Judith A. Jance - Desert Heat: A Joanna Brady Mystery

PROLOGUE

Write it, Antonio Vargas ordered, without raising his voice. Writeit now.

Wayne M. Lefty OToole looked down at the piece ofgold-embossed, creamy-white stationery from the Ritz Carlton in Phoenix. Hehad taken it from his room the morning after he stayed there, as proof tohimself that he had been there once, that a kid who had grown up on the wrongside of the tracks in Bisbee, Arizona had made it big time enough that theRitz had once rolled out the red carpet for him. But now that time seemed eonsagoanother lifetime, maybe even another body.

The aging RV, a converted school bus, was stiflingly hot.Rivulets of sweat dribbled down his face as Lefty picked up the pen, afiber-tipped Crossanother relic from his salad daysand studied the scrap ofpaper Vargas had placed on the table in front of him. Typed on it were thewords he was expected to copy. He glanced back at Vargas who was lighting yetanother cigarette although the cramped room was already thick with a haze ofsmoke.

Couldnt we talk about this, make an arrangement of somekind? Lefty asked tentatively.

He had hoped they wouldnt find him in this godforsakencorner of Mexico, but now that they had, he knew he was a dead man. Still, itdidnt hurt to try. Never give up, right? Never say die. It was funny that hecould make jokes with himself about it even then, but Tony Vargas wasntlaughing.

Studying Lefty impassively and without blinking, the way acat might watch a doomed and cornered mouse, Vargas drummed his fingers on thetable. Lefty hadnt noticed it be-fore, but Tony was wearing a pair of thin,flesh-colored rubber glovessurgical gloves. That was a bad sign, a very badsign.

The time for talking ended some time ago,Vargas said with an indifferent shrug. There will be no arrangements. Our sidedoesnt make arrangements. I think you have us mixed up with those other guys,your good friends at the DEA. Theyre the ones who do all that plea bargainshit. Were more straight-forward.

Lefty let his breath out in a tired sigh. How did theyknow about those negotiations? The fact that he was asking to get into theFederal Witness Protection Program was supposed to be top-secret. His life haddepended on those negotiations being kept secret, but someone had betrayed him.Thats why Vargas was here, wasnt it?

With hands that shook despite his best efforts to controlthem, Lefty put pen to paper, copying the text verbatim from the typewrittencrib sheet:

A. B.,

By now you should havereceived the money. Thanks for all your help. My associates are pleased, and wewill be back in touch when we need assistance with another shipment. In themeantime, my best to your wife. She shows a good deal of talent for this kindof work.

Regards, Lefty

After scribbling his name, Lefty shoved the completedpiece of paper across the table. While Vargas examined it, Lefty was aware ofmore trickles of acrid sweat. These coursed down his rib cage from under hisarms. He had done his stints in Nam flying numerous combat missions. He recognizedthe rank stink of his own fear, but he tried to ignore it.

Whos A. B.? He asked the question casually, as thoughit were only a matter of idle curiosity, although, with sinking heart, Leftysuspected he already knew the answer.

In reply Vargas sailed the piece of paper back across thechipped formica table top. Not good enough, he said. It looks like mygrandfather wrote it. Do it again.

Lefty swallowed hard and picked up the pa-per. Vargas wasright. The handwriting was so frail and spidery that it might have come fromthe hand of an elderly person suffering from an advanced case of Parkinsonsdisease. In this case it was impossible to tell the difference between theravages of old age and the tremulousness of sheer terror.

Lefty reached for yet another piece of Ritz Carltonstationerysorry now that he had taken so manyand began again, concentratingon the shapes of each individual letter in exactly the same way he had oncestruggled with the exercises in penmanship class. The sharp-tongued nuns hadinsisted that he make endless rows of as or os. They required that all theletters slant at exactly the proper angle and point in the same direction. Hehad al-ways been lousy in penmanship, but his second attempt at copying thenote passed inspection.

Fold it, Vargas directed, and put it in this envelope.Heres the address. Copy it, too.

Taking both the envelope and the scrap of paper, Leftystudied the words that were writ-ten thereAndrew Brady, Box 14, Double AdobeStar Route, Bisbee, Arizona, 85603.

As soon as he saw the familiar name and address, Leftyknew the name and face of his betrayer. He had bet everything on the wronghorse. It all made terrible sense. They had used Andywho would ever havesuspected Andy?as bait to flush him into the open. It had worked like a charm.Nothing like sending one of your old students on a killer, end run play.

For the first time he fully understood the depth of hisbetrayal, and the realization robbed Lefty OToole of his last possible hope. Sittingthere across the table from his executioner, it was all Lefty could do to keepfrom wetting himself. At last, ducking his head, he laboriously bent to copyingthe address onto the envelope. It wasnt just Andys address he was writing.Lefty OToole knew he was signing his own death warrant.

When the envelope was finished, Lefty handed it across thetable. This time Vargas smiled as he took it, revealing a mouthful of expensivegold dental work. Good, he said, sealing the envelope and placing it in thepocket of his sweat-dampened sports jacket. Lets go.

Where? Lefty asked.

For a ride, Vargas replied.

Lefty knew that if there was any chance of escape, it hadto be soon. He had to make the attempt before they left the mobile home parkwhere, if he called for help, there might be a chance of someone hearing himand coming to his aid. But Vargas lifted the hand in his coat pocket, the onethat held the huge .357 Magnum, and motioned toward the door. Move it, hesaid. Now.

It occurred to Lefty then that perhaps he should leap upand lunge across the table, grabbing Antonio Vargas by the throat andthrottling him, but there wasnt much hope in that, either. He might be luckyenough to es-cape Vargas this time, but other enforcers would be sent for himlater. It was clear to him now that even the damn Witness Protection Programwas full of holes. Sooner or later theyd get him.

Resigned to his fate and without another word, Lefty roseand moved toward the door with Vargas only half a step behind.

When he opened the door, the deserts over-poweringSeptember heat hit him full in the face, instantly drying his sweat-slick skin.As he stood on the shaky wooden step and looked around, he found, much to hissurprise, that his limbs were no longer quaking. Knowing he had passed throughthe worst of the fear gave him renewed courage, restored his determination notto whimper or beg. No matter what, he still owned that much self-respect.

What now? he asked.

Like I said, Vargas replied, mopping his brow, we gofor a ride in your car. If anyone sees us, Im an old friend from the States,and were going into town for a beer.

Where are we going really?

Out into the desert. Something may go wrong with yourcar. In this heat, who knows what will happen? Maybe youll be lucky enough tofind your way back to the road. Lets go.

In the searing noontime heat, they took Leftys Samuraiand drove slowly through the little gringo retirementenclave outside Guaymas. It was high noon, siesta time, and none of Leftys friends or neighbors wereanywhere in evidence. The Samurai traveled north through the barren Mexicandesert. Thirty miles from town, where the narrow ribbon of cracked blacktopseemed to melt into the mist of a road-eating mirage, they turned off thepavement into trackless, powdery sand. They drove for several more treacherousmiles be-fore, on a small rocky knoll, Vargas told Lefty to stop.