uliette stepped off the third class bus and brushed chicken feathers
and dust from her sweat soaked blouse and skirt. She picked up the bag
the bus driver had tossed from the roof of the vehicle, and stepped back
as the machine growled off in a grinding of gears and a spray of loose
pebbles and dust. She looked around at the desolate landscape, took a
deep breath almost searing her lungs from the heat, then began trudging
down the rutted dirt road toward the town named on a weatherbeaten sign
- Juan Diablo.
The sun beat down relentlessly from a cloudless sky drenching her as it
sucked the moisture and strength from within. Her silk blouse acted as
a sauna, assisting the burning orb in its task of draining every drop of
liquid from her body. The shimmer of rising heat waves created a vision
of hula dancing cacti and swimming bushes. She put down her bag and sat
on it, wiping the droplets of perspiration from her brow before they
found their way into her eyes to itch, burn, and annoy.
Following a few minutes rest, she resumed her trek. After what seemed
hours, the steeple of the town's only church materialized above the heat
haze, followed, successively, by the buildings of the main street; the
only street of Juan Diablo. On either side of the road, ranging up the
scarcely sloping sides of the valley were mud and straw huts that served
as homes for the provincials. When she peered through squinty eyes,
Julie thought she could see the locals, none of whom were doing anything
resembling physical labor. But with the heat as unbearable as it was,
who could?
In another half an hour, she stood at the head of the single block long
main street. Words on flat, rectangular surfaces that once must have
been brightly colored signs proclaimed the businesses that were housed
behind the drab adobe walls. Julie pointed her steps toward the
building named "cantina" and pushed through swinging doors into the
cooler, dark interior. She moved to its makeshift bar and motioned to
the bartender.
"Si, senorita," he said as he approached. He eyed her distrustfully.
Julie wiped more sweat and grime from her face with the sleeve of her
blouse. "I'm looking for a man," she began.
"So are most senoritas," a deep masculine voice in the back of the
cantina said. Several lewd sniggers followed the remark.
"Ignore them, senorita," the bartender said while trying hard to
suppress his own grin. "This person you seek has a name?"
"John, er, Jonathan Powers. Tall, slender, very dark hair. Always
looks like he's scowling."
The bartender stared at Julie, his face a blank.
"She seeks the white one," a feminine voice came from the darkness of
the room.
"El Loco Gringo? Why? That man is not someone anyone would want to
find." He turned to the source of the voice. "El Loco Gringo?"
"Si!"
The bartender turned back to Julie. "You are sure you wish to find this
hombre?"
Julie nodded. The possessor of the feminine voice materialized before
Julie. She wore typical peasant's clothing, a white blouse, colorful,
loose fitting skirt, bright ribbons holding back a cascade of black
hair. She wore no shoes, no socks or hosiery of any type. Her skin was
dark olive, eyes so deep a brown as to appear black. She thrust her jaw
out at Julie.
"What do you want of the gringo?" she challenged, her small hands
planted defiantly on her hips.
Julie considered her answer carefully. No need to alienate a town full
of people. Not knowing how they felt about John, why chance trouble?
"We're related," Julie finally answered. It seemed to satisfy the
woman. She nodded her head slightly and melted into the gloom.
"Straight along the road through town to a fork by a bent tree, then
follow the left path. His will be the third hut you see," the bartender
said.
Julie nodded her thanks and made a move to leave.
"You should have a drink before you go. It is very hot outside and you
still have a long walk."
"Thanks," she said, "but I really am anxious to get there." As she
left the coolness of the cantina, the heat from the afternoon sun struck
her as hard as a prizefighter's punch. She sucked in another deep,
searing breath, lifted her bag, and resumed her trudge.
It was half an hour before she spotted the hut. Her steps were slow but
sure as she approached.
"Lita? That you, Lita?" the voice that called out was deep; resonant.
"No," Julie answered.
"Who the hell are you?" the deep voice demanded.
"A visitor."
"Don't want one," the voice grew harsh.
Julie shrugged and strode into the hut. "Tough," she said.
She was momentarily blinded by the gloom. A mistake she thought to
herself, but one that wasn't followed by a consequence. Lucky! She
waited for her vision to catch up with the change from bright to gloom,
and as it did, she studied the hut's interior. Spartan, she observed.
A cot, wooden chairs and table, stove, water pump spilling into an old
laundry tub with a draining shelf, a beat up dresser, and a cupboard
with some dishes, glasses, and two brass urns. What a totally
unimpressive collection of nondescript junk adorning the dirt floor of a
one room adobe sty, she thought to herself.
"Nice digs," she said, her tone sarcastic.
"Serves my needs," a male voice resonated behind her.
She stiffened. "Do you always come up behind a person?"
"Only those that come uninvited, which brings me back to my original
question. Who the hell are you?"
Julie turned to face the possessor of the masculine voice. He stood in
the doorway, the sinking sun directly behind him. That position obscured
any clear vision of his face or the location of his hands. Another
mistake she thought. God, I'm full of them today. Must be the heat.
"You know who I am," she said, her voice soft, menacing. "You've been
expecting me for some time."
She saw him nod. "Things have changed. I wasn't expecting someone who
looked quite like you."
"How one looks has nothing to do with how well one performs."
"So I was told when I began my career in the business."
"And a brilliant career, too, so I've been told," she agreed. "Yours
will be tough shoes to fill."
"They aren't empty yet."
She contemplated the statement. "No, but soon," she said even more
softly.
In a sudden motion, the man stepped away from the doorway. The setting
afternoon sun struck her directly in the eyes, once again momentarily
blinding her. Julie showed no discomfort. She backed away from the
doorway and out of the path of the sunlight, allowing her eyes to once
again establish sight in the gloom of the hut. He was sitting at the
table examining her.
"Nice move," she said. Again he nodded. Mistake number three since she
arrived. Julie was beginning to feel like an amateur on her first
assignment.
"One you will have to master if you are to survive in this business."
She moved to a seat opposite the man the bartender called El Loco
Gringo.
"How did you find me?" he asked. He was very calm. Too calm for a man
in his position, Julie thought. Something about this scenario didn't
ring true.
"By accident." He didn't speak, just raised his eyebrows in a non
verbal question. "You were spotted by a couple of go-fers on vacation,"
she added.
"That could have been anywhere in Mexico. It doesn't explain how you
managed to find me in this wilderness outpost."
"You were tailed; the first sign of losing the edge. When they got
back stateside the word got out." He nodded his understanding.
"Ordinarily I wouldn't have tried for the contract, but," she shrugged
her shoulders, "It is how the gunslingers of the old west made their
reps."
"Take down the best and you take his place."
"Something like that."
"You in a hurry?"
She shook her head. "Next bus to Queretero isn't till morning. I might
as well have you for company till I have to leave to catch it." She
wiped the perspiration from her face. "Is it always this hot here?"
"You don't notice after a while. Sort of get used to it."
"Won't bother you at all when you get to hell, eh?"
"Focused aren't you?"
"Very."
"I have company coming."
"Some woman named Lita?"
He looked hard at her - seemed to enter her mind through her eyes.
"The girl's out of this, O.K.?"
She nodded assent. "I'm not in the peasant popping business."
"Drink?" he offered.
Julie nodded no. "I never drink on the job. Blurs the senses."
He motioned toward the cupboard. "Mind if I..."
Julie got up, examined the cupboard and, satisfied there were no
explosive devices rigged or weapons concealed, reached in and withdrew a
half full bottle of Tequila and a glass which she handed to Jonathan.
"Thanks." He poured himself two fingers, swallowed the drink in one
gulp, then poured another two. "What's the going rate for a hit?"
"Depends. Twenty five to unlimited. You come in at one mil."
Once more the raised brows. "Competition?"
"Few guys. Haven't seen them but I know they're out there hunting.
Wrong direction though."
"You let out some, ah, misleading and less than accurate information?"
Jonathan leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his
head. There was an amused look on his face. "Clever. Gives you a
clear shot at the title without having to deal with competitors as
well."
The sound of footsteps coming up the path silenced the pair.
"Senor Gringo?" The voice was sultry, distinctly feminine. Julie
recognized that voice as belonging to the woman at the cantina. She
entered the hut and stopped short when she spotted Julie.
"I see your relative," the emphasis on the word spoke eloquently of
jealousy, "has found you."
He smiled at her. "My sister," he said. "Just ignore us and do what I
told you."
She whirled with a gesture and began washing the dirty dishes and
glasses in the tub, placing those done on the drying rack. Jonathan
turned his attention back to his executioner. "Now, where were we?"
"Stalling," Julie said.
"Not really. It's just that if it gets out that someone did me before
they vanished, the locals would probably hack the doer to little pieces
and feed the parts to their dogs."
"Really? How do you figure?"
"Been here a long time. Help to keep this blemish they call a town in
an otherwise obscure valley alive. The locals will be real pissed when
someone offs their only source of income."
Julie eyed the woman called Lita. "Does she have to do that now?"
"You're getting edgy. Relax. I'm not going anywhere and I promise I
won't try to jump you."
"I don't believe you. Nobody just accepts death so calmly without
trying something. Especially someone like you."
"Nice compliment. Unearned perhaps, but nice. Thanks."
Julie shifted her weight, settling into another uncomfortable
position. They were silent for a while, the only sound, that of water
running from the pump and dishes being cleaned.
"You let yourself be found. Why?"
"Man gets tired of running, dodging from his own shadow, jumping at an
unfamiliar sound. Better to make an end of it, with dignity."
The woman called Lita turned and leaned against the tub, staring at the
pair. "You wish to eat now?" she asked.
"Yes," Jonathan said.
"No," Julie said.
Jonathan looked directly into Julies' eyes. "You'd best be eating
something. Eliminate suspicion. Remember what I told you."
"You're bluffing," she said, almost under her breath. "They won't do a
thing."
"You willing to take that risk? Dead gunslingers don't become legends."
"I could off the both of you."
His eyes flashed. "Now you're talking stupid." He turned to Lita.
"The senorita will eat with me."
More silence. Neither spoke but watched as Lita mixed flour and water,
then kneaded the resultant bolus so she could make tortillas, the
foundation of most meals in Juan Diablo. Beans were heating in one pan
while in another Lita sauteed onions, peppers, tomatoes, and rice. The
odor of the cooking filled the hut squeezing out a flow of juices in
Julie's mouth. She wondered that she had any left, convinced as she was
that the heat had drained every drop from her. She was hungry, too. How
long was it since she'd eaten? Twelve, fourteen hours? She'd lost
count.
Jonathan got up and went to the cupboard and withdrew two plates and
another glass. He placed them on the table. "Pick," he told Julie.
She never took her eyes off of him, pushed the plate aside, got up and
moved to the cupboard where she removed another plate, then walked to
the drying rack by the tub and chose a glass still wet from washing.
She placed her choices on the table.
"You don't mind, do you?" It was more of a challenge than a question.
He just shrugged.
Lita brought the food to the table and began spooning it onto each
plate. Flavored rice, beans, and salad occupied most of the space on
the plates. Lita then plopped a skillet of meat, onions, and peppers on
the table between the two. Another plate, filled with tortillas landed
next to the skillet. Jonathan nodded thanks.
"You can go now," he said. When she opened her mouth to protest, he
held up a finger in a gesture of silence. "Just go," he said more
forcefully.
She whirled and stormed out of the hut, headed down the path toward
town. Jonathan watched her retreating figure disappear into the gloom,
then turned his attention to Julie. She hadn't made a move to eat a
thing. With a rueful smile he used his fork to take a huge mouthful of
food from her plate and ate it, smacking his lips in obvious
satisfaction.
"Satisfied?" he asked her.
She stared into his eyes for a second, then piled into her food. He
did the same.
"Drink?" he asked. Julie left the table carrying her glass, moved to
the pump and took water.
"You don't live long if you don't watch your flanks," she commented.
"You have nice flanks to watch," he told her.
Julie colored. "I didn't think you noticed."
"I told you, I'm not dead, Yet!"
The two finished the meal in silence, then Jonathan took the plates and
glasses to the tub. He poured another two fingers of tequila and
polished off the drink, then sat again opposite Julie. They stared at
each other for a while, then she averted her eyes.
"I never thought," she began, then fell silent a moment. "I didn't..."
He prompted her with his eyes. "What didn't you think?"
"You - you're so docile. So willing to let yourself be," she let the
rest of the thought go unspoken. "I know what you told me about going
out with dignity and all that, but that's a crock. You aren't afraid of
me, that's for sure, yet you haven't made a move toward stopping me. It
just doesn't fit."
"Maybe I am the way I am because I know you've had that Smith & Wesson
Ladysmith trained on my belly almost every second since you arrived."
"You couldn't know that. It's impossible. It never left my bag."
"And your bag never left your lap." He shifted position and leaned
toward her, his face screwed into a scowl. "Look, lady. If I were of a
mind to, I could have eliminated you any number of times since you've
been here. I just haven't felt the need to, so don't push it. If you're
lucky you might just walk to the bus tomorrow. Depends."
"On what?"
"Answers to a couple of questions."
"Like?"
He leaned back in the chair, hands laced behind his head. The scowl
was gone. "Remember a gentleman name of Terhune?"
"Sure do," she said. "Big nasty sucker thought he was God's gift to
women. Couldn't stomach the guy. Heard there was a contract out on him
that couldn't be filled. Everyone who tried to do him was done
themselves. It was him started my reputation. After I did him, jobs
came to me. I didn't have to solicit any more. Everyone knew I could
produce." She looked into John's eyes and saw a deep, brooding anger.
"Why do you ask?" Now! Do it now, a voice shrieked in her mind.
Powers took a long time to speak. When he did, it was in very soft
tone. "When I was a kid, I was headed up a dead-end street, the only
certainty being I would end up nose down in the gutter, snuffed. One
day, when I was that close to getting it, this dapper guy in a silk suit
and fifty buck shirt casually steps between me and disaster, hands me
his card, tells me to drop by to see him later that evening, then turns
and spooks the gang after me.
"He takes me under his wing after that and makes me into his personal
enforcer. I know nothing about life till he sponsors me, then I learn
how to live like a gentleman and conduct my business in a courteous
manner. I become the tops in my field."
As Jonathan spoke, a strange feeling began to overtake Julie, a feeling
of total lack of control over her body. She tried to shift her position
but found she was incapable of movement. Panic registered in her eyes.
Jonathan went on talking. If he'd noticed anything he didn't let on.
"Then one day I get this call for an assignment. In Lebanon I recall.
When I got there, I found it was a hoax so I turn right around and come
home. When I get back, I find Terhune is dead, killed by someone who
loves their work and takes a long time to finish. Kind of like a cat
playing with a mouse."
Julie can hear him speak, comprehend his words, see his face, though it
is getting a bit blurry, but other than those few senses, all else seems
gone. She has to kill him, NOW! But she can't move a muscle. What is
going wrong with her. She senses the sweat on her face, rolling down
her brow, blending with the tears in her eyes, but it doesn't sting any
more; just blurs her vision.
"Shot him thirteen times the killer did. In the shoulders, elbows,
hands, thighs, knees, feet, and finally, in the belly. Probably watched
him bleed out is my guess. After that, I miss out on any number of hits
because this new person does it so much better, makes dying last so much
longer. Good machine for vengeance. I'm still pissed about losing
Terhune and the jobs that came after his passing so I decide to rid the
world of so vicious a killing machine." He stopped talking and leaned
toward her. He smiled..
"I learned to play, too," he said. "It's a new poison used by the
Peruvian natives. Like Curare, only better. You lose all use of
voluntary muscles and senses except for sight, sound, and mental
capacity. Those senses remain active for hours before you expire."
Powers stood and took her bag from her lap and removed the gun, slipping
it in his pocket. He returned to his chair and laced his hands behind
his head.
"Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I decided to kill Terhune's killer. Gave
the profession a bad name. So, I let out the contract on myself. Kind
of a lure to trap a pest; bring the killer to me. You're good, kid, but
I'm better You should have taken the glass I offered. Lita laced those
she washed with the poison."
My God, Julie thought. I've been set up and the bastard's playing with
me like I did with the others. Realization ignited terror in her mind.
She wanted to scream, but only her eyes could show emotion. Water
flowed from them. I'm going to die. Why didn't I just kill him when I
had the chance? Why? Why?
Another voice intruded itself on her mind.
"It is time, senor?" The voice of the bartender.
"Yes," Jonathan said. "She can't feel a thing, but she'll know. Make
sure the Padre says good words over her, then cremate her. Put her
ashes in the empty urn in the cupboard, then place both urns in the
crypt."
His face appeared in her limited field of vision. He spoke to her.
"The other urn has Terhune's ashes. Fitting, no? Killer and victim
spending eternity together." His face was gone.
"She came to kill you, didn't she senor?" Julie heard the bartender
ask.
"Yes, but sometimes a gunslinger runs into someone that's a shade
faster, or smarter."
"Que?"
"Nada."
Julie sensed herself being lifted, carried. As her body passed through
the doorway of the hut she heard the bartender mutter, "Loco Gringo."
