Joe Lansdale: Captains Outrageous

“Since there’s supposed to actually be some real money,” I said, “what do we do about that?”

“Yeah,” Brett said. “What about that?”

“I’ve been giving that some thought.”

“So have we,” I said.

“Crossed my mind too,” Leonard said.

“My belief is this,” Jim Bob said. “We take just enough to pay for our expenses, we give the rest to Ferdinand.”

“I thought maybe give it all to Ferdinand,” Leonard said, “but I got to admit, that sounds pretty fair.”

“We got the hotels, car rentals, and we owe Cesar for the guns,” I said.

“Where are the guns?” Brett asked

“In the trunk of the rental,” Jim Bob said.

“What time does it happen?”

“We meet at midnight.”

“Why midnight?”

“Because where the tourist stand is there’s a crossroads.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I like the idea of it,” Jim Bob said. “It’s an artistic touch to the job. Devil takes a man’s soul at the crossroads, and this bastard’s gonna sell his soul there.”

“How will it work?” I asked.

Jim Bob looked at his watch. “It’s eight o’clock. We go over and pick up Ferdinand at Cesar’s so he can have his chance to see it come down-”

“He wants to do the killing,” Leonard said. “Not see it.”

“He may have to settle for a back seat,” Jim Bob said. “Perhaps Juan Miguel doesn’t go down for good right off, we let Ferdinand deliver the coup de grace. A bullet to the head. That kind of thing.”

“No torture,” I said. “I don’t care what Ferdinand wants. Juan Miguel knows why we took Ileana, and that’s as close as we’re going to get to explaining it. It meant nothing to him anyway.”

“At the moment of death, it may,” Jim Bob said. “Anyway, we load up Ferdinand. We go out to the drop sight early, before dark. This time of year it gets dark, say, nine-thirty, true dark a little later. There are some good places to hide, and you, Ferdinand, and Leonard can get somewhere you can’t be seen.”

“Won’t they get there early too?” Brett asked.

“They will,” Jim Bob said. “You can count on it. But we’ll be earlier yet. They see us, they see us. We deal with that when we get there. Thing on our side is Juan Miguel doesn’t know our real plan is to kill his sorry ass. If it goes well and he doesn’t get there early, doesn’t see you guys, I’ll appear to be there alone. When Juan Miguel delivers the money, you drop him, Hap.”

“Me?” I said.

“Leonard says you can shoot the nuts off a squirrel when all you can see is shape.”

“Thanks for volunteering me, Leonard.”

“You’re welcome, Hap. You’re the best shot, and that’s all there is to it.”

“But if I’m going to shoot him in hiding, what’s so wrong with my idea of picking him off from a distance? It’s because he wouldn’t have the money, isn’t it? It’s about the money, isn’t it?”

“It’s about him deserving it,” Jim Bob said. “Then there’s the money. I told you what I wanted to do with it. I don’t think that’s selfish. We get our expenses, Ferdinand gets the big cut, and Juan Miguel is dead. That okay with you, Hap?”

“I suppose.”

“They’ll search me for weapons, so I won’t carry. Leonard will be hidden with the shotgun in the bushes. When I clench my fist, you shoot, Hap, and I’ll jump. Leonard can open up then. I’ll stash the nine mil close by in the weeds so I can get to it, and play cleanup. We still got Ferdinand and Cesar as insurance. Brett, there’s not enough guns, so you’re going to stay at Cesar’s with Ileana. Someone has to watch her.”

“All right,” Brett said.

“You can bet Juan Miguel will have his boys with him, so no fuckin’ around. Be sure, be double-sure, to take out that Hammerhead motherfucker.”

“What if Juan Miguel sends someone?” I said. “Doesn’t show himself?”

“When I called, I told him he had to come with the money. Said we didn’t trust any of his sidekicks. So he’ll show. Like I said, he’ll bring them with him, but he’ll show. No matter how cool he plays it, he’s got it bad for this Ileana. She’s got his nose wide open, buddy, you can count on that.”

“Now that we got it all talked out, how about we go do it,” Leonard said.

We drove up in Cesar’s yard at about eight-thirty. When we got out of the car a cold feeling went over me. Something was out of kilter.

I said, “Something sucks.”

“Yeah,” Leonard said. “But what is it? It doesn’t look any different.”

Jim Bob stared at the house for a moment. “Yes it does. The blinds are closed. They haven’t been closed before.”

“Maybe they wanted them closed,” Brett said.

“Yeah,” Jim Bob said. “Crushed shells up by the porch are pitted. Like maybe there was a struggle there. See, there’s shells on the porch. More than would have come off someone’s shoes. It’s like they were rolled in them, got dragged on the porch and the shells fell off their clothes. Screen door is unlocked and it’s slightly open.”

Jim Bob strolled to the rear of the car, opened the trunk. He popped one of the suitcases. He took two nine mils from the case and gave one to me, one to Leonard. He got the shotgun parts out of the other case and put it together. He gave us ammo clips, took a fistful of shells and stuffed them in his shirt pocket. He loaded two in the double-barrel.

“I’ll just stroll around back,” Jim Bob said. “You and Leonard take the front.”

Jim Bob trotted off. I said, “Brett, you get behind the wheel. You see anyone come out of the door you don’t want to see, you back out and go. Go away fast.”

Brett nodded, climbed in behind the wheel, closed the door softly.

Me and Leonard moved toward the front door.

I thought: It could be they wanted the shades closed. Maybe Cesar or Hermonie fell in the drive, brushed themselves off on the porch. Went in and didn’t close the door well. In a hurry. It could be that.

I moved the door with my foot. It swung open with a sound that would have made a can of WD40 cry.

Easing inside, crouching, the gun held before me, I saw why things were quiet, and I felt my knees wobble. I kept the gun at ready, but I knew I wouldn’t need it.

Leonard came in behind me about the time Jim Bob reached the back patio glass. I strolled over and let him in, using my shirttail to work the latch.

I went around what was on the floor, stepping carefully, eased to the bedroom, pushed the half-open door the rest of the way with my foot.

The room was empty, of course.

I checked out the bathroom, just in case Hammerhead might be using the commode, found nothing, went back to the living room.

I sat down on the brick ridge of the fireplace and looked at what was before me.

Hermonie was dressed in her white pants suit, seated on the couch, looking pretty much the way she always looked, except one side of her head poked out in a funny way. That was because a bullet entering the other side had come out on the side facing me, splintered the bone, lifted her hair. Where her hair was lifted it was slick, as if she had been hit with a tomato. Her right eye had moved a little too far to the right and was almost hidden. The left looked straight ahead. A splotch of blood like another shot from a tomato was splattered on the right shoulder of her outfit. There was red on the wall and the back of the couch.

Cesar lay on the floor. He had been tied to a chair. In his final agonies, most likely, he had turned it over.

His fingers had been chopped off close to the knuckles, and I could see the skin on his hands had been filleted all the way to his elbows. He was shirtless and there were burns on his chest. His eyes were open, as if he had just discovered he had gotten exactly what he wanted for Christmas, but his mouth was wide and gummy and his tongue poked out of it, fat and gray as an old piece of liver. His pants had large globs of blood on the knees where they had dripped off the chair when it was upright. His shoes were gone. So were his toes. The skin on his feet had been peeled all the way to his calves, and his pants were cuffed high to allow it. There were little bits of crushed shells from the drive stuck to his clothes and on the floor around the chair.