Over at the rail spur and loading dock of the smelter, Barry Hingle and his construction crew were busy building ramps to be used to send police cars careening through the air, and a special-effects crew was rigging a flatbed railroad car to receive one of the airborne vehicles.
“This is going to be something else when they film it,” Vogt said as he joined Kerney and Patrick at the truck. He nodded at the penned up cattle. “Ten tons of beef on the hoof meets ten tons of cop cars. I can’t wait to see how they do it.”
“You’re not part of it?” Kerney asked.
“Nope, the stunt riders get to have all the fun. Something about liability and insurance. I get to help chase down the cattle after they been scattered to hell and gone.” Vogt lifted his head toward the mountains behind the smelter. “I figure it will take Buster, Pruitt, Ross, and me a full day to round them up. That’s if Buster ain’t sitting in a jail cell in Lordsburg.”
Kerney laughed. “Word sure travels fast. Buster’s a free man.”
“But without that fancy saddle, I bet,” Vogt said with a grin.
“True enough.” Kerney let Vogt’s observation pass without further comment. In a land with so few people it was never wise to say too much about an individual’s friends, neighbors, or coworkers until you knew what bound them together or split them apart.
Chuckling, Vogt put his gloves on and returned to his chore. After showing Patrick the cows Kerney took him to watch the movie people at work. Every few seconds the beacon on the tall smokestack pulsated, flashing its warning light into the sky. Come nightfall it would guide refugees, migrants, smugglers, and perhaps a fanatic or two across the border.
If Kerney had guessed correctly, within days a plane would lock on to the beacon and land at the Sentinel Butte Ranch. He wondered what cargo it would bring.
Back in Playas, Johnny and his rodeo cowboys were sitting in the ball field bleachers, drinking long-neck beers and listening to the country music star rehearse with his band. He was one of those vocalists who strummed a guitar for show and sang in husky, testosterone-laden tones that appealed to the buckle-bunny crowd.
Kerney watched Johnny drain his beer, say something to his companions, and walk to the bandstand where Susan Berman stood with a stop-watch in her hand timing the music. He put his arm around Berman’s waist, grabbed her free hand, and tried to get her to two-step with him. Susan pushed him away, stopped the music, and gestured for him to leave. The rodeo cowboys hooted derisively and slapped their legs. Johnny returned to his pals laughing like a fifteen-year-old who’d just carried off a bold dare.
At dinner under the tent a publicist passed out an announcement about the filming of the benefit concert sequence. Free tickets to the concert had been given to area residents, and in two nights over seven hundred locals would fill the bleachers and the ballpark infield. Filming would start at dusk.
Kerney called Leo Valencia with the news.
“There won’t be a soul at home in the Bootheel,” Leo said.
“Exactly. It’s the perfect time to fly in contraband. What do you have in the works?”
“I just got back from the Sentinel Butte Ranch. We’ll have a team of eight on the stakeout, including you, me, two of my deputies, and four state police officers. Two will be in a chopper, a pilot and a sniper.
“We’ll use four-by-fours and ATVs on the ground. Two teams will be situated east and west, one at the windmill by the gate, the other in Chinaman Hills. You’ll be with me to the south in an arroyo. The chopper will be with us. All equipment and personnel will be under camouflage netting, and we’ll have a waning crescent moon that will add to our concealment.”
“When do we go on-station?” Kerney asked.
“Traveling by convoy could draw too much attention, so I’ll be moving people into position in stages, starting in the afternoon. We’ll be the first on-site, the chopper last. Everybody in place before sundown.”
“Sounds good.”
“Be at my office at two o’clock the day after tomorrow.”
“See you then.”
In the morning Kerney pulled his stint as an extra in a crowd scene of angry citizens protesting the revocation of the rancher’s federal grazing permit. It took Usher three takes to get it right. Before Kerney could leave the set, Susan Berman asked to speak with him privately. She had dark circles under her eyes from too little sleep and seemed weighed down by the thick three-ring binder she clutched in her arms. Being overworked and tired made her no less attractive.
“Normally, I can hold my own with the alley cats in this business,” she said, “and I really don’t want to impose on you, but is there some way you could convince Johnny Jordan to stop hounding me?”
“Tell me what’s been happening.”
Berman sighed. “The man simply won’t take no for an answer, and now it’s at the point where he’s interfering with my work.”
“I saw the little prank he pulled yesterday at the ball field.”
Berman winced and nodded. “It was so childish.”
“Yes, it was. Can’t you bar him from the set?”
“No, he’s an executive producer and has every right to be here.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
Berman touched Kerney’s arm and smiled. “Thank you.”
Kerney went looking for Johnny and learned he was on his way to the Duncan fairgrounds with his cowboy clients for the filming of the rodeo scenes. He arrived back in Playas late that afternoon. Kerney was there to meet him when the vans and trucks carrying the cast and crew rolled in.
With a pleased grin he slapped Kerney on the back and, in a rush of words, said, “You should have been with us, amigo. We got some really great shots in the can. Usher says that once it gets edited into a montage, it’s gonna be better than what Peckinpah did in Junior Bonner, and that was one great rodeo flick.”
It was typical Johnny. His drunken attempt last night to seduce Susan Berman was a thing of the past, to be forgotten and forgiven.
“We need to talk,” Kerney said as he led Johnny away from the cast to the rear of one of the equipment trucks.
“Why so serious?” Johnny asked
“You’re getting out of hand with Susan Berman, and you need to leave her alone.”
Johnny grinned. “Why? Do you want her for yourself?”
“I’ll forget you said that. Just ease off, Johnny. You’re making her very uncomfortable.”
Johnny smirked. “Roll your own, amigo. Berman is number one on my hit list and I aim to nail her.”
“What does it take to get you to listen? Stop coming on to Susan. She isn’t interested in you.”
“Look,” Johnny said, “if you need to get some action from the ladies while your wife is overseas, that’s cool with me. Just find somebody else to shag. There’s some tasty talent here.”
“Don’t get personal, Johnny.”
Johnny glared and struck a cocky pose. “You want personal? I’ve got a DWI hanging over my head in Santa Fe because you wouldn’t do a damn thing to help me out. Now you come around all puffed up with an attitude because of a skirt you want to jump on. What a joke. You’ve always been a loser when it comes to women, Kerney. I bet you were the only guy in our high school crowd who didn’t get into my sister’s pants.”
“You’re unbelievable.” It made no sense to explain to Johnny the concepts of family loyalty, respect for women, or true friendship. Without thinking he slugged Johnny hard under the left eye.
Johnny hit the deck and bounced against the bumper of the truck. Slowly, he staggered to his feet and shook his head to clear away the cobwebs.
Kerney rubbed his unclenched fist. “I wasn’t going to do that. Now do I have your full attention?”
Johnny closed his eye and gingerly touched his face. “If you want Susan Berman that bad, she’s yours.”
“Good. You might want to put an ice pack on that eye before it swells up.”