The Fall Moon Page 19

  Then she was on her feet and I was scrambling after her. She stepped around the cab of the truck with the pistol held out in front of her and snarled, “OK, pendejos, Police! Freeze!”

  I came around after her in time to see the guy on the ground pull his piece from his belt. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t take her eyes off Cesar and the Sicario. She just moved her hands to the left and shot him where he lay, right between the eyes. He sagged back, his eyes wide and startled, a neat, red hole in the middle of his forehead.

  Before he’d lain back down, she was covering the other two again and speaking. “You want to have a go, huh, Cesar? How about you? You look like a pro, Sicario. You fancy your chances?”

  They had their hands up and they were watching her without expression. The trunk of the car was open. I glanced in. It was full of blue plastic packages sealed up with duct tape. I moved behind the two men toward the steps and Dehan kept talking.

  “Tell your boy to stand down, Cesar. If he does anything heroic, I drop you first and my partner will take out the Sicario here.”

  I climbed the steps and a boy of about eighteen or twenty stepped out of the truck with a pump action shotgun in his hands. His eyes said he was scared, but they also said he’d rather die than let down his boss. Dehan didn’t even look at him. She just took careful aim at Cesar’s head. Her voice was cold and steady. “Take out the Sicario first, Stone.” Then she grinned. “Guess this is what they call a Mexican standoff, huh, Cesar?”

  Cesar looked at the kid and said, “Mátela.”

  Kill her.

  Then all hell broke loose. I didn’t hesitate. I double-tapped and shot the kid twice through the heart. His shotgun went off and shattered the windshield of the Audi. Dehan fired. Cesar went down and simultaneously the Sicario screamed and spun into a flying roundhouse kick. All that happened in less than two seconds.

  Next thing, Dehan was sprawled in the dirt, but before I could run to her, the door by the steps erupted less than six feet away and three guys piled out on me, screaming. For a split second, all I saw was a fat guy in a vest with wild hair and sweat all over his face. In his hand, he had a machete. I emptied two rounds into his gut when he was just inches from me. His face screwed up in a wince and I jumped from the steps. I heard his body fall behind me. I ran two steps and turned, raising the Colt. I heard a scream and wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman.

  On the steps, there were two men, backlit by the door. They were both training automatics on me. I thought, “I’m going to die now.” I shot the one on my right through the chest and saw the other gun jump. I heard a pop and my face burned as I turned to aim. My stomach was panicking. I fought to control my movements, not to over swing. It felt like agonizing minutes, but it was probably a tenth of a second. I heard his bullet hit the Audi, saw him adjust. His next shot would kill me. I squeezed the trigger, twice. I saw his head jerk and a dark plume of spray behind him.

  But I was already turning. The scream I’d heard was ringing through my brain. I ran two more strides to the trunk of the car. Dehan was on her back. Her Glock was in the dirt three or four feet from her head. The Sicario was sitting astride her, leaning down. He had a long switchblade in his hands, putting all his weight on it, driving it down toward her throat. I felt a hot rage well up in my belly that fogged my mind. I rushed him, bellowing. I grabbed him by his ponytail with my left hand and dragged him to his feet, pounding his kidneys with my right fist, roaring something at him.

  He spun and slashed at my face. I blocked him with my left and drove my fist into his face. He staggered back and I went after him, swinging. I drove my left fist into his ribs, then pounded his face, right, left, right and he went down. I stepped up and kicked the knife away from his hand, then turned. Dehan was on her feet, moving toward me.

  “Are you OK?” My voice sounded odd, thick.

  “Yeah. Are you?” I nodded. She pointed. “Look at your arm.”

  I looked at my left arm. It was slick with blood from a deep cut.

  She said, “Take off your shirt.”

  “What, now?” I smiled idiotically and the world started to see-saw.

  “You’re going into shock and you’re losing a lot of blood. Sit down.”

  I sat in the dust. She tore off my sleeve and made a rough, improvised tourniquet-cum-bandage. I was shaking with cold and she put my jacket and hers around my shoulders. Then she had her phone in her hand and she was dialing as she walked over to the Sicario. She knelt down beside him and felt his neck.

  “This is Detective Carmen Dehan… We have a bit of a situation in Sonoita, and I was wondering if we could count on your cooperation. It’s a complex situation and we are going to need the sheriff. We have five dead and one seriously injured. We also have an injured police detective. This comes under the direct jurisdiction of the Washington HQ and they will be contacting you shortly. Right now, we need some deputies to secure the scene, a couple of meat wagons and some paramedics. It’s pretty urgent.”

  Then she hung up and called Washington. The conversation was brief and when she’d finished, she came over and hunkered down beside me.

  “Stone?”

  “Yeah. I am very cold.”

  “Hang in there. I’ll get you over to the hotel right away. Just tell me something while you remember. Why did you throw down your gun instead of shooting him?”

  I pulled the jackets close around me and lied. “I might have hit you.”

  She stared at me with narrowed eyes, like she knew I was lying. She said, “You broke his neck. That’s a hell of a right hook you have there.”

  I nodded. “I guess it is.”

  TWENTY-TWO

  As it happened, the sheriff and his deputies arrived at the same time as the FBI chopper from the San Diego field office, about an hour and a half after Dehan had called. In that time, Dehan had managed to enlist the help of the hotel management: a calm, dependable husband and wife team who had brought blankets and hot drinks, and roused the Sonoita pharmacist, who was the closest thing they had to a doctor. She had stabilized Cesar’s condition and fixed my arm, at least temporarily, telling me I was lucky he had missed the artery and vein, but I had lost a lot of blood and was sure as hell going to need stitches.

  With all the activity, a curious, mildly sympathetic crowd had gathered, and Dehan had moved me, the pharmacist and the hotel owners outside the warehouse gates, to preserve the crime scene.

  Now I was sitting in the cold dust with my back against the wall, watching the caravan of Sheriff’s Department vehicles stream off the road and form a cordon around the building. Pretty soon, the deputies were telling people to move on and back off, and the crowd was steadily dispersing. The sheriff had a ‘what the hell is going on’ face which he had brought with him all the way from Nogales just for Dehan, and he was marching it over to show it to her now. As he approached the big green doors, Dehan was waiting for him with her badge.

  “Sheriff.”

  “Miss, do you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?”

  She stuck the badge in his face and said, “Detective. Detective Dehan. What the hell is going on here, Sheriff, is that the FBI have jurisdiction over this crime scene. There is a forensic team on its way now, and I would be grateful to you, Sheriff, if you would assist me in securing the area. “

  He scowled at her badge and then scowled at her even harder. “First, that is an NYPD badge, not an FBI badge, second, if there are people getting shot up in my goddamn county on my goddamn watch, I want to know who the hell they are and what the hell is going on!”

  “Keep running your mouth, Sheriff, and I won’t tell you a goddamn thing. This is my investigation, I am collaborating with the Bureau and you have no jurisdiction here. You want to play nice, we’ll talk. You want to sling your dick around, you lost my interest. Take it down a notch, Sheriff. Now, where is your Medical Examiner?”

  He was saved from having to answer by the sound of an approaching chopper. As it came in to la
nd, it kicked up huge clouds of dust and sent clusters of people, hunched, covering their faces with their arms, scattering. The turbines whined and the rotors thudded slowly to a halt. A team of three men in jeans and sweatshirts climbed out and started hawking equipment out of the helicopter. A tall, red-haired woman in her late thirties, dressed in a blue pantsuit, came striding over. The sheriff watched her approach with a face that was eloquent of what he thought of women in pantsuits.

  The redhead pointed at Dehan. “Are you the detective who called this in?”

  “Dehan.”

  “Murphy.”

  They shook and she introduced the sheriff, who opened and closed his mouth a few times and stuck his thumbs in his belt. I saw the three guys from the chopper, now dressed like aliens in white plastic suits, carrying large amounts of equipment across the dirt toward the warehouse. Ice cold air touched my face and I closed my eyes. Somebody said something about the deceased and I wondered if I had died. I tried to hold on to Dehan’s voice, but it kept drifting away, which made me think that maybe I was.

  I could see her, a long way down beneath me, small, talking to the sheriff and Agent Murphy. There was a Chinese woman too, and somehow I knew she was the ME. Red and blue lights kept pulsing over the dust. There was a gurney being wheeled toward an ambulance. The Sicario was on it, with his broken neck. I looked up. I was closer to the moon now, where it sat over the desert hills. It had changed from orange to silver, and now it was silver tinted with turquoise. It had a bright halo that bathed the vast expanse of dust and shrubs and mesquite trees, creating a world of half shadows and misleading light, where it was easy to get lost and drawn down into the dark. This was the fall moon, and the fall moon was for killing.

  I opened my eyes. There were fewer vehicles, and most of those that remained were pulling away, heading west. Agent Murphy was talking to a couple of men in white plastic. Dehan’s face was very close to mine, peering at me.

  “Come on, tough guy. The doc wants to look at you.”

  I realized I was freezing. She pulled me to my feet and we walked a long distance across cold dust toward the back of an ambulance. I saw a Chinese woman frowning at my belly. Somebody said, “Jesus Christ!”

  I wondered why, because I was feeling very peaceful.

  I opened my eyes. There was bright sunshine lying across the foot of my bed in big, warped squares. It was a very comfortable bed and I felt very tired. Slowly, it occurred to me that I did not know the room. I lay and breathed peacefully for a while and slowly, recollections started to seep back. I shifted my eyes and saw Dehan sitting in an armchair by the window, reading a book. Her hair was tied in a knot behind her neck. I liked that and smiled.

  I said, “Good morning.” It came out very quiet and I had to say it again.

  She looked up from her book and returned my smile. “Hey, big guy. How you feeling?”

  “Tired. More than I ought. Why?”

  “Why?”

  “Why do I feel worse than I ought? What happened?”

  “You gave us a scare.”

  I looked down at my inside elbow, saw a bruise and a sticking plaster and realized I’d had a drip. “I lost a lot of blood?”

  She nodded and came over to sit on the bed. “He didn’t just cut your arm, Stone, though that was bad enough. He stabbed you in the gut too. I don’t understand how you didn’t notice. I guess the heat of the moment, his blade was probably razor sharp…”

  She shook her head. My left arm was bandaged, and when I peered under the covers, I saw my waist was bandaged too.

  “How bad is it?”

  “They were going to airlift you to hospital. Doc said a couple of inches to the left and you’d have been fighting for your life. It’s a miracle he missed any major organs. As it is, your biggest problem is anemia, you lost a lot of blood. We need to get you to a hospital pretty soon for a thorough examination, and meantime, you keep an eye on the can to make sure you don’t crap or pee red. You’re a lucky man.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “Fifteen hours.”

  “Jesus. What’s happened?”

  “You up to it?”

  I nodded.

  “Agent Murphy is still here. Special Agent in Charge Pat O’Leary, D.C.’s boss, is also here. D.C. is here and so is Agent Mike Turner from Washington. As soon as you feel up to it, we all need to have a pow wow.”

  I smiled. “A pow wow? OK, well, you get me some coffee and something to eat, and I’ll be ready for your pow wow.”

  She stared at me for a while. I gave her a ‘what?’ face and she got up and called room service for a pot of coffee and some bacon and eggs. When she’d hung up, she took a deep breath and leaned on the foot of the bed as she let it out in a long hiss.

  I said, “What’s on your mind, Dehan?”

  “How well do you remember the events of last night?”

  I shrugged. “Up till I sat down by the big gates, perfectly.”

  “Then you need to explain something to me, before we have our debriefing.” She came around and sat on the bed again. “You’re an experienced detective. You aren’t stationed in some sleepy village in New England. You’re working the Bronx. You have been in violent situations many times before.”

  I nodded. “Sure. What’s your point?”

  She stared at me for a long moment. “I get that you used his ponytail to drag him off. What I don’t get is why you threw your gun down. Stick it in his neck, his back, the back of his head…” She shrugged, spread her hands. “But you threw it down in the dirt and started pounding him. Stone, you lost it. You went crazy. You were screaming at him like a madman.”

  “What was I screaming?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  She nodded. “Just no. But there’s more, Stone. Not only did you not notice you had been stabbed, you hit him so hard you broke his neck. And he wasn’t a ninety pound weed. He was a tough guy.” She shook her head. “What the hell got into you?”

  I held her eye, going over the events minutely in my mind. I remembered it perfectly, and in vivid detail, though I didn’t remember screaming. Finally, I said, “I dropped the gun by accident. I was going to take the shot, realized the risk to you and, in that moment, the reflex made my hand open and I dropped the gun.” I shook my head. “I honestly don’t remember screaming. Perhaps when I realized I was unarmed and he was trying to stab you…” I shrugged again. “As to breaking his neck. I guess I am stronger than I thought, or he was unlucky in the position of his head.”

  She didn’t answer for a moment, flicking her eyes over my face. “I don’t buy that and neither do you. I’ll let it pass for now. In the debriefing, be vague about your recollections of the fight. Put it down to an unfortunate fall...”

  I shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

  She didn’t smile. “No, I’m not. We’re partners. And Stone?”

  “What?”

  “Thank you. You saved my life.”

  I smiled. “Did I? I didn’t realize.”

  She smiled back. “You’re such an asshole.”

  Then there was a knock at the door and my breakfast arrived.

  After eating, I was feeling strong enough to get up and dress and go very gently down to reception, where management had granted us the area around the fireplace to have our meeting and debriefing. There was a sofa and there were two armchairs and a long coffee table. Two extra chairs had been provided.

  By the time we’d gotten down the steps, all the others had assembled in a horseshoe around the cold fireplace. A large armchair had been reserved for me at the right-hand extreme of the horseshoe, beside the fireplace, and I lowered myself carefully into it with Dehan’s help.

  I had Dehan on my right, sitting on the stone hearth and Daryl on my left. He watched me anxiously, and once I was sitting, I gave him a weary smile and shook his hand.

  Next to him was Agent Murphy, watching me carefully. Beside her, with a face that could have turned fresh m
ilk sour, was the Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix field office, Pat O’Leary. Next to him, almost opposite me and at the far extreme of the horseshoe, was a man I didn’t know, but I guessed was Mike Turner.

  My first impression was that he was too young, barely thirty-five, too well groomed and too willing to smile like he knew everything already. But maybe that’s just the way it is in D.C. Dehan gestured at him and said, “Special Agent Mike Turner, this is Detective John Stone, who was injured last night.”

  He raised a hand and offered an amused smile. “Good to know you, John. Time to start thinking about a desk job, huh?” With that, he glanced at Dehan and winked. Then he looked around the room and said, “Before we get started, guys, can I just ask, who is liaising with the Sheriff’s Department?”

  Murphy raised her hand. “For the moment I am, but I think we are about to hand over to SAC O’Leary. It makes more sense for Phoenix to take charge of that.”

  I saw O’Leary’s cheeks flush and Turner turned narrowed eyes on him, then looked at Dehan and at me with the same eyes. “Yeah. I am not clear on this. I am not sure why you didn’t contact Phoenix last night, Carmen. In fact, I am not exactly clear why Phoenix haven’t had control of this whole operation from the get go. You feel like enlightening me?” She drew breath to answer him and his eyes drifted to D.C. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you can explain to me why this man is not in prison.”

  If he thought he was going to intimidate Dehan, that was probably because he had never met her before, and because he was taken in by her looks. She gave him the dead eye until he stopped looking at D.C. and turned to face her, making an enquiry with his eyebrows. Then she said:

  “Yeah, I feel like enlightening you, Mike. You’re asking me three questions, and if you’ll allow me, I’ll answer them one at a time. First, why didn’t I contact Phoenix last night? That is pretty simple. We were aware that the Camacho gang, and probably the Sinaloa cartel across the border, were receiving information from the Phoenix field office. We knew that Agent Daryl Collins was involved, but we did not know the full extent of the leak, or its ramifications. So the first thing we did was to secure Agent Collins so that he was no longer a threat, and inform Washington.