Devils And Dust. J.D. Rhoades

      Angela reached up and put her hand over his for a moment. Then she straightened up. “I need to use the restroom,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

      “I’m going to step outside and get some air,” Keller said. “Come get me.” She nodded.

      Keller passed the kitchen and went out on the porch. He took a seat on the top step. The men had moved over to the picnic table and were wolfing down the food. The basketball game was still going on.

      He agreed with Angela. Putting those people, including children, in danger was unconscionable. But they needed the information only Miron could give them. Without it, they were at a dead end.

      “Hey,” he heard someone said. He turned to see the teenager, Magdalena, taking a seat on the step next to him. She was smiling broadly.

      “Hey,” Keller said, as noncommittally as he could. This I absolutely do not need.

      If the girl noticed his chilly tone, she gave no sign of it. “What’s your name?” she asked.

      “Jack,” he said.

      “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Maggie.” She stuck out a hand.

      Keller took it. “Short for Magdalena, right?”

      She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that name. It’s so…old sounding.”

      “It’s not so bad,” Keller said. She was still holding on to his hand. He pulled away.

      “So that lady you’re with,” she said, “is she your wife?”

      “No,” Keller said. “Just a friend.”

      “Maggie,” a male voice said. Keller looked up. The tall young man from the basketball game was standing at the foot of the steps. He didn’t look happy.

      Maggie sighed theatrically. “What is it, Cesar?”

      He said something to her in Spanish, low and fast. Keller didn’t catch all of it, but he thought he heard the word puta, and that gave him the gist. He saw her jaw clench. She replied to him, also in Spanish, practically spitting the words back at him. The other young men had begun to gather, and Keller heard one of them snicker. Goddamn it.

      Cesar bent over and tried to grab the girl’s wrist. She yanked it away. “You keep your hands off me!” she said. Cesar reached again.

      “Hey,” Keller said quietly, “knock it off.”

      Cesar straightened up, eyes narrowed in rage. “Stand up, asshole.”

      Keller stayed put, looking up at him. “Really?” he said. “You’re really going to do this?”

      “I said get up,” the young man yelled. “You fucking pussy!”

      Keller sighed and stood up. “I’m not going to fight you, kid.” He noticed that the group of older men had left the picnic table and were hurrying toward them. He hoped they would get there in time to short-circuit the confrontation the kid seemed determined to have.

      Cesar nodded. “Yeah,” he sneered. “That’s what I figured.” He started to turn, as if to walk away, then came back, fast, throwing a hard right at Keller’s jaw. He was quick, and fired up, but the feint was so obvious, the kid might as well have sent Keller a postcard. Keller threw a cross block that directed the punch past him, the kid’s momentum spinning him around and leaving him off-balance and sideways to Keller, his ribs exposed. Keller fought down the reflex to step forward and break those ribs with a short jab to the torso. Instead, he grabbed the young man by the shoulders from behind, turned him the rest of the way around, and shoved him hard. As Cesar stumbled, trying to get his footing back, Keller raised his leg and gave him a shove in the ass with his boot. Cesar went sprawling on his face in the dirt. The girl screamed. Cesar rolled to a sitting position, glaring at Keller with hate in his eyes. He started to get up.

      “Kid,” Keller said, “if you stand up, it better be to shake hands. Because if I have to put you on the ground again, you’re not getting up. At least not on your own.”

      “Son of a bitch,” the young man said. He struggled to his feet and crouched as if ready to charge.

      “CESAR!” a voice barked from behind him. Keller didn’t take his eyes off the kid. He sidled to his right to put the speaker in his field of vision. It was Rosita Miron. She spoke to the kid rapidly in Spanish, her voice a scourge of anger and outrage. He tried to answer her, but she overrode him, the words and the tone lacerating the young man until he stood, head down and sullen. One of the older men, the one who’d spoken to him earlier, came up and put a hand on his shoulder. Cesar shrugged off the hand and stalked away.

      Keller looked around. The group of men, young and old, stood in a rough semicircle, staring at Keller, their faces hard and unfriendly.

      “Sorry,” Keller said. “A little misunderstanding.” He turned to Miron. He didn’t see any friendliness there, either.

      “I think you should leave,” she said.

      “I agree,” Keller said. “But what about the information we need?” He saw Angela come out on the porch behind Miron. “The information she needs,” he pointed at Angela “to help find her husband?”

      Miron shook her head. “I can’t help you,” she said. “My contacts don’t want to talk to you.”

      “That’s not acceptable,” Keller said.

      “Not…” Miron’s dark face grew even darker with anger. “How dare you come to my house, and tell me what’s acceptable? You people…you think you own everything.” She pointed at the cars in the lot. “Get out,” she said in a hard, angry voice. “Now.”

      “Jack,” Angela said, “let’s just go.”

      He turned to her. “We can’t…”

      “Jack,” she said quietly. “Please.” She came down off the porch. “Come on.” She led the way, moving with slow dignity behind her cane. The circle of men parted to let her through.

      He could feel the blood pounding in his temples, feel the rush of adrenaline ramping up, but he followed her to the parking lot. “Look,” he said, “stay here. I’ll go back and try to talk to her again.”

      “No,” Angela said. “We need to go. Now.”

      “But if we do that,” Keller said, “we’re stuck. We’re at a dead end.”

      “Not exactly,” Angela said.

      “What does that mean, ‘not exactly’?”

      “It means that while she was running outside to see about the commotion, I stole her cell phone,” Angela said. “We can look at the last number called. And it may have the numbers and the addresses of the people she does business with.”

      “Okay,” said Keller. “I see your point. Let’s go.” They got in the car. When they were almost at the end of the driveway, Keller said, “She’s really not going to be happy when she finds out you’ve got her phone.”

      Angela looked back. “I think she just did.”

      Keller looked in the rearview mirror. The big Ford truck was barreling down the driveway after them.

      

      “SHIT,” KELLER said. He punched the gas and the tires on the rental squealed as they hit pavement. The car fishtailed for a few heart-stopping seconds before Keller got it back under control. He headed down the two-lane road that cut through the rolling countryside.

      “He’s gaining,” Angela said. The rental was comfortable, but underpowered. Keller saw the big truck growing larger in the rearview mirror. He gritted