Squires felt Tula move close to him, throwing an arm around his bad leg for protection.
He wasn’t afraid of Frankie-he’d never admitted it to himself, anyway-Tula was wrong about that. But the woman did make him nervous, particularly when she was as drunk as she was now.
Nervous, yes, that’s the way Squires felt, but he could also feel a testosterone heat moving to his ears.
“You shut your mouth about this girl,” Squires said to Frankie in a warning tone as he stepped in front of Tula. “She’s not used to your garbage talk. And stop your damn swearing in front of her. This little girl’s religious.”
Frankie laughed, “Priceless,” as Squires continued, “You go on back inside the trailer. If you want to talk to me, I’ll get the generator going and we’ll talk. But you leave this girl alone.”
Squires was lying about the generator. The moment Frankie closed the trailer door, he’d load Tula into the truck and they’d get the hell out of there.
Go where, though? Frankie knew what she was talking about when she’d mentioned kidnapping. Even if the priest told the cops that everything was okay, a call from Frankie might put them back on the alert. The woman would drop the dime on him the moment he left, Squires was sure of it.
Or would she?
Mismatched details were going through Squires’s mind as he tried to view the situation clearly. Maybe Frankie didn’t have so much leverage over him after all, he decided. Once he was in jail, how could the woman force him to give back the money he’d taken? She’d have to admit to the feds that they’d piled up a ton of cash selling steroids. They hadn’t paid a dime in taxes, either.
No, Frankie couldn’t risk that.
The woman was drunk. She was a vicious twat, but she was smart. She’d realize that getting the sixty grand was the most important thing, once he reminded her. It caused Squires to wonder if maybe he should offer the woman some kind of deal… which is when he heard an engine start in the distance.
A second later, a truck loaded with men came fishtailing out from behind the trailer, the truck’s lights blinding him and the girl. In the same instant, a Mexican voice from behind Squires said, “Hey there, jelly boy! You stand real still or I’ll blow your damn head off.
Squires turned.
Christ! There was Laziro Victorino, grinning at him with his gold teeth. And pointing a shotgun at him-a Browning Maxus 12-gauge that Squires had kept locked in the trailer gun closet.
Victorino and Frankie together?
It took Squires a slow, stunned moment to realize what had happened. Yeah… it had to be. Frankie and the gangbanger had teamed up. That was the only explanation. Frankie had somehow hooked up with the V-man, probably today at Red Citrus. After the woman had discovered the money missing, she would have been in the perfect mood to seduce someone like Victorino, a guy who could help her get what she wanted.
Even so, this surprised Squires, because Frankie was the most racist person he’d ever met. But here it was, staring him right in the face. And the two of them had been at it for a while, sharing some fun together, judging from the confidential looks Victorino and Frankie were now exchanging. Both of them drunk and probably cocaine crazy.
Squires had seen the woman like this many times. And the V-man was no different, he guessed-probably worse. Drunk as they were, neither one of them gave a damn about what they did or the consequences. They wanted the cash. But the V-man probably wanted Tula more or he wouldn’t have wasted his time-a girl Tula’s age was worth a lot more than sixty thousand to a business shark like him.
And they would kill him, Squires realized. They had to. Use the shotgun, but, more likely, Victorino’s box cutter. He’d do it slowly to impress Frankie, a woman probably twisted enough to video the whole thing.
That made Squires feel sort of queasy. Then he felt worse when he realized that, no, Victorino and his gangbangers would be the ones to video his murder. Get it all on their iPhones and add another snuff film to their collection.
This was all shocking information for Squires to process. He didn’t expect loyalty from Frankie, but he didn’t expect her to help a Mexican dude murder him, either. He and the redhead had spent more than four years together, most of it either screwing or screaming at each other, but they’d had some good times, too. Could Frankie let go of all that so fast?
Squires got his answer when Frankie called to Victorino, “Don’t shoot him now, dumbass! Get them in the cookshack, I’ve got the camera all set. Hurry up, it’s almost midnight!”
Cameras in the steroid shack-this was another surprise to Squires. Why not the trailer, where they had already built a porno set complete with lights and a computer?
The V-man was wagging an index finger at Tula as he pointed the shotgun at Squires, saying something in Spanish to the girl-probably ordering her into the steroid shack-before telling Frankie, “What’s the rush, now? Bring some duct tape. I’ll hold the gun on your boyfriend while you tape him.”
The woman replied, “The greaser genius giving orders again,” sounding sloppy drunk now. But still sober enough to remember that Victorino enjoyed killing women, because she added, “Duct tape. Check. I’d love to tape that worthless piece of shit.”
Squires watched the redhead walk toward the RV but then stop near the steps, where she reached down into a box. When he heard Tula scream, “Don’t you touch that!” he remembered the fledgling bird the girl had saved. Could the thing still be alive?
Yes, it was. The egret was squawking and flapping its bare wings as Frankie held the bird up in the light. The woman was grinning as she said to Victorino, “Do you Mexicans like to eat squab? I think we’ve got a bottle of champagne around her someplace.” Before the man could reply, though, the woman said, “Ouch! The little bastard just bit me!” and hurled
the bird hard against the aluminum siding of the RV.
Tula gave a little shriek and swung her head away, but Victorino thought it was pretty funny, the hard-assed redhead getting bit by a bird.
Staring at Squires, the V-man grinned as he said to Frankie, “See? We’re having ourselves some fun now. What’s the hurry? Come back with the duct tape, then we gonna have more fun making movies. Hell, this dumbass probably has the money on him, maybe stashed somewhere inside his truck. It won’t be hard to find.”
As Tula sobbed, Squires was thinking, The hell it won’t.
He’d built the hidden compartment himself, using a cutting torch and the help of a magic mechanic friend of his. Frankie didn’t know about the compartment, because while she sometimes drove his Ford Roush, she never messed with his hunting truck.
More pressing on Squires’s mind was the fact that Victorino and Frankie had planned this out together. Cameras and duct tape? Those were the principal props in the few snuff films that Squires had seen. They were sickening things to watch, although he’d never admitted that to Frankie, who always had a glassy, heated look on her face by the time one of those videos ended.
Thinking about it caused Squires’s heart to pound, a slow fury building in him. Victorino would use that shitty hardware-store knife on him. He felt certain of it. And then he and Frankie would have more fun together by raping the girl, probably filming that, too.
Then an even worse scenario flashed into Squires’s mind: They would video what they did to Tula first, just to piss him off. Make him watch the whole sick business before they got around to killing him.
Again the question came into Squires’s mind: Why the cookshack, a room that was all chemicals and propane tanks but no bed?
A moment later, Victorino’s gangbanger buddies were jumping out of the truck-a Dodge Ram-as it skidded to a stop, running toward Squires and Tula. The V-man took a few quick steps, his eyes still fixed on Squires, and scooped the girl up in his left arm.