A Thousand Falling Crows (4 page)

“Nurse Betty, she sure is something else,” Aldo said, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road. He drove the '31 Model A truck like it was a horse he'd ridden a hundred times.

There was no weather to contend with; it was just a cloudless day, the sun beating down with such force it made the ponds and creeks they passed look like mirrors instead of water.

“I‘m sure she's a nice lady,” Sonny said.

“She's had troubles.”

Sonny nodded but said nothing for a long minute. He didn't want to think about Betty Maxwell's troubles. Everybody had troubles these days. “What about you?”

“Me,
señor
?”

“Yes, you.”

“My troubles are my own. I would not want to bother you with such things.”

“You're driving me home. How will you get to your house?”

“The same way I get home every day,
Señor
Burton. I walk.”

Sonny stared out the window and could feel the hot sun beating in through the windshield onto his knees. It was only spring. The real heat of summer had yet to come to the Panhandle. He sat silently for a long while, aching not to return home but to tell Aldo to go into town, into Wellington instead. It would be a good day for a movie or a drink of cold beer in the tavern on the corner, across the street from the Methodist church. But neither was to be. Sonny had no desire to walk out into public, his shirt-sleeve pinned to his side, drawing stares, batting away whispers. He knew he would have to do that someday soon . . . but today was not that day.

“Do you have a family, Aldo?” Sonny finally asked.

The Mexican nodded. “Two sons, three grandsons, one granddaughter, and one daughter—my youngest,
mi corazón
. My heart. She is my heart.” His voice trailed off sadly when he said daughter. Sonny was sure he heard a quiver as the final
r
slipped away into silence.

“Is she all right?”

Aldo turned to Sonny quickly, taking his eyes off the road but keeping his grip tight on the steering wheel. “How do you know something is the matter,
señor
?”

“I was a Ranger for a long time, Aldo. I‘ve seen a lot of things in my life. I know heartache when I hear it.”

“You do,” Aldo said. He turned his attention back to the road just as it dipped. He hadn't been paying attention and was going a little too fast. The truck jostled and jumped a bit, causing them both to shift in their seats. Sonny banged against the door, but his bandaged wound didn't take a hit, because he had rolled down the window. “I‘m sorry, are you all right?”

“I‘m fine. What's the matter with your daughter?”

Aldo stared down the road. “She has disappeared.”

“How old is she?”

“Old enough to know better but too young to be on her own. Away from me.”

“Did she run off with a boy?”

“I fear for her safety,” Aldo said.

“Why's that?”

“I fear that she will end up like that girl they found on the side of the road last year. Beaten and horrible things done to her, they say, before she died, left behind with no name and no one to claim her.” Aldo paused. “It is best if you stay out of this,
señor
. I told you, my troubles are my own. I do not want any harm to come to anyone else.”

Sonny was about to protest, but Aldo was slowing the truck and turning it into the long gravel drive that led up to his empty house. “I‘d be glad to help, Aldo. I‘m still capable. I remember hearing about that dead girl on the radio, but I know nothing more.”

“It happened the same day you were shot. They found her outside of town, dumped in the middle of the road. Dumped just like a barrel of trash. No one knew who she was. They buried her in a
pobre'
s grave. There are bad things out in the world,
señor
, not just Bonnie and Clyde.”

“I have seen my fair share of bad things, Aldo.”

“I‘m sure you have. I appreciate your offer
Señor
Burton, I really do. I am sorry to have troubled you. You have enough to contend with on this day other than my sad stories. You did not deserve to be shot any more than that girl deserved to be killed. You know that. I just fear for my own. That's all.” Aldo pulled the truck up as close to the house as he could and shut off the engine.

“You know where to find me if you change your mind,” Sonny said softly.

“I do,
señor
, but trust me, there is nothing you can do. I fear my daughter is already dead.”

A gang of blue jays mobbed the crow, darting in and out, pecking at it with their sharp beaks as they swooped around it. The jays wanted nothing more than for the crow to leave, to move out of their territory. There were no nests to defend, no tasty young to feed on. They lived in fear of the crow, of the black-winged creatures who fed on the dead or anything else they could find.

There were tales of magic, even among the birds. Tales that gave the crows the power to see a soul safely to the heavens. But the crows knew that the tales were nothing more than that: just tales. They didn't mind. They kept to themselves. Crows depended only on crows.

But on this day, this crow was alone. Just like the girl standing at the bus stop.

In the cooling evening light, she looked just like the last one—maybe a little shorter, but her blonde hair was the same, just like the sadness and the innocence in her eyes. She was vulnerable, in need.

The killer downshifted and slowed down as soon as he saw her. His finger's tingled. It had been long enough. He was free to fly, to feed his own needs again. No one would notice. He saw the crow and felt a kinship to it. No one was mobbing him, though. He was unnoticed. The crow screamed out in alarm as a blue jay nipped its tail. The girl didn't hear it. She was waiting to be taken away and rescued, hungry for the attention she was about receive.

CHAPTER 6

The heavy, red velvet drape was pulled tight on the only window in the room. A musty smell permeated the inside, mixed with cigarette smoke and the potent scent of juniper berries and grain alcohol. It was almost too much for Carmen Hernandez to take, but she was used to the smells. Her father had made bathtub gin for years. It was his recipe that she had given to the Renaldo twins.

They were holed up in a motel off a farm-to-market road, in between Wellington and Memphis, Texas. Out of one county and into the next for Carmen.

Edberto and Eberto Renaldo were identical twins. Everybody called them the Clever, Clever boys because their names meant the same thing: clever,
inteligente
. It was true of Edberto, the oldest twin by three minutes, but not of Eberto. It was almost like Eberto had been shaken around and dropped on his head compared to his brother, who was perfectly smart and made all the girls swoon—including Carmen, who was his latest girlfriend. Eberto, Tió to his few friends and what family still lived in and around Memphis, followed after his brother like a puppy, always waiting to be told what to do next. He was slow, like all of the connections in his brain never matched up. But he could talk and wasn't entirely disabled. Tió was a genius when it came to motors or anything mechanical—which came in handy considering the business the Clever, Clever boys were in. It was when it came to dealing with other human beings that Tió showed himself less than normal. Strangers made him uncomfortable. But still, he had the face of an angel, just like his brother.

At that moment, Tió was standing in the corner eyeing his brother, whom he called Eddie, as did everybody else. Tió was still as a statue, a hardened scowl on his face.

He made Carmen nervous.

“What are you staring at, dummy?” Eddie said, standing up after filling the last large bottle that was sitting in the bathtub.

A wardrobe sat close to the tub, the door open, with room for one more bottle. It was where the gin sat and fermented. Contrary to its name, bathtub gin wasn't made in a bathtub, but the bottles it was made in were too big to fit in the sink and had to be filled in the tub or with a hose. Most people made the hooch inside, out of the way of prying eyes. It was the easiest drinking alcohol to make and had gotten popular since the onset of Prohibition. But the ban on alcohol had been repealed with the Twenty-First Amendment and the bootlegging and gin running business had changed, nearly dried up. Eddie Renaldo was none too happy with the prospect. He was going to have to find an honest job—or another way to make easy money—if things kept up the way they were going. He preferred easy money to work any day. Luckily, there was still a demand for Carmen's father's gin.

Tió didn't answer Eddie. He didn't flinch.

“Damn it, Tió, you're making Carmen uncomfortable.”

She was balled up on the bed, her back up against the headboard, hugging her knees to her chest. “I‘m all right. Leave him alone.” She was nearly seventeen, but she looked like a little girl trying to stay out of the way.

“He pulls this shit all the time. It's not all right,” Eddie said, slamming the wardrobe door closed. He jumped over the bed and was face-to-face with Tió.

If they had been dressed the same, it would have been like looking in the mirror. But they weren't. Eddie had his shirt off and just wore a white ribbed undershirt that was stained slightly brown on the armpit seams. He had on dark blue workpants and his boots looked a little cleaner than they should have. A gold St. Christopher's medal dangled from his neck.

Tió, on the other hand, was buttoned up with high-waist trousers, with round turned-up bottoms that were worn thin, a formal white shirt that looked like it hadn't seen a cap of bleach since it was new, and a waistcoat that matched his pants. The clothes came from St. Michael's, a donation to the less fortunate, which at the moment was about ninety percent of the county.

It was still easy for Carmen to get them confused sometimes. At least until Tió opened his mouth. They were both the same height, had the same flawless bronze skin and shiny black hair and facial features carved out of stone. They could have been conquistadors, ancient warriors, or movie stars, if Hollywood would let a Mexican do something other than sweep a floor. Eddie was so beautiful that he took Carmen's breath away.

The room was hot, and a gray metal oscillating fan was blowing the smells around in a constant flurry. Carmen thought she was going to throw up. She'd seen the two nearly come to blows before, but this time it looked certain to happen. Of the two, Tió seemed to be physically stronger. It probably came from the work he was able to do, lifting motor parts like they were feathers or carrying bottles of gin to the truck time after time with no complaints.

Eddie was the thinker, the talker. He was smooth, a romantic when they were alone, which was why she was there in the first place. That and she had nowhere else to go. She'd left home, knowing her father didn't approve of Eddie and he'd be really mad when he found out she'd given Eddie his recipe. The repeal had hit her father hard, too.

“Tell her you're sorry, Tió!” Eddie demanded.

Tió shook his head. “We don't need no
las niñas
.”

“You mean
you
don't need no girls.”

Tió didn't respond, he just glared at Eddie. “I‘m not sorry, Eddie. I don't like her too much.”

Eddie drew his head back. His jaw looked like it was going to explode. Carmen braced herself for the fight, for Eddie to throw the first punch. But he didn't. Instead, he pulled a small gun out from behind him. The .32-caliber pistol had been stuffed in the small of his back. He jammed the barrel to Tió's temple and cocked the hammer.

Tió stared into Eddie's eyes, unwavering.

“I should have done this a long time ago. Put you out of everybody's fucking misery.”

The fan arched and turned, blowing a gust of wind directly on the boys. Any words, any screams that belonged to Carmen were stuck in her throat. A bead of sweat appeared on Eddie's forehead and ran down the side of his face. He didn't notice it or try to wipe it away. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

The gun clicked. The chamber was empty of any cartridges. The click echoed inside the small room like a bomb had failed to explode. Relief washed over Carmen, and she let out an audible gasp when she realized what Eddie had done.

Tió said nothing, did not move. He'd just pissed his pants.