Tim Green: Above The Law

The leader tore the sunglasses from his face, exposing a set of pale green eyes.

"Go ahead, baby," he said. "I die, your friend dies."

"Just walk away, shithead," Casey said. "No one has to get hurt."

"Call off your shooters," the leader said, his eyes still locked on hers.

Casey shook her head. "We're not the ones who went back on the deal. You drop first."

The leader stared, then his eyes left hers, flicking from man to man, seeing the red dots. Slowly, he raised his hands up into the air.

Casey held a hand up, signaling the snipers not to fire. The man holding her relaxed his arm and stepped away. The leader angled his head toward the truck, signaling his men to move. They backed away and slipped into the SUV, fired up its engine, and spun wheels in a clatter of stones as it shot across the parking lot, heading for the highway.

Casey took a long breath.

From beyond the chicken shack, two men emerged walking with slow careful steps, their sniper rifles raised and aimed at the retreating vehicle, their cheeks pressed tight to the guns' stocks, eyes riveted to their scopes.

They both wore black cowboy hats.

Jose gripped her shoulder and asked if she was all right.

"You're the one who's hurt," she said.

Jose glanced down at the arm he held tight to his body. "A scratch."

They turned toward Isodora, who stood crying and stroking her baby's hair. The little girl continued to scream.

Casey spotted a wiry Mexican striding out from around the corner of the motel, smiling broadly, exposing an elaborate grill of gold. Two more riflemen accompanied him. His thumbs were hooked into the belt loops of his pants on either side of a belt buckle the size of a salad plate. His black hat rested at a jaunty angle on his head.

"Flaco," Jose said.

"Hey, amigo ," Flaco said, tipping his hat to Casey. "Senorita."

"You won't mind if we don't stick around?" Jose asked.

"I left two men in the water tower in case they change their minds," Flaco said with a heavy accent. "But I wouldn't hang around if I was you, either. They got a lot more where those gringos came from."

Casey led Isodora with her baby down the length of the motel, helping them into the back of the Mercedes, the child finally growing quiet. Jose leaned into the backseat and spoke Spanish back and forth with Isodora before he shut the door.

"Is she okay?" Casey asked, nodding at Isodora.

"You bet,'' Jose said, smiling.

"Are you?" Casey asked, nodding at his elbow.

Jose looked down at his arm. "I said it's a scratch. You want me to cry?"

Casey touched his cheek, then climbed into the driver's seat.

Flaco leaned in through her open window.

"Next exit down," Flaco said, pointing out at the highway. "I got two trucks with men to make sure you get to the border."

"Thank you," Casey said, nodding and starting up the old Mercedes.

Casey backed out.

"No more markers," Flaco said, walking alongside the car and talking through the window to Jose. "Not even for a friend."

"We're clear," Jose said.

Casey looked over at Jose. He winked at her and she put the car into drive and stepped on the gas, leaving the desert motel behind them in a swirl of dust.

SENATOR CHASE STEPPED OUT OF THE GLASS SHOWER AT THE Westin Riverwalk in San Antonio, wrapped his waist in a fluffy white towel, and swiped some steam off the mirror. He turned sideways and sucked in his gut, poking at the doughy roll well hidden by the thick silver fur on his belly. He looked briefly at his manhood, knowing the cold water had made it retreat, nothing that a few blue pills couldn't cure.

On the sink, curled at the corners, rested his speech to the ultraconservative Council for National Pride. They'd be kicking a two-hundred-thousand-dollar check his way and their early endorsement. With the CNP coming out, other conservative groups would follow soon, and then he'd have the party's base. He leaned across the speech and poked his tongue into his cheek, examining a tiny pimple and judging whether it could be overcome with makeup or if he should try to pop it.

He closed his eyes to summon up the special prayer he'd given a few weeks ago to the Texas Safari Club. It was a blessing of wealth and success to those who believe in Him.

When he opened his eyes, he jumped at the unexpected figure appearing behind him in the mirror. Chase spun around, heart racing.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he asked, snarling. "I haven't ordered anything."

The man, a Mexican dressed in hotel livery, offered a gruesome and yellow-toothed smile. A purple scar zigzagged its way across his forehead, highlighted in the center by a concave dot. His thick eyebrows rested in relaxed arcs over the top of intense brown eyes. His smile contorted itself into a sneer.

"But I got something for you," the man said in a thick accent.

"Well, put it down and get the hell out," Chase said, tightening his grip on the towel and pointing toward the other end of the suite.

"Something from my brother," the man said.

Chase saw the tattoo of a hooded skull on the man's neck and he swallowed.

"My brother, Elijandro."