Warren Murphy: Date with Death

Another thought occurred to him. What was to prevent him from taking the money and the van and splitting for parts unknown'? The thought gave him a warm feeling. Why not'? Anyone trusting enough to give a stranger wheels deserved to be ripped off.

The whirlwind of ideas in his brain was interrupted by the shrill ringing of the telephone. Donner hesitated for a moment, annoyed, then lifted the receiver.

"You've read the letter?" the caller asked. The voice was dipped and cool, devoid of emotion.

"I read it," Donner said.

"Good. Now you have two choices," the caller continued smoothly. "One, you may enter my employ and partake of its numerous benefits. Or secondly, you may choose to turn down my generous terms. In that case, all you need do is place the envelope and its contents under the sun visor on the driver's side of the van. Someone will come by within the hour to drive the vehicle away. On the other hand, if you do accept my offer, I'll expect you to start work today."

"I really haven't thought…"

"Then think now," the cool voice said. "By the way, if you've been contemplating another alternative of your own devising, I suggest you put it out of your mind. The world is a big place, Mr. Donner, but not nearly big enough." With that final cautionary note, the line went dead.

Donner drew a deep breath and gently cradled the receiver. He was surprised to find that his hands were shaking. Any thoughts he'd had about disappearing with the van and money were gone. The man on the phone didn't sound like anyone to mess around with.

It only took a few minutes to decide. He would take the job. It was too damned good for him to pass up. The more Donner thought about it, the more he realized that this was just the kind of work he'd been cut out for from the very start. He had all the qualifications— the looks, the charm, and his fluent Spanish. And the fact that he killed without hesitation or remorse would help, too. Combine all of that with the way he felt about Mexicans, and it added up to a perfect job for Wally Donner.

He experienced a momentary chill, as if an icy hand had gently reached out to caress him. It had just occurred to him that someone else must know virtually everything about him. And that someone else was the man he'd just decided to work for.

The chill passed. After a few days, Donner found himself caught up in his work, loving the sense of power it gave him, the way he could alter lives and destinies with a few nice words and a convincing smile.

Donner never gave much thought to what might happen to the women after he delivered them or to why his employer needed exactly 242. When it came right down to it, he really didn't care. He had his own future to think about. A future of wealth and respect, as far removed from the shabby wretchedness of his childhood as he could get.

Up ahead Donner could see the bright lights of Juárez. It was a border town like dozens of others, a little bigger than most, but still nothing more than bars, whorehouses, and shops filled with overpriced junk. The glaring pastel neon was an invitation to youthful tourists to lose their cherries and their wallets at the same time, with maybe a dose of clap thrown in as a souvenir of sunny Mexico.

He passed through the border checkpoint without incident. The grinning patrolman just went through the motions and then waved him through. Donner wondered as he often had before just how much those guys at the border were getting for their part in the operation. His anonymous employer really did know how to spread the green stuff around.

Stateside, Donner got caught up in the congested traffic of El Paso. Once he broke free, he sped on into New Mexico. He was in the home stretch now. Forty more miles to the rendezvous point and then back to the motel for a couple of cold ones and eight hours of well-deserved rest.

Donner was going so fast that he almost didn't see the hitchhiker. But a glimpse of wind-blown blond hair and long, tapering legs made him slam on the brakes. He poked his head out the window before backing up, just to make sure she was alone.

"Need a lift?" Donner smiled down at her.

"If you're headed toward Santa Fe, I do." The girl returned his smile. She looked to be eighteen, maybe twenty, with a pretty, dimple-chinned face framed by a tangle of honey-blond hair. She was wearing cutoffs that showed off her smooth, tanned legs and a plain white T-shirt that emphasized the size and shape of her breasts, especially where the fabric clung to them beneath the straps of her backpack.

"Climb aboard," Donner invited her. "I'm driving straight through to Santa Fe." As she circled around toward the passenger door, Donner took a quick look back at the unconscious Mexicans. The rear of the van was too dark to see anything more than indistinct shapes and shadows. Everything would be fine as long as the girl didn't get overly inquisitive about the back of the van.

"Thanks a lot," she said as the van picked up speed again. "I've been out there for hours."

"Guess you're a pretty lucky girl," Dormer said. "What's your name?"

"Karen Lockwood," she said distractedly as the van turned onto a bumpy dirt road. "You… you're sure you're going to Santa Fe?"

"Absolutely," Donner assured her. "This is just a shortcut. It's the best way to avoid all the heavy traffic around Salinas."

The girl nodded tensely. She wanted to believe him, Donner realized. She was tired and lost, and she wanted to believe he was helping her. It worked every time. Give them a dream, and they'll keep on dreaming, even while you're sticking the knife in their ribs.

"This is pretty desolate country," he said casually. "I have to admit I'm a little surprised to find you out here all alone. Not that it's any of my business," he added quickly. "I guess I'm just a natural born worrier."

"Don't waste it on me," the girl said, grinning. Her right hand darted up, and a split second later it was wrapped around the bone handle of a wicked-looking bowie knife. She held it out in front of her, her arm rigid and rock-steady. The curving steel blade gleamed in the moonlight. "Don't get nervous," she told Donner. "I only use it as a means of self-preservation. I like to travel solo. Been all over the Southwest on my own." She slipped the bowie back into its sheath hidden away under her free-flowing curls.

"Ever have to use it?" Donner asked, his jaw clenching.

"Once or twice." She smiled. "Do you think we could stop for a minute once we get back on the interstate? At a gas station or a diner, anywhere I could pick up a Coke. My throat's starting to feel like an empty cactus."

"The first place we see," Donner promised. He eased up on the gas and reached down under his seat. "Try a shot of this," he offered, handing her a straw-wrapped bottle. It was just like the one the Maderas had passed around before the sudden urge to sleep came upon them.

"What is it?" she asked warily.

"Santa Maria tequila. Alvaro grows wild around there, so the locals make their own home brew. It's strong stuff, but you look like you can handle it."

"You'd better believe it," she said, grinning. She pulled the cork and took a long swallow. Less than a minute later, she was slumped against Donner's shoulder. He leaned over and eased the bottle out of her hand. No point in letting good liquor spill all over the place.

Up ahead, he noticed a deep arroyo about twenty yards from the road. Slowing down to twenty, he nosed the Econoline toward it. When he was as close as he could get, he cut the engine and climbed out. It was time for him to lighten his load, and this was as good a place as any. After all, he was only being paid to deliver women.

After removing the razor-edged bowie, Donner picked the girl up and tossed her in the back. "Pleasant dreams, Karen Lockwood," he whispered. Then he dragged out Miguel, the old lady, and the old man. When the three of them were lying in the arroyo, out of sight now from anyone who might drive by, Donner unholstered the Blackhawk and screwed on a homemade silencer. "Welcome to America," he said, smiling. Then slowly, carefully, he put a single shot through each of their heads.