The Empty Land (A Hunter Kincaid Novel)
“Today, gonna catch a movie this evening.”
“You’re going to wander the aisles at Home Depot, drooling over all the shiny tools and gadgets you see, I know you. See you when you get back.”
Hunter punched off the phone and went upstairs to pack a small overnight bag.
***
The next morning, Raymond drove the Border Patrol Tahoe out of Marfa, going south on Pinto Canyon Road. He didn’t see a single vehicle all the way to Ruidoso, where he turned upriver toward the tiny village of Candelaria. A Candelaria local had reported yesterday that several strangers showed up in the middle of the night, asking questions about places to cross. He checked the river area as he drove, seeing little sign of crossings.
Raymond drove slowly on the dirt road past Candelaria and across the dry bed of Capote. He parked after spotting fresh footprints of six people, and the imprint in the soft sand of where someone placed the butt of a rifle. Staying cautious, Raymond followed the tracks up Capote Creek to where they left the bottom and started across the hills on the northwest side of the arroyo, going towards the rugged Sierra Vieja Mountains.
He worked his left arm, which felt strained for some reason, and stayed on their tracks. Ten yards further, the striations of a burlap bag showed clearly in the dust. Dope smugglers, Raymond thought. They were sure taking a hard way to transport their load. There wasn’t much rougher country to walk in anywhere.
Raymond stretched his arm and his neck and thought about Hunter in El Paso. “I hope she gets a good piece of meat. I’m ready to do some cooking.” The thought of barbecued brisket made his mouth water.
The trail suddenly veered left. Raymond stopped at the location and looked along his back trail to see if they might have spotted him. Most of the back trail was hidden by the increasing slope of the hills, so he thought they might be on a GPS or a compass heading, and corrected their path for the easiest route through the looming mountains ahead.
Raymond huffed out a breath, thinking he might be getting too old to climb around like a goat in these desert mountains. The trail followed a small, steep wash that cut a narrow path through the ledge above him.
Wiping clammy sweat from his face, Raymond had to use both arms and scramble with his feet and legs to get to the top. When he reached a level place to stand, he found he couldn’t catch his breath, and his entire left arm, shoulder, and the side of his neck ached. Not good, He thought. Something was wrong. He looked around from his perch halfway up the rocky slope of the mountain and saw no one.
He said, “Hunter you sure picked a hell of a day to take leave.” Raymond decided to abandon the trail and return to his vehicle.
It hit him when he made the first step into the cut, like a huge hand reached inside him and squeezed his heart to bursting. Raymond collapsed and slid down the wash, rolling to a stop ten feet down the slope. He gasped like a fish on land and reached for the mike on his epaulet, but passed out before he could call for help.
His body lay motionless, face up in the morning sun. Five minutes passed, then a buzzard flew over Raymond and circled above him.
CHAPTER 5
Hunter drove north on Montrose at ten AM to the location and parked away from the car wash, but in a place where she had an open field of view. Getting here two hours before noon left her plenty of time to check out the place and identify the workers. She was in a space near the Martin Tire store, under the sparse shade of an ornamental mulberry, and facing the front of the car wash. She had the printout of Guereca’s police record and a blowup photo of him. There hadn’t been many records on that name for the area, so he was easy to identify. Carlos Guereca, born in Las Cruces, New Mexico, five-ten, two hundred pounds. Under scars and marks it said multiple tattoos, and listed several of the more distinctive ones.
His photo showed a dark-skinned, hard looking man, with tats running up the sides of his neck to the jawline. The record showed almost two decades of violence, and Guereca was only thirty-five. Robberies, assault, Street gang affiliations, Cartels too, more recently. Two arrests for murder, first degree, but no convictions on those. In the last year, there was nothing. It was as if he went straight. “Nah, not this guy,” Hunter said. She raised a small pair of Zeiss binoculars and watched the customers and workers as she sipped on bottled water.
At eleven-thirty, Acting Sheriff Danny Montoya drove to the car wash in his personal sedan. He didn’t spot her. Hunter smiled. Old Danny just went up a notch on her respect scale by being here. He wore civilian clothes; jeans and a dark blue pullover polo shirt, no badge.
Hunter thought she would watch him handle things and stay where she was as backup, just in case. He didn’t need to know she was there. Danny entered the building, blending in with the other patrons, but looking things over, too. Danny wasn’t really such a bad guy, other than he had this thing about her. Well that, and the fact he was so uptight about this election. Raymond said yesterday that if Danny put a lump of coal in his butt, it would come out ten minutes later as a diamond. She choked on her coffee with that one.
Maybe after the election, when things cooled down, they could get off on better footing. She wanted that. Maybe he would, too. She checked her watch: eleven-fifty.
***
Crystal sat with Samir in their pickup as she scanned the large, combined parking area for the car wash and surrounding businesses. She saw a woman in a pickup, looking through binoculars. Crystal said, “Cop.”
“Where?”
She pointed across the lot. “There. She’s using binoculars to check the car wash.”
Samir said, “Then there’s at least one more somewhere.”
“They have to be at the wash.” Crystal reached into the small bag on the floorboard and brought out a Canon camera. She snapped on a telephoto lens and watched the woman until she was sure the woman wasn’t looking their direction. She raised the camera, focused and shot a rapid string of photos, then lowered the camera and checked them through the viewer. “Got her.”
Samir indicated the car wash, “Go into the waiting area and check it out. Let me know what you see. If you think we can do it, call me and I’ll take the pickup through.”
Crystal exited the pickup and walked across the paved lot to the car wash, entering the waiting and viewing area. She held the phone to her ear and pretended to be talking with someone as she leaned against the wall facing the room. There was only one man who might be the law. He sat in a chair near the back and pre
tended to be reading the newspaper. She watched him for five minutes, then checked everyone else both inside and outside, including the workers drying cars. Just the one man, and he was in a good place for their plan to still work. She took photos of him with her phone while he wasn’t looking her direction, and called Samir, “One guy, sitting inside. He can’t see.”
“Okay, I’m going.”