Michael McGarrity - Tularosa

"How could Gutierrez lose the last shipment?" Utiey demanded, his tone verging on a whine.

"Eppi got careless," Meehan replied.

"He moved the merchandise to the ranch house before he went to play with his sheep. When he came back for it, it was gone."

"Where is Gutierrez now?"

"Sulking in El Paso with Benton."

"The stupid son of a bitch. What do we do now?" De Leon expects a full shipment." Utiey held his eyeglasses close to his nose, decided they were still dirty, and cleaned them again.

"How do we do that?" he grumbled.

"We get the merchandise back," Meehan said, rising to mix another drink at the wet bar near the patio door. "I know who has our property."

"Who?" Utiey adjusted his eyeglasses on his nose.

"Your girlfriend," Meehan replied.

"Sara?" Fred asked incredulously.

"How did she get it?" Meehan shrugged.

"Luck. The details aren't important. We need our property back." Utiey laughed caustically.

"From Sara? I doubt it."

"She'll cooperate."

"You don't know Sara," Fred rebutted. Meehan sighed and walked back to the table.

"I have all the information I need to encourage her to cooperate."

"Like what?"

"Leave that to me. It won't be difficult." He patted Utiey on the cheek, his hard gaze locked on Fred's face. "I need your help." Utiey shook off Meehan's touch, his eyes fearful.

"I want no part of it." Meehan held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

"We're that close to millions of dollars, Fred. Do you want to see it go down the drain simply because we didn't even try to meet our obligation to De Leon."

Utiey's defenses started to collapse. He wanted the money a lot more than he cared about Sara.

"I can't face her," he said weakly, sinking into a chair.

"You don't have to," Meehan reassured him. He sat down, stretched out his legs, and gave Utiey a friendly smile.

"You won't hurt her?" Meehan chuckled.

"Of course not. I'll have her detained until we're safely out of the country. By the time she's released you'll have a new identity and a passport that will take you anywhere you want to go. With enough money to last a lifetime."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Call her," Meehan responded.

"Get her to come over here on a pretext. Tell her it's important and you don't want to talk about it on the phone." Meehan stood up and looked at his watch. "She should be home by now."

"What do I say?"

"Keep it simple. A personal crisis. A death in your family." Meehan touched Utiey's arm and walked him to the patio door. Utiey took the cue and followed.

"Something like that would do nicely," Meehan added.

"I don't know if I can do it."

"We have no other option," Meehan said gently, as he slid the door open.

"Come on, let's get it over with. We'll get through this, Fred. It's just a little bump in the road."

"I hope so," Utiey replied. Meehan waited for Fred to go first, closed the patio door behind him, and followed him into the living room. He stood close with an encouraging smile and watched Fred dial the number with a shaking hand.

Fred's nervousness should help encourage Sara to agree to come, he thought happily. Utiey used the death-in-the-family ploy. His voice cracked nicely, and he sounded persuasively distraught. He hung up and breathed a sigh of relief.

"She's coming over in half an hour. That was hard for me to do."

"I know it was," Meehan said, patting him on the shoulder. He grabbed Fred's lower jaw with his left hand and yanked down as he jammed a pistol into the now-gaping mouth with his right hand. Utiey didn't have time to scream as the bullet exploded in his brain. Meehan relaxed his grip and Fred collapsed on the floor, the pistol protruding from his mouth. Meehan smiled, bent over the body, wiped the pistol grip clean, wrapped Utiey's fingers around the weapon, and got busy tidying up. The suicide angle might just hold up indefinitely, but it wasn't essential.

It was Friday night and Utiey wouldn't be missed over the weekend. That gave him more than enough time. Meehan checked his watch, his hands sweating inside the latex gloves he wore as he removed all traces of his presence. Sara would arrive soon, and Benton should call shortly after that to report on his meeting with De Leon He hoped Sara wouldn't crack too easily. *** Sara had half a notion to call Fred back and tell him she wasn't coming over, but the sudden death of his mother had obviously shaken him up. Fred wasn't one to ask for unnecessary attention, and the demands of her job often forced her to neglect the few good friends she had. In spite of Fred's unwelcome romantic interest in her, he was still a friend. With no word from Kerney or Eddie Tapia in the last twenty-four hours, she was more than a little worried about them. She recorded a short message and Fred's phone number on her answering machine for Kerney, and suddenly realized that she missed him. The question was, how long would the feeling last? So far, it felt very authentic. In her Jeep Cherokee, she checked her hair in the visor mirror. Her smile amused her; it was blatantly lascivious. Chalk another one up for Kerney, she said to herself. Fred's car was in the driveway when she arrived, and the drapes to the large picture windows on either side of the front door were closed. She walked up the brick path to the house and rang the bell.

When it opened, Jim Meehan stood in front other, a friendly smile on his face.

"Hi, Sara," he said amiably.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I've been waiting for you," he replied, as he raised a sap from behind his back. She saw the blow coming, tried to sidestep it, and drove the palm of her hand at Meehan's nose. He turned his head and the blow caught him on the cheek. She clawed for his eyes with her fingers as he hit her hard with the sap above her ear. She was unconscious before the side of her head bounced against the doorjamb. Meehan grabbed her as she fell and carried her inside. She woke up handcuffed, tied to a straight-backed chair, with her feet bound. Fred Utiey, sprawled on his side, his cheek pressed against the carpet, stared at her with a dead, startled eye. A gun stuck out of his mouth and his lips were seared black with powder burns. Sara felt her stomach turn over. She swallowed, held her breath until the sensation passed, and looked for Meehan. He sat on the couch at the far side of the room with a boyish, pleased smile. The back of her head hurt like hell. She raised her wrists away from the small of her back, and handcuffs bit into the bone.

"Why did you kill Fred?" she asked, concentrating on Meehan to avoid the grotesqueness on the floor.

"He killed himself," Meehan answered casually. "The strain of becoming a rich man was just too much for him. What kind of funeral do you think he'd like?"

"Didn't you ask?"

"I didn't have the time," Meehan said.

"I think something original would suit him. A Tibetan ritual, perhaps. By ancient tradition they put bodies on a mountainside for the vultures to pick clean. Do you think Fred would like that?" Sara shrugged.

"How about you? What kind of funeral would you like?"

"Full military honors," Sara answered.

"Something you'll never get." Meehan laughed. "You're so spunky." He got up from the couch and stood over her, rubbing his hands.

"A spunky, meddlesome cunt in uniform."

"Fuck off, Jim." He slapped her.

"Pissing me off isn't smart." He smiled and walked behind the chair. Sara froze when she felt his fingers on her shoulders. Gently, he rubbed her neck.

"You're all tensed up."

"Take your hands off me." He tightened his fingers around her neck.

"I want the coins and letters."

"I don't have them."

Meehan laughed. "That's what Kerney said before he died in Juarez." He felt her stiffen. He twisted her face upward, forcing her to look at him.