Steven Havill - Final Payment

With one finger, Estelle released her seat belt, then popped the holster snap. Moving slowly, she withdrew the pudgy.45. It took conscious effort to do so without snuggling the grips into her palm, the thumb safety so easily released. But she understood clearly that no matter how practiced the maneuver, it was just that-an orchestrated series of coordinated movements, none of them as instant as the single twitch of Tapia’s trigger finger: in point of fact, a far more practiced trigger finger than her own.

“Give it to him, Leona.” She held out the pistol and Leona took it, holding her hand flat like a platter.

“Very good,” Tapia said. He grimaced again and shook his head. “Ah, well. Now, on the back of your belt, young lady. There are handcuffs, I assume?”

Estelle said nothing.

“You will remove them now.”

“You don’t need handcuffs,” she said.

“Ah, but that would be something that I must decide,” he said. “If you please.”

Estelle leaned forward and reached around behind herself, slipping the set of cuffs off her belt.

“Secure your right wrist,” Tapia said, and when Estelle hesitated, he ground the muzzle of the silencer into Leona’s ear once again, so hard that she yelped. “I have been as patient as I intend to be,” he added. Estelle snapped one side of the cuffs around her wrist, keeping the latch well back from her hand. “The other on the steering wheel.” As she started to move her hand toward the bottom of the wheel’s arc, he said sharply, “Above the center.” When she was tethered, he nodded with satisfaction and withdrew the gun from Leona’s face.

“And now, madam county manager, you will step out of the truck. With the utmost care. Things have gone so well up to now. Don’t do something foolish to ruin our day.”

He stepped back a pace, and Estelle could see him wobble clumsily on the bad leg. “Come. Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid of you, young man,” Leona said, lying expertly.

“Ah, I suppose not. But thank you. I haven’t been called a young man in a long, long time.” He beckoned with the gun. “Out, now.” An eyebrow lifted with surprise at Leona’s size as she slipped out of the truck. “Give me your telephone,” he commanded. Leona pulled her phone from her pocket and he waved toward the truck. “Just toss it on the seat.” As she did so, he said, “Now, listen to me. It is a beautiful day. Pleasant sunshine, a gentle breeze.” He chuckled softly. “Almost poetic, don’t you think? A pleasant day for a walk. It is not far back to the main road. And as you walk, you will remember that I have your friend with me.” He motioned away from the truck with the gun. “You will remember that, I’m sure.”

Leona looked at Estelle, eyes pleading. “You will be careful, won’t you?” she said.

“A wise woman,” Manolo Tapia said. “Of course she will be careful.” Moving painfully, he swung himself up into the truck. “Let us do what we must do.”

The effort to climb into the truck cost Tapia considerable agony. Estelle watched him and saw his eyes go wide with pain as he pulled himself into the high seat. Through it all, he never took his eyes off her. A handcuffed right wrist was effective, she granted him that. She couldn’t reach him with her left without performing ridiculous gymnastics, and the massive transmission tunnel and center console corralled her legs. She forced herself to relax, to wait for opportunity, to seek ways to make opportunity.

At the same time, a laconic comment made years before by Bobby Torrez came to mind. A dog had bolted out of a driveway, madly chasing the sheriff’s cruiser in which they were riding. “What’s he gonna do when he catches us?” Torrez had joked as the dog snapped at the cruiser’s tires. Chasing Tapia, Estelle had hoped to see him in the distance, to have time to plan and coordinate. But her fatigue had blunted common sense. Tapia’s work brought him up close and personal. It was even possible, with the broken ankle, that he had known someone would see his tracks and follow him.

Once in the passenger seat, Tapia slammed the truck door and immediately leaned toward Estelle. His polo shirt was soaked with sweat and dust, and his odor was pungent. With his left hand he crunched the cuffs even tighter on her wrist, sliding the shackle forward of the wrist bones so she had no chance of sliding her hand free. He held the silenced Beretta so close that she could see the rosette of burned powder on the blued steel of the muzzle. Despite some confidence that Manolo Tapia was not going to just shoot her out of hand, her mouth went dry as he allowed the blued steel of the silencer to slide almost seductively down her arm.

“If you behave, you lovely creature, you’ll be home to your family by dinnertime. You understand that, don’t you?”

Estelle didn’t reply. Tapia sounded too much like Tomás Naranjo for comfort. The two of them could have cooperated to present a workshop on how Mexican men could sound gentle, suave, and self-assured all at the same time-no matter how dangerous they might be.

“When you passed by on the road earlier, I thought certainly that you had seen me. But,” and he waved with the gun toward the narrow two-track that wound up the slope, “let us be on our way. You must drive me to the airport.”

Estelle twisted in the seat until she could see Leona Spears in the rearview mirror. The county manager stood helplessly, both hands on top of her head as if she meant to tear out her braid. Finally realizing that there was nothing she could do by standing alone in the sun and dust, she turned and began a determined jog back the way they had come.

“Now,” Tapia said, tapping her right arm just ahead of the elbow with the silencer. He then pointed ahead. “Go.”

Estelle didn’t move. “You’re going to leave Hector to face authorities all by himself?” The question jolted Tapia, and the wink of uncertainty in his expression told Estelle that for all his self-assurance, Manolo Tapia had no idea what events had transpired in the past twenty-four hours. “You think you’re just going to take the airplane again and fly home? That’s not possible.”

So you know , his expression said. “There is no purpose in discussing this with you. Now go.”

“I’m not ‘discussing’ it, señor. The boy is in jail, and that’s where he’s going to stay. He may have flown you in to Posadas County, but he’s not going to fly you out.”

Tapia frowned and for a moment he was silent. “We will see,” he said. He twisted in the seat, watching Leona’s retreating figure.

“She will do you no good,” Estelle said. “You can take all the hostages you like. The simple fact remains that your nephew will remain in jail, and will face charges as an accessory to multiple counts of murder. The only way you can help him now is to testify that you forced him to accompany you-if that’s true.”

Tapia laughed with genuine amusement. “Really now,” he said, and then his face twitched as he tried to shift his leg, lifting it clear of the floor and then finding no place to rest it that was comfortable. Estelle saw the swelling above his expensive tan trainer. He pointed with the gun. “Go. I am growing weary of arguing with you.”

Estelle leaned as far from the steering wheel as she could, left side against the door. “And if I don’t?”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “You have forgotten the two men in the arroyo?” He thumbed the hammer back on the Beretta, and having carried exactly that model handgun for a decade before switching to the heavier.45, Estelle knew how little force was required to drop the sear. Her bulletproof vest suddenly felt five sizes too small.