Randy White - Night Vision

But then he realized that turning around, driving toward Immokalee, might be a mistake. The woman from state immigration would want to know Tula’s exact location. That would bring the cops, asking questions.

The girl made up his mind, saying, “The police will believe Father Jimenez. A priest? Of course they will believe him. Plus, I told Father Jimenez that you are a wonderful man. He wanted to meet you, but I told him you are shy about coming into churches.”

Squires liked it when Tula said that. He began to relax a little and feel at ease as the girl added, “Do you now believe that the Maiden is watching over us? When you do God’s work, good things happen to you!”

By then, they were at the gate to the hunting camp.

Squires began to suspect trouble when he realized there was a light on inside his RV, the vehicle sitting up on blocks in the darkness. He and Tula had just gotten out of the truck, which was when the big man placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder, stopping her.

“Hold it, sis,” he said as he stared at the light. He knew he’d switched off the generator before leaving just in case he and the girl didn’t return. Plus, he would’ve heard the little Honda engine running if it was on.

That meant that someone inside had a flashlight. Or had lit a candle, or an oil lamp maybe. But where was the person’s truck?

Squire’s head pivoted from the mountain of cypress trees to the west, then to the east, where there were shadowed pine flats and a distant halo glow that was Lauderdale.

There had to be a vehicle somewhere. No one in their right mind would hike cross-country through the Everglades, not this late. Not half an hour before midnight… unless… unless they had parked their vehicle behind the RV. Which was possible. But how could they have gotten through the gate? The gate had been locked when he and Tula had arrived just as he’d left it.

Thinking that gave Squires a prickly feeling along his spine. Frankie had the only other key.

Squires reached out, patted Tula’s arm and whispered, “Hang on for a second, sis. Something ain’t right about this.”

He took a few slow steps toward the trailer, favoring his right leg, but then stopped abruptly when he saw what might have been a person moving in the shadows behind the trailer.

Squires couldn’t be sure. He had left the truck running, lights on, so he could see to unlock the door to the generator shed. He didn’t have a flashlight, so all he saw was a blur of movement like someone ducking for cover.

Squires was thinking about hurrying back to the truck and opening the hidden compartment to get his revolver and night vision binoculars. That’s when Tula whispered, “There’s someone here. I smell cigarette smoke. And perfume, too.”

Squires thought, Shit. It’s Frankie.

Yes, it was. The large woman appeared, standing in the RV’s doorway, shining a flashlight in his eyes, then focused the beam on Tula. Squires was shielding his eyes when he heard Frankie say, “Well, well, look at what we have here. Harris, you dumb pile of shit, I don’t know what to do first-have some fun with the pretty little wettail you brought me or call the cops and hope there’s a reward for turning in a kidnapper.”

The woman was very drunk and probably stoned. Squires could tell by the way she slurred her words. Frankie had to grab the railing as she started down the steps, adding, “Either way, I want the goddamn money you stole from me. Sixty thousand dollars in cash, you son of a bitch. You really thought I’d let you get away with it?”

For a woman, Frankie had the lowest voice Squires had ever heard. It was from using too much primobolan and shooting testosterone, which the woman lied about, too. But there was no disguising what steroids had done to her voice-and the female parts of her body, too.

Squires waved and called, “Hey, sugar babe, I was hoping you’d be here!” like he was glad to see the woman, but then he nudged Tula toward the truck, leaning to whisper, “Get in and lock the doors. Don’t come out ’til I tell you.”

Tula yanked her arm away, though, being stubborn, and said, “I’m not leaving you! You’re afraid of her, I can tell. I’m staying with you.”

Frankie, on the grass now, wearing tight jeans, her breasts ballooning out of a tank top, was close enough to hear the girl, because she laughed, saying, “Now, isn’t that sweet! You found yourself a loyal little chula. A cute young one, too. Harris, know what that tells me? It tells me you haven’t screwed her yet. Even if she’s a virgin, she wouldn’t still be hanging with you. She’d be ready for someone bigger and better by now.”

In a chiding voice, Frankie spoke to Tula, saying, “I’ll bet you’re still pure as the snow, aren’t you, nina? Then this goddamn piece of white trash comes along and kidnaps you. But you don’t have to be afraid of him now. Come here to Frankie”-the woman was patting her thigh as if calling a dog-“I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

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.