. The fingerprints on the shell casings within the rifle were spot on matches. Not just by the ten point legal standard, but by seventeen points.

     He’d been placed at the scene of the crime by several other officers. One of the first to arrive, by most accounts, although Robbie would claim in his official report later that he was eleven miles away when the call went out.

     It was enough evidence to make Chief Martinez go, with heavy heart, to the District Attorney’s office to refer charges.

     The DA, in turn, met with a judge after hours, in secret, to obtain an arrest warrant.

     Chief Martinez himself was to serve the warrant, alone with Robbie, in his office. The DA asked him not to. She said it could be dangerous. But the chief was adamant.

     “He’s one of us until I take that badge and gun from him. Until I put the cuffs on him. Until I close the cell door behind him. And if he’s somehow found not guilty of the charges, he’ll be one of us again. No, I cannot abdicate the responsibility of taking him into custody myself.”

     The chief had sent out word that day that Officer Benton was to come and see him immediately. The chief was going to inform him of the charges against him. Then to demand his badge and gun and to take him into custody. It would be done out of the public’s eye, with no other officers watching. It would be done with a semblance of dignity that a guilty Robbie wouldn’t have deserved.

     But a man wrongly accused would. And Chief Martinez wanted so much to believe that his officer was innocent, even in the face of almost overwhelming evidence.

     Chief Martinez had waited in his office that day for Robbie to report to him. But Robbie never came. Robbie had gotten wind of the investigation. Had found out that Frank took his weapon and test fired it. And had come to the logical conclusion that the only reason to test fire a weapon was to obtain ballistics evidence.

     Robbie had gone on the lam that day, and hadn’t been seen since.

     And Chief Martinez finally had to admit to himself everything Frank Woodard said about Robbie Benton was true.

     Because guilty men don’t run.

     Frank Woodard and another detective got a search warrant and searched Robbie’s home.

     What they found there sent chills up the old detective’s spine.

     There were dozens of photos of Hannah Castro, in various stages of undress, some of her completely nude. They’d been taken by hidden peephole cameras in Hannah’s own home. No one knew how Robbie had been able to break in to install the cameras, or how long they’d been there. But Hannah could tell, from her various changes in hairstyles, that the photos had been taken over the course of several years.

     There were other things as well. Among Robbie’s possessions they found some of Hannah’s things: a hairbrush. A necklace she thought she lost at a family picnic. Panties, nightgowns and scarves. All little things that Robbie had taken over the years, hoping she wouldn’t miss them. And, to a large degree, she hadn’t.

     Robbie’s trophy collection finally revealed his obsession with Hannah. To that point, everyone agreed that Robbie had a crush on her. It was obvious and common knowledge. But then, Hannah was a beautiful woman, blessed with a model’s face and an athlete’s trim body. She was a woman many men swooned for, and had a lot of admirers.

     But Robbie took it to a new extreme. All of a sudden Hannah felt dirty. Not because of something she did, for she’d always been respectful around Robbie. But because her inner sanctuary had been violated. She’d been photographed using the bathroom and showering in her own home.

     Her home didn’t feel safe anymore.

     She didn’t feel safe anymore.

     And Robbie’s motive for killing John suddenly became crystal clear.

     It was Hannah who first asked to be moved out of the residence. “I no longer like it here,” she said. “It no longer feels like home. It just feels somehow… creepy now.”

     John’s plan was to move Hannah and the girls in with friends on the far side of the city. Friends Robbie had never met.

     His plan was to stay at the residence himself, and to wait for Robbie to come calling.

     Hannah overruled him.

     “No,” she said with conviction. “You’re coming with us.”

     “But I’ve never run from a fight in my life.”

     “You’re not running from anyone or anything. You’re coming with us to protect us. That’s where you need to place your focus. On your family. Not on some vendetta.”

     Hannah won the argument, as all wives do in the end.

     The Castros now stayed with friends in north San Antonio. Robbie had never met them. Didn’t even know they existed.

     They were safe.