Court could imagine Ramses Cienfuegos, with two gunshot wounds, rolling over the wall and running across the dirt road there, sprinting into the agave fields with tears in his eyes.
The gunfire in the distance continued.
The motorcycle’s engine stopped.
And then the gunfire slowed, and then it trailed off completely.
Court hoped like hell that Martin had earned a measure of his revenge, had killed some of the bastards, had gotten some payback for the torture and murder of his innocent brother Pablo.
Gentry and Diego went back into the house without a word between them.
Ten minutes later, with no more gunfire over on the side where Ramses had made his getaway, Court knew that Martin had succeeded in his last mission.
Ramses had escaped.
Court and Laura were the only two awake in the house at noon. Luz and Elena were asleep in the dark downstairs cellar, Diego was crashed on the couch in the living room, and Ernesto napped in a chair on the mirador above the front door of the house, a Mexican Marine’s MP5 on his lap. His shoulder wound had begun to sting and burn, but his wife had given him enough aspirin and tequila to deaden the pain slightly, and the old man had insisted on being involved in the property’s defenses.
He’d absolutely refused to hide in the cellar with the women any longer.
Court remained at the rear mirador; he sat on cool tile in the shade. He’d nodded off a couple of times but had not gotten over sixty seconds of rest. He tried to think up some way out of here for everyone, but the single solution he could come up with seemed like a complete shot in the dark.
A noise on the patio below caught his attention; he leaned forward, knelt between stone columns that had been shot up pretty thoroughly in the first gunfight, when Ramses had used this high ground to fire down on the men on the patio bathed in the light of the Ford truck. Eddie’s prized possession now sat like a dead animal in the bushes, listing to one side and showing no possible signs of life. The truck had easily taken one hundred rounds of rifle fire or buckshot pellets.
There, on the patio below him, he saw Laura. She knelt over a dead man in a Tequila municipal police officer’s uniform. At first Court wondered if she was scavenging from the body more weapons or cash or anything she could put to use.
Court started to interrupt her from above, to assure her he’d gleaned everything of value from the bullet-ridden body. Just as he began to speak though, Eddie’s little sister crossed herself with her rosary in her hand and began to pray.
Praying for the souls of the men who had just killed her brother and had tried to kill everyone here in the casa grande.
Gentry shook his head. He absolutely did not comprehend this level of compassion or forgiveness.
It was not his world at all.
It was not his world, and he had decided he was going to make a run for it.
He found Elena in the kitchen, pouring herself water from a large jug. He asked her to come to the living room. Ernesto remained on watch, Luz remained in the cellar, but Gentry wanted to talk to Elena, Laura, and Diego.
“Listen, even if Ramses makes it to a town, to a phone, or to a car, we can’t count on him doing it before nightfall. The federales will hit as soon as it’s dark; you can bet your life on it.”
“So what are we going to do?” asked Elena.
“I’ve got to try and break out, to get some help or find a car—”
“Go, Joe. You have done all you can. We would not have made it this far without you. Thank you so much for everything.” It was Laura; she spoke as if she had expected this. He felt defensive.
“You are leaving us,” Elena worded it as a statement. Court saw she had no illusions that she or her baby would survive without him.
“I’m not running out on you; we just can’t—”
“It’s okay.” She did not believe him; this much was clear.
He turned to Laura. “If I can make it into town, I can get some sort of truck or something. I’ll be back here before you know it.”
“How are you going to get past the sicarios?”
Gentry was not ready to be challenged on his plan. He had no real plan for what he would do once over the wall. But he trusted, more or less, in his ability to figure something out if he could get out of here and see the lay of the land from another perspective.
“Ramses did it. I’ll head over to that side of the property.”
Elena was becoming combative. Court knew she was only thinking of her unborn child. “Ramses had Martin to sacrifice his life to create a diversion. Would you like one of us—”
“Of course not. I can slip away on my own.” He hesitated, looked into the tired, scared, and shell-shocked eyes. “I’ve been doing this for a long time.”